As saffron-robed Dawn rose out of the Oceanic
streams, bringing light to mortals and immortals
alike, Thetis came to the ships carrying gifts
from the gods. She found her dear son clutching
Patroclus and crying aloud as his comrades stood
around him and wept. Divine Thetis went
to his side, took her son’s hand, and said to him:
“Child, for all our grief, we must let this man be,
since his death was the will of the gods. But take
this fine, wondrous armor made by Hephaestus;
truly, no man has ever shouldered its like.”

So saying, the goddess set the armor down before
Achilles, the metal making a rattling sound.
Then all Myrmidons trembled in fear, none
daring to look at the armor. But when Achilles
saw the arms, his rage intensified, and his eyes
burned with a fearsome fire under his eyelids.
As his mind looked with delight at the splendid
armor, he spoke winged words to his mother:
“Mother, these arms are truly the work of a god,
for no mortal could hope to forge their like.
Now I can start arming for battle. All the same,
I worry flies will enter the body of Menoetius’
stout son, and worms will begin breeding
in his bronze-made wounds, and he will
become befouled. After all, life has been
stripped from him, so his flesh will start to rot.”

Then silver-footed Thetis replied to him:
“Child, do not cloud your mind with such
fears. I will protect this man from the tribe
of savage flies who devour men slain in battle;
even if he lies there for a whole cycle of seasons,
his flesh will remain firm—or even stronger.
But you must assemble the Achaean warriors,
end your feud with Agamemnon, shepherd of men,
arm yourself for war, and ready your spirit.”

So saying, she sent her son steadfast courage
and dropped into Patroclus’ nose ambrosia
and red nectar, so his flesh would remain firm.

Then godlike Achilles went to the seashore, gave
a fearsome cry, and roused the Achaean warriors.
And even those who usually stayed by the ships
and avoided gatherings—like captains, oarsmen,
or ship stewards who dispense food—answered
the call to assembly when Achilles appeared,
for he had long avoided grievous battle. Two
servants of Ares came limping, the steadfast
son of Tydeus and noble Odysseus, each using
spears as crutches, their wounds still sore;
they came and sat in the front of the assembly.
Last came Agamemnon, ruler of men, who was
nursing a wound he received after being struck
by the bronze spear of Coön, son of Antenor.
When all the Achaeans had gathered together,
swift-footed Achilles stood and addressed them:
“Son of Atreus, do you think that we two are
better off after filling our hearts with grief
and fighting in savage fury over a girl?
If only Artemis had killed her with an arrow
on the day I sacked Lyrnessus and took her,
then fewer Achaeans would have been driven
into the dust by enemy hands while I raged.
Hector and the Trojans profited, but the Achaeans
will long remember this feud between you and I.
But as painful as it may be, we must let the past
be the past and set aside the anger in our hearts;
Now I end my rage, for unrelenting anger
does me no good. So come, let us quickly
rouse the long-haired Achaeans to war, so I
may battle the Trojans and find out if they
still wish to sleep by our ships. Many, I think,
will gladly rest their limbs should they survive
the furies of war and the storm of our spears.”

So he spoke, and the well-greaved Achaeans
cheered the great-hearted son of Peleus
for ending his wrath. Then Agamemnon, lord
of men, spoke from his seat, without standing:
“Warriors and friends, Danaan, servants of Ares,
it is wise to listen to the speaker and unwise
to interrupt one so skilled. And given the crowd,
how could anyone else be heard? This would
make any speaker struggle. Now, son of Peleus,
I declare my mind to you, and the rest of you
should listen carefully to these words. Many times
have the Achaeans spoken these words to me,
reproaching me, but I am not at fault—Zeus is,
as are the Moirai and the dark-stepping Erinyes
who filled my heart with reckless rage on that day
in assembly when I stripped Achilles of his prize.
But what could I do? It was the will of the gods.
Zeus’ oldest daughter is cursed Atë, deceiver
of all, whose soft feet step not on the ground
but over the heads of men, bringing them
to ruin; she has shackled many besides myself.
Once, she even deceived Zeus, though he is
the greatest among men and gods. On the day
when Alcmene was ready to bear Heracles
in well-crowned Thebes, Hera, who is only
a woman, deceived him with her wiles.
Zeus boasted to all the gods, telling them:
‘All you gods and goddesses, listen to me
as I speak the words my heart commands.
Today, Eileithyia who soothes childbirth will
bring to light a ruler for all those who live
around him, a man who is of my own blood.’
Then queen Hera cunningly replied to him:
‘You will be made a liar, your words rendered
moot. But come, lord of Olympus, and swear
to me a mighty oath that whoever falls
between a woman’s feet today and is
of your blood will rule all living near him.’
So she said, and Zeus swore a mighty oath,
blinded as he was by her trickery. Hera flew
down the Olympian peaks and soon came
to Achaean Argos, where she found the wife
of Sthenelus, son of Perseus, who was seven
months pregnant with her son. Hera brought
the child into the light two months early and held
off Eileithyia so Alcmene would not deliver.
Then she addressed the son of Cronos, saying:
‘Father Zeus, lord of lightning, hear my words.
A man has been born who will rule the Argives:
Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, who is Perseus’ son.
He will not disgrace the Argives as their king.’
So she said, and sharp pain and anger struck deep
within Zeus’ mind; at once, he grabbed Atë
by her golden-haired head and swore a mighty
oath that Atë, deceiver of all, would never return
to Olympus or the starry heavens. Then he whirled
her round and threw her from the starry heavens,
and she soon landed in a tilled field. Zeus would
wail and think of her when he saw his dear son
undertake one of Eurysthesus’ shameful labors.
Thus, when flashing-helmed Hector was killing
Argives back at the ships’ sterns, I too could not
forget Atë, who first blinded me. And since I was
blinded and stripped by Zeus of my senses, I wish
to make amends and offer countless ransoms.
So rise for battle, and ready the rest of your men.
I offer you all the gifts that Odysseus promised
you yesterday when he visited your tents.
Or, if you prefer, wait here and my attendants
will go to my ships and return with your gifts,
so you will know if my gifts satisfy your spirit.”

Then swift-footed Achilles answered him:
“Son of Atreus, Agamemnon, great ruler of men,
you can give me the gifts, as is proper, or keep
them for yourself. But now let us quickly focus
on the fight ahead; there is no need to prattle on
or waste time, for great work is left undone.
As you again see Achilles among the foremost
fighters, killing Trojan battalions with his bronze
spear, so remember this as you fight your foes.”

But Odysseus of many counsels replied to him:
“As great a warrior as you are, godlike Achilles,
do not send the Achaean sons to Ilios to fight
the Trojans on empty stomachs, for the battle
will not be a short one once the fighting forces
meet and the gods breathe fury into both armies.
Order the Achaeans by the swift ships to take
food and wine and so gain strength and courage.
No man is capable of fighting the foe all day
long, from sunup to sunset, while starving;
for even though his heart may wish to wage war,
when thirst and hunger hit him, his limbs will
gradually grow heavy and his knees will weaken.
But when a man has had his fill of food and wine,
he can fight the enemy all day long, for the heart
in his chest is full of courage and his limbs stay
strong until all fighting has come to an end.
So order your army to disperse and prepare
their meals, and let Agamemnon, lord of men,
bring the gifts to the middle of the assembly
so all Achaeans can see them, and so your heart
is satisfied. And let him stand before all Argives
and swear to you that he never went to Briseïs’
bed or slept with her, as is natural for men
and women, and let your heart be gracious.
Then let him make amends to you with a fat feast
in his tent, so you may have your due. And you,
son of Atreus, will be more honorable to others
in the future, for it is no disgrace for one king
to appease another when he is first to grow angry.”

Then Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him:
“Son of Laertes, your words please me, for you
have recounted the events fairly and accurately.
My heart urges me to swear this oath, and I will
not perjure myself before the gods. Let Achilles
remain here, though Ares hastens him on, and let
all the others remain here as well until the gifts
from my tent arrive and we swear solemn oaths.
And I order you to select men—the best from all
the Achaeans—to bring from my ships the gifts
that we promised to give Achilles yesterday
along with the women. And tell Talthybius
to prepare a boar in the middle of the wide
camp for me to sacrifice to Zeus and Helios.”

Then swift-footed Achilles answered him:
“Great son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord
of men, worry about these things later on,
when there is a break in the battle and the rage
in my chest is not so strong. Right now, men
lie butchered, killed by Hector, son of Priam,
to whom Zeus grants glory, yet you want us
to eat? I would command the sons of Achaea
to go into battle without breaking their fast,
and then, after sunset, prepare a great feast
once vengeance has been served. Before then,
neither drink nor food will go down my throat,
for my dearest friend lies dead in my tent,
his flesh torn apart by a sharp spear, his feet
turned towards the front door, and his comrades
around him weeping. The only things I care
about are murder, blood, and the tears of men.”

Then wily Odysseus answered him, saying:
“Achilles, son of Peleus, mightiest Achaean,
you are stronger than me and better by far
with the spear, but I surpass you in wisdom
since I am older than you and have learned
more. So let your ego listen to my words.
Men quickly reach their fill of battle. Even
when bronze fills the ground like scattered
straw, the harvests are slim once Zeus, who
controls the wars of men, balances his scales.
We cannot mourn the dead with our bellies,
for we would never take a break from fasting
since men fall one after another, day after day.
No, we must bury the dead and then steel
our hearts after a single day of grieving.
Then those of us who are left in this hateful
war must remember to eat and drink so we
can continue to battle the enemy non-stop,
clad in indestructible bronze. And let no man
hold back and await some other summons,
for this is the call: any who remain beside
the Achaean ships will regret it. So let us go
as one and battle the horse-taming Trojans.”

So saying, he set off for Agamemnon’s tent,
taking with him Nestor’s glorious sons, along
with Meges, son of Phyleus, Thoas, Meriones,
Lycomedes, son of Creon, and Melanippus.
He gave the order, and they soon went to work
carrying from the tent all that was promised:
seven tripods, twenty fiery cauldrons, twelve
horses, and seven women skilled in handiwork,
along with the eighth, fair-cheeked Briseïs.
Odysseus then weighed out ten talents of gold
and led the young, gift-towing Achaeans back
to the assembly, where they set down the gifts.
Then Agamemnon rose, and beside him stood
Talthybius, with a voice like a god’s, holding
a boar. Atreus’ son grabbed the knife that
always hung beside his great sword’s scabbard,
cut the boar’s bristles, lifted his hands to Zeus,
and prayed, and all the Argives sat in silence,
as is proper, and listened to their king, who
looked upon the spacious heavens and said:
“Let Zeus, greatest of the gods, be my witness,
along with Gaia, Helios, and the Furies, who
torment men below earth when they perjure
themselves, that I never laid a hand on the girl,
Briseïs, either to embrace her in bed or in any
other way, but kept her in my tents, untouched.
If I am lying, then let the gods send me great grief,
the kind they inflict on those who swear falsely.”

So saying, he cut the boar’s throat with ruthless
bronze; then Talthybius turned and threw
the animal into the grey sea to be food for fish.
But Achilles stood and addressed the Achaeans:
“Father Zeus, great deceiver of men’s minds,
the son of Atreus would never have roused
the fury within my breast or arrogantly led
the girl away against my will if Zeus had not
desired many Achaeans to die. But, for now,
let us eat dinner so we may join the battle.”

So he said, and the assembly broke up, each
man scattering to his own ship. But the great-
hearted Myrmidons carried the gifts back
to godlike Achilles’ ship. They placed the gifts
in the tents and left the women to settle while
noble attendants drove the horses to the herd.

But when Briseïs, looking like golden Aphrodite,
saw Patroclus’ body torn apart by a sharp spear,
she threw herself upon him, wailed, and tore
at her breast, neck, and fair face with her nails.
And as she mourned, she spoke like a goddess:
“Patroclus, most dear to my aching heart,
when I was taken from the tent, you were alive,
but now that I return, leader of men, you are
dead, yet another tragedy forced upon my life.
I saw the man to whom I was given in marriage
by my father and mother torn apart by a sharp
spear in our city, and my three dear brothers,
born to the same mother, were also killed that day.
But you did not let me weep when swift Achilles
killed my husband and sacked the city of godlike
Mynes. You vowed to make me Achilles’ wedded
wife, lead me to Phthia, and give me a wedding
feast with the Myrmidons. So I mourn your death
with endless tears, for you were always kind.”

So she said, crying, and the women joined her,
each weeping for Patroclus and her own sorrows.
But the Achaean leaders surrounded Achilles,
begging him to eat; still, he refused, saying:
“My dear comrades, if any of you will hear me,
then please stop asking me to sate my heart
with food and drink, for grief consumes me,
and I will continue fasting until the sun sets.”

So he said, and the other kings departed save
for the sons of Atreus, godlike Odysseus, Nestor,
Idomeneus, and old Phoenix, driver of horses.
They tried to comfort Achilles, but his soul would
not be stilled until he joined the bloody battle.
He sighed, remembering Patroclus, and said:
“My dearest, most ill-fated friend, you used
to quickly and deftly set out delicious dinners
for us in our tent, when the Achaeans joined
in woeful war against the horse-taming Trojans.
But now you lie there, cut down, but my heart
refuses the food and drink before me in longing
for you. No greater grief could I suffer, not even
if I learned of the death of my own father,
who is probably in Phthia crying round tears
in longing for his son in a far off foreign land
fighting Trojans for the sake of horrible Helen;
or of my dear son, godlike Neoptolemus, who
is being raised for me on Scyros, if he still lives.
Before, the heart in my chest hoped only that
I would die here in Troy, far from the horse
pastures of Argos, and you would go back
to Phthia, take my son away from Scyros
in the swift, black ships, and share with him
my possessions, my slaves, and my lofty home.
For I fear that Peleus has either altogether
died or has been worn thin by miserable
old age and by waiting for a message
to arrive announcing that I am dead.”

So he said, crying, and the elders joined him,
each man remembering those he left behind.
Seeing them mourn, the son of Cronos felt
pity and quickly called Athena, saying to her:
“My child, you have foresaken your warrior.
Is there no place in your mind for Achilles?
He sits there in front of his high-sterned ships
mourning for his dear friend; while others
eat their dinners, he fasts and refuses food.
Go and fill his chest with nectar and divine
ambrosia, so he will not grow hungry.”

His words roused an already-eager Athena,
who flew through the sky like a wide-winged,
shrieking hawk. And as the Achaeans quickly
armed for battle, she poured nectar and divine
ambrosia over Achilles’ chest so painful hunger
would not reach his limbs. Then she returned
to her mighty father’s well-built home while
the Achaeans rushed out of their swift ships.
Just as snowflakes from Zeus fly thick and fast
when sent by the North Wind’s blasting cold,
so the bright, shining helmets, bossed shields,
solid-plated breastplates, and ashen spears flew
thick and fast from the ships. The gleam rose
to the heavens, and the whole earth laughed
at the flashing of bronze and crashing of men’s
feet, and among them, godlike Achilles armed
for war. With a heart filled with unbearable
grief and eyes that burned with a fiery hatred
for Troy, he gnashed his teeth and put on
the gifts forged by the labors of Hephaestus.
First he fixed to his calves the beautiful greaves
with silver ankle fasteners. Then he put
the breastplate on his chest, slung his silver-
studded bronze sword over his shoulders,
and grabbed his huge, sturdy shield that
even from a distance glowed like the moon.
Like sailors who see across the waves a bright
flame burning alone atop an island hill after
a storm has carried them against their will
over the fish-filled sea, away from their friends,
so Achilles’ fine, well-made shield sent a flash
of fire up to the heavens. He lifted and set
on his head a stout helmet with a horsehair crest
that shone like a star and a thick, golden plume
that Hephaestus had set waving along the ridge.
Then godlike Achilles tested how well the armor
fit and how well he moved within it, and he
found that armor felt like wings lifting him up.
Then he picked from its socket his father’s heavy,
long, and strong spear that no other Achaean
but Achilles was skilled enough to wield:
an ashen spear from Pelion’s peak that Chiron
gave his dear father, a gift for slaying heroes.
Automedon and Alcinous yoked his horses,
set the fine breast strap around them, placed
the bridles in their jaws, and stretched the reins
behind the chariot. Then Automedon took
the whip in his hands and leapt upon the chariot
while Achilles took his place behind him, shining
in his armor like bright Hyperion, and called
with a terrible voice to his father’s horses, saying:
“Xanthus and Balius, far-famed sons of Podarge,
be sure to bring your charioteer back safely
to the Danaan army when fighting is finished,
and do not leave him to die as you did Patroclus.”

Under the yoke, swift-moving Xanthus suddenly
answered him, for white-armed Hera gave him
the power of speech; bowing his head so his mane
fell past the yoke and touching the ground, he said:
“Yes, mighty Achilles, we will save you this time,
but your day of doom is near, and the great gods
and dreadful fate will be the cause, not us. It was
not because we were slow or lazy that the Trojans
stripped Patroclus of his armor; it was because
Apollo, the son of fair-haired Leto, killed him
among the front fighters, granting Hector glory.
We two could run as fast as the blasting West Wind,
which men say is the swiftest, but you are fated to be
killed in mighty combat by a mortal and a god.”

When finished, the Furies took his voice away.
Then swift-footed Achilles, greatly vexed, replied:
“Xanthus, why prophecy my death? There is
no need, for I know it is my fate to die here, far
from my dear father and mother; still, I will not
stop until I give the Trojans their fill of war.”

Then he cried out and led his horses to the front.