A Reading of Chapter 1 of The Iliad

A new translation in modern English verse!

In Chapter 1 of The Iliad, the story begins with The Wrath of Achilles. Achilles, the greatest warrior among the Greeks, becomes furious with Agamemnon, the Greek king, after Agamemnon insults him by taking away a prize of honor, a woman named Briseis. This act feels like a deep betrayal to Achilles, who values his honor above all else. The two argue bitterly, and it is clear their conflict runs deep, with Achilles refusing to back down.

In his wrath, Achilles makes Achilles' Oath and decides he will no longer fight alongside the Greeks, leaving them vulnerable without their mightiest hero. He swears to let them suffer without his help, even if it costs them dearly in the battle against Troy. Achilles believes that Agamemnon must understand the price of dishonoring him and that the Greeks will regret their king’s actions. This decision changes the fate of the entire Greek army and shows how powerful Achilles is, even without raising a weapon.

Meanwhile, The Return of Chryseis takes place as Odysseus, another Greek hero, sails back to deliver Chryseis, the daughter of a priest, to her father. The Greeks also make a sacrifice to Apollo, the god who has been sending a deadly plague to their camp in anger over Chryseis' capture. Finally, in The Council of the Gods, Achilles’ mother, Thetis, rises to Mount Olympus to plead with Zeus, the king of the gods, asking him to honor her son and help the Trojans gain strength against the Greeks. This causes tension among the gods, especially with Hera, Zeus’ wife, who suspects Zeus’s plans. The gods’ actions set the stage for more challenges and divine conflicts that will impact the fate of the Greek army.

The Wrath of Achilles 

 Achilles, the greatest Greek warrior, becomes furious when Agamemnon, the Greek king, insults him and takes away his honor, setting off a bitter conflict between them.

Sing, goddess, of Achilles’ deadly wrath,

That brought such sorrow to the Greeks in war,

And sent the souls of heroes down to Hades,

Their bodies left unburied on the ground,

For hungry dogs and birds to tear apart.

This fate was sealed by Zeus, from that first day

When bitter words arose between two men—

Achilles, bold and best among the Greeks,

And Agamemnon, Atreus’ prideful son.

Say, goddess, who first stirred them to this fight?

Apollo, Zeus’s bright and shining son,

Angry with the king, unleashed a plague,

A deadly sweep that struck the Greek camp down,

For Agamemnon slighted him in scorn,

Rejecting Chryses, priest of God Apollo.

Chryses had come to win his cherished child,

Bringing a ransom, treasures for the king,

And in his hands, he held Apollo’s staff,

With wreaths of light, the emblem of the god.

He begged the Greeks, and most of all their chiefs—

The sons of Atreus, Agamemnon

And Menelaus, lion-hearted, strong:

“O leaders of the Greeks and mighty kings,

May all your prayers be answered by the gods—

To sack Troy’s towering walls and sail back home.

But please, release my daughter whom I love,

And take these gifts, the blessings of Apollo.”

The other Greeks agreed and called aloud

To honor him and take the splendid gifts.

But Agamemnon, stubborn in his pride,

Spoke harshly, and refused the priest's request:

“Old man, don’t let me find you near our ships,

Or lingering here or coming back again.

Your staff and wreath won’t help you now, old fool.

I will not free your daughter from my halls—

She’ll grow old here, working at my loom,

Far, far from home in Greece, serving me.

So go, old man, and do not tempt my rage,

If you still hope to make it home alive.”

At this, the old man feared and did obey;

He walked in silence by the lonely shore.

But when he’d gone far off from ships and men,

He raised his hands and prayed to Lord Apollo:

“Hear me, bright god of arrows, lord of light!

If ever I have pleased you with my gifts,

With temples built or offerings of bulls,

Then hear my plea and grant this wish today:

Bring pain upon the Greeks for all my tears,

And strike them hard with arrows from your bow.”

So prayed the priest, and Apollo heard his call,

Descending from Olympus, filled with wrath.

Across his shoulder hung his silver bow,

And from his back, his quiver full of arrows.

The arrows rattled as he moved along,

And like the night, he swept across the camp.

He sat apart, away from fighting ships,

Then quickly loosed a deadly arrow’s flight.

The twang of silver echoed through the air,

And first, the dogs and swiftest mules he struck.

Then on the men, his arrows rained like fire,

Until the fires burned, lighting up the night

With countless bodies strewn upon the ground.

For nine long days, the arrows poured on them,

And on the tenth, Achilles called the troops

To meet together. White-armed Hera sent

This thought into Achilles’ mind with care,

For in her heart, she grieved for all the Greeks

And felt their pain as men fell to the plague.

When all the soldiers gathered in one place,

Swift-footed Achilles rose and spoke aloud:

“Son of Atreus, now I think we must

Turn back for home, if we can flee this death—

For war and plague together ruin us.

But let us ask a prophet or a priest,

Or one who dreams the truth that Zeus reveals,

To tell us why Apollo is so fierce,

So filled with anger. Does he seek great gifts?

Or lambs and goats to lay upon the fire,

To stop his wrath and save us from this death?”

Achilles spoke, then took his seat, and next

Rose Kalchas, Thestor’s son, the best by far

At reading signs and telling what’s to come.

He’d led the Greeks across the seas to Troy,

For he possessed the god Apollo’s gift—

To see what lies ahead, the god of light.

With wisdom, Kalchas raised his voice and spoke:

“O great Achilles, since you ask of me

To tell you why Apollo is enraged,

Listen, and swear to help me when I tell,

For I believe that one of us will hate

The truth I speak—one powerful, the king,

Who rules the Greeks and guides them to his will.

A king’s rage is more forceful than a man’s,

And if he holds a grudge, it stays alight—

Even if now his anger seems to cool,

He waits, and makes his vengeance come to pass.”

Then swift Achilles answered, full of fire:

“Speak without fear the truth of what you know!

I swear by Apollo, priest of gods above,

Whose prayers reveal the secrets of the gods,

That while I live and breathe upon the earth,

No man will dare lay violent hands on you—

Not even if you name the man himself,

Agamemnon, king of all who gather here.”

Encouraged by Achilles’ words, he spoke:

“It’s not because the god demands more gifts,

Nor that we failed to honor him enough.

It’s Agamemnon’s fault, for in his pride

He would not free the priest’s beloved child,

Nor take the ransom that was freely given.

And so the god has cast his pain on us,

And will not lift the plague from off the Greeks

Until we send the girl back to her home,

Unbought, unrewarded, and bring forth

A hundred perfect beasts to sacrifice.

Then maybe we can calm Apollo’s wrath.”

When he had spoken, Kalchas sat back down.

But Agamemnon rose, his mind aflame,

His heart with anger dark and burning bright—

His eyes, like blazing fire, flared with hate.

And glaring at the seer, he shouted loud:

“You never speak good news—I only hear

Your curses! Every time you prophesy,

Your heart delights in dark and evil words!

And now you claim that it’s because of me,

Because I would not take the ransom gold,

That all of us are suffering this plague?

Yes, it is true, I love the girl too much—

More than I love my wife, who waits at home.

She’s far superior in grace and skill,

In looks, in mind, and even in her work.

But I shall send her back, if that must be—

For saving lives is better than our death.

But mark me well: find me a prize instead,

So I’m not left without a just reward,

The only Greek to be left empty-handed.

For you all see how much my honor’s worth—

It should not pass away to someone else.”

Then swift Achilles answered him, enraged:

“O Agamemnon, lord of selfish greed!

How can the Greeks find you another prize?

We do not have great treasures stored somewhere—

Everything we’ve already won and earned

Is passed around and split among the troops.

You should return the girl back to the god,

And if we take the walls of Troy someday,

Then you shall have three, four times what you gave.”

Then Agamemnon answered, full of rage:

“Achilles, strong you are, like gods themselves,

But don’t deceive your mighty heart with lies.

You wish to keep your prize while I go without?

You tell me to return the girl and yet

Make no plans to repay me for my loss?

If all our great-hearted warriors agree

To give me something equal in her place,

Fine, I will take it then without complaint.

But if they don’t, I’ll seize whatever prize

I want—perhaps from you, or Ajax bold,

Or from Odysseus. I’ll take what’s mine,

And any man I come to will be mad.

But we can argue this another time.

Come now, let’s launch a ship into the sea,

Gather a crew and load a sacrifice,

And send the lovely girl back to her home.

We’ll choose a leader—Ajax, Idomeneus,

Odysseus, or you, Achilles, best of men—

So they may offer sacrifice to please

The god who strikes us down with deadly darts.”

Achilles’ Oath 

In his anger, Achilles swears he will no longer fight for the Greeks, leaving them vulnerable without their mightiest hero."

Then swift Achilles, anger in his voice,

Replied with scornful words against the king:

“You shameless man, so greedy and so sly!

Why would the Greeks all follow you with trust

Or fight their hardest in the heat of war?

I did not come to fight the Trojan spears

For my own sake—they never harmed my lands.

The Trojans never raided Phthia’s fields,

Nor drove away our cattle or my steeds.

Between us lie the mountains and the seas—

The high, wide mountains, shadowed, dark, immense.

We came because of you, great greedy king,

To win back honor for your brother’s name,

And for yourself, the king who knows no shame.

But now you care not for the Greeks at all,

And threaten to take what I’ve earned in war.

I worked so hard for that, the prize I hold,

Given by the army, justly won by me.

When Greeks attack the walls of Troy, it’s me—

My hands that do the hardest work of all.

But when the gains are counted at day’s end,

The greatest share is handed over to you.

I take the smallest, but I bear it back,

To rest beside my ships when I am done.

Now I’ll return to my home, for it's far

More worth my time than staying here in vain.

I do not think you’re worth my fighting for,

Nor will you pay me what you promised here.”

Then Agamemnon answered with cold scorn:

“Go if you wish—your heart is full of pride.

I beg you not to stay here at my side.

I have the favor of the mighty gods,

And others here will honor me as well.

But of all kings, I hate you the most,

For you love quarrels, battles, endless fights.

Yes, you’re strong, but that’s no gift of yours—

A god has given you that strength alone.

Now leave! Go home and lead your Myrmidons,

I do not care or fear your wrathful heart.

But know this well—and let all hear my words:

As Apollo takes the girl away from me,

I’ll send her back across the sea in ships,

But I will come and take your prize instead—

The lovely Briseis, given by the Greeks.

So you will know how much more strong I am,

And none may dare to claim to be my equal.”

He spoke, and fiery anger filled the heart

Of brave Achilles, torn within his soul.

Should he pull out his sword beside his thigh

And rise to strike the mighty king in rage?

Or calm his heart and hold his anger back?

As these thoughts stormed inside his chest and mind,

He reached to draw his heavy, mighty sword,

But suddenly, Athena came from heaven,

Sent by the kind command of Hera’s will,

Who loved them both and cared for all the Greeks.

Athena stood behind Achilles then

And seized his golden hair, unseen by all—

Invisible to all but him alone.

Achilles halted, startled by her touch,

Then quickly turned to see the goddess there,

And knew her by the blazing of her eyes.

He spoke to her with sudden wary words:

“Why have you come, O daughter born of Zeus?

Have you come down to witness Agamemnon

And see the insults that he's thrown at me?

But let me tell you—and I think I’m right—

This boasting will soon lead him to his doom.”

Then bright-eyed Athena spoke in calm reply:

“I came to stop your anger in its tracks,

If you will listen to the gods' command.

I came from high Olympus at the word

Of Hera, queen of heaven, who loves you both.

So stop the fight, and put away your sword.

Don’t strike, but use your words to shame the king.

One day, you’ll be repaid—three times over—

For the dishonor Agamemnon brings.

Be patient now; trust me, and hold your fire.”

Then swift Achilles answered her at once:

“Goddess, I know your word is always strong,

And though my heart is wrathful, I will yield—

A warrior must listen to the gods and bow.”

With that, he placed his mighty hand upon

The silver hilt, and thrust the great sword back

Into its sheath, as Athena had asked.

Then she returned to heaven, leaving them,

Her mission done, to stand with Zeus again.

But still Achilles’ anger had not cooled.

He faced the king, and spoke with biting words:

“You wine-soaked fool, with shameless, dog-like eyes

And heart as soft and timid as a deer!

You care not for the wars on open fields,

Nor ever join the fights with brave Greek men.

It’s easier for you to take away

The prizes of your captains, with cruel hands.

You act the coward, and devour their spoils,

But you would never face the battle’s edge.

And now, you threaten me with loss and pain—

But know this, mark my words, and hear me well:

By this scepter, which will never sprout a leaf,

Now carved and shaped by human hands, once green,

But now carried by leaders of the Greeks,

Who stand for justice and protect the law—

I swear to you, a day will surely come,

When all the Greeks will cry out for my help.

The men will fall, cut down by Hector’s hand,

And you will weep, but I will not fight then—

You’ll tear your heart in sorrow, full of grief,

When you see what you’ve lost because of me.”

With that, Achilles threw the scepter down;

Its golden nails struck earth, and then he sat.

But Agamemnon, on the other side,

Still full of rage, sat silent, glaring back.

Then Nestor rose, the wise old counselor,

With honey flowing from his aged lips.

Two generations of mankind had passed

Since he was born, and now the third he led.

With good intent, he stood and spoke these words:

“What great sorrow has now come to our land!

How Priam and his sons would leap for joy,

And how the Trojans, too, would gladly cheer,

To see you two, our mightiest in war,

Clashing with one another in such rage!

But hear my words—both of you young and fierce—

For once I walked and fought with men more strong

Than either one of you, and still they heard

My voice and never cast aside my words.

I’ve yet to see men like them walk the Earth,

Great warriors like the mighty Theseus,

Or Dryas, or the fearless shepherd kings.

They were the strongest men of all their time,

And fought against the mountain-dwelling beasts.

I joined them once—they called me from my land,

From Pylos far across the distant seas—

And fought beside them, standing by their side.

No mortal men today could face their strength,

Yet even they would listen when I spoke,

And I gave counsel that would serve them well.

So listen now, as they once did to me—

For both of you, it’s wiser to obey.

Agamemnon, though you are high in rank,

Do not take back the prize once fairly won;

Let it remain with mighty Achilles.

And, Achilles, for you, restrain from strife

Against the king; he holds the greater power,

For Zeus has given him the strongest hand.

And though your mother is a goddess bright,

He rules the army with a stronger claim.

So, Agamemnon, calm your rage at once,

And may Achilles cool his wrath too,

For he’s a wall to all the Greeks in war.”

Then Agamemnon, king of men, replied:

“These words you speak are fair and full of sense,

Old man, but this Achilles thinks that he

Should rule us all and reign above the rest.

He wants to give commands to everyone,

But I don’t think he’ll find us all so weak.

And though the gods may bless him in some way,

Does that give him the right to hurl such scorn?”

Achilles answered him with biting words:

“I’d be a coward, nothing but a fool,

If I obeyed your cruel commands in this!

Go lead someone else—you have no power

Over me now, and I will follow none

Of your commands or orders anymore.

But let me tell you something; mark it well:

I will not fight you or the Greeks for her.

Take her if you must—it’s your choice, not mine.

But as for all the rest that’s mine from war,

I swear that nothing else will leave my ships.

Just try to take it, if you dare to prove—

Your blood would stain my spear before the rest.”

The two exchanged such fierce and cutting words,

And then the meeting broke apart at last.

Achilles turned and headed for his camp,

And with him went his friend Patroclus, and

His loyal men beside the moving ships.

But Agamemnon pulled a fast black ship

Down to the sea and chose a crew of twenty.

He placed the holy offering for the god

Upon the ship, along with Chryseis,

And wise Odysseus captained it to sail.

Then those men sailed across the open sea,

While Agamemnon told the troops to bathe

And cleanse themselves to quiet god Apollo.

They cast the washing water in the waves

And made a perfect offering of bulls

And goats upon the sandy shore nearby.

The smoke of sacrifice curled to the sky.

While they were busy with these tasks, the king

Did not forget his quarrel with Achilles.

He called for Talthybius and Eurybates,

His most trusted messengers and aides,

And gave these orders, stern and full of weight:

“Go now to Achilles’ tent at once

And bring to me the girl Briseis there.

If he refuses, I will come myself,

And take her with more men—that would be worse.”

With heavy hearts, the two obeyed their lord.

Unwilling, they walked down the silent shore,

And soon they reached Achilles by his ship.

He sat beside the water, lost in thought,

And when they came to him, he did not smile.

The messengers, afraid and full of shame,

Stood still and quiet, saying not a word.

But Achilles knew their purpose right away,

And so he spoke to them with heavy sighs:

“Hail, heralds, messengers of Zeus and men.

Come closer now—no need to fear from me.

You’ve done no wrong; you only bear the word

Of Agamemnon’s order to take the girl.

So, Patroclus, my dear friend, bring her forth

For them to take away. And let them see,

Witnesses to all the heavens and men,

If Agamemnon someday seeks my help

To save the Greeks from ruin by his hand.

For he acts harshly now, with foolish heart,

And does not think of what comes next in war,

Nor how the Greeks will suffer by their ships.”

So Achilles spoke, and Patroclus obeyed.

He brought out Briseis, her face in tears,

And led her down the shore to go with them.

The men returned to Agamemnon’s camp,

And Briseis, though unwilling, went along.

But Achilles withdrew from all his men,

His eyes filled up with tears, and sat alone

Beside the grey-blue sea, gazing far out.

He prayed with open hands up to the sky

And called upon his mother, full of grief:

“Mother, since you gave me such a short life,

Zeus should have honored me while I am here.

But now, he hasn’t given me a thing.

Agamemnon, king of prideful hearts,

Has shamed me—he has stolen what I earned!”

He cried these words, his tears like pouring rain,

And his mother, sitting below the waves,

Heard his sorrow from the ocean depths,

Near her old father in the sea’s embrace.

Swift as a mist, she rose up from the waves,

And sat beside Achilles, full of love.

She stroked his cheek, and speaking through her tears,

She called him by his name and gently asked:

“My child, why do you weep? What pain has come

Into your heart? Please share with me your grief.”

Then swift Achilles, through his deep, sad sighs,

Replied, “You know—why tell you all of this?

We went to Thebes, the city of Eëtion,

We took that town and brought the spoils back here.

The kings and soldiers shared the treasure out,

And Agamemnon took his prize of gold.

But Chryses, priest of god Apollo, came

To free his daughter, offering rich gifts.

He held aloft Apollo’s sacred staff

And begged the Greeks to send his child back home.

All the others agreed to take the gold,

To honor him and send his daughter back.

But Agamemnon let his anger rule,

And sent the priest away with bitter words.

Heartbroken, Chryses left and called his god—

Apollo, who could not ignore his plea.

He sent his arrows down upon the Greeks,

And many fell until the fires burned hot.

Apollo’s curse destroyed our camp with plague,

Killing men throughout our mighty ranks—

And all was seen and shared by the great seer.

"I was the first to tell them, calm the god!

But then the rage of Agamemnon grew,

He stood and threatened—now it has been done.

The Greeks have sent the girl back to her home,

Bearing rich gifts to honor her proud father.

But here, the one the Greeks gave me as mine,

Briseis, the prize I rightly won in war—

The messengers have taken her away.

But mother, if you can, protect your son:

Go up to mighty Zeus and plead my case,

Remind him of the times you helped before,

How many times you saved him long ago,

When all the other gods had sought to bind

His hands and feet with unbreakable chains.

You called for aid from far beneath the earth

And brought the hundred-handed one to help,

Great Briareus, whom men call Aegaeon—

A giant, stronger even than his sire.

He sat beside the throne of mighty Zeus,

And all the gods who tried to bind him fled.

So now, go to Olympus once again,

And ask if he will help the Trojans win,

To trap the Greeks around their burning ships,

Until they see how wrong their king has been,

And know Agamemnon’s foolish, prideful ways.”

Achilles’ mother, shedding tears, replied:

“My poor, dear child, why did I raise you here,

If all you know is sorrow and cruel pain?

You’re doomed to live a life so short and hard.

Why could you not have lived without these tears,

When fate has given you so little time?

Your life will end too soon, with endless grief,

For you will live to see much suffering.

But I will go to Zeus with this request,

Though he is far away for now, in feast

Among the people of the distant sea.

In twelve more days, he will return to us,

And I will climb to his bright, shining halls,

And beg him for the help you long to find.”

With those words spoken, she returned to sea,

And left her son behind in deep despair,

His heart enraged, still angry at the loss

Of the fair woman taken from his tent.

The Return of Chryseis 

Odysseus sails to return Chryseis to her father and offers a sacrifice to Apollo, hoping to end the terrible plague that has struck the Greek army."

Meanwhile, Odysseus reached fair Chryse’s shores,

Bringing with him the honored sacrifice.

And once they pulled into the calm, deep bay,

They lowered down the sail upon the mast,

And furled it tight before they dropped the ropes.

They rowed the ship with oars to guide her in

And anchored her upon the sandy beach.

They stepped onto the shore and quickly brought

The offering for Apollo, god of light.

Then from the ship came Chryses’ daughter too.

Odysseus, the wise and clever man,

Led her to Chryses, her beloved father,

And placed her gently in her father’s hands.

He then spoke kindly what the king had said:

“O Chryses, Agamemnon sent me here

To give your daughter back to you, unharmed.

We also bring a special sacrifice

In hopes of pleasing Apollo, lord of light,

So he will end the plague that harms the Greeks.”

These words he spoke, and with great joy, the priest

Received his daughter back into his arms.

Then quickly they prepared the offering,

Arranging holy gifts before the god.

They washed their hands and sprinkled barley grain,

And Chryses lifted up his hands and prayed:

“Hear me, Apollo, lord of silver bow,

Protector of our people, great and wise,

Once before you heard me when I prayed,

And honored me by striking Greeks with plague.

Now hear me once again, and grant my wish:

Please take away this plague from them right now.”

So Chryses prayed, and Apollo heard his voice.

Once they had prayed and sprinkled barley grain,

They drew the victim close and cut its throat.

They skinned the beast and cut its thighs away,

And set them, wrapped in fat, upon the fire.

The priest, with hands uplifted, poured red wine,

While young men stood beside him, holding forks.

When all the thighs were burnt and offerings made,

They sliced the meat and stuck it on their spits,

They roasted it with care, then pulled it off.

When all the work was finished and the food

Was done, they feasted—every heart was filled.

When they had eaten all they wished, they poured

Wine for the god, and sang in joyful song.

Their lovely music rose up to the sky,

Their voices praising Apollo for his grace,

And the god’s heart was gladdened as he heard.

At last, the sun sank down and night arrived.

The men lay down to rest beside the ships.

But with the dawn came rosy-fingered light,

And so they set their sails for home once more.

Apollo sent a breeze to fill their sails—

They raised the mast and pulled the canvas tight,

The wind swelled up the center of their sails,

The sea around the prow foamed up and roared,

As through the waves they sped upon made way.

When they arrived at last among the Greeks,

They pulled the black ship high upon the shore,

And set the long oars straight upon the sand.

Then all the men returned to their own tents.

But by the ships Achilles stayed in rage—

The son of Peleus, godlike, swift of foot.

He did not go to meetings or to war;

Instead he sat alone, his heart in pain,

Longing for battle cries and clashing spears.

The Council of the Gods 

Thetis pleads with Zeus to honor Achilles, causing tension among the gods as they gather and feast on Mount Olympus.

But when the twelfth light of morning came,

The gods returned to high Olympus' peaks,

And Zeus, the ruler, led them all in strength.

Thetis, true to her word, did not forget

Her son’s deep need, and rose up from the sea.

She climbed to far Olympus through the mist

And found great Zeus apart from mortal men,

Sitting alone upon the mountain’s peak.

She sat down at his feet and gripped his knees,

With her left hand, and with her right, she raised

His chin, and then she begged him with these words:

“O Father Zeus, if e’er I’ve helped you once,

Or ever given aid through word or deed,

Then answer me this prayer, and grant my wish.

Honor my son Achilles, short of life,

For now great Agamemnon, king of men,

Has shamed him—he has stolen what he earned!

Please, Zeus, help him, bring honor to his name.

Give strength to Troy, until the Greeks regret

The way they treated him, and honor him.”

She finished speaking, but Zeus did not speak;

He sat in silence for a long, long while.

But still, Thetis held fast to his strong knees,

Asking again, pleading with trembling voice:

“Promise me now, and swear that you will help,

Or else refuse if that’s your final word—

So I may know just how much I am scorned,

That even Zeus, with all his power, despises me.”

At last, Zeus sighed and then replied aloud:

“This is such trouble! It will make great strife—

If I agree to help, my wife will rage,

And she will taunt me with her cruelest words.

Her heart already thinks I aid the Trojans,

Though I ask nothing, now or evermore.

But go back now, before Hera can see.

I’ll work all things out soon as I have planned.

And just to prove my word keeps weight, my head

Will bow, for this is my most solemn vow.

Among the gods, none can undo my word—

If I agree, it must and will be done.”

Then Zeus, the great god, nodded his dark brow,

And from his temples shook the heavenly locks—

The mighty Olympus trembled at his will.

Once the two gods had made their plans, they left;

Thetis dove back into the deep blue sea,

While Zeus returned to his high golden halls.

The gods all rose from their seats to meet him,

And no one dared to wait until he came—

For all the gods stood up before their king.

Then Zeus sat down upon his mighty throne,

But Hera knew what Thetis had discussed—

She’d seen it all unfold from far away.

And so, with biting words, she scolded him:

“What god has met with you in secret schemes?

You’re always plotting things behind my back!

You never share your thoughts with me at all—

You keep it to yourself and leave me out.”

Zeus, ruler of the gods, then answered her:

“Hera, don’t think you’ll always know my mind.

Even though you’re my wife, some things are hard—

Too hard for gods and men to understand.

I must keep some matters to myself alone.

But anything that’s right for you to hear,

No god or mortal will know it before you.

Yet when I choose to keep a secret plan,

Do not ask questions—do not pry too deep.”

Then ox-eyed Hera quickly answered him:

“What words are these, Zeus, son of Cronos great?

I never ask you things you wish to hide;

You plan what you desire with peace from me.

But now I greatly fear you’ve been deceived

By silver-footed Thetis, daughter born

Of the old man who rules beneath the sea.

I saw her come just now to grasp your knees—

I think she asked for something in your grace,

To honor her dear son, Achilles, and

To strike down scores of Greeks by all their ships.”

Zeus, the cloud-gatherer, replied again:

“You’re always seeing things! I can’t hide much,

But give it up—you have no power to stop

What I decide, and you’ll just rage in vain.

And though you question me, it will bring you

Nothing but fury burning in your heart.

If I do plan to honor her request,

Then don’t protest—just sit and hold your peace.

No other god can stop my will or help

When I decide to raise my mighty hand.”

So Zeus had spoken, and Queen Hera feared;

She held her tongue and bowed her troubled heart.

The gods, throughout the palace, trembled deep,

Until Hephaestus, master of all craft,

Began to speak with kindness to his mother,

White-armed Hera, offering soft advice:

“Mother, these fights between you and our father

Will bring us endless trouble and long pain.

If you keep quarreling like this for men,

You’ll fill the heavens only with more strife.

There’ll be no joy or peace here at the feast,

For battles and foul tempers fill the air.

So mother, calm yourself—go make amends,

And offer kindness to our father, Zeus,

So once again we’ll have some peace and joy.

For if he wishes, he could hurl us all

Far from our seats, for none is greater still.

So speak to him with soft and gentle words,

And peace will come to all the gods again.”

He said these words, then swiftly stood and poured

A brimming cup of nectar in her hand,

And, “Mother, bear it well,” he calmly said,

“Though troubled now, stay strong and hold your peace.

For you’re my dearest, and it would break my heart

To see you struck while we stand here in vain.

For no one could protect you from his wrath—

If Zeus were mad, not even I could help.

Remember when I tried to save you once—

He grabbed me by the foot and flung me down.

I fell all day and landed hard in Lemnos,

And barely came away with life at all.

The Sintian people found me as I fell,

And took me in to heal my battered form.”

At this, the white-armed Hera softly smiled.

She took the cup her son held in his hand,

And he, in turn, poured nectar for the rest,

Filling their cups with rich, sweet-running wine.

Laughter filled the heavens, bright and strong,

At how Hephaestus bustled through the halls.

And so the gods feasted the whole long day,

Until the sinking sun began to fade.

Apollo played the lyre’s lovely notes,

While muses sang, exchanging lyric songs.

When finally the light of day was gone,

The gods then made their way back to their homes,

Each to the dwellings made by Hephaestus,

Built by his clever crafting, full of skill.

And Zeus returned to where he always slept,

The thunder-thrower, next to Hera’s side.

Both lay down in their golden-cushioned bed,

Where sleep would soon descend and bring them peace.