The chiefs are assembled in council, and in their midst sits Agamemnon, the mightiest prince in Greece, whose nod a hundred thousand warriors obey. Suddenly, a voice is heard on the outskirts of the crowd which surrounds the circle of elders, and an aged man, clad in the long flowing robes of a priest, is led into the royal presence. In his hand he carries a rod, adorned with studs of gold, and wreathed with olive leaves. "A boon, great king, a boon!" he cries, lifting the rod on high. "Speak," answers Agamemnon. "What wouldst thou have of me?" "Give me back my child, my daughter Chryseis," answers the priest. "Thou hast sacked my city, thou hast burnt my home; restore unto me my child, and leave me not altogether desolate in mine old age." Dark was the brow of Agamemnon when he heard these words, and short and stern was his answer. "Let me not find thee," he said, "lingering here in the camp, and come not hither again on such an errand. Thy daughter thou shall not see again; she is mine, the captive of my bow and of my spear, and shall be my slave until the day of her death." In vain the old man urged him with entreaty, and offered a rich ransom to redeem his child from bondage. "Talk not to me of ransom," answered Agamemnon: "not all the gold of thy temple shall purchase liberty for the maiden, for she hath found favour in my sight. Get thee gone at once, and provoke me no further." Then the priest, whose name was Chryses, feared for his own life, and fled from the angry face of the King. Down to the margin of the sea he went, and gazing with tear-dimmed eyes over the heaving waters, thus he prayed to Apollo, his protector and lord: "Hear me, god of the silver bow, whose altar steams day and night with offerings from the choicest of the flock. Remember my faithful service, and let thine arrows avenge my tears on the Greeks." So he prayed, and Apollo heard him, and down from the peaks of Olympus he sped. In his hand he bare his mighty bow, and the arrows in his quiver made an angry rattling as he swooped down on the Grecian camp, swift and sudden as the southern night. He took his stand on a hill, and loosed an arrow from the string; and dire was the twang of the silver bow. First, he sent his shafts among the dogs and mules; then he changed his aim, and rained destruction among the men; and the whole place was filled with the smoke of funeral pyres.