So he spoke. Pain came on Peleus’s son. His heart inside his shaggy chest was torn two ways: whether to draw the sharp sword from beside his thigh, break up the others, and kill the son of Atreus, or to check his rage and restrain his spirit. While he turned that over in mind and heart, and was drawing the great sword from its sheath, Athena came from the sky — for Hera of the white arms sent her, loving and pitying both men in her heart. She stood behind him and caught the son of Peleus by his golden hair, appearing to him alone; none of the others saw her. Achilles was stunned. He turned and knew Pallas Athena at once — her eyes shone terribly — and he spoke winged words to her:
“Why have you come again, child of Zeus who bears the aegis? Is it to see the outrage of Agamemnon son of Atreus? I will tell you plainly, and I think it will be done: by his own arrogant acts he may soon lose his life.”
The goddess grey-eyed Athena answered him: “I came to check your rage — if you will listen — from the sky. Hera of the white arms sent me, loving and pitying both of you in her heart. Come: leave off the quarrel. Do not draw the sword. Abuse him with words, as it will be. I tell you this, and it will be fulfilled: one day you will have three times as many splendid gifts because of this outrage. Hold back; obey us.”
Swift-footed Achilles answered: “Goddess, a man must respect the word of you both, however angry he is at heart. That is better. The gods listen to whoever obeys them.”
On that word he checked his heavy hand on the silver hilt and pushed the great sword back into the sheath, and did not disobey Athena’s word. She had gone to Olympus, to the house of Zeus who bears the aegis, to join the other gods.
Then Peleus’s son turned again on Atreus’s son with harsh insults, and he had not yet let go his rage: “Wine-soaked, dog-eyed, deer-hearted — you never have the courage to arm yourself for war with the men, or to go on ambush with the Achaean champions. That looks like death to you. Better, yes, to take gifts through the broad camp of the Achaeans from whoever speaks against you. People-devouring king: you rule over worthless men. Otherwise, son of Atreus, this would be your last outrage. But I will tell you straight, and swear a great oath on it: by this staff that will never grow leaves and shoots again once it has left its stump in the mountains — for bronze has stripped its leaves and bark, and now the sons of the Achaeans carry it in their hands when they give judgments, those who guard the statutes from Zeus — this will be a strong oath: one day longing for Achilles will come on the sons of the Achaeans, all of them. Then, for all your grief, you will not be able to help them, when many fall dying at the hands of man-slaying Hector. You will tear your heart inside you in anger that you did not honor the best of the Achaeans.”
So spoke Peleus’s son, and he threw the staff studded with golden nails to the ground, and sat down. Across from him Atreus’s son was raging. Then among them rose Nestor of sweet speech, the clear-voiced speaker of the Pylians, from whose tongue speech flowed sweeter than honey. In his time two generations of mortal men had already died — those who were raised with him and those born after in sacred Pylos — and he was ruling over the third. He meant them well, and he spoke out:
“For shame. Great grief is coming on the land of Achaea. Priam would rejoice, and Priam’s children, and the other Trojans would be glad at heart, if they learned of this quarrel between you two — you who are first among the Danaans in counsel and first in fighting. But listen. You are both younger than I am. I once kept company with better men than you — and they never disregarded me. I have never seen such men since, and I never will: men like Peirithous and Dryas, shepherd of the people, Caeneus and Exadius and godlike Polyphemus, and Theseus son of Aegeus, the image of the immortals. They were the strongest of men reared on the earth. They were the strongest, and they fought the strongest — the mountain beasts — and destroyed them terribly. I went from Pylos and joined them, from a far country; they called me themselves. I fought on my own. Against those men none of the mortals now on earth could fight. And they took my counsels and listened to my word. So you too, take my counsel — taking counsel is better. You, great as you are, do not take the girl from him — leave her, as the sons of the Achaeans first gave her to him as a prize. And you, son of Peleus: do not be minded to contend with a king, force against force. A scepter-bearing king to whom Zeus gives glory has a share of honor unlike other men’s. You are stronger — a goddess mother bore you — but he is greater, because he rules more people. Son of Atreus, check your rage. I beg you to let go your anger at Achilles, who is a great wall of war for all the Achaeans.”
Powerful Agamemnon answered: “Yes, old man — all that you say is fair. But this man wants to be above everyone else. He wants to hold power over all, to be king over all, to give orders to all — and I think one man will not obey him. If the gods who live forever made him a spearman, does that give them the right to let him spit insults?”
Godlike Achilles broke in on him: “Yes, I would be called a coward and a nobody if I yielded to you in every matter, whatever you say. Lay those orders on others. Do not give orders to me. I do not think I will obey you anymore. I will tell you something else — take it to heart: I will not fight you with my hands over the girl — not you, not anyone else. You gave her; you take her away. But of everything else that is mine by my swift black ship, you will carry off nothing against my will. Come try it, so these others can see: your dark blood will run down my spear at once.”
When the two had fought it out with opposing words, they stood up and broke the assembly by the Achaean ships. Peleus’s son went to his shelters and his balanced ships with the son of Menoetius and his companions. Atreus’s son launched a swift ship on the sea, chose twenty rowers, put a hecatomb for the god on board, and brought Chryseis of the lovely cheeks and set her in it. Resourceful Odysseus went aboard as captain.