The quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles—Achilles withdraws

      from the war, and sends his mother Thetis to ask Jove to help the

      Trojans—Scene between Jove and Juno on Olympus.



      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 the midst of them. First he smote their

      mules and their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the

      people themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were

      burning.



      For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon

      the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly—moved thereto by

      Juno, who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had

      compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose

      and spoke among them.



      “Son of Atreus,” said he, “I deem that we should now turn roving

      home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by

      war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or

      some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell

      us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some

      vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered,

      and whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without

      blemish, so as to take away the plague from us.”



      With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest

      of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to

      speak. He it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to

      Ilius, through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had

      inspired him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them

      thus:—



      “Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger

      of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and

      swear that you will stand by me heartily in word and deed, for I

      know that I shall offend one who rules the Argives with might, to

      whom all the Achaeans are in subjection. A plain man cannot stand

      against the anger of a king, who if he swallow his displeasure

      now, will yet nurse revenge till he has wreaked it. Consider,

      therefore, whether or no you will protect me.”



      And Achilles answered, “Fear not, but speak as it is borne in

      upon you from heaven, for by Apollo, Calchas, to whom you pray,

      and whose oracles you reveal to us, not a Danaan at our ships

      shall lay his hand upon you, while I yet live to look upon the

      face of the earth—no, not though you name Agamemnon himself, who

      is by far the foremost of the Achaeans.”



      Thereon the seer spoke boldly. “The god,” he said, “is angry

      neither about vow nor hecatomb, but for his priest’s sake, whom

      Agamemnon has dishonoured, in that he would not free his daughter

      nor take a ransom for her; therefore has he sent these evils upon

      us, and will yet send others. He will not deliver the Danaans

      from this pestilence till Agamemnon has restored the girl without

      fee or ransom to her father, and has sent a holy hecatomb to

      Chryse. Thus we may perhaps appease him.”



      With these words he sat down, and Agamemnon rose in anger. His

      heart was black with rage, and his eyes flashed fire as he

      scowled on Calchas and said, “Seer of evil, you never yet

      prophesied smooth things concerning me, but have ever loved to

      foretell that which was evil. You have brought me neither comfort

      nor performance; and now you come seeing among Danaans, and

      saying that Apollo has plagued us because I would not take a

      ransom for this girl, the daughter of Chryses. I have set my

      heart on keeping her in my own house, for I love her better even

      than my own wife Clytemnestra, whose peer she is alike in form

      and feature, in understanding and accomplishments. Still I will

      give her up if I must, for I would have the people live, not die;

      but you must find me a prize instead, or I alone among the

      Argives shall be without one. This is not well; for you behold,

      all of you, that my prize is to go elsewhither.”



      And Achilles answered, “Most noble son of Atreus, covetous beyond

      all mankind, how shall the Achaeans find you another prize? We

      have no common store from which to take one. Those we took from

      the cities have been awarded; we cannot disallow the awards that

      have been made already. Give this girl, therefore, to the god,

      and if ever Jove grants us to sack the city of Troy we will

      requite you three and fourfold.”



      Then Agamemnon said, “Achilles, valiant though you be, you shall

      not thus outwit me. You shall not overreach and you shall not

      persuade me. Are you to keep your own prize, while I sit tamely

      under my loss and give up the girl at your bidding? Let the

      Achaeans find me a prize in fair exchange to my liking, or I will

      come and take your own, or that of Ajax or of Ulysses; and he to

      whomsoever I may come shall rue my coming. But of this we will

      take thought hereafter; for the present, let us draw a ship into

      the sea, and find a crew for her expressly; let us put a hecatomb

      on board, and let us send Chryseis also; further, let some chief

      man among us be in command, either Ajax, or Idomeneus, or

      yourself, son of Peleus, mighty warrior that you are, that we may

      offer sacrifice and appease the anger of the god.”



      Achilles scowled at him and answered, “You are steeped in

      insolence and lust of gain. With what heart can any of the

      Achaeans do your bidding, either on foray or in open fighting? I

      came not warring here for any ill the Trojans had done me. I have

      no quarrel with them. They have not raided my cattle nor my

      horses, nor cut down my harvests on the rich plains of Phthia;

      for between me and them there is a great space, both mountain and

      sounding sea. We have followed you, Sir Insolence! for your

      pleasure, not ours—to gain satisfaction from the Trojans for your

      shameless self and for Menelaus. You forget this, and threaten to

      rob me of the prize for which I have toiled, and which the sons

      of the Achaeans have given me. Never when the Achaeans sack any

      rich city of the Trojans do I receive so good a prize as you do,

      though it is my hands that do the better part of the fighting.

      When the sharing comes, your share is far the largest, and I,

      forsooth, must go back to my ships, take what I can get and be

      thankful, when my labour of fighting is done. Now, therefore, I

      shall go back to Phthia; it will be much better for me to return

      home with my ships, for I will not stay here dishonoured to

      gather gold and substance for you.”



      And Agamemnon answered, “Fly if you will, I shall make you no

      prayers to stay you. I have others here who will do me honour,

      and above all Jove, the lord of counsel. There is no king here so

      hateful to me as you are, for you are ever quarrelsome and

      ill-affected. What though you be brave? Was it not heaven that

      made you so? Go home, then, with your ships and comrades to lord

      it over the Myrmidons. I care neither for you nor for your anger;

      and thus will I do: since Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from

      me, I shall send her with my ship and my followers, but I shall

      come to your tent and take your own prize Briseis, that you may

      learn how much stronger I am than you are, and that another may

      fear to set himself up as equal or comparable with me.”



      The son of Peleus was furious, and his heart within his shaggy

      breast was divided whether to draw his sword, push the others

      aside, and kill the son of Atreus, or to restrain himself and

      check his anger. While he was thus in two minds, and was drawing

      his mighty sword from its scabbard, Minerva came down from heaven

      (for Juno had sent her in the love she bore to them both), and

      seized the son of Peleus by his yellow hair, visible to him

      alone, for of the others no man could see her. Achilles turned in

      amaze, and by the fire that flashed from her eyes at once knew

      that she was Minerva. “Why are you here,” said he, “daughter of

      aegis-bearing Jove? To see the pride of Agamemnon, son of Atreus?

      Let me tell you—and it shall surely be—he shall pay for this

      insolence with his life.”



      And Minerva said, “I come from heaven, if you will hear me, to

      bid you stay your anger. Juno has sent me, who cares for both of

      you alike. Cease, then, this brawling, and do not draw your

      sword; rail at him if you will, and your railing will not be

      vain, for I tell you—and it shall surely be—that you shall

      hereafter receive gifts three times as splendid by reason of this

      present insult. Hold, therefore, and obey.”



      “Goddess,” answered Achilles, “however angry a man may be, he

      must do as you two command him. This will be best, for the gods

      ever hear the prayers of him who has obeyed them.”



      He stayed his hand on the silver hilt of his sword, and thrust it

      back into the scabbard as Minerva bade him. Then she went back to

      Olympus among the other gods, and to the house of aegis-bearing

      Jove.



      But the son of Peleus again began railing at the son of Atreus,

      for he was still in a rage. “Wine-bibber,” he cried, “with the

      face of a dog and the heart of a hind, you never dare to go out

      with the host in fight, nor yet with our chosen men in ambuscade.

      You shun this as you do death itself. You had rather go round and

      rob his prizes from any man who contradicts you. You devour your

      people, for you are king over a feeble folk; otherwise, son of

      Atreus, henceforward you would insult no man. Therefore I say,

      and swear it with a great oath—nay, by this my sceptre which

      shalt sprout neither leaf nor shoot, nor bud anew from the day on

      which it left its parent stem upon the mountains—for the axe

      stripped it of leaf and bark, and now the sons of the Achaeans

      bear it as judges and guardians of the decrees of heaven—so

      surely and solemnly do I swear that hereafter they shall look

      fondly for Achilles and shall not find him. In the day of your

      distress, when your men fall dying by the murderous hand of

      Hector, you shall not know how to help them, and shall rend your

      heart with rage for the hour when you offered insult to the

      bravest of the Achaeans.”



      With this the son of Peleus dashed his gold-bestudded sceptre on

      the ground and took his seat, while the son of Atreus was

      beginning fiercely from his place upon the other side. Then

      uprose smooth-tongued Nestor, the facile speaker of the Pylians,

      and the words fell from his lips sweeter than honey. Two

      generations of men born and bred in Pylos had passed away under

      his rule, and he was now reigning over the third. With all

      sincerity and goodwill, therefore, he addressed them thus:—



      “Of a truth,” he said, “a great sorrow has befallen the Achaean

      land. Surely Priam with his sons would rejoice, and the Trojans

      be glad at heart if they could hear this quarrel between you two,

      who are so excellent in fight and counsel. I am older than either

      of you; therefore be guided by me. Moreover I have been the

      familiar friend of men even greater than you are, and they did

      not disregard my counsels. Never again can I behold such men as

      Pirithous and Dryas shepherd of his people, or as Caeneus,

      Exadius, godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Aegeus, peer of

      the immortals. These were the mightiest men ever born upon this

      earth: mightiest were they, and when they fought the fiercest

      tribes of mountain savages they utterly overthrew them. I came

      from distant Pylos, and went about among them, for they would

      have me come, and I fought as it was in me to do. Not a man now

      living could withstand them, but they heard my words, and were

      persuaded by them. So be it also with yourselves, for this is the

      more excellent way. Therefore, Agamemnon, though you be strong,

      take not this girl away, for the sons of the Achaeans have

      already given her to Achilles; and you, Achilles, strive not

      further with the king, for no man who by the grace of Jove wields

      a sceptre has like honour with Agamemnon. You are strong, and

      have a goddess for your mother; but Agamemnon is stronger than

      you, for he has more people under him. Son of Atreus, check your

      anger, I implore you; end this quarrel with Achilles, who in the

      day of battle is a tower of strength to the Achaeans.”



      And Agamemnon answered, “Sir, all that you have said is true, but

      this fellow must needs become our lord and master: he must be

      lord of all, king of all, and captain of all, and this shall

      hardly be. Granted that the gods have made him a great warrior,

      have they also given him the right to speak with railing?”



      Achilles interrupted him. “I should be a mean coward,” he cried,

      “were I to give in to you in all things. Order other people

      about, not me, for I shall obey no longer. Furthermore I say—and

      lay my saying to your heart—I shall fight neither you nor any man

      about this girl, for those that take were those also that gave.

      But of all else that is at my ship you shall carry away nothing

      by force. Try, that others may see; if you do, my spear shall be

      reddened with your blood.”



      When they had quarrelled thus angrily, they rose, and broke up

      the assembly at the ships of the Achaeans. The son of Peleus went

      back to his tents and ships with the son of Menoetius and his

      company, while Agamemnon drew a vessel into the water and chose a

      crew of twenty oarsmen. He escorted Chryseis on board and sent

      moreover a hecatomb for the god. And Ulysses went as captain.



      These, then, went on board and sailed their ways over the sea.

      But the son of Atreus bade the people purify themselves; so they

      purified themselves and cast their filth into the sea. Then they

      offered hecatombs of bulls and goats without blemish on the

      sea-shore, and the smoke with the savour of their sacrifice rose

      curling up towards heaven.



      Thus did they busy themselves throughout the host. But Agamemnon

      did not forget the threat that he had made Achilles, and called

      his trusty messengers and squires Talthybius and Eurybates. “Go,”

      said he, “to the tent of Achilles, son of Peleus; take Briseis by

      the hand and bring her hither; if he will not give her I shall

      come with others and take her—which will press him harder.”



      He charged them straightly further and dismissed them, whereon

      they went their way sorrowfully by the seaside, till they came to

      the tents and ships of the Myrmidons. They found Achilles sitting

      by his tent and his ships, and ill-pleased he was when he beheld

      them. They stood fearfully and reverently before him, and never a

      word did they speak, but he knew them and said, “Welcome,

      heralds, messengers of gods and men; draw near; my quarrel is not

      with you but with Agamemnon who has sent you for the girl

      Briseis. Therefore, Patroclus, bring her and give her to them,

      but let them be witnesses by the blessed gods, by mortal men, and

      by the fierceness of Agamemnon’s anger, that if ever again there

      be need of me to save the people from ruin, they shall seek and

      they shall not find. Agamemnon is mad with rage and knows not how

      to look before and after that the Achaeans may fight by their

      ships in safety.”



      Patroclus did as his dear comrade had bidden him. He brought

      Briseis from the tent and gave her over to the heralds, who took

      her with them to the ships of the Achaeans—and the woman was loth

      to go. Then Achilles went all alone by the side of the hoar sea,

      weeping and looking out upon the boundless waste of waters. He

      raised his hands in prayer to his immortal mother, “Mother,” he

      cried, “you bore me doomed to live but for a little season;

      surely Jove, who thunders from Olympus, might have made that

      little glorious. It is not so. Agamemnon, son of Atreus, has done

      me dishonour, and has robbed me of my prize by force.”



      As he spoke he wept aloud, and his mother heard him where she was

      sitting in the depths of the sea hard by the old man her father.

      Forthwith she rose as it were a grey mist out of the waves, sat

      down before him as he stood weeping, caressed him with her hand,

      and said, “My son, why are you weeping? What is it that grieves

      you? Keep it not from me, but tell me, that we may know it

      together.”



      Achilles drew a deep sigh and said, “You know it; why tell you

      what you know well already? We went to Thebe the strong city of

      Eetion, sacked it, and brought hither the spoil. The sons of the

      Achaeans shared it duly among themselves, and chose lovely

      Chryseis as the meed of Agamemnon; but Chryses, priest of Apollo,

      came to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and

      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.



      “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. So he went back in anger, and Apollo, who loved him dearly,

      heard his prayer. Then the god sent a deadly dart upon the

      Argives, and the people died thick on one another, for the arrows

      went everywhither among the wide host of the Achaeans. At last a

      seer in the fulness of his knowledge declared to us the oracles

      of Apollo, and I was myself first to say that we should appease

      him. Whereon the son of Atreus rose in anger, and threatened that

      which he has since done. The Achaeans are now taking the girl in

      a ship to Chryse, and sending gifts of sacrifice to the god; but

      the heralds have just taken from my tent the daughter of Briseus,

      whom the Achaeans had awarded to myself.



      “Help your brave son, therefore, if you are able. Go to Olympus,

      and if you have ever done him service in word or deed, implore

      the aid of Jove. Ofttimes in my father’s house have I heard you

      glory in that you alone of the immortals saved the son of Saturn

      from ruin, when the others, with Juno, Neptune, and Pallas

      Minerva would have put him in bonds. It was you, goddess, who

      delivered him by calling to Olympus the hundred-handed monster

      whom gods call Briareus, but men Aegaeon, for he is stronger even

      than his father; when therefore he took his seat all-glorious

      beside the son of Saturn, the other gods were afraid, and did not

      bind him. Go, then, to him, remind him of all this, clasp his

      knees, and bid him give succour to the Trojans. Let the Achaeans

      be hemmed in at the sterns of their ships, and perish on the

      sea-shore, that they may reap what joy they may of their king,

      and that Agamemnon may rue his blindness in offering insult to

      the foremost of the Achaeans.”



      Thetis wept and answered, “My son, woe is me that I should have

      borne or suckled you. Would indeed that you had lived your span

      free from all sorrow at your ships, for it is all too brief;

      alas, that you should be at once short of life and long of sorrow

      above your peers: woe, therefore, was the hour in which I bore

      you; nevertheless I will go to the snowy heights of Olympus, and

      tell this tale to Jove, if he will hear our prayer: meanwhile

      stay where you are with your ships, nurse your anger against the

      Achaeans, and hold aloof from fight. For Jove went yesterday to

      Oceanus, to a feast among the Ethiopians, and the other gods went

      with him. He will return to Olympus twelve days hence; I will

      then go to his mansion paved with bronze and will beseech him;

      nor do I doubt that I shall be able to persuade him.”



      On this she left him, still furious at the loss of her that had

      been taken from him. Meanwhile Ulysses reached Chryse with the

      hecatomb. When they had come inside the harbour they furled the

      sails and laid them in the ship’s hold; they slackened the

      forestays, lowered the mast into its place, and rowed the ship to

      the place where they would have her lie; there they cast out

      their mooring-stones and made fast the hawsers. They then got out

      upon the sea-shore and landed the hecatomb for Apollo; Chryseis

      also left the ship, and Ulysses led her to the altar to deliver

      her into the hands of her father. “Chryses,” said he, “King

      Agamemnon has sent me to bring you back your child, and to offer

      sacrifice to Apollo on behalf of the Danaans, that we may

      propitiate the god, who has now brought sorrow upon the Argives.”



      So saying he gave the girl over to her father, who received her

      gladly, and they ranged the holy hecatomb all orderly round the

      altar of the god. They washed their hands and took up the

      barley-meal to sprinkle over the victims, while Chryses lifted up

      his hands and prayed aloud on their behalf. “Hear me,” he cried,

      “O god of the silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla,

      and rulest Tenedos with thy might. Even as thou didst hear me

      aforetime when I prayed, and didst press hardly upon the

      Achaeans, so hear me yet again, and stay this fearful pestilence

      from the Danaans.”



      Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. When they had done

      praying and sprinkling the barley-meal, they drew back the heads

      of the victims and killed and flayed them. They cut out the

      thigh-bones, wrapped them round in two layers of fat, set some

      pieces of raw meat on the top of them, and then Chryses laid them

      on the wood fire and poured wine over them, while the young men

      stood near him with five-pronged spits in their hands. When the

      thigh-bones were burned and they had tasted the inward meats,

      they cut the rest up small, put the pieces upon the spits,

      roasted them till they were done, and drew them off: then, when

      they had finished their work and the feast was ready, they ate

      it, and every man had his full share, so that all were satisfied.

      As soon as they had had enough to eat and drink, pages filled the

      mixing-bowl with wine and water and handed it round, after giving

      every man his drink-offering.



      Thus all day long the young men worshipped the god with song,

      hymning him and chaunting the joyous paean, and the god took

      pleasure in their voices; but when the sun went down, and it came

      on dark, they laid themselves down to sleep by the stern cables

      of the ship, and when the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn,

      appeared they again set sail for the host of the Achaeans. Apollo

      sent them a fair wind, so they raised their mast and hoisted

      their white sails aloft. As the sail bellied with the wind the

      ship flew through the deep blue water, and the foam hissed

      against her bows as she sped onward. When they reached the

      wide-stretching host of the Achaeans, they drew the vessel

      ashore, high and dry upon the sands, set her strong props beneath

      her, and went their ways to their own tents and ships.



      But Achilles abode at his ships and nursed his anger. He went not

      to the honourable assembly, and sallied not forth to fight, but

      gnawed at his own heart, pining for battle and the war-cry.



      Now after twelve days the immortal gods came back in a body to

      Olympus, and Jove led the way. Thetis was not unmindful of the

      charge her son had laid upon her, so she rose from under the sea

      and went through great heaven with early morning to Olympus,

      where she found the mighty son of Saturn sitting all alone upon

      its topmost ridges. She sat herself down before him, and with her

      left hand seized his knees, while with her right she caught him

      under the chin, and besought him, saying:—



      “Father Jove, if I ever did you service in word or deed among the

      immortals, hear my prayer, and do honour to my son, whose life is

      to be cut short so early. King Agamemnon has dishonoured him by

      taking his prize and keeping her. Honour him then yourself,

      Olympian lord of counsel, and grant victory to the Trojans, till

      the Achaeans give my son his due and load him with riches in

      requital.”



      Jove sat for a while silent, and without a word, but Thetis still

      kept firm hold of his knees, and besought him a second time.

      “Incline your head,” said she, “and promise me surely, or else

      deny me—for you have nothing to fear—that I may learn how greatly

      you disdain me.”



      At this Jove was much troubled and answered, “I shall have

      trouble if you set me quarrelling with Juno, for she will provoke

      me with her taunting speeches; even now she is always railing at

      me before the other gods and accusing me of giving aid to the

      Trojans. Go back now, lest she should find out. I will consider

      the matter, and will bring it about as you wish. See, I incline

      my head that you may believe me. This is the most solemn promise

      that I can give to any god. I never recall my word, or deceive,

      or fail to do what I say, when I have nodded my head.”



      As he spoke the son of Saturn bowed his dark brows, and the

      ambrosial locks swayed on his immortal head, till vast Olympus

      reeled.



      When the pair had thus laid their plans, they parted—Jove to his

      house, while the goddess quitted the splendour of Olympus, and

      plunged into the depths of the sea. The gods rose from their

      seats, before the coming of their sire. Not one of them dared to

      remain sitting, but all stood up as he came among them. There,

      then, he took his seat. But Juno, when she saw him, knew that he

      and the old merman’s daughter, silver-footed Thetis, had been

      hatching mischief, so she at once began to upbraid him.

      “Trickster,” she cried, “which of the gods have you been taking

      into your counsels now? You are always settling matters in secret

      behind my back, and have never yet told me, if you could help it,

      one word of your intentions.”



      “Juno,” replied the sire of gods and men, “you must not expect to

      be informed of all my counsels. You are my wife, but you would

      find it hard to understand them. When it is proper for you to

      hear, there is no one, god or man, who will be told sooner, but

      when I mean to keep a matter to myself, you must not pry nor ask

      questions.”



      “Dread son of Saturn,” answered Juno, “what are you talking

      about? I? Pry and ask questions? Never. I let you have your own

      way in everything. Still, I have a strong misgiving that the old

      merman’s daughter Thetis has been talking you over, for she was

      with you and had hold of your knees this self-same morning. I

      believe, therefore, that you have been promising her to give

      glory to Achilles, and to kill much people at the ships of the

      Achaeans.”



      “Wife,” said Jove, “I can do nothing but you suspect me and find

      it out. You will take nothing by it, for I shall only dislike you

      the more, and it will go harder with you. Granted that it is as

      you say; I mean to have it so; sit down and hold your tongue as I

      bid you for if I once begin to lay my hands about you, though all

      heaven were on your side it would profit you nothing.”



      On this Juno was frightened, so she curbed her stubborn will and

      sat down in silence. But the heavenly beings were disquieted

      throughout the house of Jove, till the cunning workman Vulcan

      began to try and pacify his mother Juno. “It will be

      intolerable,” said he, “if you two fall to wrangling and setting

      heaven in an uproar about a pack of mortals. If such ill counsels

      are to prevail, we shall have no pleasure at our banquet. Let me

      then advise my mother—and she must herself know that it will be

      better—to make friends with my dear father Jove, lest he again

      scold her and disturb our feast. If the Olympian Thunderer wants

      to hurl us all from our seats, he can do so, for he is far the

      strongest, so give him fair words, and he will then soon be in a

      good humour with us.”



      As he spoke, he took a double cup of nectar, and placed it in his

      mother’s hand. “Cheer up, my dear mother,” said he, “and make the

      best of it. I love you dearly, and should be very sorry to see

      you get a thrashing; however grieved I might be, I could not

      help, for there is no standing against Jove. Once before when I

      was trying to help you, he caught me by the foot and flung me

      from the heavenly threshold. All day long from morn till eve, was

      I falling, till at sunset I came to ground in the island of

      Lemnos, and there I lay, with very little life left in me, till

      the Sintians came and tended me.”



      Juno smiled at this, and as she smiled she took the cup from her

      son’s hands. Then Vulcan drew sweet nectar from the mixing-bowl,

      and served it round among the gods, going from left to right; and

      the blessed gods laughed out a loud applause as they saw him

      bustling about the heavenly mansion.



      Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun they

      feasted, and every one had his full share, so that all were

      satisfied. Apollo struck his lyre, and the Muses lifted up their

      sweet voices, calling and answering one another. But when the

      sun’s glorious light had faded, they went home to bed, each in

      his own abode, which lame Vulcan with his consummate skill had

      fashioned for them. So Jove, the Olympian Lord of Thunder, hied

      him to the bed in which he always slept; and when he had got on

      to it he went to sleep, with Juno of the golden throne by his

      side.