Homer's Iliad, prose rendering by Callihan Preview

T he I lIad h

A P rose r enderIng By w esley C AllIhAn

Foreword by Dr. Dale Grote

The Iliad

First Edition

Copyright © 2022 by Wesley J. Callihan

Published by Roman Roads Press

Moscow, Idaho

info@romanroadspress.com | romanroadspress.com

Prose rendering by Wesley J. Callihan, based on the 1883 translation of Andrew Lang, Walter Leaf, and Ernest Myers

General Editors: Daniel Foucachon and Wesley Callihan

Edited by Emily Callihan and Carissa Hale

Peer Review by Dr. Dale Grote

Cover Design by Joey Nance

Interior Layout by Carissa Hale

Adaptions of John Flaxman’s 1793 illustrations by Carissa Hale

Maps by Carissa Hale and Joey Nance

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher, except as provided by the USA copyright law.

Licensing and permissions: info@romanroadspress.com

The Iliad

Roman Roads Press

ISBN: 978-1-944482-58-9

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022936491

Version 1.1.0 July 2022

To Dani

wife perfectly fitted to my heart ( Iliad 9.336)

C ontents

Acknowledgments ix

Foreword by Dr. Dale Grote xiii

Preface xvii

Introduction xix

1. The Importance of the Iliad xix

2. The Historical Christian Perspective xxii

3. The Historical Background of the Story xxvi

4. The Story of the Trojan War xxxii

5. Between the Iliad and the Odyssey xxxviii

6. The Form and Context of Homeric Epic xl

7. The Contents and Structure of the Iliad xlv

8. Major Characters in the Iliad xlix

9. How to Read the Iliad lvi

10. What to Read Next lix

11. This Version—and Why Another One? lx

Maps of the Iliad lxv The

A C knowledgements

Everyone I have ever talked about Homer with has been an inspiration to me, and undoubtedly I’ll leave out of these acknowledgements some who deserve to be mentioned, and for those omissions I ask forgiveness.

Homer first cast his shadow over me in the 1960s, when as a boy I read the brief entry about him in the “People to Know” volume of the Childcraft: How and Why Library published by World Book. For the presence of that set in our house, for their constant encouragement of my teaching and writing over the years, and for countless other blessings, I’m eternally grateful to my father and mother. They encouraged my sister and I to think, ask questions, to read widely and well, and to love the good, the true, and the beautiful and most of all to love Him Who is the Source of all those things.

I started teaching the Iliad and Odyssey in the early 1980s as part of the New Saint Andrews evening classes for adults which Evan Wilson, his brother Douglas, and I organized (on the basis of an earlier reading list we had put together called The Free Academy of Foundations) and taught at the Big Haus owned and operated by Evan and his wife Leslie in Moscow, Idaho. I owe Evan and Leslie a debt of gratitude not only for making their third floor rooms available for those

first classes, about which I have the fondest of memories, but especially for their unfailing friendship which has manifested itself in countless forms over the years and continues to this day. A decade later that early project was reorganized into the accredited four-year liberal arts New Saint Andrews College which still thrives in that city.

I taught classics in translation to high school students at Logos School in Moscow for several years in the early 1990s, and their good-natured tolerance of my enthusiasm was a tremendous encouragement to my Homer studies, as was the sight of those students lying on the floor of our classroom drawing pictures of the Shield of Achilleus on large newsprint with markers.

For twenty-five years I taught Homer to high school age students online through my organization Schola Classical Tutorials. It was a great delight to discuss the Iliad and Odyssey with each new class, and their eager responses to my excited arm-waving further fanned into flame my own addiction. I cannot sufficiently express my love for and appreciation of my Schola students, many of whom have remained close friends.

Dale Grote, professor of classics at UNC Charlotte in North Carolina has been a friend and unwitting mentor since 2005 when he and I led the first of many tours to Greece and Turkey, one of which included a visit to the site of Troy, where some students and I laid our rapturous hands on the warm stones of the great wall of the city. Dale’s wide knowledge of the classics and of classicists, his good humor and unruffled acceptance of the vagaries of life and overseas travel, along with his practical wisdom seasoned with just the right amount of relaxed cynicism, has been a model and profound inspiration to me.

My long-time friend Andrew Kern has continued to inspire me in my old love of Homer, because of his own—for the Odyssey in particular—and because of his delight in the infinite variety of things Homer prompts us to think of and talk about. This was particularly apparent in our podcasts together called “A Perpetual Feast”, which were hosted by his CiRCE Institute. Everything we discussed sprang from Homer, though most of what we talked about was not actually in Homer, and that is as it should be.

My children, all grown and married with children of their own, have been among my most steadfast supporters in my teaching career. I inflicted Homer on them from infancy— some of them can still recite fragments of the opening lines of the Iliad in the original Greek with which I chanted them to sleep when they were small. The poor things had no idea what was going on but they seemed to enjoy it—Homer is probably still a great soporific to them. They endured my rants at the dinner table when they were young, and similar rants later in my high school level classes, and they still encouraged me. Thank you, Emily, Kathryn, Elizabeth, Faith, Robert, and George, for being my best cheerleaders.

I owe a debt of gratitude to my daughter-in-law Emily Callihan for editing much of the first draft of this version and catching silly errors I was too blind to see. Likewise, I am grateful to Carissa Hale for editing the complete text (several times) as well as the introductory material and maps, and for her superhuman patience with my delays. She deserves a place of honor in the pantheon of editors. My gratitude also goes to Carissa for the illustrations and maps, as well as Josiah Nance who advised and helped her design, edit, and format the maps. Anyone in his right mind loves maps, so naturally these please me very much.

Daniel Foucachon, head of Roman Roads Press, encouraged me constantly and reminded me regularly and enthusiastically of the further vision when I lost sight of the forest for the trees and my gratitude to him is very great indeed.

Most importantly, I’m eternally grateful to my beloved wife Dani for her patience and gentle encouragement, although I’m certain that she was tempted to feel rather differently about my slow progress.

Naturally, any errors in the Introduction (and there are many points on which there is great controversy) are my responsibility entirely, as are the faults and infelicities in the Iliad text.

F oreword

For as long as I have known him, Wes Callihan has not just spoken of his special affection for Homer, he has shown it. When he first saw the site of Troy on one of our joint tours to Greece and Turkey, he ran to the famed sloping wall and tried to embrace it. (I have pictures.) The plains of Ilium are hardly like the snowy mountains of Idaho, so what accounts for this? It cannot be that Homer invites us into a world we recognize as our own. The palace at Olympus has been boarded up for centuries. The sweep of human history as well as private destinies within it are under new management. We have a hard time identifying with Achilles now that pointless suffering in a meaningless world is ruled out in the Christian West. There must be something else that accounts for the unending hold Homer’s epics have on our imaginations.

One of the many explanations, perhaps the central explanation, is that Homer was a master storyteller. Great stories, it goes without saying are meant not to be read, so much as they are to be heard. We “Greeked” readers says that the theme of both Homeric epics is the kleos of famous men. Our various translations of kleos get close to its general sense: “glory,” “reputation,” “magnificence,” and so on. What they

do not capture, however, is that kleos comes from the verb kluō , which means “to hear.” The deeds of Achilles and Odysseus are what people hear about them, and they hear about them in stories. Vergil, it is said, taught us to read, but Homer taught us to listen. But no one will listen if the storyteller is botching his lines. Only a great storyteller can tell a great story in the right way, even if it is written down.

This is what Wes brings to his project. He is a masterful storyteller. That is easy to say, but I can prove it. On our first joint tour, we had returned to our hotel in Delphi for the night. After dinner, Wes gathered his ten or so Schola students in a stairwell for story time. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that they gathered around him for if I remember rightly they were the ones who insisted that he read to them. He sat on a small stool and read several short stories by Wodehouse. For more than an hour, they hardly so much as blinked, that is how caught up they were. I was too. It was marvelous. I thought, “How did he do that?” It seemed effortless. Then again, a gifted musician makes playing even the most challenging pieces look easy, and we all know that is not true: Ars artem celare , as the saying goes. Here is another example. In the 10th or 11th century, some bored Viking scratched his name on a balustrade in the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul: “Halvdan was here.” In the years before Wes and I started collaborating on these tours, I would just point it out and say, “Look here. Viking runes from the 10th century.” Then we would shuffle on. After Wes joined the tours, the runes became one of the most popular sites in the building. He not only knew the story, he knew how to tell it. Even though I have heard the story many times, and even though I always forget everything about it—sorry, Wes—I will ask for a reprise when our tours resume just for the pleasure of hearing it.

I think you get the point. What Wes brings to his adaption of this old translation of the Iliad is the storyteller’s innumerable skills and intuitions about choosing just the right word, establishing an engaging cadence, rounding off phrases, slowing the pace when it needs to be slow and accelerating it when it needs to be accelerated, enriching the words with drama without overdoing it . . . We could think again of a pianist, who makes “chopsticks” just as compelling as a Chopin nocturne by adding art to it, something that is easily recognized but nearly impossible to define. Perhaps Wes will someday be persuaded to record his script and post the files so we can hear the story the way it was meant to be heard!

Dr. Dale Grote PhD Classics 2021

I have written a lengthy introduction to this version of the Iliad in hopes that it will help many to understand and appreciate better what they find themselves reading. The study of history has fallen on hard times in the last couple of generations, but it seems obvious that context matters when studying anything, and history is the context of the Iliad , just as it is of the Bible, or any other text we read that does not come from our modern cultural milieu. We know more about ourselves when we know something of our family history, and in the same way we understand more about our culture if we know its history, and that includes both the great books that have shaped our culture, and the historical context out of which those books grew.

ntrodu C t I on

1. The Importance of the Iliad

Homer’s Iliad , an epic poem about the terrible anger of Achilleus, the great Greek hero, and the consequences of that anger, set against the backdrop of the Trojan War, is the earliest complete work of imaginative literature in the Greco-Roman tradition which is the foundation of Western Civilization. Together with the Odyssey , another epic poem about the ten-year struggle of Odysseus to return home from the War, and his astounding adventures during that struggle, it was without question the most important. It has had an incalculable influence on the Mediterranean civilization of which we are heirs, and on the medieval and modern civilizations of Europe and the Americas which grew from that one.

The Iliad and the Odyssey were, without exaggeration, as important to ancient Greek culture as the Bible has been to medieval and modern European civilization. The two poems profoundly influenced the Greek understanding of man— what he is, and what he should be, and why there is a difference between those two things—and of his relationship to the gods, to other people, to the world around him, to time

and space, to power, to good and evil, to freedom and will and their limitations, and to virtue and the nature of a good life.

From the days of ancient Athens onward through the long centuries of the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the European Middle Ages, and the early modern European and American worlds, until the twentieth century when our New Dark Age was well underway, it would have been incomprehensible to call oneself educated without having read Homer. The Iliad and Odyssey were memorized in their entirety by many literate Greeks and Romans as they formed the backbone of education in the Greek and Roman worlds in the pre-Christian and Christian ages alike. In the European Middle Ages the knowledge of Greek and of Greek literature was almost entirely lost until the Renaissance, but the stories were known and loved through Latin translations and retellings. In the Byzantine East, however, Greek literature continued to be foundational for education, and after the fall of Constantinople in 1453, the Greek language and its literature flooded into western Europe carried by fleeing Eastern Christians. From the late Renaissance on, the study of Homer and of the Greek language became an essential part of education in Europe (and wherever in the world European influence went) until very recently.

In his book Surprised by Joy C. S. Lewis talks about “driving gloriously” through the Iliad (in Greek) in his mid-teens while studying with his tutor, the “Great Knock”. That was just before World War I, and all British schoolboys of the same age would have read Homer, or at least parts, in the original Greek (though they certainly did not all have the same experience of joy in the pursuit). The American classicist Allen Rogers Benner, in the Preface to his 1903 Selections from Homer’s Iliad , says that the volume “includes the books [of the Iliad ] commonly required for admission to American colleges . . . ”

This expectation—that boys had already read lengthy sections of Homer in the original Greek in high school before college—was not for entry into classics programs, but for entry into any American college for any course of study . It was assumed throughout Europe and America to be a fundamental part of a sound secondary education for everyone before college, because exposure to great storytelling and contemplation of the great questions about human existence that Homer raises so powerfully were always thought to be necessary to be truly human.

Because literate people have always read and loved Homer, there are quotations, references, and allusions to Homer everywhere in literature from the ancient Greeks and Romans (Aristotle and Plato, Vergil and Cicero, Basil the Great and Augustine) to later authors (Dante, Spenser, Shakespeare, Milton, Pope, Johnson, Burke, Lewis, Tolkien, Chesterton, just to name a tiny fraction) up through the twenty-first century. Because great authors throughout history have always assumed that their audiences read Homer too, to read those great authors without knowing Homer—just as to read great English authors without knowing the Bible or Shakespeare— is to fail to understand a great deal of what they wrote.

So powerfully has it always been felt that Homer’s epics are the foundation and greatest works of the European literary tradition, that G. K. Chesterton says “. . . it is true that this, which is our first poem, might very well be our last poem too. It might well be the last word as well as the first word spoken by man about his mortal lot, as seen by merely mortal vision. If the world becomes pagan and perishes, the last man left alive would do well to quote the Iliad and die.”1

1 G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man, ch. 3

2. The Historical Christian Perspective

Note Chesterton’s words well: as seen by merely mortal vision. The Christians, who began showing up in the early years of the Roman Empire, had more to say about man’s existence and meaning, which they learned not from philosophical speculation (“merely mortal vision”) but from something beyond, that is, from supernatural revelation—from the Hebrew prophets, from the Jewish and Christian scriptures, and most importantly, from the incarnate God Himself, Jesus Christ. But significantly, this did not include a rejection of Homer’s poems or of pre-Christian literature and thought in general. The vast majority of the early Christian writers— the “early church fathers” of the first millennium of Christianity—were educated in the classics of Greece and Rome, as well as in the Scriptures and earlier Fathers, and almost without exception they did not reject that learning but rather advocated it. Indeed, some of the great Christian catechetical schools, such as the famous one in Alexandria in Origen’s time2 and after, included instruction in the classics as well as in Christian writings and doctrine. The great majority of these early leaders of the church did not consider Christianity a replacement for or repudiation of much of earlier Greco-Roman philosophy and religious thought, but a fulfillment of it. Irenaeus of Lyons, Clement of Alexandria, Athanasius the Great, Basil the Great, Gregory of Nazianzus, Gregory of Nyssa, Ambrose of Milan, Hilary of Poitiers, Augustine of Hippo, Maximus the Confessor, John of Damascus, and countless others reference or allude to the ideas, categories, and images from Homer, Plato, Aristotle, the historians, the

dramatists, and other ancient Greek authors to illustrate and explain Christian teachings, just as the apostle Paul did in the New Testament.3

Even more amazing is the fact that on the walls of many churches and monasteries in Greece (and even on many icons) there are depictions of some of the ancient “pagan” authors (including Homer, the Sibyl, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Thucydides, Apollonius, Plutarch, and others) next to the depictions of the great saints of the past (though without the halos that identify the saints). This is because these pre-Christian authors were thought of as “forerunners” of Christianity, having used human reason to try to follow the prompting of their consciences, to try to find the God all humans know is there because all are made in His image. Though they could not find Him on their own without Christ the Logos, they were feeling in the right direction. Justin Martyr, one of the early “fathers,” says that the “seed of the Logos” is present everywhere;4 that is, the knowledge of God is implanted in all things because all things have been made and are continually sustained by God the Word. And most amazing of all is that some of the early Christian writers—Justin Martyr himself, for example—say that some ancient Greeks like Socrates could be called, in some sense, “Christians”, though they didn’t know Christ by name, because they had been faithful to what little light they’d been given in the witness of creation and their consciences, and so probably “saved.”5

Whether we agree with this or not is irrelevant. The point is that the early Christians did not reject all of pagan thought—though naturally some of it must be rejected—

3 See, for instance, Acts 9, 17, 26; 1 Corinthians 1-3, 9, 15; and Titus 1.

4 Justin Martyr, Second Apology, chs.8 and 13.

5 Ibid. ch. 46.

but instead loved and used it, redeeming it by appreciating what was good, true, and beautiful in it (God being the true source of those things) and turning it to fully Christian purposes. The prevailing attitude among Christians not only in this early period but throughout Christian history has always been that Christ does not come to destroy cultures but to redeem them.6

One famous Christian advocate of ancient learning was Augustine, the great bishop of Hippo in north Africa, who had a classical education as a young man. He became a brilliant teacher of literature and rhetoric but quit teaching when he became a Christian—not because he rejected those things but because he refused to “arm the enemies of Christ.”7 In other words, he saw classical learning as a powerful thing to be put into the right hands, not the wrong ones. He complains in his Confessions about some aspects of his classical education as a youth, but not about the education itself—rather, he objects to the emphasis on correctness in learning with no corresponding emphasis on virtue.8 And most famously, he exhorts Christians to “plunder the Egyptians”—that is, to take what is valuable from classical learning but leave the chaff.

“If those who are called philosophers, and especially the Platonists, have said aught that is true and in harmony with our faith, we are not only not to shrink from it, but to claim it for our own use from those who have unlawful possession of it . . . all branches of heathen learning have not only false and superstitious fancies and heavy burdens of unnecessary toil, which

6 See Don Richardson’s books Peace Child and Eternity in Their Hearts for a modern example of this perspective.

7 Augustine, Confessions, Book IX, ch.2.

8 Ibid., Book. I, ch. 13–18.

Note:

The preview of the extended introductory material ends here to make room for a preview of the text. The following pages include Book I.

T he I l I ad

Homer Invoking the Muse

B ook I: The Wrath of Achilleus

The Quarrel

Sing, goddess, the ruinous wrath of Achilleus, Peleus’s son, that caused countless woes for the Achaians, hurled down to Hades many mighty souls of heroes, and made their bodies a feast for dogs and birds of prey; and so the will of Zeus was fulfilled from the time when strife first parted Atreus’s son, the king of men, and noble Achilleus. Who among the gods brought the two together to fight in strife? Leto’s and Zeus’s son Apollo; for, in anger at the king, he sent a dreadful plague upon the army, so that the people

Athene Suppressing the Fury of Achilleus

began to perish, because the son of Atreus had dishonored Chryses the priest. For the priest had come to the Achaians’ fast ships to win his daughter’s freedom, and brought a great ransom, carrying in his hands the wreath of Apollo the Archer upon a golden staff, and entreated all the Achaians, and most of all the two sons of Atreus, commanders of the people: “Sons of Atreus and all you bronze-greaved Achaians, now may the gods who have homes on Olympus grant you to destroy the city of Priam and to arrive safely home; but set my dear child free and accept the ransom in reverence to the son of Zeus, Apollo the Archer.”

Then all the other Achaians cried out in agreement, to reverence the priest and accept his splendid ransom; but it did not please the heart of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, and he roughly sent him away and laid a stern order upon him, saying: “Do not let me find you, old man, among the hollow ships, neither lingering now or returning again later, lest the scepter and wreath of the god not help you. I will not set her free before old age comes on her in my house, in Argos, far from her country, plying the loom and serving my bed. So depart, and do not provoke me, that you may return safely.”

So he spoke, and the old man was afraid and obeyed his word and went silently along the shore of the loud-sounding sea. Then that aged man stood far off and prayed aloud to King Apollo, whom the lovely-haired Leto bore: “Hear me, God of the Silver Bow, who protects Chrysa and sacred Killa and powerfully rules Tenedos, O Smintheus!1 If ever I built a temple gracious in your eyes, or if ever I burnt for you the fat

1 An epithet for Apollo, meaning (according to many ancient sources) “mouse-god”; there were festivals dedicated to Apollo in some parts of Asia Minor for his protection against the mice who destroyed crops.

flesh of thighs of bulls or goats, fulfill for me my desire; let the Danaans pay for my tears with your arrows.”

So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him and came down from the peaks of Olympus angry at heart, bearing on his shoulders his bow and covered quiver. And the arrows shook upon his shoulders in wrath as the god moved; and he descended like the night. Then he sat apart from the ships and let an arrow fly; and dreadful was the sound of the silver bow. First he attacked the mules and swift dogs, but afterward, aiming at the men his bitter arrows, he struck them; and many pyres of the dead continually burned.2

For nine days now the shafts of the god ranged through the host; but on the tenth, Achilleus summoned the people to assembly, for the white-armed goddess Hera put in his mind that thought, because she had pity on the Danaans when she saw them dying. Now, when they had gathered and met in assembly, then swift-footed Achilleus stood up and spoke among them: “Son of Atreus, I think now that we shall return home again wandering, if we can even escape death, if war and pestilence together must ravage the Achaians. But come, let us now ask some prophet or priest, or an interpreter of dreams—for a dream too is from Zeus—who might tell us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, whether he blames us because of some vow or sacrifice, if perhaps he would accept the aroma of lambs or unblemished goats, and so take away the pestilence from us.”

So he spoke and sat down; and there stood up before them Kalchas son of Thestor, most excellent by far of prophets, who knew things that were and that would be and that had

2 Apollo’s anger in the form of a plague parallels Yahweh’s anger in the form of a plague in, among other places, the famous Old Testament passage in Numbers 25; there God’s anger is mentioned throughout the chapter, but the actual form it took is specifically described as a plague in verses 8 and 9.

been before, and guided the ships of the Achaians to Troy by his prophecy that Phoebus Apollo had given him. With good intent he addressed them and spoke: “Achilleus, dear to Zeus, you bid me to declare the anger of Apollo, the king that strikes from afar. Therefore I will speak; but swear that with all your heart you will aid me both by word and deed. For truly I think that I will provoke one who rules all the Argives with might and whom the Achaians obey. For a king is more mighty when he is angry with a lesser man; even though for a day he swallows his anger, yet he still keeps it in his heart till he satisfies it. Consider then, if you will keep me safe.”

And swift-footed Achilleus answered and spoke to him: “Take courage, tell whatever prophecy you know; for by Apollo dear to Zeus, by whose worship you, O Kalchas, declare your prophecy to the Danaans, none of them, while I live on the earth, shall lay violent hands upon you, not even if you mean Agamemnon, who now considers himself to be greatest by far of the Achaians.”

Then the noble prophet took courage and spoke: “Apollo is angry neither because of a vow nor because of a sacrifice, but because of the priest whom Agamemnon dishonored and did not set free his daughter and did not accept the ransoms. Therefore the Archer has brought woes upon us, yes, and will continue. Nor will he ever remove the loathsome pestilence from the Danaans till we have given the bright-eyed maiden to her father, unbought, unransomed, and have carried a holy sacrifice to Chrysa; then might we persuade him with our propitiation.”

So he spoke and sat down, and then the hero, wide-ruling Agamemnon, son of Atreus, stood up before them, grieved; and his dark heart was greatly filled with rage, and his eyes were like flashing fire. Angrily eyeing Kalchas, he addressed him: “You seer of evil, never yet have you told me a thing

that is pleasant. Evil is always the joy of your heart to prophesy, but never yet did you tell any good matter nor bring it to pass. And now with prophecy you declare among the Danaans that the Archer brings woes upon them because I would not take the splendid ransom for the maiden Chryseis, since I desire instead to keep her in my own house. Indeed, I prefer her to Klytaimnestra my wedded wife; in no way is she lacking beside her, neither in beauty nor stature nor wit nor skill. But even so I will give her back if that is better; I would rather see my people safe than perishing. Only prepare me a prize of honor immediately, lest I alone of all the Argives go unrewarded, which is improper; for you all see how my prize is departing from me.”

To him then answered swift-footed, godlike Achilleus: “Most noble son of Atreus, of all men most covetous, how shall the great-hearted Achaians give you a reward? We know of no stock of common treasure, but whatever spoil we took from captured cities has been already distributed, and it is unfitting to beg all this back from the people. But yield the girl to the god, and we Achaians will pay you back threefold and fourfold, if ever Zeus grants us to sack some well-walled city of Troy.”

The ruler Agamemnon answered and said to him: “Strong as you are, great Achilleus, you do not deceive me by treachery this way; you shall not outwit me or persuade me. Do you wish, in order to keep your reward, for me to sit vainly desiring one, and are you commanding me to give the girl back? But if indeed the great-hearted Achaians will give me a reward suited to my mind, let it be equal; but if they do not give it, then I myself will go and take your reward, or that of Aias or Odysseus, and lead it away; and he to whom I shall come will be angry. But indeed we will consider these things later; now let us launch a black ship on the great sea

and gather picked oarsmen and put in it a great sacrifice and embark Chryseis of the fair cheeks herself, and let one of our counselors be captain, Aias or Idomeneus or godlike Odysseus, or you, son of Peleus, most formidable of men, to make sacrifice for us and propitiate the Archer.”

Then Achilleus, fleet of foot, looked at him scowling and said: “Ah me, you who are clothed in shamelessness, of crafty mind, how shall any Achaian be persuaded by your words to go on a journey or to fight the foe? Not because of the Trojan spearmen did I come to fight, for they have not wronged me; they never drove off my oxen or horses, nor did they ever destroy my harvest in deep-soiled Phthia, the nurse of men, seeing there lies between us a long space of shadowy mountains and sounding sea; but you, O shameless one, we followed here to make you glad, by earning reward at the Trojans’ hands for Menelaos and for you, dog-faced one! And you threaten to take my reward, for which I have labored much, which the sons of the Achaians gave me. Never do I win rewards like yours, when the Achaians sack any populous city of Trojan men; my hands bear the brunt of furious war, but when the division of spoil comes then your reward is far greater, and I return to the ships with some small thing of my own, when I have fought to exhaustion. Now I will depart to Phthia, seeing it is far better to return home on my sharpprowed ships; nor am I inclined to remain here in shame to earn for you riches and wealth.”

Then Agamemnon, king of men, answered him: “Flee by all means, if your mind has been driven to do so. Nor do I for my part beg you to stay because of me. I have others by my side that will do me honor, and above all Zeus, Lord of counsel. You are most hateful to me of all kings, beloved of Zeus; you always love strife and wars and fightings. If you are very strong, perhaps a god gave this to you. Go home with

your ships and companions and rule the Myrmidons; I care nothing for you, nor do I care about your anger. And this will be my threat to you: seeing Phoebus Apollo takes from me Chryseis, I will send her with my ship and my companions, but I will go myself to your dwelling and take Briseis of the fair cheeks, your reward of honor, that you may well know how far greater I am than you, and so another may fear to declare himself equal to me and to rival me to my face.”

So he spoke, and grief came upon Peleus’s son, and his heart within his shaggy chest was divided in counsel, whether to draw his keen blade from his thigh and scatter the company and slaughter the son of Atreus, or to hold his anger and restrain his soul. While he agitated over these things in his mind and soul and was drawing his great sword from his sheath, Athena came to him from heaven, for the white-armed goddess Hera sent her, whose soul loved both alike and cared for them. She stood behind Peleus’s son and caught him by his golden hair, only visible to him, and none of the others saw her. Then Achilleus marveled, and turned round and immediately recognized Pallas Athene; and her eyes shone dreadfully. He spoke to her winged words and said: “Why have you come, O child of aegis-bearing3 Zeus? Is it to behold the insolence of Agamemnon, son of Atreus? But I will tell you, and I think it will come to pass: by his own arrogance he shall soon lose his life.”

Then the bright-eyed goddess Athene spoke to him again: “I came from heaven to allay your anger, if you will obey me, being sent forth by the white-armed goddess Hera, who loves and cares for you both equally in her soul. But come, cease

3 The “aegis” is a terrifying device, usually conceived of as an animal skin or a shield with the head or face of Medusa, the snake-haired Gorgon, on it; it represents Zeus but is usually carried by Athene, his daughter, to symbolize her acting on her father’s behalf.

from strife, nor draw the sword with your hand; indeed reproach him with words as may be. For this I declare, and this also will be fulfilled: hereafter three times as many splendid gifts shall come to you, because of this insolence; but restrain yourself, and obey us.”

And swift-footed Achilleus answered and said to her: “It is fitting indeed, O goddess, for a man to keep the words of you two, although angry at heart; for this is best. Whoever obeys the gods, to him they gladly listen.” He spoke and held his heavy hand on the silver hilt and thrust the great sword back into the sheath and was not disobedient to the speech of Athene; and she swiftly departed to Olympus, to the other gods in the palace of aegis-bearing Zeus.

Then Peleus’s son spoke again with reviling words to Atreus’s son and did not cease from anger: “You drunkard, with a dog’s eyes and a deer’s heart, at no time has your soul dared to be armed for war together with the people nor to lay ambush with the Achaian chiefs; this seems death to you. Truly it is much better to seize for yourself the gifts of any man throughout the wide army of the Achaians who speaks against you. You are a king devouring the people, since you rule worthless men; if it were not so, son of Atreus, this offense would be your last. But I will declare unto you and swear a great oath by this scepter that shall never more put forth leaves and branches, since it has left its trunk in the mountains, nor will it sprout again because the knife has stripped it of leaves and bark; and now the sons of the Achaians that minister justice bear it in their hands, who guard the laws from Zeus—so shall this be a mighty oath to you—truly shall a longing for Achilleus come at some time upon all the sons of the Achaians; and then you will in no way be able to help them, in spite of all your grief, when many fall dying before manslaying Hektor. Then you will tear your heart within you

for anger that you did not honor the best of the Achaians.” So spoke the son of Peleus and dashed to earth the scepter studded with golden nails and sat down. But on the other side the son of Atreus raged.

Then in their midst rose up Nestor, pleasant of speech, the clear-voiced orator of the Pylians, he from whose tongue flowed speech sweeter than honey. Two generations of mortal men he had already seen perish that long ago had been born and nurtured with him in sacred Pylos, and he was king in the third. With good intention he addressed them and said: “Alas, truly great grief has come upon the land of Achaia. Indeed Priam would be glad and Priam’s sons, and all the Trojans would rejoice in their hearts, if they should hear of this strife between you two that are chief of the Danaans in counsel and in battle.

“But listen to me; you are both younger than I. In former times I kept company with better men than you, and never did they make light of me. I never beheld such warriors, nor will I, as were Peirithoos and Dryas, shepherd of the host, and Kaineus and Exadios and godlike Polyphemos, and Theseus son of Aigeus, like unto the immortals. They were the mightiest of all men upon the earth; the mightiest, and they fought with the mightiest, the wild beast-men of the mountains, and destroyed them utterly. And with these I kept company, having come from Pylos, from a far distant land, for they themselves summoned me. So I played my part in combat; and with them no man now living on earth could do battle. And they took to heart my counsels and hearkened to my voice. Even so you hearken also, for better it is to obey. You must not, though you are very great, seize the maiden from him, but leave her, as she was given at the first by the sons of the Achaians to be a reward of honor; nor must you, son of Peleus, think to strive with a king, might against

might, since no ordinary honor is given to a sceptered king to whom Zeus has given glory. Though you are strong, and a goddess mother bore you, yet his is the greater place, for he is king over more. And you, son of Atreus, calm your anger; I beseech you to let go your anger with Achilleus, who is a great bulwark from evil war for all the Achaians.”

Then Lord Agamemnon answered and said: “Truly, old man, all this that you say is according to right. But this man would be above all others; he would be lord of all and king among all and captain to all, but in those things I think none will obey him. Though the immortal gods made him a spearman, do they therefore permit him to speak such revilings?”

Then godlike Achilleus abruptly answered him: “Truly I should be called a coward and worthless if I yield to you in everything you say. To others give your orders, not to me, for I think I will obey you no longer. I will tell you another thing, and turn it over in your mind. I for my part will by no means raise my hands to fight on account of the girl, neither with you nor with any other, since you have given but now take her away. But of all else that is mine beside my swift black ship you shall take nothing nor bear it away against my will. If you wish, come, make the attempt, that all these may know the truth; quickly your black blood will gush around my spear.”

So when these two had contended with violent words, they arose and dissolved the assembly beside the Achaian ships. The son of Peleus went his way to his tents and trim ships with Menoitios’s son and his company, and the son of Atreus launched a fleet ship on the sea and picked twenty oarsmen for it and loaded the great sacrifice for the god and brought Chryseis of the fair cheeks and set her on board, and prudent Odysseus went to be their captain. Then they, having embarked, sailed over the watery ways.

Meanwhile the son of Atreus commanded the people to purify themselves. So they cleansed themselves and cast the defilements into the sea and sacrificed to Apollo unblemished great sacrifices of bulls and goats along the shore of the endless sea, and the swirling aroma rose to heaven with the smoke.

Thus they busied themselves throughout the host; but Agamemnon did not cease from the strife with which he had threatened Achilleus at the first. He spoke to Talthybios and Eurybates, who were his heralds and diligent servants: “Go to the tent of Achilleus, Peleus’s son, and take Briseis of the fair cheeks by the hand and lead her here; and if he will not give her, then I will go myself, and more with me, and seize her; and that will be more grievous for him.”

So saying he sent them forth and added threatening words. Unwillingly they went along the beach of the endless sea and came to the tents and ships of the Myrmidons. They found him sitting beside his tent and black ship; nor did he rejoice when he saw these two. They stood in fear and reverence before the king and said nothing, nor did they question him. But he knew in his heart and spoke to them: “Hail, heralds, messengers of Zeus and men. Come near. You are not guilty in my sight, but Agamemnon is, who sent you for the sake of the girl Briseis. Go now, Zeus-born Patroklos, bring forth the girl, and give her to them to lead away. But let these two themselves be witnesses before the blessed gods and mortal men, and against this cruel king, if at any time there should be need of me to ward off shameful destruction. For truly he rages with a ruinous mind, and has he thought at all to look ahead or behind, that the Achaians might fight safely for him beside the ships.”

Achilleus’s Appeal to Thetis

So he spoke, and Patroklos obeyed his dear companion and led from the tent Briseis of the fair cheeks and gave her to them to lead away. And these two went back again to the ships of the Achaians, and with them went the woman all unwilling. Then Achilleus wept and sat himself apart from his companions on the shore of the gray water, gazing upon the wine-dark sea; he stretched forth his hands and prayed much to his dear mother: “Mother, since you have borne me to be short-lived, high-thundering Olympian Zeus should at least have granted me honor; but now he has not honored me even a little. Indeed Atreus’s son, wide-ruling Agamemnon, has dishonored me; for he has taken away my reward of honor himself and keeps her.”

So he spoke, shedding tears, and his noble mother heard him as she sat in the depths of the sea beside her old father. Instantly she rose from the gray sea, like a mist, and sat herself before him, shedding tears, and caressed him with her hand and spoke and called him by name: “Child, why do you weep? And why has sorrow overwhelmed your mind? Speak out, do not hide it in your mind, that we both may know it.”

Then groaning heavily, Achilleus, swift of foot addressed her: “You know; why should I tell these things to you when you know them all? We went to Thebe, the holy city of Eetion, and we sacked it and carried here all the spoils. And the sons of the Achaians divided all these things well among them; and for the son of Atreus they set apart Chryseis of the fair cheeks. But Chryses, priest of Apollo the Archer, came to the swift ships of the bronze-greaved Achaians to win his daughter’s freedom and brought a vast ransom, carrying in his hands the wreath of Apollo the Archer upon a golden

staff, and made his petition to all the Achaians, and most of all to the two sons of Atreus, commanders of the host. Then all the other Achaians cried assent, to reverence the priest and accept his splendid ransom; yet the thing did not please the heart of Agamemnon, son of Atreus, but roughly he sent him away and laid a stern order upon him. So the old man went back in anger; and Apollo heard his prayers, because he loved him greatly, and he aimed against the Argives his deadly arrows. So the people began to perish in multitudes, and the god’s shafts ranged everywhere throughout the wide army of the Achaians. Then, having full knowledge, the prophet declared to us the oracle of the Archer. Immediately I urged propitiating the god; but anger seized Atreus’s son and, quickly rising, he made a threatening speech, which has now been fulfilled. The bright-eyed Achaians are bringing her on their swift ship to Chryse and bear with them offerings to the king; and just now the heralds went and took from my tent the daughter of Briseus, whom the sons of the Achaians gave me. You therefore, if you are able, protect your son. Go to Olympus and beseech Zeus if at any time you have pleased his heart by any word or deed. For often I have heard you boasting in my father’s halls when you said that you alone among the immortals warded off terrible destruction from the black-clouded son of Kronos, when the other Olympians wanted to bind him—Hera, Poseidon, and Pallas Athene. But you, goddess, came and freed him from his chains, having quickly summoned to high Olympus the hundred-armed one whom the gods call Briareus, but all men call Aigaion—for he is mightier even than his father. So he sat himself by the son of Kronos, exulting in glory, and the blessed gods feared him and did not bind Zeus. Remind him of this and sit by him and clasp his knees, and perhaps he may be willing to help the Trojans and might drive the stricken Achaians back

to their ships’ sterns and the sea, that they all may respect their king, and that even wide-ruling Agamemnon, the son of Atreus, may understand his crime, because he did no honor to the best of the Achaians.”

Then Thetis, weeping, answered him: “Ah me, my child, why did I rear you, having borne you to such unhappiness? If only you could sit near the ships, tearless and unharmed, since your destiny is a short life and not long, but now you are soon doomed and most unhappy of all men. In an evil hour I bore you in our halls. But I will go myself to snow-clad Olympus to speak your words to Zeus, who delights in the thunder, if perhaps he may hearken to me. But stay now among your swift-going ships and be angry with the Achaians, but refrain utterly from battle: for Zeus went yesterday to Okeanos, to the noble Ethiopians, for a feast, and all the gods followed him; but on the twelfth day he will return to Olympus, and then will I venture to Zeus’s palace with the bronze threshold and will kneel before him, and I think I will persuade him.”

So saying she went her way and left him there, vexed in spirit for the fair-girdled girl’s sake, whom they had taken by force against his will; and meanwhile Odysseus came to Chryse with the holy and great sacrifice. When they had entered the deep harbor, they furled their sails and laid them in the black ship and lowered the mast by the forestays and settled it quickly into the crutch and rowed her with the oars to the anchorage. Then they cast out the anchors and made fast the cables, and they went on to the sea-beach and brought forth the great sacrifice for the Archer Apollo, and out came Chryseis from the seafaring ship. Then Odysseus of many counsels brought her to the altar and put her into her father’s arms and addressed him: “Chryses, Agamemnon, king of men, sent me to bring you your daughter and to offer to Phoebus a holy great sacrifice on the Danaans’ behalf, with

which to propitiate the king who has brought sorrow and lamentation on the Argives.”

So saying he put her in his arms, and he gladly received his dear child; and quickly they set in order for the god the holy great sacrifice around his well-built altar; next they washed their hands and took up the barley meal. Then Chryses lifted up his hands and prayed aloud for them: “Hearken to me, god of the silver bow, who stands over Chryse and holy Killa and rules Tenedos with might; even as once you heard my prayer and honored me and greatly afflicted the people of the Achaians, so now fulfill this desire of mine: remove from the Danaans immediately the loathsome pestilence.”

So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. When they had prayed and sprinkled the barley meal, first they drew back the victims’ heads and slaughtered them and flayed them and cut slices from the thighs and wrapped them in fat, making a double fold, and laid raw portions upon them, and the old man burnt them on split wood and made an offering over them of gleaming wine; and at his side the young men in their hands held five-pronged forks. When the thighs were burnt and they had tasted the vitals, they sliced all the rest and pierced it through with spits and roasted it carefully, then drew it all off again. When they had rested from the task and made ready the banquet, they feasted, nor was anything lacking which their hearts desired in the feast. But when they had put away the desire of eating and drinking, the young men filled the bowls brimming with wine and gave each man his portion after the drink-offering had been poured into the cups. So all day long they worshiped the god with music, singing a lovely hymn, the sons of the Achaians making music to the Archer; and his heart was glad to listen. When the sun went down and darkness came on them, they slept near the ship’s cables. When rosy-fingered Dawn ap -

peared, the child of morning, then they set sail for the wide camp of the Achaians; and Apollo the Archer sent them a favoring wind. They set up their mast and spread out the white sails, and the wind swelled the sail, and the dark wave sang loud around the stem as the ship made way, and she sped across the wave, completing her journey. Then when they had come to the wide camp of the Achaians, they drew up their black ship to land high upon the sands and set in line the long props beneath her; and they scattered themselves among their tents and ships.

But the Zeus-born son of Peleus, Achilleus swift of foot, was angry as he sat by his swift-faring ships; he went neither to the assembly that is the hero’s glory nor to war but pined away in his heart, remaining there, and longed for the war-cry and for war.

Thetis’s Appeal to Zeus

Now when the twelfth dawn after that had come, then the immortal gods all went to Olympus together, led by Zeus. And Thetis did not forget her son’s order, but she found Kronos’s son of the far-sounding voice sitting apart from all on the topmost peak of many-ridged Olympus. So she sat herself before him and with her left hand clasped his knees and with her right took him by the chin and, appealing to him, she addressed the king Zeus, son of Kronos: “Father Zeus, if ever I pleased you amongst the immortals, whether by word or deed, fulfill my desire: honor my son for me, he who is doomed to earliest death of all men; now Agamemnon, king of men, has dishonored him, for he has taken away his reward and keeps her himself. But honor him, Olympian Zeus

who provides; give power to the Trojans until the Achaians honor my son and repay him with greater honor.”

So she spoke; but Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer, said no word to her and sat long in silence. But as Thetis had clasped his knees, so she held him, clinging, and questioned him a second time: “Promise me now this thing truly and bow your head in assent; or else deny me, since there is nothing for you to fear, that I may know how dishonored I am among all.”

Then Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer, groaning heavily, addressed her: “Indeed there will be ruinous results if you set me at odds with Hera, for she may provoke me with reproachful words. She always chides me, though in vain, amidst the immortal gods, and says that I assist the Trojans in battle. But depart now, lest Hera notice anything; and I will take care to fulfill these things. Come now, I will bow my head to you, that you may be persuaded; for that, on my part, is the surest sign amid the immortals; for my word is neither revocable nor false nor unfulfilled when I have bowed my head to it.” The son of Kronos spoke and nodded his dark brows, and the divine locks waved on the king’s immortal head; and he made great Olympus quake.

Thus the two parted, having consulted; she leapt then into the deep sea from bright Olympus, and Zeus went to his own home. All the gods together rose from their seats in the presence of their father; nor did anyone dare to await his coming, but all together stood up before him. So he sat himself there upon his throne; but Hera saw and was not unaware that the daughter of the Old Man of the Sea, Thetis the silver-footed, had taken counsel with him. Immediately she addressed Zeus the son of Kronos with biting words: “Now who among the gods, O crafty one, has devised plans with you? It is always dear to you to decide secret things, de-

liberating apart from me; nor have you ever been willing to tell me the things you propose.”

Then the father of gods and men answered her: “Hera, do not hope to know all my counsels; they would be harmful for you, even though you are my wife. But whatever it may be fitting for you to hear, no one either of gods or men will know it before you. But whatever things I may wish to take thought of apart from the gods, do not question or inquire into them.”

Then Hera, the ox-eyed4 queen, answered him: “Most dread son of Kronos, what word is this you have spoken? Before now I have not questioned you much nor inquired, but very privately you plan whatever things you may wish. But now I have feared greatly in my mind lest silver-footed Thetis, daughter of the Old Man of the Sea, may persuade you, for earlier she sat herself near to you and took hold of your knees. To her indeed I think you nodded assent that you would honor Achilleus and destroy many beside the Achaians’ ships.”

Zeus, the Cloud-Gatherer, addressed her: “O watchful one, always indeed you suspect me, nor do I escape your notice. Yet you will be able to do nothing, but will be further from my heart; that will be the worse for you. But if this thing is so, then such must be my good pleasure. Sit down in silence and obey my words, lest all the gods that are in Olym-

4 “Ox-eyed” here and other places (e.g., also used of Klymene, one of Helen’s handmaidens in Book 3) means generally large, soft, liquid eyes—that is, it is simply an epithet of beauty, so it might be rendered, “lovely-eyed”. Athene is often called “grey-eyed” for the same reason, and it means the same thing, but the word for “grey-eyed” can also mean “owl-eyed”. Because of this, scholars used to assume that the ox and owl in the epithets for the goddesses were relics of a time when the gods were worshiped in animal form as in Egypt, but in fact there is no evidence for any such thing happening in any period in Greek (or preGreek) religion.

pus be no help to you against me, when I lay my invincible hands on you.”

He spoke, and Hera, the lovely-eyed queen, was afraid and sat in silence, curbing her heart; but throughout Zeus’s palace the gods of heaven were troubled. Then Hephaistos the famed craftsman began to address them, to do a kindness to his mother, white-armed Hera: “Truly this will be a sorry matter, nor tolerable any longer, if you two thus fight for mortals’ sakes and bring wrangling among the gods, nor will there be any more joy in the glorious feast, seeing that evil triumphs. So I counsel my mother, though she herself is wise, to do kindness to our dear Father Zeus, so that our father does not rebuke us again and disturb the feast. For if the Olympian of the Lightning wishes to dash us from our seats he can. For he is by far the mightiest. But soothe him with soft words; then the Olympian will be gracious to us.”

So he spoke and arose and placed in his dear mother’s hand the two-handled cup and spoke to her: “Endure, my mother, and bear up, though you are grieved, lest I see you, dear as you are, chastised before my eyes; and then I will not be able for all my sorrow to save you, for the Olympian is difficult to oppose. Once before this, when I wished to save you, he caught me by my foot and hurled me from the heavenly threshold; all day I fell and, at the setting of the sun, I fell in Lemnos and little life was in me. There the Sintian people received me after I fell.”

So he spoke, and the white-armed goddess Hera smiled and, smiling, took the cup from her son’s hand. Then he poured wine to all the other gods from right to left, ladling the sweet nectar from the bowl. And irresistible laughter arose amid the blessed gods when they saw Hephaistos serving throughout the palace. So they feasted all day till the setting of the sun; neither was anything that their souls desired

lacking in the banquet, nor in the beautiful lyre that Apollo held, nor in the Muses singing with sweet antiphonal voices. Now when the bright light of the sun had set, they each, wishing to rest, went to his own house, where the famous Hephaistos, in both hands equally clever, had made a house for each one with his cunning skill; and Zeus the Olympian, Lord of the lightning, went to his bed where he always took his rest, whenever sweet sleep came upon him. There he went up and slept, and beside him was Hera of the golden throne.