The Iliad: Book 9

But now, I see, he only plotted brutal treachery

So it must please his overweening heart, who knows?

But you—the son of Cronus with Cronus' twisting ways
gave you gifts by halves: with that royal scepter
the Father gave you honor beyond all other men alive

Sentries take up posts,
squads fronting the trench we dug outside the rampart.

No one will offer a better plan than this...
the plan I still retain, and I've been forming,
well, for a good long while now, from the very day
that you, my illustrious King, infuriated Achilles

But even so, late as it is, let us contrive
to set all this to rights, to bring him round
with gifts of friendship and warm, winning words.

These I will give, and along with them will go
the one I took away at first, Briseus' daughter,
and I will swear a solemn, binding oath in the bargain

Quick, whomever my eye will light on in review,
the mission's theirs. And old Phoenix first—
Zeus loves the man, so let him lead the way.

Then giant Ajax and tactful royal Odysseus.

A reverent silence now…
a prayer to Zeus. Perhaps he'll show us mercy.

Libations finished,
each envoy having drunk to his heart's content,
the party moved out from Atrides' shelters.

Libations finished,
each envoy having drunk to his heart's content,
the party moved out from Atrides' shelters.

As soon as the roasts were done and spread on platters,
Patroclus brought the bread, set it out on the board
in ample wicker baskets.

But it's not the flowing feast
that is on our minds now—no, a stark disaster,
too much to bear

And headlong Hector,
delirious with his strength, rages uncontrollably,
trusting to Zeus—no fear of man or god, nothing—
a powerful rabid frenzy has him in its grip!

They both go down to Death,
the fighter who shirks,
the one who works to exhaustion.

There lies my wealth, hoards of it, all I left behind
when I sailed to Troy on this, this insane voyage—
and still more hoards from here: gold, ruddy bronze

Shameless,
inveterate—armored in shamelessness!

Not all they claim
was stored in the depths of Troy, that city built on riches,
in the old days of peace before the sons of Achaea came—
not all the gold held fast in the Archer's rocky vaults,
in Phoebus Apollo's house on Pytho's sheer cliffs!

Cattle and fat sheep can all be had for the raiding,
tripods all for the trading, and tawny-headed stallions.

How he would dote on her and spurn his wedded wife,
my own mother!

Even the gods, I say, with incense, soothing vows,
with full cups poured and the deep smoky savor
men can bring them round, begging for pardon

But Ruin is strong and swift—
She outstrips them all by far, stealing a march,
leaping over the whole wide earth to bring mankind to grief.

He sends the bravest captains to implore you

But my heart still heaves with rage
whenever I call to mind that arrogance of his—
how he mortified me, right in front of the Argives

But my heart still heaves with rage
whenever I call to mind that arrogance of his—
how he mortified me, right in front of the Argives—
that son of Atreus treating me like some vagabond,
like some outcast stripped of all my rights!