The Iliad

by Homer

Sing, Goddess, sing of the rage of Achilles,

Which of the gods incited these two men to fight? That god was Apollo, son of Zeus and Leto.

So Chryses prayed. Phoebus Apollo heard him. He came down from Olympus top enraged, carrying on his shoulders bow and covered quiver, his arrows rattling in anger against his arm.

For nine days Apollo rained death down upon the troops.

An angry king overpowers lesser men.

Even if that day his anger is suppressed, resentment lingers in his chest, until one day he acts on it.

But you, great shameless man, we came with you, to please you, to win honour from the Trojans— for you, dog face, and for Menelaus. You don’t consider this, don’t think at all.

I don’t fancy staying here unvalued, to pile up riches, treasures just for you.”

You love constant strife— war and combat. So what if you’re strong? Some god gave you that. So scurry off home.

To you that smells too much like death.

I fought on my own behalf, by myself.

you’ll get nothing else with my consent. If you’d like to see what happens, just try. My spear will quickly drip with your dark blood.”

Come, Patroclus, born from Zeus, fetch the girl.

Achilles then, in tears, withdrew from his companions, sat by the shore, staring at the wide grey seas. Stretching out his hands,[350] he cried aloud, praying repeatedly to Thetis, his beloved mother.

His noble mother heard him from deep within the sea, where she sat by her old father. Quickly she rose up, moving above grey waters, like an ocean mist, and settled down before him, as he wept.

I gave you life marked by an evil fate.

Far-shooting Apollo sent them favourable winds.

Thetis finished. Cloud gatherer Zeus did not respond. He sat a long time silent.

What you say will set Hera against me. She provokes me so with her abuse. Even now, 580 in the assembly of immortal gods, she’s always insulting me, accusing me [520]

“Hera, don’t hope to understand my every plan. Even for my own wife that’s dangerous. What’s appropriate for you to hear about, no one, god or man, will know before you.

Do as I say. If not, then all the gods here on Olympus won’t be any help, when I reach out to set my hands on you, for they’re invincible.”

Zeus finished speaking. Ox-eyed queen Hera was afraid—so she sat down, silently suppressing what her heart desired.

“Stay calm, mother, even though you are upset. If not, then, as beloved as you are, I may see you beaten up before my eyes, 660 with me incapable of helping out, though the sight would make me most unhappy. It’s hard to take a stand opposing Zeus.

Olympian Zeus, god of lightning, went home to his own bed, where he usually reclined whenever sweet sleep [610] came over him. He went inside and lay down there, with Hera of the golden throne stretched out beside him.

Still, it’s shameful to go home with nothing.

So let no man run off to get back home— not before he’s had sex with some Trojan’s wife, payment for Helen’s miseries, her cries of pain.

so we can stand all day and battle Ares, hateful god of war. We’ll get no respite, not even for a moment, except at dusk, 460 when nightfall separates the frenzied soldiers.

So he prayed. But Cronos’ son did not grant his wish. Zeus took the offering but increased their suffering.

With them strode Athena, her eyes glittering, holding up the aegis her priceless, ageless, eternal aegis, its hundred golden tassels quivering, each finely woven, valued at a hundred oxen.

As she passed, she roused in men that hot desire 530 to fight, to kill. At once she made each man feel war far sweeter than returning home, finer than sailing in the hollow ships back to his dear native land.

Among them powerful Agamemnon roamed, eyes and head like Zeus, who loves the thunder, waist like Ares, god of war, chest like Poseidon.

In their midst, Agamemnon put on a proud display, dressed in gleaming armour, prominent among all heroes. He was the best of all, because he had most men.

Menelaus strode—confident, courageous— rousing his troops for war, his heart passionate to avenge Helen’s struggles, her cries of pain.

Zeus, who governs gods and men, loved them, and so the son of Cronos blessed them with great wealth.

They had no one to lead them. Godlike Achilles, swift of foot, sat by his ships, still angry over fair-complexioned Briseis, seized from Lyrnessus after heavy fighting.

Because of her, Achilles sat still grieving. But soon enough he’d rouse himself again.

brave Protesilaus had led these men, while still alive. Now the black earth held him. In Phylace, [700] he left behind a wife to tear her cheeks in grief, home half complete.

Of the men, by far the best was Ajax, son of Telamon, but only while Achilles didn’t join in battle. For Achilles was the better man by far. The horses carrying Peleus’ son, man without equal, 850 [770] were much better, too. But he stayed behind, by his curved seaworthy ships, still enraged

Aeneas, Anchises’ worthy son, led the Dardanians. Goddess Aphrodite had borne him to Anchises. [820] She had lain with him on the slopes of Ida.

Amphius in cloth armour, Merops’ sons from Percote, who knew more of prophecy than anyone. He gave his children orders to stay away from war, which eats men up. They did not obey him.

You’d get no help then from your lyre, long hair, good looks—Aphrodite’s gifts—once face down, lying in the dirt.

With these words the goddess set in Helen’s heart sweet longing for her former husband, city, parents. [140] Covering herself with a white shawl, she left the house, shedding tears.

When Agamemnon saw dark blood flowing from the wound, that king of men shuddered. And Menelaus, who loved war, shuddered, too.

But, Menelaus, I’ll be in dreadful pain on your account, if you die, if Fate now ends your life, 200 [170] if I return to arid Argos totally disgraced.

By attacking us, these Trojans were the first to violate their oaths. Vultures will gnaw away their tender flesh, while we lead off their wives and their dear delicate children to our ships, when we’ve destroyed their city.”

By Father Zeus, Athena, and Apollo, I wish such spirit would fill each man’s chest.

Seeing him, mighty Agamemnon was elated. He spoke to Nestor. His words had wings.

A huge din arose—human cries of grief and triumph, [450] those killing and those killed. Earth flowed with blood.

But he did not repay his fond parents for raising him. His life was cut short on great Ajax’s deadly spear.

For on that day, many Trojans and Achaeans lay there side by side, stretched out together, face down in the dust.