Iliad by Homer, W. H. Rouse (Translator), Nadia May (Read by)

From Barnes & Noble

One of the greatest stories ever told, the Iliad recounts the war between the Trojans and Achaeans and the personal and tragic struggle of the fiery-tempered Achilles. A timeless epic of war, duty, honor, and revenge, set in an age when gods battled alongside men.

From the Publisher

Before Greece had tragedy, comedy, history, or even formal schools, there was Homer. Greeks, young and old, learned about the realities of life by hearing separate episodes from Homer sung at public festivals, and then remembering the stories through the power of song. What they remembered was what mattered most.

These epics offered bluntly honest views of life. Think of that as you are listening to Stanley Lombardo. When he performs Homer, we feel what Bob Dylan calls the 'inner substance' of great folk songs, their 'pulse and vibration and rumbling force'. We grasp the power words had before books, movies and iPods™. Homer taught the ancient Greeks about life, death, love and war. Now in Lombardo's words and voice, Homer teaches us, too.

"This gave me the opportunity to participate in a project featuring two great and important works, Homer's Iliad and Odyssey, and to further support the revival of Greek History and the Classics."

-Susan Sarandon, Narrator of Synopses and Introductions

James Davidson

Stanley Lombardo's new Iliad has a photograph of a D-Day landing on the cover and makes a reckless dash for the idiomatic. It is generally a fine and enjoyable version, but its colloquialism sometimes lapses jarringly, occasionally amusingly, into cliche.
Copyright 1983 The H.W. Wilson Company. All rights reserved. - The London Review of Books

Daniel Mendelsohn

Lombardo manages to be respectful of Homer's dire spirit while providing on nearly every page some wonderfully fresh refashioning of his Greek. The result is a vivid and sometimes disarmingly hard-bitten reworking of a great classic. . . . Not all of Lombardo's gambles pay off, and his attention-grabbing colloquialisms sometimes undermine the force of the original. . . . Still, thesuccess of so many of Lombardo's choices more than makes up for the false notes. . . . That {Lombardo's} daring new 'Iliad' is so specifically of and for our time reminds us--and right now it's a point worth being reminded of--that Homer's poem is for all time. - The New York Times

Science Daily

If you are interested in a modern recording of an ancient classic, then I would recommend this without reservation. After listening to Lombardo, he has won me over and I'm a big fan.

Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Ravay Snow-Renner, Ph. D. - Children's Literature

This work uses fast-paced prose to tell the epic tale of the ten-year siege of Troy by the Greeks after Paris' abduction of the beautiful Helen, wife of King Menelaus of Greece. True to the original by Homer, the role of the gods is emphasized throughout, from the prologue, which describes Paris' encounter with Athene, Hera and Aphrodite, through the epilogue, in which Athene is credited with the idea for the Trojan Horse. This version emphasizes the epic's high adventure aspect—focusing on battles, heroes and the role of the gods. The author demonstrates considerable familiarity with the original and achieves an admirable fluency in combining the original's formal poetic language patterns and imagery and an engaging, swift narrative style. Victor Ambrus' distinctive style and active illustrations do credit to the story, although, in some instances, the transition from full-color (in previous editions) to black and white has resulted in unclear images: the value ranges in some illustrations are too close for clear distinction among figures. Although it does not address the Iliad's entire scope (leaving out some characters in the interest of brevity and cohesiveness), the work is extremely valuable for teaching young people the basic plot of the Iliad and for providing them with a good approximation of its poetic devices. 2004, Kingfisher/Houghton Mifflin, Ages 8 to 14.

Children's Literature

Think of it as Cliff Notes with style-Greek mythology made simple for the young (and young-at-heart) masses. And why not? English actor/producer and now writer Ian Strachan has taken this two-thousand-year-old saga of men and gods and successfully translated English into English, accompanied handsomely by four-color illustrations. In many ways, it is reminiscent of my high school (or was it college) class in which reading The Iliad was part of the curriculum. I can remember lengthy discussions of plot and symbolism as we dissected each phrase on the path to fully understanding Homer's epic poem about the siege of Troy. Has Strachan retained its classic flavor? Not to worry. The integrity of the story is maintained. In other words there is no one saying, "Yo Achilles, what's happenin'?" (By the way, there's a handy glossary of characters at the back of the book along with a pronunciation guide.)

Library Journal

With the publication of Robert Fagels's impressive translation of the Odyssey (Viking Penguin, 1996, pap.) and now this equally impressive translation of the Iliad by Lombardo, this year seems to blazon something of a Homeric renaissance. Lombardo concedes from the start that "Homer's musicality cannot be heard in any kind of English," and so he does not compose his Iliad in hexameters or, for that matter, in any standard, regular meter. Instead, based on his experience as an oral performer of Homer's poetry, he writes the lines "based on the cadences of natural speech." The result is a Homer that "is brought to life" for the modern reader with no loss of original integritythe achievement of a scholar, translator, and performer. Accessible and readable as Lombardo's translation is, it is rendered even more so by the superb, comprehensive introduction by Sheila Murnaghan, which provides a rich but lucid discussion of the classical context of the epic. A helpful appendix provides thumbnail sketches of the major characters, a catalog of combat deaths, and an "Index of Speeches." This handsome, superbly done Iliad will be read and enjoyed by everyone. Highly recommended for all libraries.Thomas F. Merrill, formerly with Univ. of Delaware

School Library Journal

Gr 4-6--Gory battles dominate this rendering of the ancient epic. A thorough prologue provides background details that set the story near the beginning of the Trojan War. Achilles, who is angry with Agamemnon, refuses to fight with the Greek army. After losing his best friend, he rejoins the battle and avenges Patroclus's death by killing Hector. Gods and goddesses join in the willful contests that propel this story. In a brief epilogue, the war ends with the infamous Trojan Horse; a helpful cast of characters is also included. Strachan carefully follows the action of the original story but eschews oral tradition and brings this version, which reads like a made-for-television movie script, into the `90s. The ancient bard relied heavily on epithets, metaphor, simile, and formalized language; Strachan has boiled out all the flavor of Homer. Well-executed, neo-classic illustrations that depict the action are generously spread throughout. Though the human figures look more European than Greek, the battle gear and costumes appear authentic, and Ambrus uses watercolor in striking ways to portray bloody battle scenes. If students are clamoring for the Greek epics, this is an acceptable purchase.--Angela J. Reynolds, West Slope Community Library, Portland, OR

Booknews

Michael Pierce Reck (1928-1993) was a poet, educator, specialist in classical and Far Eastern languages and associate of Ezra Pound. His translation focuses on the events and action of the story and emphasizes the tempo of the narrative, using the vernacular when it serves these aims. Chapters are helpfully subtitled for the student. Contains an introduction, glossary, plot summary, and brief historical outline. Annotation c. Book News, Inc., Portland, OR (booknews.com)

Kirkus Reviews

An illustrated retelling of the events of Homer's tale, focusing primarily on the battles between the Greeks and the Trojans after Achilles stomps off in a huff over Agamemnon's arrogance and insults. In an extremely crowded field, this version from Strachan (The Flawed Glass, 1990, etc.) has several virtues. While explaining everything clearly, it does not condescend to its target audience. The flowing prose makes no attempt to mimic Homer, but is possessed of a rhythm of its own. Its main advantage, however, is found in the vigorous descriptions of the fighting, matched by Ambrus's atmospheric pictures—gory but not too realistic. Strachan, although a bit forward about Hector's private name for his son, Scamandrius (a.k.a. Astyanax), pitches the story toward those who are keen for the "exciting parts," and readers will cheer and moan over the battles. Those who elect to read this aloud may succeed in converting members of the Mortal Kombat generation to fans of Homer's epic story.

What People Are Saying

Harry Levin
The line-for-line rendering brings it very close to the original. The fast pace of the rhythm and the earthy energy of the vernacular manage to catch the excitement of the story itself. It comes through--relatively unfiltered--with a surprising impact.

Product Details

• ISBN: 078610127X
  
• ISBN-13: 9780786101276
• Format: MP3 on CD
• Publisher: Blackstone Audio, Inc.
• Pub. Date: August 2007
• Edition Description: Unabridged, 1 Disc, 12 hrs 30 mins
• Sales Rank: 263,205

• Table of Contents
• Read an Excerpt
• Read a Sample Chapter

Table of Contents

Read an Excerpt

The Greeks--called Achaeans, Argives, or Danaans--have been besieging Troy for nine years. Their commander Agamemnon, Atreus' son, seizes the lady Briseis, captive of his best warrior, Achilles.

Sing, Goddess, Achilles' maniac rage:

ruinous thing! it roused a thousand sorrows

and hurled many souls of mighty warriors

to Hades, made their bodies food for dogs

and carrion birds--as Zeus's will foredoomed--

from the time relentless strife came between

Atreus' son, a king, and brave Achilles.

Which immortal brought about that quarrel?

None but Apollo--he sent pestilence

to ravage the Achaeans: indignantAgamemnon had spurned his priest Chryses,

who came to those high-beaked ships on the beach

with a vast ransom for his daughter, held

the wreaths of archer Apollo upraised

on a golden staff and implored them all,

especially their two distinguished lords:

"Atreus' sons and you other Achaeans,

may the gods on Olympus grant that you

sack Priam's city and return safe home,

but take the ransom, release my dear child,respect Apollo's unspeakable power."

And all the other warriors roared hurrah

for reverencing the priest, taking ransom,

but Atreus' son Agamemnon was not

pleased a bit, sent him scathingly away:

"Now see here, you old man, let me never

catch you hanging around our ships again,

or the god's staff and wreaths may not save you.

I won't free that girl, she will stay with me

till old age takes her in Argos, my home,working the loom and lying in my bed.

Don't vex me--go away while you still can."

That aged priestwas frightened and obeyed,

slipped silently off by the booming sea,

and after he had gone some distance, prayed

fervently to far-worker Apollo:

"O Silverbow who stands over Chrys_

and holy Cilla, who rules Tenedos,

god of pestilence, remember how I

honored you with delightful offeringsof bulls and goats, so fulfill my appeal:

let them pay for my tears with your arrows."

Phoebus Apollo granted his prayer,

strode from tall Olympus in a fury,

quiver and bow slung over his shoulders,

and the arrows clattered upon his back

as that god advanced. He came like the night.

Not far from the ships he knelt down and shot

with a dreadful crash of his silver bow:

first ravaged the mules, next those agile hounds,and the warriors themselves felt his weapons

sting--and pyres for the dead burned everywhere.

Nine days long the god's arrows swept their camp,

then Achilles summoned an assembly

on the inspiration of queen Hera,

who pitied her people as they perished.

After those Danaans had come together

Achilles rose among them and declared:

"Atreus' son, now we may be driven off

and sail for home, if we survive at all,

with war and plague both devastating us.

But let's ask a soothsayer or a priest

or some interpreter of sacred dreams

who can tell us why that god is angry,

if we failed in vows or in sacrifice,

and he may take offerings of lambs or goats

to save our people from his pestilence."

After he had spoken, he sat. And up

rose Calchas, most distinguished diviner,

who knew all past and present and futureand had guided the Danaan ships to Troy

by his prophecy, gift of Apollo.

Then he addressed them with these measured words:

"Very well, Achilles--you wish to know

why archer Apollo is indignant,

so I shall tell you. But first you must swear

to defend me with your words and your deeds,

because what I say will infuriate

a man who rules our people mightily.

An angry king can crush a commoner--though he swallows his rage that very day,

he won't give up his grudge till he gets me.

Consider it well: can you keep me safe?"

And that swiftfooted Achilles answered him:

"Courage, dear fellow--tell us what you know.

I swear by Apollo, whom you invoke

when you declare your oracles to us,

no one, while I live and see on this earth,

will lay heavy hands on you by our ships--

no one here, not even Agamemnon,who boasts he is far better than us all."

That wise diviner took heart and declared:

"It's no matter of vows or sacrifice

but only the priest that Agamemnon

slighted when he wouldn't free his daughter--

therefore the god has ravaged us, and will.

Our Danaans cannot be out of danger

till that girl is returned to her father

unransomed and holy sacrifice sent

to Chrys‰. Then Apollo might relent."

After he had spoken, he sat. And up

rose Atreus' son mighty Agamemnon,

fuming: his dark heart was drenched with anger

and his eyes glittered like flickery flame.

Glaring fiercely at Calchas, he bellowed:

"Not a single pleasant word for me, eh?

Yes, you love to prophesy trouble, won't

say anything good or make it happen.

So now you'd like to persuade our people

Apollo has afflicted us becauseI decline to ransom Chryses' daughter

and would rather keep her for my own home.

Well, I prefer her to Clytemnestra,

my own wedded wife--she's just as pretty

and not inferior in intelligence.

I shall give her back if it's better so--

a prince must see to his people's welfare--

though I must have some replacement: I can't be

the only one here without some booty,

and all of you see I'm letting her go."

Then Peleus' son Achilles answered:

"Glorious Agamemnon, greedy man,

what replacement can possibly be given?

We made no depot of common treasure--

all we captured has been distributed,

and taking that back would not be proper.

Return her, as the god commands, and you

shall have three or four times more after Zeus

allows us to sack that city of Troy."

Glorious Agamemnon roared in reply:"You may be good at battle, Achilles,

but you can't put anything past me!

So you may keep your plunder, why should I

go without? You'd like me to give up mine?

Our people can grant me another prize

that suits my mind, a gift equal to yours--

if not, I'll go myself and take something

of yours or of Aias or Odysseus.

The person I come to will not be glad.

But we can consider all this later--now let's set a ship on the rippling sea

with a crew of sturdy rowers, oxen

for sacrifice, and Chryses' fair daughter

herself. And we'll choose a canny captain--

Aias or Idomeneus or Odysseus

or even you, terrible Achilles--

to appease the anger of Apollo."

And nimble Achilles shouted, scowling:

"Ah, you unscrupulous shifty scoundrel,

why did our people obey your commandsand travel so far to fight your battles?

No Trojan spearmen had ever harmed me

before I came here to enter combat--

neither stolen my cattle and horses

nor plundered my harvests back in Phthia,

since a good deal lies between our peoples,

shadowy mountains and the booming sea.

But we all followed you here, you swindler,

to get revenge for you and your brother--

and little gratitude we've had for it.This time you threaten to take the lady

I won in war, a gift from our people.

I never have booty like yours when we

sack some prosperous Trojan citadel,

though almost all the desperate fighting

falls to my hands. If spoils are ever split,

yours is far more, while I bring some trinket<%END%>

Read a Sample Chapter

ILIAD 1

Rage:

Sing, Goddess, Achilles' rage, Black and murderous, that cost the Greeks Incalculable pain, pitched countless souls Of heroes into Hades' dark, And left their bodies to rot as feasts For dogs and birds, as Zeus' will was done. Begin with the clash between Agamemnon— The Greek warlord—and godlike Achilles.

Which of the immortals set these two At each other's throats?

Apollo, Zeus' son and Leto's, offended By the warlord. Agamemnon had dishonored Chryses, Apollo's priest, so the god Struck the Greek camp with plague, And the soldiers were dying of it. Chryses Had come to the Greek beachhead camp Hauling a fortune for his daughter's ransom. Displaying Apollo's sacral ribbons On a golden staff, he made a formal plea To the entire Greek army, but especially The commanders, Atreus' two sons:

"Sons of Atreus and Greek heroes all: May the gods on Olympus grant you plunder Of Priam's city and a safe return home. But give me my daughter back and accept This ransom out of respect for Zeus' son, Lord Apollo, who deals death from afar."

A murmur rippled through the ranks: "Respect the priest and take the ransom." But Agamemnon was not pleased And dismissed Chryses with a rough speech:

"Don't let me ever catch you, old man, by these ships again, Skulking around now or sneaking back later. The god's staff and ribbons won't save you next time. The girl is mine, and she'll be an old woman in Argos Before I let her go, working the loom in my house And coming to my bed, far from her homeland. Now clear outof here before you make me angry!"

The old man was afraid and did as he was told. He walked in silence along the whispering surf line, And when he had gone some distance the priest Prayed to Lord Apollo, son of silken-haired Leto:

"Hear me, Silverbow, Protector of Chryse, Lord of Holy Cilla, Master of Tenedos, And Sminthian God of Plague! If ever I've built a temple that pleased you Or burnt fat thighbones of bulls and goats— Grant me this prayer: Let the Danaans pay for my tears with your arrows!"

Apollo heard his prayer and descended Olympus' crags Pulsing with fury, bow slung over one shoulder, The arrows rattling in their case on his back As the angry god moved like night down the mountain.

He settled near the ships and let loose an arrow. Reverberation from his silver bow hung in the air. He picked off the pack animals first, and the lean hounds, But then aimed his needle-tipped arrows at the men And shot until the death-fires crowded the beach.

Nine days the god's arrows rained death on the camp. On the tenth day Achilles called an assembly. Hera, the white-armed goddess, planted the thought in him Because she cared for the Greeks and it pained her To see them dying. When the troops had all mustered, Up stood the great runner Achilles, and said:

"Well, Agamemnon, it looks as if we'd better give up And sail home—assuming any of us are left alive— If we have to fight both the war and this plague. But why not consult some prophet or priest Or a dream interpreter, since dreams too come from Zeus, Who could tell us why Apollo is so angry, If it's for a vow or a sacrifice he holds us at fault. Maybe he'd be willing to lift this plague from us If he savored the smoke from lambs and prime goats."

Achilles had his say and sat down. Then up rose Calchas, son of Thestor, bird-reader supreme, Who knew what is, what will be, and what has been. He had guided the Greek ships to Troy Through the prophetic power Apollo Had given him, and he spoke out now:

"Achilles, beloved of Zeus, you want me to tell you About the rage of Lord Apollo, the Arch-Destroyer. And I will tell you. But you have to promise me and swear You will support me and protect me in word and deed. I have a feeling I might offend a person of some authority Among the Greeks, and you know how it is when a king Is angry with an underling. He might swallow his temper For a day, but he holds it in his heart until later And it all comes out. Will you guarantee my security?"

Achilles, the great runner, responded: "Don't worry. Prophesy to the best of your knowledge. I swear by Apollo, to whom you pray when you reveal The gods' secrets to the Greeks, Calchas, that while I live And look upon this earth, no one will lay a hand On you here beside these hollow ships, no, not even Agamemnon, who boasts he is the best of the Achaeans."

And Calchas, the, perfect prophet, taking courage:

"The god finds no fault with vow or sacrifice. It is for his priest, whom Agamemnon dishonored And would not allow to ransom his daughter, That Apollo deals and will deal death from afar. He will not lift this foul plague from the Greeks Until we return the dancing-eyed girl to her father Unransomed, unbought, and make formal sacrifice On Chryse. Only then might we appease the god."

He finished speaking and sat down. Then up rose Atreus' son, the warlord Agamemnon, Furious, anger like twin black thunderheads seething In his lungs, and his eyes flickered with fire As he looked Calchas up and down, and said:

"You damn soothsayer! You've never given me a good omen yet. You take some kind of perverse pleasure in prophesying Doom, don't you? Not a single favorable omen ever! Nothing good ever happens! And now you stand here Uttering oracles before the Greeks, telling us That your great ballistic god is giving us all this trouble Because I was unwilling to accept the ransom For Chryses' daughter but preferred instead to keep her In my tent! And why shouldn't I? I like her better than My wife Clytemnestra. She's no worse than her When it comes to looks, body, mind, or ability. Still, I'll give her back, if that's what's best. I don't want to see the army destroyed like this. But I want another prize ready for me right away. I'm not going to be the only Greek without a prize, It wouldn't be right. And you all see where mine is going."

And Achilles, strong, swift, and godlike:

"And where do you think, son of Atreus, You greedy glory-hound, the magnanimous Greeks Are going to get another prize for you? Do you think we have some kind of stockpile in reserve? Every town in the area has been sacked and the stuff all divided. You want the men to count it all back and redistribute it? All right, you give the girl back to the god. The army Will repay you three and four times over—when and if Zeus allows us to rip Troy down to its foundations."

The warlord Agamemnon responded:

"You may be a good man in a fight, Achilles, And look like a god, but don't try to put one over on me— It won't work. So while you have your prize, You want me to sit tight and do without? Give the girl back, just like that? Now maybe If the army, in a generous spirit, voted me Some suitable prize of their own choice, something fair— But if it doesn't, I'll just go take something myself, Your prize perhaps, or Ajax's, or Odysseus', And whoever she belongs to, it'll stick in his throat.

But we can think about that later. Right now we launch A black ship on the bright salt water, get a crew aboard, Load on a hundred bulls, and have Chryseis board her too, My girl with her lovely cheeks. And we'll want a good man For captain, Ajax or Idomeneus or godlike Odysseus— Or maybe you, son of Peleus, our most formidable hero— To offer sacrifice and appease the Arch-Destroyer for us."

Achilles looked him up and down and said:

"You shameless, profiteering excuse for a commander! How are you going to get any Greek warrior To follow you into battle again? You know, I don't have any quarrel with the Trojans, They didn't do anything to me to make me Come over here and fight, didn't run off my cattle or horses Or ruin my farmland back home in Phthia, not with all The shadowy mountains and moaning seas between. It's for you, dogface, for your precious pleasure— And Menelaus' honor—that we came here, A fact you don't have the decency even to mention! And now you're threatening to take away the prize That I sweated for and the Greeks gave me. I never get a prize equal to yours when the army Captures one of the Trojan strongholds. No, I do all the dirty work with my own hands, And when the battle's over and we divide the loot You get the lion's share and I go back to the ships With some pitiful little thing, so worn out from fighting I don't have the strength left even to complain. Well, I'm going back to Phthia now. Far better To head home with my curved ships than stay here, Unhonored myself and piling up a fortune for you."

The warlord Agamemnon responded:

"Go ahead and desert, if that's what you want! I'm not going to beg you to stay. There are plenty of others Who will honor me, not least of all Zeus the Counselor. To me, you're the most hateful king under heaven, A born troublemaker. You actually like fighting and war. If you're all that strong, it's just a gift from some god. So why don't you go home with your ships and lord it over Your precious Myrmidons. I couldn't care less about you Or your famous temper. But I'll tell you this: Since Phoebus Apollo is taking away my Chryseis, Whom I'm sending back aboard ship with my friends, I'm coming to your hut and taking Briseis, Your own beautiful prize, so that you will see just how much Stronger I am than you, and the next person will wince At the thought of opposing me as an equal."

Achilles' chest was a rough knot of pain Twisting around his heart: should he Draw the sharp sword that hung by his thigh, Scatter the ranks and gut Agamemnon, Or control his temper, repress his rage? He was mulling it over, inching the great sword From its sheath, when out of the blue Athena came, sent by the white-armed goddess Hera, who loved and watched over both men. She stood behind Achilles and grabbed his sandy hair, Visible only to him: not another soul saw her. Awestruck, Achilles turned around, recognizing Pallas Athena at once—it was her eyes— And words flew from his mouth like winging birds:

"Daughter of Zeus! Why have you come here? To see Agamemnon's arrogance, no doubt. I'll tell you where I place my bets, Goddess: Sudden death for this outrageous behavior."

Athena's eyes glared through the sea's salt haze.

"I came to see if I could check this temper of yours, Sent from heaven by the white-armed goddess Hera, who loves and watches over both of you men. Now come on, drop this quarrel, don't draw your sword. Tell him off instead. And I'll tell you, Achilles, how things will be: You're going to get Three times as many magnificent gifts Because of his arrogance. Just listen to us and be patient."

Achilles, the great runner, responded:

"When you two speak, Goddess, a man has to listen No matter how angry. It's better that way. Obey the gods and they hear you when you pray."

With that he ground his heavy hand Onto the silver hilt and pushed the great sword Back into its sheath. Athena's speech Had been well-timed. She was on her way To Olympus by now, to the halls of Zeus And the other immortals, while Achilles Tore into Agamemnon again:

"You bloated drunk, With a dog's eyes and a rabbit's heart! You've never had the guts to buckle on armor in battle Or come out with the best fighting Greeks On any campaign! Afraid to look Death in the eye, Agamemnon? It's far more profitable To hang back in the army's rear—isn't it?— Confiscating prizes from any Greek who talks back And bleeding your people dry. There's not a real man Under your command, or this latest atrocity Would be your last, son of Atreus. Now get this straight. I swear a formal oath: By this scepter, which will never sprout leaf Or branch again since it was cut from its stock In the mountains, which will bloom no more Now that bronze has pared off leaf and bark, And which now the sons of the Greeks hold in their hands At council, upholding Zeus' laws— By this scepter I swear: When every last Greek desperately misses Achilles, Your remorse won't do any good then, When Hector the man-killer swats you down like flies. And you will eat your heart out Because you failed to honor the best Greek of all."

Those were his words, and he slammed the scepter, Studded with gold, to the ground and sat down.

Opposite him, Agamemnon fumed. Then Nestor Stood up, sweet-worded Nestor, the orator from Pylos With a voice high-toned and liquid as honey. He had seen two generations of men pass away In sandy Pylos and was now king in the third. He was full of good will in the speech he made:

"It's a sad day for Greece, a sad day. Priam and Priam's sons would be happy indeed, And the rest of the Trojans too, glad in their hearts, If they learned all this about you two fighting, Our two best men in council and in battle. Now you listen to me, both of you. You are both Younger than I am, and I've associated with men Better than you, and they didn't treat me lightly. I've never seen men like those, and never will, The likes of Peirithous and Dryas, a shepherd to his people, Caineus and Exadius and godlike Polyphemus, And Aegeus' son, Theseus, who could have passed for a god, The strongest men who ever lived on earth, the strongest, And they fought with the strongest, with wild things From the mountains, and beat the daylights out of them. I was their companion, although I came from Pylos, From the ends of the earth—they sent for me themselves. And I held my own fighting with them. You couldn't find A mortal on earth who could fight with them now. And when I talked in council, they took my advice. So should you two now: taking advice is a good thing. Agamemnon, for all your nobility, don't take his girl. Leave her be: the army originally gave her to him as a prize. Nor should you, son of Peleus, want to lock horns with a king. A scepter-holding king has honor beyond the rest of men, Power and glory given by Zeus himself. You are stronger, and it is a goddess who bore you. But he is more powerful, since he rules over more. Son of Atreus, cease your anger. And I appeal Personally to Achilles to control his temper, since he is, For all Greeks, a mighty bulwark in this evil war."

And Agamemnon, the warlord:

"Yes, old man, everything you've said is absolutely right. But this man wants to be ahead of everyone else, He wants to rule everyone, give orders to everyone, Lord it over everyone, and he's not going to get away with it. If the gods eternal made him a spearman, does that mean They gave him permission to be insolent as well?"

And Achilles, breaking in on him:

"Ha, and think of the names people would call me If I bowed and scraped every time you opened your mouth. Try that on somebody else, but not on me. I'll tell you this, and you can stick it in your gut: I'm not going to put up a fight on account of the girl. You, all of you, gave her and you can all take her back. But anything else of mine in my black sailing ship You keep your goddamn hands off, you hear? Try it. Let everybody here see how fast Your black blood boils up around my spear."

So it was a stand-off, their battle of words, And the assembly beside the Greek ships dissolved. Achilles went back to the huts by his ships With Patroclus and his men. Agamemnon had a fast ship Hauled down to the sea, picked twenty oarsmen, Loaded on a hundred bulls due to the god, and had Chryses' daughter, His fair-cheeked girl, go aboard also. Odysseus captained, And when they were all on board, the ship headed out to sea.

Onshore, Agamemnon ordered a purification. The troops scrubbed down and poured the filth Into the sea. Then they sacrificed to Apollo Oxen and goats by the hundreds on the barren shore. The smoky savor swirled up to the sky.

That was the order of the day. But Agamemnon Did not forget his spiteful threat against Achilles. He summoned Talthybius and Eurybates, Faithful retainers who served as his heralds:

"Go to the hut of Achilles, son of Peleus; Bring back the girl, fair-cheeked Briseis. If he won't give her up, I'll come myself With my men and take her—and freeze his heart cold."

It was not the sort of mission a herald would relish. The pair trailed along the barren seashore Until they came to the Myrmidons' ships and encampment. They found Achilles sitting outside his hut Beside his black ship. He was not glad to see them. They stood respectfully silent, in awe of this king, And it was Achilles who was moved to address them first:

"Welcome, heralds, the gods' messengers and men's. Come closer. You're not to blame, Agamemnon is, Who sent you here for the girl, Briseis.