And King Agamemnon answered, “Go, and thy Myrmidons with thee!  I have other chieftains as good as thou art, and ready, as thou art not, to pay me due respect; and Zeus, the god of council, is with me.  I hate thee, for thou always lovest war and strife.  And as for the matter of the spoil, know that I will take thy share, the girl Briseis, and fetch her myself, if need be, that all may know that I am sovereign lord here in the host of the Greeks.”

Then Achilles was mad with anger, and he thought in his heart, “Shall I arise and slay this caitiff, or shall I keep down the wrath in my breast?” And as he thought he laid his hand on his sword-hilt, and had half-drawn his sword from the scabbard, when lo! the goddess Athene stood behind him (for Juno, who loved both this chieftain and that, had sent her), and caught him by the long locks of his yellow hair.  But Achilles marveled much to feel the mighty grasp, and turned and looked, and knew the goddess, but no one else in the assembly might see her.  Terrible was the flash of his eyes as he cried, “Art thou come, child of Zeus, to see the insolence of Agamemnon?  Of a truth, I think that he will perish for his folly.”

But Athene said, “Nay, but I am come from heaven to abate thy wrath, if thou wilt hear me; white-armed Juno sent me, for she loveth and cherisheth you both alike.  Draw not thy sword; but use bitter words, even as thou wilt.  Of a truth, I tell thee that for this insolence of to-day he will bring thee hereafter splendid gifts, threefold and fourfold for all that he may take away.  Only refrain thyself and do my bidding.”

Then Achilles answered, “I will abide by thy command for all my wrath, for the man who hearkens to the immortal gods is also heard of them.”  And as he spake he laid his heavy hand upon the hilt, and thrust back the sword into the scabbard, and Athene went her way to Olympus.

Then he turned him to King Agamemnon, and spake again, for his anger was not spent.  “Drunkard, with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer! never fighting in the front of the battle, nor daring to lie in the ambush!  ’Tis a race of dastards that thou rulest, or this had been thy last wrong.  But this I tell thee, and confirm my words with a mighty oath—­by this sceptre do I swear.  Once it was the branch of a tree, but now the sons of the Greeks bear it in their hands, even they who maintain the laws of Zeus; as surely as it shall never again have bark, or leaves, or shoot, so surely shall the Greeks one day miss Achilles, when they fall in heaps before the dreadful Hector; and thou shalt eat thy heart for rage, to think that thou hast wronged the bravest of thy host.”

And as he spake he dashed the sceptre, all embossed with studs of gold, upon the ground, and sat down.  And on the other side Agamemnon sat in furious anger.  Then Nestor rose, an old man of a hundred years and more, and counseled peace.  Let them listen, he said, to his counsel.  Great chiefs in the old days, with whom no man now alive would dare to fight, had listened.  Let not Agamemnon take away from the bravest of the Greeks the prize of war; let not Achilles, though he was mightier in battle than all other men, contend with Agamemnon, who was sovereign lord of all the hosts of Greece.  But he spake in vain.  For Agamemnon answered,—­