Book I

BOOK I

Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that

brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did

it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a

prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove

fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men,

and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.

And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was

the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent

a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son

of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had

come to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had

brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the

sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant's wreath, and he

besought the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus,

who were their chiefs.

"Sons of Atreus," he cried, "and all other Achaeans, may the gods

who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to

reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a

ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove."

On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for

respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but

not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly

away. "Old man," said he, "let me not find you tarrying about our

ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your

wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall

grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying

herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not

provoke me or it shall be the worse for you."

The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went

by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo

whom lovely Leto had borne. "Hear me," he cried, "O god of the

silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest

Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have

ever decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones

in fat of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows

avenge these my tears upon the Danaans."

Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down

furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver

upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the

rage that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the

ships with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death

as he shot his arrow in