‘What lackest thou now?’ he cried. ‘Surely thy huts are full of the spoils we have brought to thee each time we have taken a town. What more dost thou want? Soft fools, women, not men, are ye Greeks, else would ye return home now with the ships, and leave this fellow here in Troyland gorging himself on the spoils for which he himself hath never fought. To brave Achilles hath he done dishonour, a far better man than he!’ Straight to the side of Thersites came the goodly Odysseus. ‘Hold thy peace,’ he sternly said. ‘Plainly I tell thee that if ever again I find thee raving as thou hast raved now, I myself will strip off thy mantle and tunic, with shameful blows beat thee out of the assembly, and send thee back weeping to the ships.’ So spake Odysseus, and with his sceptre smote Thersites on his back and shoulders. And Thersites bowed down, and big tears fell from his eyes, and a bloody weal from the golden sceptre stood up from his back. Amazed he sat down, and in pain and amazement he wiped away a tear. The others, though they were sorry, laughed at his bewilderment. ‘Many are the good deeds of Odysseus,’ said they, ‘but never did he do a better deed than when he stopped the tongue of this prating railer.’ Then spake Odysseus, sceptre in hand. ‘Surely it is the wish of the Greeks to make thee the most despised of all kings, great Agamemnon,’ he said, ‘for like young children or mourning women do they wail that they must go home. Nine years have we stayed in this land, and small wonder is it that we long for our homes again. Yet shameful would it be to wait so long and to return with empty hands. Be of good heart, my friends, and wait a little, for surely Troy shall be ours. Do ye forget, on the day that we set sail for Troyland, the mighty portent that we saw? As we offered sacrifices to the gods beneath a fair plane-tree whence flowed clear water, a snake, blood-red on the back and dreadful to look upon, glided from beneath the altar and darted to the tree. On the tree’s topmost bough was a sparrow’s nest, and in it eight tender nestlings, over which the mother-bird spread her wings. Pitifully did the little ones cheep as the snake swallowed them all, and pitifully cried the mother as she fluttered over her nestlings. But of her, too, did the snake lay hold, coiling himself round her and crushing her life out. Then did the god who sent this sign show us that a sign from the gods in truth it was, for he turned the snake into stone. And Chalcas, our soothsayer, told us then the meaning of the sign. “Nine years,” said he--for nine birds did the snake slay--“shall ye fight in Troyland, but in the tenth year the city shall fall before you.” So then, let us abide here, until we have taken the great city!’ When Odysseus had ceased to speak, the Greeks shouted aloud, until the ships echoed the praises of the goodly Odysseus. Then said Agamemnon: