Part 2

Dark was the brow of Agamemnon when he heard these words, and short and stern was his answer. "Let me not find thee," he said, "lingering here in the camp, and come not hither again on such an errand. Thy daughter thou shall not see again; she is mine, the captive of my bow and of my spear, and shall be my slave until the day of her death." In vain the old man urged him with entreaty, and offered a rich ransom to redeem his child from bondage. "Talk not to me of ransom," answered Agamemnon: "not all the gold of thy temple shall purchase liberty for the maiden, for she hath found favour in my sight. Get thee gone at once, and provoke me no further."

Then the priest, whose name was Chryses, feared for his own life, and fled from the angry face of the King. Down to the margin of the sea he went, and gazing with tear-dimmed eyes over the heaving waters, thus he prayed to Apollo, his protector and lord: "Hear me, god of the silver bow, whose altar steams day and night with offerings from the choicest of the flock. Remember my faithful service, and let thine arrows avenge my tears on the Greeks."

So he prayed, and Apollo heard him, and down from the peaks of Olympus he sped. In his hand he bare his mighty bow, and the arrows in his quiver made an angry rattling as he swooped down on the Grecian camp, swift and sudden as the southern night. He took his stand on a hill, and loosed an arrow from the string; and dire was the twang of the silver bow. First, he sent his shafts among the dogs and mules; then he changed his aim, and rained destruction among the men; and the whole place was filled with the smoke of funeral pyres.

For nine days the deadly shower fell without ceasing; but on the tenth, Achilles summoned a general gathering of the host, to inquire into the causes of the calamity which had fallen on his countrymen. The chiefs met in full conclave, and about them were gathered the meaner sort in their tens of thousands. When the clamorous cries of the multitude were stilled, Achilles rose in his place, and addressing himself directly to Agamemnon said: "Son of Atreus, how long wilt thou suffer thy people to perish? Is it not enough that our blood is poured forth every day in battle with thy foes, but must pestilence also make havoc among our ranks? This is Apollo's work, and it is time to ask some priest or soothsayer how we have offended the god, that we may appease his anger with the fat of goats and lambs, and save ourselves from further harm."

Among the elders sat Calchas, the chief seer of the Greeks; who knew all things--what was, and had been, and was to come--and was the chosen leader of the army in matters of religion. Seeing all eyes turned upon him he stood up and answered the challenge of Achilles, though with manifest reluctance and constraint.

"Illustrious chieftain," he said, "thou hast asked the cause of Apollo's anger, and I know that thou lookest to me for an answer. But swear unto me first that thou wilt defend me in word and in deed; for I fear that, by revealing the counsels of the god whom I serve, I shall offend one who is the greatest and mightiest among us."

"Tell us what thou knowest, and fear nothing," answered Achilles; "while I live no one shall lift his hand against thee, no, not Agamemnon himself."

Thus encouraged, Calchas spoke out, and declared that the only means of staying the pestilence was by sending back Chryseis to her father, without price or ransom, and offering a costly sacrifice of atonement to Apollo in his temple at Chrysa. It was not without reason that the prudent seer had appealed to Achilles for protection; for no sooner had his words been uttered than Agamemnon sprang from his seat, with fury in his looks, and overwhelmed the prophet with a torrent of reproaches. "Ill fare thy prophecies, thou prophet of ill!" he cried. "Not one good word have I ever heard from thy lips; but this is the worst that ever thou hast spoken. Hard and bitter is the charge which thou hast laid upon me, bidding me restore this maiden, fairer and dearer to me than Clytæmnestra, my wedded wife. Nevertheless I will send her back, if I cannot save my people otherwise; but look ye to it, princes and councillors of Greece, that I find fit recompense for my loss; for she was a choice prize of war, set apart for me as a gift of privilege and honour."

"And thinkest thou," said Achilles, roused at once to opposition by this unwarrantable claim, "that it befits thine honour as a king to be covetous of thy people's goods? Be generous; let thy prize go, and when next we divide the spoil of a captured town we will repay thee threefold and fourfold for thy loss."

"Payment I will have, and that right speedily," answered Agamemnon, with darkening brow. "See that ye find means to fill the place of this maiden, or one of you shall yield up his prize to me, whether it be Ajax, or Odysseus, or thou Achilles, who art so bold of speech, that thou mayest learn that I am king indeed. But concerning this we can speak again hereafter; our present task is to restore Chryseis to her father, and appease the god with sacrifice."

Agamemnon thought perhaps by his last words to avert the anger of the fiery young prince, whose eyes flashed fire when he heard the King's threat. But if such was his purpose it failed altogether. No sooner had he ended than the full tempest of Achilles' wrath fell upon his head. "Thou soul of avarice!" he cried, "clad in shamelessness as with a garment, was it for thee that we crossed all those weary leagues of water to make war on the men of Troy? I have no quarrel with the Trojans; they have not lifted my cattle, or driven off my horses, for my home is far beyond their reach, divided from Asia by shadowy mountains and sounding seas. For thee, thou dog, and for thy brother have I toiled, and in the division of the spoil 'tis but little that I win as the price of my sweat and my blood; and thou seekest to rob me of that little, to add to thine own monstrous hoard. I will go back forthwith to my native land of Phthia, for I have no mind to abide here in dishonour and heap up treasure for thee."

"Go when thou wilt," answered Agamemnon, in scornful tones. "Heaven forbid that I should hinder thee! Most hateful to me art thou of all the chivalry of Greece, for thou hast a heart full of hatred and malice. Go and lord it over thine own tribe; I am the master here, and as sure as I am a crowned and anointed king I will take thy prize, even the maiden Briseis, and lead her to my tent, that thou mayest learn to curb thy saucy tongue in the presence of thy lord."

Thus publicly insulted and defied, Achilles sat speechless with rage, fighting against the passion which shook his mighty frame. At last it seemed that he had resolved to let his fury have full scope; slowly he drew his sword from its scabbard, his mouth was opened for the battle cry, and in another moment the haughty King would have lain weltering in his blood; but in the very act of springing on his foe he felt himself restrained from behind, and turning to confront this new assailant he stood face to face with the goddess Athene. Unseen and unheard by the rest, the grey-eyed goddess spoke, bidding him to desist from his murderous purpose. "Put up thy sword," she said; "speak daggers to him, if thou wilt, but use none. Thine honour is safe in the hands of Zeus, and the day of reckoning shall come, when that proud head shall be humbled to the very dust before thee."

To those who were looking on it seemed that Achilles had fallen into a sudden trance of thought, from which he started abruptly, and, thrusting back his sword into its sheath, resumed the war of words with Agamemnon. "Thou drunkard," he cried, "with eye of dog and heart of deer, foremost in the revel and last in the fray! Thou of the itching palm, who lovest the chink of stolen gold, but turnest pale at the clash of steel! False shepherd, that devourest thy flock! Cowardly master of cowardly sheep! Now by this sceptre I swear, by this symbol of justice which the elders hold in their hands when they give judgment before the people, the day is not far distant when all this host shall be filled with longing for me, to save them from Hector's destroying arm, when their bravest and their strongest are falling beneath his spear. Then shalt thou learn thy folly too late, and drink to the dregs the bitter cup which thou hast filled for me."

With that he flung the sceptre at Agamemnon's feet, and sat down again in his place. Then arose Nestor, the clear-voiced orator of Pylos, from whose lips flowed eloquence sweeter than honey. Two generations of men had lived and died since his birth, and he still dwelt in kingly honour among the third. And thus he spake, striving to make peace between the two angry chieftains: "Alas! what sorrow has come upon the sons of Greece!--sorrow to us, but joy unto Priam and the sons of Priam, when they hear of the feud which hath arisen between ye twain. Be guided by me; I am older than ye, and before ye were born I moved as an equal among heroes mightier than ye, and was second to none in council and in fight. Hearken therefore to me, even as they did. Seek not, Agamemnon, to take from Achilles his prize of honour; and thou, Achilles, provoke not the King to anger by thy bitter words, for as thou art our bulwark in war, so he sits higher than thou in sceptred majesty."

"Thou sayest well," answered Agamemnon, "but this man's insolence is not to be borne. Because he is a stout spearman he thinks that he can lord it over us all. But there are some here who will not brook his tyranny."

"There is one here," retorted Achilles, "who refuses to be thy slave. But enough of this--I will waste no more words on thee. Come and take away my prize, if those who stand here suffer thee to do this wrong; but touch not aught else of my possessions, or thy blood shall pay the price."

With these words the stormy debate, so fruitful in disaster to the Greeks, came to an end.

II

Agamemnon's first task, when he returned to his tent, was to send back Chryseis, under the charge of Odysseus, to her father. This done, he at once took steps to secure possession of Briseis, the captive maiden who had been bestowed on Achilles as his prize of honour. Talthybius and Eurybates, the royal heralds, were sent to the quarters of Achilles to demand the surrender of Briseis. "And if he will not give her up to you," added the King, "I will come myself and take her by force." So they went with slow and reluctant steps on their thankless errand; and they found Achilles sitting alone by his ship, where it was drawn up on the beach. Awestruck and silent they stood in the presence of that great chief, unable to utter a sound; but he knew full well why they had come, and greeted them with courtesy and kindness. "Draw near," he said, "and fear nothing from me. I respect your office, and impute not to you your master's guilt. Patroclus my comrade shall deliver unto you the maiden, and be ye my witnesses in this matter, when it is asked why I threw down my sword and refused to fight any longer in Agamemnon's cause."

So saying he summoned Patroclus, and bade him bring forth Briseis from the tent; and Patroclus went, and presently returned, leading the weeping maiden by the hand, and gave her in charge of the heralds. When they were gone, Achilles wandered away by the margin of the sea, nursing his wounded spirit, and full of angry and bitter thoughts. Presently he came to a stand, and, stretching out his hands towards the sea, cried like a child in pain to Thetis, his mother: "Short is the term of years which Fate has vouchsafed to me, and therefore thou hast promised me honour from the hands of Zeus. But now is mine honour turned to infamy, and I am become a very scorn of men, and an outcast among the people." His words were broken by sobs and tears, for he was but a boy in years, and was smarting with an agony of wounded pride. And his mother heard him where she sat in her crystal cave in the depths of the sea; for she was a goddess, and daughter of the sea-god, Nereus. Swiftly she rose, "like an exhalation," to the surface of the sea, and came and stood by her young hero's side. "Why weepest thou, my child?" she asked, with a tender caress. "Tell thy mother all thy pain, that she may bear the burden with thee."

"Thou knowest full well," replied Achilles, with a groan; "what boots it to repeat to thee the story of my shame?" Nevertheless he went on to pour out all the tale of injury and outrage; for sorrow grows lighter in the telling. "Thou alone," he added, when he had finished the recital, "canst heal this deadly hurt to mine honour. I have often heard thee boast of an old service rendered to Zeus, when the other Olympians rose up in revolt against him, and he was in sore straits. Go, therefore, to Olympus, and remind him of the debt which he owes unto thee, and ask him in requital to lend aid to the Trojans, that the Greeks may be hurled back in rout upon their ships, and Agamemnon may learn what it means to deal despitefully with the best warrior in his camp."

"It shall be done as thou sayest," answered Thetis; "Leave everything in my hands, and thou shalt have atonement in full measure. Until twelve days are passed I can do nothing, for Zeus has gone on a far journey, to partake of a banquet in the land of the Ethiopians. When he returns I will lay thy case before him; and meanwhile sit thou idle here, and go not into battle, but leave me to champion thy cause." With this promise she left him, and he sat down to digest his anger, and wait for the day of redress.

III

On the dawn of the twelfth day Thetis rose again from her cavern into mid-air, and was borne by the breezes unto Olympus. She found the lord of heaven sitting apart on the topmost peak of the mountain, and kneeling before him she preferred her request. When Zeus heard what she desired he fell into a muse, and answered not a word; but Thetis remained kneeling at his feet, and, clinging to him with both hands, repeated her prayer. Being urged thus with importunity, at last the sire opened his mouth, and answered in heavy tones: "Thou wilt put enmity between me and Hera, my wife; already she upbraids me for showing favour to the Trojans, and thou askest me to take sides openly with them against the Greeks. But go to, what care I for the wrath of Hera? Nevertheless, get thee gone speedily, lest she find us together. Howbeit, thou shalt have thy wish; behold, I swear it, and confirm it with my nod, and whatsoever I have thus confirmed cannot be annulled or unfulfilled."

Thereupon the monarch of the sky bowed his immortal head, with all its dark and waving locks, and shook the mountain to its base.

Having thus attained her purpose, Thetis departed, and as soon as she was gone Zeus joined the assembly of the gods in the high palace of Olympus. All the gods rose from their seats to pay him homage as he entered and took his place on the royal throne. But the sharp eyes of Hera had spied out his conference with Thetis, and forthwith she assailed her indulgent lord in mocking tones: "What plot hast thou been hatching now, thou god of craft? I know that thou art keeping some mischief from me, thy lawful wife."

"Daughter of Cronos," answered Zeus, avoiding her piercing glance, "thou canst not expect that I should share all my counsels with thee. Whatever it is meet for thee to know thou shall learn; but I have some secrets which are not for thy ear."

"Thou must keep thy secrets more carefully," said Hera, with a bitter smile, "if thou wouldst deceive me. Listen, ye gods, while I tell you this fine secret! Zeus has promised Thetis that the Greeks shall suffer defeat, to avenge the insult put upon her son."

"And if such be my will, who shall say me nay?" replied Zeus, with a stern look. "I warn thee not to thwart my purpose, or all the gods who sit here shall not save thee from chastisement."

Then fear fell upon Hera, and she sat biting her lips, venturing no reply. And all the gods sat silent, glancing anxiously at one another, when they heard the angry tones of the Olympian sire.

At last Hephæstus, the lame god of fire, came to his mother's relief. Rising from his seat, he took a goblet of nectar from the hands of Hebe, who was serving drink to the gods, and went hobbling to the place where Hera sat. "Mother mine," said, he, as he offered her the cup, "I counsel thee to give way, and not provoke our father to anger. Shall we, the sons and daughters of heaven, brawl over our cups for the sake of miserable mortals? Let Zeus have his way--for what can we do against him? Hast thou forgotten how he served me when I presumed to stand between thee and his ire?--how he caught me by the foot, and flung me forth from the open portals of Olympus, as a boy slings a stone? From morn till eve I fell, and at the setting of the sun I struck on Lemnos, the Ægæan isle."

Hera smiled at her ungainly son; and when she had drunk of the nectar he took the cup, and went limping round the circle of the gods, offering them to drink. And all the immortals laughed loud and long, to see the huge, hairy god engaged in the office of the lovely Hebe. Then music and song came to crown the banquet, as Apollo led the choir of the Muses on his golden harp.

The Dream: The Muster of Greeks

I

Agamemnon lay sleeping in his tent, and in a dream he saw Nestor, the son of Neleus, who addressed him in these words: "Sleepest thou, son of Atreus? It is not meet that thou, on whom lies the weight of a mighty monarchy, shouldst slumber all night long. Hearken now to my words: I am the bearer of a message from Zeus, who bids thee summon the whole host of Greeks, and lead them against Troy. Her hour is come at last, and the gods with one consent have decided that she shall fall."

Agamemnon awoke, and behold it was a dream. But the words had sunk deep into his heart, and he deemed that the vision had spoken truth. In that vain belief he arose from his couch, clothed himself in a fair linen tunic and a woollen robe, and, taking his sceptre in his hand, went to rouse Nestor and tell him his dream. Then the whole body of the chiefs met in council, and the heralds were sent round to proclaim a general assembly of the army. The people came flocking at the summons, numberless as bees which hover round the flowers in spring; and nine heralds went about among the multitude, marshalling the clamorous commons in their places, and commanding silence, that the counsel of the King might be heard.

As this was a great occasion, it had been resolved, in the private meeting of the elders, to try the temper of the people before disclosing to them the real purpose of their leaders. Accordingly, when silence had been obtained, Agamemnon rose up in his place, holding in his hand his ancestral sceptre, the symbol of his great office, which had descended from father to son since the days of Pelops, the founder of the royal house of Argos. Planting the sceptre firmly before him, and leaning upon it, thus spake the King, to prove the heart of his people.

"Friends and comrades in war, I have heavy news to tell you. Zeus brought us hither under a solemn promise that in the end we should take the sacred city of Priam. But now he hath revoked his promise, and bids us sail back to Greece, for all our toil is vain. Shame and dishonour must be our portion, now and hereafter, when our sons' sons shall hear how we, the embattled host of Greece, outnumbering the citizens of Troy by ten to one, fought against them for nine long years, and then departed, as beaten and broken men. But such is the will of Zeus, and none can gainsay it. Therefore I bid you hoist sail and away, for we are not destined to take the town of Troy."

At these words of the King there arose a wild commotion among his hearers, and the vast multitude swayed to and fro like the waves of the Ægæan driven this way and that by shifting gusts of wind. Then, as a wide field of corn bends down before the strong breath of the west, the whole host turned seaward, and with a mighty shout they rushed downward to the shore, and began to launch their ships.

Agamemnon, and those who were in his confidence, were thunderstruck by the tremendous effect of his speech, and stood helpless and amazed in the midst of this scene of tumult. The first to recover himself was Odysseus, the wisest and the firmest spirit among all the chieftains. Flinging off his mantle he went to Agamemnon, and took from his hand the royal sceptre. Armed with this symbol of authority he hurried hither and thither among the excited throng, urging each man by threats or entreaties to return to the place of assembly, and wait there for further instructions from the recognised leaders of the host.

To those of rank and character he spoke courteously, urging them to use their influence among their followers, and check the general flight; while with the baser sort he used rougher means of persuasion, striking them with the sceptre and rebuking them fiercely. Others among the chiefs followed his example, and at length the tumult was stayed, and the fickle mob swept back into the camp with a roar like the billows breaking on a long line of rocky shore.

At length that vast audience was seated, and waiting attentively to hear the counsels of the King. But one unruly knave remained standing, and poured out a torrent of abuse against Agamemnon and the other chiefs. This fellow's name was Thersites, and of all the Greeks who came up against Troy he was the foulest, both in aspect and in speech. His huge misshapen head, sparsely covered with thin, downy hair, sat awry on his stooping shoulders. He was bandy-legged, and lame of one foot. And he was the sworn enemy of the valiant, the noble, and the wise. This low-born railer now began to shriek out insults in a hideous voice against Agamemnon, his sovereign lord. "Son of Atreus," he bawled, "what lackest thou yet? Thy tents are full of gold, and crowded with slaves, which we have won for thee with our swords and our spears. Lustest thou yet after more gold, the ransom of Trojan captives? Or dost thou want more Trojan dames to be thy handmaids? Up, sirs, let us be gone, lest we be called women, and not men, if we remain here to heap up riches for this greedy tyrant. Have we not seen him put public dishonour on our bravest warrior, taking from him his lawful prize? Surely Achilles lacks gall to make oppression bitter, seeing that he has suffered this bitter wrong to go unavenged. Were he of like mind with me, the ruffian king would not have survived to commit further outrages."

A stern voice here broke in upon the seditious harangue, and Thersites perceived with alarm that Odysseus was standing by him, staff in hand. "Peace, saucy knave!" said the Prince of Ithaca, in threatening tones. "How darest thou, the very scum and refuse of the army, to hold such language against our exalted leader? If I find thee uttering thy mad folly again, may my head be smitten from my shoulders, and may I never more be called the father of Telemachus, if I do not strip thee naked and drive thee forth from among the people with blows like this." And suiting the action to the word he laid the heavy staff with no gentle hand across the deformed shoulders of Thersites. The wretch shrank beneath the blow with a cry of pain, and the golden staff left its print in a crimson weal on his back. So he sat huddled together, with distorted face, wiping away his tears, and spoke not another word.