So spake Achilles, and dashed on earth his sceptre, studded with golden nails, while near him sat Agamemnon, in furious anger. With gentle words then spoke Nestor, an old warrior of a hundred years and more, longing to make peace. But of peace Agamemnon and Achilles would have none. ‘Ye may take back my slave, the fair Briseis,’ said Achilles. ‘The Greeks gave her to me; let the Greeks take her from me again. Yet that moment that thou dost dare to lay hand on aught else of mine, thy dark blood shall gush about my spear.’ Then was the assembly at an end, and on a fleet ship Chryseïs of the fair cheeks was placed, and with her were sent a hundred beasts for a sacrifice to Apollo. With them went Odysseus and a goodly company, and they sailed across the sea to Chryse, to bring back to Chryses the priest his fair daughter, and to offer a worthy sacrifice to the angry god. Then did Agamemnon call his heralds to him. ‘Go ye to the tent of Achilles,’ said he, ‘and bring me Briseis, his fair slave.’ Unwillingly they walked along the beach to where the tent of Achilles was pitched. By it he sat, and well, and with a heavy heart, he knew when he saw them what their errand was. ‘Welcome, ye heralds,’ he said. ‘Ye are not guilty in my sight. Guilty only is Agamemnon who sent you to rob me of the fair Briseis. Lead her away, yet be witnesses that when Agamemnon hath sore need of me to save his host from shameful wreck, no help from me shall he have.’ Unwillingly Briseis was led away, and Achilles watched her go. Then sitting alone on the beach of the grey sea, Achilles wept. With eager gaze his eyes swept across the waste of water, and holding out his hands in supplication he cried to his mother, Thetis the silver-footed, daughter of the King of the Sea. Like a mist Thetis rose from the depths of the green sea-waves, and came to her sorrowing son. Gently she stroked his hand, and spoke to him soothing words. ‘Why dost thou weep, my child?’ she said. ‘Tell me all the sorrow that is in thy heart.’ To his goddess-mother Achilles told the tale of the grievous dishonour that Agamemnon had done to him, and for rage and for grief Thetis wept with her son. ‘Short is to be thy life, my son,’ she said. ‘Would that I had never borne thee, rather than that it should also be full of grief.’ Then did she leave him, but at dawn next day she rose from the sea and mounted up to Olympus. ‘Father Zeus,’ she said to the king of the gods, ‘if ever I have given thee aid amid gods or men, fulfil now my desire. Do honour to my son, whose life on earth is to be so short. Grant victory to the Trojans while Achilles does not draw his sword. Grant that at last the Greeks may do honour to him to whom Agamemnon hath brought such bitter shame.’ Then did Zeus bow his head and grant her prayer. And Thetis the silver-footed darted like a diving bird down from Olympus, and cleft the green waves as she went back to her father in his kingdom under the sea. CHAPTER II