While the Trojans held watch, it was fear’s
chilling cousin, panic, that held the Achaeans,
for their leaders were overwhelmed by grief.
Just as the twin winds Boreas and Zephyrus
emerge suddenly out of Thrace to stir
the fish-filled seas and raise a mass of black
waves that scatter seaweed along the shore,
so despair filled the hearts of all Achaeans.

But the son of Atreus, consumed with great
grief, ordered the clear-voiced heralds to join
him in quietly calling each man by name
to assemble. When the dispirited men had
all gathered, a grieving Agamemnon stood
before them, tears pouring from his face like
a river of black water falling from a steep cliff.
With a heavy groan, he said to the Argives:
“Friends, leaders, and advisors of the Argives,
great Zeus, son of Cronos, has ensnared me
in folly, for he promised me with a nod of assent
that I would sack great Ilios before going home,
but that was a foul trick, and now I must return
to Argos in shame, having lost many men.
Such are the pleasures of all-powerful Zeus,
who has razed many cities and will destroy
many more, for his strength is greatest of all.
So this is my commandment for all to obey:
let us sail back home to our beloved fatherlands,
for we shall never capture Troy’s wide streets.”

So he spoke, and all Achaean sons fell silent,
deeply troubled, and they stayed silent
until war-crier Diomedes addressed them:
“Son of Atreus, I will be first to protest this
foolishness, as is my right in assembly, so do
not be angry. I was the first Danaan you reviled
for lack of courage, calling me unwarlike
and cowardly; all Argives know this, old
and young. But Cronos’ wily son gave you only
half a gift: with the scepter, he granted you honor
above all, but he did not grant you the greater
gift, courage. Do you truly think the Achaean
sons are as unwarlike and cowardly as you claim?
If your heart is so keen to leave, then leave.
There is the road to the sea and to the many
ships you used to sail here from Mycenae.
But the other long-haired Achaean leaders
will stay until we sack Troy; and even if they
do sail back to their beloved fatherlands,
then Sthenelus and I will keep fighting
until Ilios is ours, for Zeus himself sent us here.”

So he said, and the Achaean sons cheered
in wonder at horse-tamer Diomedes’ words.
Then horseman Nestor stood and spoke:
“Son of Tydeus, you are mightiest in battle
and best of those your own age in council.
No Achaean will disparage or question
your words, but your speech is incomplete.
You are young enough to be my son,
and you provide wise counsel to the Argive
kings since you speak by right, but now, since
I am your elder, I will speak and declare all,
for no one will challenge my words, not even
lord Agamemnon. He who lusts for the terrors
of war among his own people is unworthy
of clan, laws, or home. But now let us accept
the blackness of night and prepare our meals,
and let guards stand watch in the trench
we dug beyond the wall. I give these orders
to the young men, but you, son of Atreus,
should lead, for you are the most royal.
Prepare a feast for the elders, as is right
and proper; your tents are filled with wine
brought from Thrace each day by Achaean
ships, so you should offer hospitality.
When all are gathered together, you will
take the wisest counsel. The Achaeans need
good and wise counsel, since foes burn watch
fires near our ships, and who rejoices at that?
This night will destroy our army or save it.”

So he spoke, and they eagerly heard and obeyed.
Guards in full armor gathered quickly around
Nestor’s son, Thrasymedes, shepherd of men,
and Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares,
and Meriones and Aphareus and Deïpyrus,
and the noble Lycomedes, son of Creon.
Each of these seven sentry leaders led one-
hundred young men, all wielding long spears.
Once in position between the trench and wall,
they kindled a fire and prepared their meals.

The son of Atreus led all the Achaean elders
to his tent and offered them an abundant feast.
They set their hands on the fine meal before
them, but after drinking and eating their fill,
the old man, Nestor, was first to weave his wise
counsel, for he always offered the best advice.
With good intent, he addressed the assembly:
“Son of Atreus, Agamemnon, great ruler
of men, I will begin and end with you, for you
rule over many men, and Zeus granted you
the scepter and the right to rule your people
justly. Therefore you must speak, listen,
and act on another’s advice when he speaks
for the good of all; but you have the final
word. Thus I will give to you my best advice.
No other man will devise a better plan than
the one I have had in mind for a long time now,
ever since that day, noble king, when you angrily
seized the girl Briseïs from the tent of Achilles
against our advice. I anxiously sought to dissuade
you, but you surrendered to your great heart
and dishonored this mighty man whom the gods
cherish by taking and keeping his prize; so now
we must arrange to make amends and persuade
him with soothing words and pleasing gifts.”

Agamemnon, lord of men, answered him:
“Old man, your recount of my folly is no lie;
I was reckless, and I do not deny it. Worth
many warriors is this man beloved by Zeus,
who honors him by hurting the Achaean army.
Since my actions were those of a blind fool,
I must make amends and offer countless gifts.
So before you all I shall name these gifts:
seven tripods untouched by fire, ten talents^[1]
of gold, twenty gleaming kettles, and twelve
fit horses who are all race champions. A man
would not be without riches, nor would he be
without precious gold, if given the prizes won
for me by my single-hoofed horses. I will also
give him seven women of Lesbos, each skilled
in craftwork and unmatched in beauty, which
I chose on the day Achilles captured well-built
Lesbos. These I will give him, and among them
will be the girl Briseïs; and I will swear an oath
that I never went to her in bed or slept with her,
as is customary for men and women. All
these things shall be his at once; and should
the gods grant us to sack Priam’s great city,
let him come and fill his ship with an abundance
of gold and silver when we divide the spoils,
and let him select twenty Trojan women
who are the most beautiful after Argive Helen.
If we return to the rich lands of Achaean Argos,
then he will be my son, equal in honor to Orestes,
my beloved son who is being raised in luxury.
I have three daughters in my well-built palace,
Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa;
let him take one of these without bride price^[2]
to the house of Peleus; and I will add a dowry
bigger than any man ever gave with his daughter.
And seven prosperous cities will I give him:
Cardamyle, Enope, grass-clad Hire,
holy Pherae, Antheia with its deep meadows,
beautiful Aepeia, and vine-rich Pedasus.
Each is near the sea, at the edge of sandy Pylos,
and is home to men rich in cattle and flocks
who will honor him with gifts like a god
and will fulfill his commands under his scepter.
All this shall be his if he ceases his wrath.
Make him yield, for Hades is unyielding
and inflexible and hence the god most hated
by mortal men. And make him submit to me,
for I am a greater king and am his elder.”

Then Nestor, horseman of Gerenia, replied:
“Son of Atreus, Agamemnon, great ruler
of men, the gifts for lord Achilles are without
fault; but come, let us quickly send chosen men
to the tents of lord Achilles, son of Peleus.
Rather, whoever I select, let them obey.
First, Phoenix, dear to Zeus, shall take the lead,
and great Ajax and noble Odysseus will follow
along with the heralds Odius and Eurybates.
Bring water for our hands, and keep silent as we
pray to Zeus, son of Cronos, so he will pity us.”

So he said, and his words pleased all. At once,
heralds brought water and poured it over
their hands, and young men filled the mixing
bowls with drink and served all, pouring libations
first into goblets. After offerings had been made
and all had drunk their fill, they left Agamemnon’s
tents, and Nestor, horseman of Gerenia, gave them
detailed instruction, eyeing each man, especially
Odysseus, urging them to win over Peleus’ son.

As they went along the shore of the long-roaring
sea, they prayed often to earth-shaking Poseidon
in hopes of easily swaying Aeacus’ great-minded
grandson. They reached the Myrmidon tents
and ships and found him enjoying the clear notes
of the lyre, finely made with a cross-bar of silver,
taken from the spoils of the sacked city of Eëtion;
with it, he cheered his heart by singing songs
of great warriors. Patroclus sat silently across
from him, waiting for Achilles to finish singing.
Noble Odysseus led the way as they came
to stand before him; Achilles leapt up in surprise,
still clutching his lyre in his hands, and Patroclus
also sprang up when he noticed the men.
Then swift-footed Achilles greeted them, saying:
“You are welcome, my dearest Achaean friends,
but your needs must be great to have come here.”

So saying, godlike Achilles invited them inside,
asked them to sit on couches with purple coverings,
and quickly said to Patroclus, who was nearby:
“Son of Menoetius, bring out a large mixing-bowl,
mix strong wine, and prepare a goblet for each,
for under my roof have come my dearest friends.”

So he said, and Patroclus obeyed his dear friend.
He set the chopping block on the bright fire
and laid down a ram’s back, a fat goat’s back,
and a wild boar’s chine^[3] loaded with grease.
Automedon held them while noble Achilles
carved the meat and placed the pieces on spits
and godlike Patroclus stoked the blazing fire.
Once the fire burnt down and the flames were
quenched, he spread the embers, set the spits
on the andirons, and sprinkled salt on the meat.
After roasting the meat and placing it on platters,
Patroclus took out bread and set it in baskets
on the table while Achilles served the meat.
He sat opposite godlike Odysseus by the furthest
wall and ordered Patroclus to make a sacrifice.
His friend then threw burnt offerings into the fire,
and they began to enjoy the good meal before them.
After they took their fill of food and drink, Ajax
nodded to Phoenix; noticing this, Odysseus
filled his cup with wine and said to Achilles:
“Cheers, Achilles. We are not wanting in feasts,
either in the tent of Agamemnon, son of Atreus,
or in yours now, where we have an abundance
to feast on. But our minds care not for delightful
feasts but for far greater concerns, for it is
doubtful that the well-built ships will be saved
from destruction if you do not add your strength.
The high-hearted Trojans and their famed allies
have set their tents near the ships and the wall,
have lit many fires through the army, and say they
will not fall back but will fall upon our black ships.
Zeus, son of Cronos, has signaled with lightning
on their right sides, and great Hector fights
like a madman, exulting in his might, trusting
in Zeus but respecting neither god nor man.
He prays for heavenly Dawn to come quickly,
for he promises to cut off the tops of each stern,
to fill the ships with flaming fire, and to slay
the Achaeans as they panic from the smoke.
My mind gravely fears that the gods will fulfill
his boasts and that we are destined to perish
in Troy, far from the pastures of Argos.
So come, then, if you are inclined to save
the Achaean sons from the Trojan assault.
This woe, once done, will bring to you a sorrow
that cannot be healed, so consider how you
will defend the Danaans from this evil day.
Friend, surely your father, on the day he sent
you to Agamemnon from Phthia, said to you:
‘My son, Athena and Hera will give you might
if they so choose, but curb your proud heart,
for friendliness is better; and keep away
from strife, bringer of evil, and the Argives
will honor you all the more, young and old.’
So he said, but you forgot. So cease this now,
and forget this bitter brawl, for Agamemnon
offers suitable gifts if you curb your wrath.
Now listen to me as I list off all the gifts
Agamemnon, in his tent, promised you:
seven tripods untouched by fire, ten talents
of gold, twenty gleaming kettles, and twelve
fit horses who are all champions. A man given
the prizes won by Agamemnon’s single-hoofed
horses would not be without riches or precious
gold. He would also give you seven women
of Lesbos, each skilled in work and unmatched
in beauty, which he chose on the day you
yourself took well-built Lesbos. These he will
give to you, and among them will be the girl
Briseïs; and he swears an oath that he never
went to her in bed or slept with her, as is
customary for men and women. All these
shall be yours at once; and should the gods
grant us to sack Priam’s great city, you may
go and fill your ship up with gold and silver
when we divide the spoils, and you may
select twenty Trojan women who are the most
beautiful after Argive Helen. If we return
to the rich lands of Achaean Argos, then you
will be his son, equal in honor to Orestes,
his beloved son who is being raised in luxury.
He has three daughters in his well-built palace,
Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianassa;
you may take one of these without bride price
to the house of Peleus; and he will add a dowry
bigger than any man ever gave with his daughter.
And seven prosperous cities will he give you:
Cardamyle, Enope, grass-clad Hire,
holy Pherae, Antheia with its deep meadows,
beautiful Aepeia, and vine-rich Pedasus.
Each is near the sea, at the edge of sandy Pylos,
and is home to men rich in cattle and flocks
who will honor you with gifts like a god
and fulfill all commands under your scepter.
All these will be yours if you cease your wrath.
But if you hold too much hate for Atreus’ son,
then pity the rest of the suffering Achaean
army, for they would honor you like a god,
and you would win great glory in their eyes,
for you might slay Hector, since he would come
close to you in his deadly rage and says no one
who came here in Danaan ships is his equal.”

In reply, swift-footed Achilles answered him:
“Zeus-born son of Laertes, cunning Odysseus,
clearly I must speak to you with blunt words
and explain to you how we will proceed
so you do not sit here and prattle on and on.
I hate this man like the gates of Hades,
for he thinks one thing and says another.
So I will say what I think is right and true:
I will not be swayed by Agamemnon, son
of Atreus, or any other Danaan, for I received
no thanks for my ceaseless fighting of enemies.
An equal fate awaits both the coward holding
back and the hero fighting hardest, and death
comes both to the idle man and the busy.
It has not brought me profit for my heart
to suffer by always risking my life in battle.
Just as a bird brings back for her young chicks
any morsel she finds, leaving none for herself,
so also have I passed many sleepless nights
and blood-stained days waging war and fighting
warriors for the sake of their wives. I have
sacked twelve cities with my ships and claimed
eleven across the rich Troad; I took many fine
treasures, brought them back, and gave them
to Agamemnon, son of Atreus; but he, staying
behind in the swift ships, gave out only a small
portion and kept the rest. Other prizes given
to heroes and kings stayed securely theirs,
but alone among the Achaeans was my prize
taken, the wife of my heart; may she cheer
his bed. But why are the Argives fighting
the Trojans? Why has Atreus’ son gathered
an army and led them here? Was it not for fair
Helen? Are the sons of Atreus the only men who
love their wives? All good, sensible men love
and care for their wives, just as I love this girl,
though she was captured by my spear. Since he
took her from me with trickery, he cannot tempt
me; I know him too well and will not be persuaded.
You, Odysseus, and the other kings must help him
devise a plan to protect the ships from enemy fire.
He has done a great many things in my absence,
like building the wall, digging a large, wide
trench, and planting sharp stakes within it—
but he cannot contain the might of man-slaying
Hector. As long as I fought with the Achaeans,
Hector was unwilling to fight far from the wall,
going only as far as the Scaean gates and oak tree;
once he fought me there alone and barely survived.
But I no longer want to battle noble Hector,
so tomorrow I will sacrifice to Zeus and the other
gods, fill my ships, and launch them on the sea.
Then you will see, should you so desire, my ships
sailing in the early dawn across the fish-strewn
Hellespont, my men eagerly rowing the oars.
If the glorious earth-shaker grants us fair voyage,
in three days I will arrive at rich-soiled Phthia.
I left much behind when I came to this place,
but I will return from here with gold, red bronze,
well-girdled women, and grey iron—all won
by lot, save for my prize which was first given
and then insultingly taken by Agamemnon,
son of Atreus. Return and tell him openly
what I say to you, so other Achaeans will be
offended should he hope to deceive them
with his dog-like shamelessness, for he does
not have the courage to look me in the face.
I will not join him in counsel or in battle,
for he deceived me and failed me, and I
refuse to let him do so again. Let him make
his own ruin, since counselor Zeus has taken
his wits. His gifts are hateful and worthless
to me. Even if he gave me ten or twenty times
more than he has, and even if he added all
gifts brought to Orchomenus or hundred-gated
Thebes of Egypt—where treasures fill men’s
houses and where two hundred warriors go
forth from each gate in horses and chariots—
and even if his gifts were as many as sand
or dust, Agamemnon would still not persuade
my heart until he fully repaid his outrage.
I will not marry Agamemnon’s daughter,
even if she equaled golden Aphrodite in beauty
and gleaming-eyed Athena in handiwork;
let him select another of the Achaeans, one
who is more suitable and more kingly than I.
If the gods preserve me and I make it home,
then surely Peleus will find a wife for me.
There are many Achaean maidens across
Hellas and Phthia, daughters of great men,
and I can choose my wife from among them.
For many years my manly heart was bent
on marrying a beautiful bride and enjoying
the possessions won by old man Peleus.
My life is not equal to the riches possessed
by the well-peopled citadel of Ilios in times
of peace, before the Achaean sons arrived,
or to what is held within the marble threshold
of the archer, Phoebus Apollo, in rocky Pytho.
For oxen, fattened sheep, tripods, and yellow-
maned horses can be carried off by force,
but a man’s life cannot be captured or taken
away once it escapes from his clenched teeth.
My mother, silver-footed goddess Thetis,
tells me I am fated to die in one of two ways.
If I remain to fight around the city of Troy,
I will not return home but will gain eternal glory;
but if I return home to my dear father’s land,
I will lose eternal fame but will win a long life,
and death’s end will not come quickly for me.
I would also advise the rest of you to sail away
for home; it is not your lot to reach high Ilios
since far-seeing Zeus holds his mighty hands
over it, and its people are filled with courage.
But you must return and relay my message
to the Achaean leaders, for that is the privilege
of advisors: to come up with another plan
to save the ships and save the Achaean army
beside the hollow ships, since your plan will not
work due to my bitter wrath. But let Phoenix
stay and sleep here, so tomorrow he may come
with me on my ship to our dear fatherland—
if he wishes, that is, for I will not force him.”

So he said, and all fell softly silent, awed
by his stern refusal. After some time, the old
horseman Phoenix burst into tears and spoke,
greatly fearing for the Achaean ships:
“Glorious Achilles, if your rage-filled heart
is considering a return home, and you care not
to defend the swift ships from fiery destruction,
then how could I remain here all alone, dear
child? On the day old horseman Peleus sent
you from Phthia to Agamemnon, he sent me
as well, for you were a child who knew nothing
of war or of debate where men gain greatness.
He sent me to teach you all of these things,
to be a speaker of words and a doer of deeds.
Thus, dear child, I would not want to be left
behind, not even if Zeus himself scraped off
my age and made me young again, as when
I first left Hellas, home of beautiful women,
fleeing from my father, Amyntor, Ormenus’
son. He was angry at me over a fair-haired
concubine whom he himself loved, dishonoring
his wife, my mother; she begged me to sleep
with this concubine, and so to make her hate
the old man. I did as she asked, but my father
found out and cursed me, invoking the dreaded
Erinyes, that no child of mine would ever sit
upon my knees; and Zeus of the underworld
and glorious Persephone fulfilled that curse.
I devised a plan to kill him with my sharp sword,
but one of the gods stopped my anger, putting
in my mind the voices of rumor and reproach,
that the Achaeans would call me father-killer.^[4]
So my soul refused to remain any longer
in my father’s house for fear of his anger.
My cousins and clansmen stood around me,
and detained me in the halls, offering prayers,
sacrificing fat sheep, shambling and sleek
oxen, and rich swine that were singed
and stretched over the fire of Hephaestus
as they drank wine from the old man’s jars.
They passed nine long nights with me, taking
turns keeping watch and leaving the fires
unquenched, one on the well-walled courtyard
portico and another in front of my chamber
porch. But on the tenth murky night, I broke
down the closely-constructed chamber doors
and fled, leaping easily over the courtyard fence
and eluding the guardsmen and servant women.
Then I went far away across spacious Hellas
until I came to fertile Phthia, mother of sheep,
and to King Peleus. He greeted me heartily
and loved me in the same way a father loves
his only son, who is heir to great possessions.
He granted me wealth and many subjects,
and I ruled Dolopia, on the borders of Phthia.
I raised you to be as you are, godlike Achilles,
and loved you with all my heart. You would not go
with another to the feast or eat meat in the large
hall until I set you on my knees and gave you
your fill of cut-up meat and held your drink.
Often you soaked my tunic with the wine you
would spit out in childish misery. So I have
suffered and toiled much for you, and since
the gods would not grant me a child of my own,
I wished for you to be my son, godlike Achilles,
so you could ward off my bitter end. Now curb
your great spirit and restrain your reckless heart;
even the gods change their minds, though
their honor and might are greater. With burnt
sacrifices, calm offerings, and libations do men
beg the gods to turn back their wrath against
those who transgress and do wrong. There are
Prayers, too, daughters of great Zeus, who are
lame, wrinkled, and eyed with sidelong glances,
as they anxiously follow after Mischief.
But Mischief is strong and swift and outruns
Prayers, rushing ahead and smiting men in all
lands while Prayers run behind, trying to heal.
Those who respect Zeus’ daughters when near
will have their prayers heard and answered,
but if they reject and inflexibly refuse them,
then Prayers go to Zeus and beg for Mischief
to follow them and punish them with harm.
Thus, Achilles, give honor to the daughters
of Zeus, who bends the minds of many others.
For if the son of Atreus did not bring gifts
or offer even more but remained enraged,
I would not ask you to give up your anger
and aid the Argives, though their need is great.
But he promises you gifts now and in the future,
and has sent the Achaean army’s best to convince
you, those you hold dearest among the Argives.
Do not dishonor their words or visit, though
before this none would blame you for your anger.
We have heard the stories of great heroes of old
who, when terrible fury came over them, were
appeased by gifts and won over with words.
I myself remember a story from older days,
and as we are all friends, I will share it now.
The Curetes and stout Aetolians were battling
and slaying one another near Calydon,
the Aetolians defending beautiful Calydon
and the Curetes eagerly sacking the city.
Golden-throned Artemis had stirred this evil,
angered that Oeneus had failed to offer her
the finest harvest fruits. As other gods feasted
on hecatombs, great Zeus’ daughter was given
nothing, Oeneus having forgotten or not noticed.
This angered the Shedder of Arrows, daughter
of Zeus, and she sent a wild, white-tusked boar,
to wreak great woes on the orchards of Oeneus,
uprooting trees and dashing them to the ground,
root and apple blossom and all. But Meleager,
son of Oeneus, slew the beast by gathering
hunters and hounds from many cities, all
needed for the kill since the boar was huge
and had put many men on burning pyres.
But the goddess sent chaos and quarrels
between the Curetes and noble Aetolians
over the swine’s head and shaggy hide.
So long as Meleager fought, the battle went
badly for the Curetes, who kept losing ground
outside the wall in spite of their numbers.
But Meleager fell into a rage,^[5] one that swells
in the hearts of many, even the wise, a rage
directed at his dear mother Althaea. He was
laying with his wife Cleopatra, daughter
of fair-ankled Marpessa, who was the daughter
of Evenus and of Idas, the mightiest of men,
who took up his bow against Phoebus Apollo
for his fair-ankled bride. In their halls,
Cleopatra’s father and revered mother called
her Halcyone, for her mother cried like
a sorrowful halcyon bird when far-shooter
Phoebus Apollo snatched her away. As he
lay beside Cleopatra, he burned with rage
over his mother’s curses, for she called down
the gods upon him for killing her brother.
With breasts wet with tears, she knelt, beat
her hands on the earth that feeds many,
and called on Hades and dread Persephone
to send death to her son; and harsh-hearted
Erinyes, walking in darkness, heard her call.
Soon battle noises arose around the gates
and fortified walls; and the elder Aetolians
sent their best priests to Meleager to beg him
to come and aid them, promising many gifts
and telling him that he could select for himself
fifty fine acres from among the richest fields
of Calydon, with half of the area vineyards
and the other half bare, arable lands. Then
the old horseman Oeneus begged his son,
going to the threshold of his lofty bedchamber
and shaking the closely-joined doors; then
his sister and revered mother begged him,
but he refused; then his comrades, those nearest
and dearest to him, begged him, yet even
they could not persuade the heart in his chest.
Finally, when the Curetes were scaling the walls,
burning the great city, and threatening
his chambers, Meleager’s well-girdled wife
begged him by recounting all the horrors men
and women suffer when a city is sacked: men
killed, the city burnt to ash, and the children
and women taken by strangers. Hearing this
evil tale stirred Meleager’s heart, and he rose,
clothed his body in shining armor, and warded
off the Aetolians on this evil day, yielding
to his heart, though he was not repaid with fine
gifts. So, dear boy, strip your mind of such
thoughts and steer your spirit away from this
path, for it is far harder to save a burning ship.
Go while gifts can still be won, and you will be
honored by the Achaeans like a god. If you
enter the battle without gifts, then your honor
will be less though you may ward off war.”

Then swift-footed Achilles replied to him:
“Phoenix, noble old father, I do not need this
honor; I have already been honored by Zeus
and will hold this among the curved ships as
long as I can draw breath and bend my knees.
And I will say another thing, and take it to heart:
do not trouble me with weeping and wailing
for Atreus’ noble son, and do not love that man
or you will be hated by one who loves you.
It is better for you to hurt the one who hurts me,
so stay, be king with me, and take half my honor.
These men will relay my message while you
stay and sleep on my soft beds; then, at dawn,
we will discuss whether to remain or go home.”

So saying, he nodded his brow to silently tell
Patroclus to lay out a warm bed for Phoenix,
so the others might quickly decide to leave.
But Ajax, godlike son of Telamon, spoke up:
“Zeus-born son of Laertes, wily Odysseus,
let us go, for it seems we will not fulfill
the mission’s goal; we must quickly bring back
the bad news to the Danaans, who no doubt
are sitting and waiting for us, since Achilles
holds his hate deep within his great heart.
He is hardened and untroubled by the love
of his comrades who honor him above all.
A man accepts ransom even from the slayer
of his brother or son; the guilty man remains
in his own land once he pays, and the kinsmen’s
heart and honor are restrained by accepting
the ransom. But the gods have placed in your
breast an implacable heart—all for one girl;
and now we offer you seven, the best by far,
and more besides. So be gracious and respect
your house, for we have come from the Danaans
to be under your roof, and we eagerly desire
your honor and love above all other Achaeans.”

Swift-footed Achilles then answered him:
“Zeus-born Ajax, son of Telamon, ruler
of men, you say all that is in my mind,
but my heart swells with hate when I think
of how the son of Atreus insulted me before
the Argives like some dishonored vagabond.
So go and relay my message: that I will not
think of blood-red war until Priam’s warrior
son, noble Hector, comes to the Myrmidon
tents and ships, kills the Argives, and sets
fire to our ships. But I think Hector will
keep far away from my tents and black
ships, though he will be eager for battle.”

So saying, each man made a drink offering
from a double-cup and returned to their ships,
Odysseus leading. Then Patroclus ordered
his comrades and attendants to quickly make
a bed for Phoenix, so they spread out a fleece,
blanket, and fine linen, and the old man laid
down and waited for heavenly Dawn. Achilles
slept deep within the well-made tent, and beside
him slept a woman, taken from Lesbos, daughter
of Phorbas, fair-cheeked Diomede. Patroclus
lay on the other side, and beside him slept
well-girdled Iphis, given to him by Achilles
after he sacked steep Scyros, city of Enyeus.

When they reached the son of Atreus’ tent,
the Achaean sons stood up, raised golden cups
in welcome, and questioned them; the first
to ask a question was Agamemnon, lord of men:
“Tell me, famed Odysseus, glorious Achaean,
will he defend the ships from blazing fire, or has
he refused and let his anger consume his heart?”

Then stout and noble Odysseus answered him:
“Famed son of Atreus, Agamemnon, lord of men,
the man will not turn from his wrath, for he is
filled with hate and refuses you and your gifts.
He says to consult the Argives and devise
a plan to save the Achaean army and ships;
and he himself threatens at the break of dawn
to launch his well-benched ships into the sea.
He also urges others to sail for home, since
you will not bring about the end of high Ilios
since far-seeing Zeus holds his mighty hand
over it, filling its people with courage. So he
said, and these men here can attest to this:
Ajax and the two heralds, both sensible men.
But Phoenix stayed back, at Achilles’ urging,
so he may join him on his ships to his father’s
land if he wishes, for he will not be forced.”

So he said, and the assembly fell softly silent,
stunned by his strong words. The Achaean
sons grieved in silence for some time until
great war-crier Diomedes spoke to them:
“Noble son of Atreus, Agamemnon, I wish
you had not begged the great son of Peleus
or offered countless gifts; he is arrogant,
and you have driven him further into arrogance.
But now we must forget about him. He may
stay or he may go, and he will fight when
his heart demands it and when the gods rouse
him. So come, listen to me and do as I say:
go and sleep, once you have sated your heart
with food and wine, for courage and strength.
But when rosy-fingered Dawn appears, swiftly
gather your men and chariots by the ships
and inspire them by fighting on the front lines.”

So he said, and the kings all agreed, awed
by the words of the horse-tamer Diomedes.
After pouring a libation, each man went
to his tent, laid down, and took the gift of sleep.