that day I destroyed Lymessus, chose her as my prize.
How many fewer friends had gnawed the dust of the wide world,
brought down by enemy hands while I raged on and on.
Better? Yes—for Hector and Hector’s Trojans!
Not for the Argives. For years to come, I think,
they will remember the feud that flared between us both.
Enough. Let bygones be bygones. Done is done.
Despite my anguish I will beat it down,
the fury mounting inside me, down by force.
Now, by god, I call a halt to all my anger—
it’s wrong to keep on raging, heart inflamed forever.
Quickly, drive our long-haired Achaeans to battle now!
So I can go at the Trojans once again and test their strength
and see if they still long to camp the night at the ships.
They’ll gladly sink to a knee and rest at home, I’d say—
whoever comes through alive from the heat of combat,
out from under my spear!”
Welcome, rousing words,
and Achaeans-at-arms roared out with joy to hear
the greathearted Achilles swearing off his rage.
Now it was King Agamemnon’s turn to address them.
He rose from his seat, not moving toward the center.
The lord of men spoke out from where he stood:
“My friends, fighting Danaans, aides of Ares ...
when a man stands up to speak, it’s well to listen.
Not to interrupt him, the only courteous thing.
Even the finest speaker finds intrusions hard.
Yet how can a person hear or say a word?—
this howling din could drown the clearest voice.
But I will declare my inmost feelings to Achilles.
And you, the rest of you Argives, listen closely:
every man of you here, mark each word I say.
Often the armies brought this matter up against me—
they would revile me in public. But I am not to blame!
Zeus and Fate and the Fury stalking through the night,
they are the ones who drove that savage madness in my heart,
that day in assembly when I seized Achilles’ prize—
on my own authority, true, but what could I do?
A god impels all things to their fulfillment:
Ruin, eldest daughter of Zeus, she blinds us all,
that fatal madness—she with those delicate feet of hers,
never touching the earth, gliding over the heads of men
to trap us all. She entangles one man, now another.
Why, she and her frenzy blinded Zeus one time,
highest, greatest of men and gods, they say:
even Father Zeus! Hera deceived him blind—
feminine as she is, and only armed with guile—
that day in Thebes, ringed with tower on tower,
Alcmena was poised to bear invincible Heracles.
So the proud Father declared to all immortals,
‘Hear me, all you gods and all goddesses too,
as I proclaim what’s brooding deep inside me.
Today the goddess of birth pangs and labor
will bring to light a human child, a man-child
born of the stock of men who spring from my blood,
one who will lord it over all who dwell around him.’
But teeming with treachery noble Hera set her trap,
‘You will prove a liar ...
when the time arrives to crown your words with action.
Come now, my Olympian, swear your inviolate oath
that he shall lord it over all who dwell around him—
that child who drops between a woman’s knees today,
born of the stock of men who spring from Zeus’s blood.’
And Zeus suspected nothing, not a word of treachery.
He swore his mighty oath—blinded, from that hour on.
Speeding down in a flash from Mount Olympus’ summit
Hera reached Achaean Argos in no time, where,
she knew for a fact, the hardy wife of Sthenelus,
Perseus’ own son, was about to bear her child,
but only seven months gone. So into the light
Queen Hera brought the baby, two months shy,
and the goddess stopped Alcmena’s hour of birth,
she held back the Lady of Labor’s birthing pangs
and rushed in person to give the word to Zeus:
‘Zeus, Father, lord of the lightning bolt—
here is a piece of news to warm your heart!
Today an illustrious son is born to rule the Argives ...
Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, descended of Perseus—
so he is born of your own stock and immortal blood
and it’s only right for him to rule the Argives!’
With that, a stab of agony struck his deep heart.
Suddenly seizing Ruin by her glossy oiled braids—
he was furious, raging—now he swore his inviolate oath
that never again would she return to Olympus’ starry skies,
that maddening goddess, Ruin, Ruin who blinds us all.
With that he whirled her round in his massive hand
and flung her out of the brilliant, starry skies
and she soon found herself in the world of men.
But Zeus could never think of Ruin without a groan
whenever he saw Heracles, his own dear son endure
some shameful labor Eurystheus forced upon him.
And so with me, I tell you!
When tall Hector with that flashing helmet of his
kept slaughtering Argives pinned against our ships—
how could I once forget that madness, that frenzy,
the Ruin that blinded me from that first day?
But since I was blinded and Zeus stole my wits,
I am intent on setting things to rights, at once:
I’ll give that priceless ransom paid for friendship.
Gear up for battle now! And rouse the rest of your armies!
As for the gifts, here I am to produce them all,
all that good Odysseus promised you in full,
the other day, when he approached your tents.
Or if you prefer, hold off a moment now ...
much as your heart would spur you on to war.
Aides will fetch that treasure trove from my ship,
they’ll bring it here to you, so you can behold
what hoards I’ll give to set your heart at peace.“
But the swift runner Achilles broke in sharply—
“Field marshal Atrides, lord of men Agamemnon,
produce the gifts if you like, as you see fit,
or keep them back, it’s up to you. But now—
quickly, call up the wild joy of war at once!
It’s wrong to malinger here with talk, wasting time—
our great work lies all before us, still to do.
Just as you see Achilles charge the front once more,
hurling his bronze spear, smashing Troy’s battalions—
so each of you remember to battle down your man!”
But Odysseus fine at tactics answered firmly,