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BOOK VI
The Book of the Chieftains
Then as from common hills great Pelion rises to heaven So from the throng uprearing a brow that no crown could ennoble, Male and kingly of front like a lion conscious of puissance Rose a form august, the monarch great Agamemnon. Wroth he rose yet throwing a rein on the voice of his passion, Governing the beast and the demon within by the god who is mighty. "Happy thy life and my fame that thou com'st with the aegis of heaven Shadowing thy hoary brows, thou herald of pride and of insult. Well is it too for his days who sent thee that other and nobler Heaven made my heart than his who insults and a voice of the immortals Cries to my soul forbidding its passions. O hardness of virtue, Thus to be seized and controlled as in fetters by Zeus and Athene. Free is the peasant to smite in the pastures the mouth that has wronged him, Chained in his soul is Atrides. Bound by their debt to the fathers, Curbed by the god in them painfully move the lives of the noble, Forced to obey the eye that watches within in their bosoms. Ever since Zeus Cronion turned in our will towards the waters, Scourged by the heavens in my dearest, wronged by men and their clamours, Griefs untold I have borne in Argos and Aulis and Troas, Yoked to this sacred toil of the Greeks for their children and country, Bound by the gods to a task that is heavy, a load that is bitter. Seeing the faces of foes in the mask of friends I was silent. Hateful I hold him who sworn to a cause that is holy and common Broods upon private wrongs or serving his lonely ambition Studies to reap his gain from the labour and woe of his fellows. Mire is the man who hears not the gods when they cry to his bosom. Grief and wrath I coerced nor carried my heart to its record All that has hurt its chords and wounded the wings of my spirit. Nobler must kings be than natures of earth on whom Zeus lays no burden. Other is Peleus' son than the race of his Aeacid fathers, Nor like his sire of the wise-still heart far-sighted and patient Bearing the awful rein of the gods, but hastes to his longings, Dire in his wrath and pursued by the band of his giant ambitions. Measure and virtue forsake him as Ate grows in his bosom.
Page – 420 Yet not for tyrant wrong nor to serve as a sword for our passions Zeus created our strength, but that earth might have help from her children. Not of our moulding its gifts to our soul nor were formed by our labour! When did we make them, where were they forged, in what workshop or furnace? Found in what aeon of Time, that pride should bewilder the mortal? Bowed to our will are the folk and our prowess dreadful and godlike? Shadows are these of the gods which the deep heavens cast on our spirits. Transient, we made not ourselves, but at birth from the first we were fashioned Valiant or fearful and as was our birth by the gods and their thinkings Formed, so already enacted and fixed by their wills are our fortunes. What were the strength of Atrides and what were the craft of Odysseus Save for their triumphing gods? They would fail and be helpless as infants. Stronger a woman, wiser a child were favoured by Heaven. Ceased not Sarpedon slain who was son of Zeus and unconquered? Not to Achilles he fell, but Fate and the gods were his slayers. Kings, to the arrogant shaft that was launched, the unbearable insult, Armoured wisdoms oppose, let not Ate seize on your passions. Be not as common souls, O you who are Greece and her fortunes, Nor of your spirits of wrath take counsel but of Athene. Merit the burden laid by Zeus, his demand from your natures Suffer, O hearts of his seed, O souls who are chosen and mighty, All forgetting but Greece and her good; resolve what is noble. I will not speak nor advise, for 'tis known we are rivals and foemen." Calmed by his words and his will he sat down mighty and kinglike; But Menelaus arose, the Spartan, the husband of Helen, Atreus' younger son from a lesser womb, in his brilliance Dwarfed by the other's port, yet tall was he, gracile and splendid, As if a panther might hunt by a lion's side in the forest. Smiting his thigh with his firm-clenched hand he spoke mid the Argives: "Woe to me, shameless, born to my country a cause of affliction, Since for my sake all wrongs must be borne and all shames be encountered; And for my sake you have spun through the years down the grooves of disaster Bearing the shocks of the Trojans and ravaged by Zeus and by Hector, Slaughtered by Rhesus and Memnon, Sarpedon and Penthesilea;
Page – 421 Or by the Archer pierced, the hostile dreadful Apollo, Evilly end the days of the Greeks remote from their kindred — Slain on an alien soil by Asian Xanthus and Ida. Doomed to the pyre we have toiled for a woman ungracious who left us Passing serenely my portals to joy in the chambers of Troya. Here let it cease, O my brother! how much wilt thou bear for this graceless Child of thy sire, cause still of thy griefs and never of blessing? Easily Zeus afflicts who trouble their hearts for a woman; But in our ships that sailed close-fraught with this dolorous Ate Worse was the bane they bore which King Peleus begot on white Thetis. Evil ever was sown by the embrace of the gods with a mortal! Alien a portent is born and a breaker of men and their labours, One who afflicts with his light or his force mortality's weakness Stripping for falsehoods their verities, shaking the walls they erected. Hostile all things the scourge divine overbears or, if helpful, Neither without him his fellows can prosper, nor will his spirit Fit in the frame of things earthly but shatters their rhythm and order Rending the measures just that the wise have decreed for our growing. So have our mortal plannings broken on this fateful Achilles And with our blood and our anguish Heaven has fostered his greatness. It is enough; let the dire gods choose between Greece and their offspring. Even as he bids us, aloof let our hosts twixt the ships and the Xanthus Stand from the shock and the cry where Hellene meets with Eoan, Troy and Phthia locked, Achilles and Penthesilea, Nor any more than watchers care who line an arena; Calm like the impartial gods, approve the bravest and swiftest. Sole let him fight! The fates shall preserve him he vaunts of or gather, Even as death shall gather us all for memory's clusters, All in their day who were great or were little, heroes or cowards. So shall he slay or be slain, a boon to mankind and his country. Since if he mow down this flower of bale, this sickle by Hades Whirled if he break, — for the high gods ride on the hiss of his spear-shaft, — Ours is the gain who shall break rejoicing through obdurate portals Praising Pallas alone and Hera daughter of Heaven. But if he sink in this last of his fights, as they say it is fated, — Nor do I deem that the man has been born in Asia or Hellas Who in the dreadful field can prevail against Penthesilea, —
Page – 422 If to their tents the Myrmidons fleeing cumber the meadows Slain by a girl in her speed and leaving the corpse of their leader, Ours is the gain, we are rid of a shame and a hate and a danger. True is it, Troy shall exultant live on in the shadow of Ida, Yet shall our hearts be light because earth is void of Achilles. And for the rest of the infinite loss, what we hoped, what we suffered, Let it all go, let the salt floods swallow it, fate and oblivion Bury it out in the night; let us sail o'er the waves to our country Leaving Helen in Troy since the gods are the friends of transgressors." So Menelaus in anger and grief miscounselled the Argives. Great Idomeneus next, the haughty king of the Cretans, Raised his brow of pride in the lofty Argive assembly. Tall like a pine that stands up on the slope of Thessalian mountains Overpeering a cascade's edge and is seen from the valleys, Such he seemed to their eyes who remembered Greece and her waters, Heard in their souls the torrent's leap and the wind on the hill-tops. "Oft have I marvelled, O Greeks, to behold in this levy of heroes Armies so many, chieftains so warlike suffer in silence Pride of a single man when he thunders and lightens in Troas. Doubtless the nations that follow his cry are many and valiant, Doubtless the winds of the north have made him a runner and spearman. Shall not then force be the King? is not strength the seal of the Godhead? This my soul replies, Agamemnon the Atreid only Choosing for leader and king I have come to the toil and the warfare. Wisdom and greatness he owns and the wealth and renown of his fathers.' But for this whelp of the northlands, nursling of rocks and the sea-cliff Who with his bleak and rough-hewn Myrmidons hastes to the carnage, Leader of wolves to their prey, not the king of a humanised nation, Not to such head of the cold-drifting mist and the gloom-vigilled Chaos, Crude to our culture and light and void of our noble fulfilments Minos shall bend his knee nor Crete, a barbarian's vassal, Stain her old glories. Oh, but he boasts of a goddess for mother Born in the senseless seas mid the erring wastes of the Ocean, White and swift and foam-footed, vast Oceanus' daughter. Gods we adore enough in the heavens, and if from us Hades Claim one more of this breed, we can bear that excess of his glories, Not upon earth these new-born deities huge-passioned, sateless
Page – 423 Who with their mouth as of Orcus and stride of the ruinous Ocean Sole would be seen mid her sons and devour all life's joy and its greatness. Millions must empty their lives that a man may o'ershadow the nations, Numberless homes must weep, but his hunger of glory is sated! Troy shall descend to the shadow; gods and men have condemned her, Weary, hating her fame. Her dreams, her grandeur, her beauty, All her greatness and deeds that now end in miserable ashes, Ceasing shall fade and be as a tale that was forged by the poets. Only a name shall go down from her past and the woe of her ending Naked to hatred and rapine and punished with rape and with slaughter. Never again must marble pride high-domed on her hill-top Look forth dominion and menace over the crested Aegean Shadowing Achaia. Fire shall abolish the fame of her ramparts, Earth her foundations forget. Shall she stand affronting the azure? Dire in our path like a lioness once again must we meet her, Leap and roar of her led by the spear of Achilles, not Hector? Asia by Peleus guided shall stride on us after Antenor? Though one should plan in the night of his thoughts where no eye can pursue him, Instincts of men discover their foe and like hounds in the darkness Bay at a danger hid. No silence of servitude trembling Trains to bondage sons of the race of whom Aeolus father Storm-voiced was and free, nor like other groupings of mortals Moulded we were by Zeus, but supremely were sifted and fashioned. Other are Danaus' sons and other the lofty Achaians: Chainless like Nature's tribes in their many-voiced colonies founded They their god-given impulse shall keep and their natures of freedom. Only themselves shall rule them, only their equal spirits Bowed to the voice of a law that is just, obeying their leaders, Awed by the gods. So with order and balance and harmony noble Life shall move golden, free in its steps and just in its measure, Glad of a manhood complete, by excess and defect untormented. Freedom is life to the Argive soul, to Aeolia's peoples. Dulled by a yoke our nations would perish, or live but as shadows, Changed into phantoms of men with the name of a Greek for a byword. Not like the East and her sons is our race, they who bow to a mortal. Gods there may be in this flesh that suffers and dies; Achaia
Page – 424 Knows them not. Need if he feels of a world to endure and adore him, Hearts let him seek that are friends with the dust, overpowered by their heavens, Here in these Asian vastnesses, here where the heats and the perfumes Sicken the soul and the sense and a soil of indolent plenty Breeds like the corn in its multitudes natures accustomed to thraldom. Here let the northern Achilles seek for his slaves and adorers, Not in the sea-ringed isles and not in the mountains Achaian. Ten long years of the shock and the war-cry twixt rampart and ocean Hurting our hearts we have toiled; shall they reap not their ease in the vengeance? Troas is sown with the lives of our friends and with ashes remembered; Shall not Meriones slain be reckoned in blood and in treasure? Cretan Idomeneus girt with the strength of his iron retainers Slaying and burning will stride through the city of music and pleasure, Babes of her blood borne high on the spears at the head of my column, Wives of her princes dragged through her streets in its pomp to their passion, Gold of Troy stream richly past in the gaze of Achilles. Then let him threaten my days, then rally the might of his triumphs, Yet shall a Cretan spear make search in his heart for his godhead. Limbs of this god can be pierced; not alone shall I fleet down to Hades." After him rose from the throng the Locrian, swift-footed Ajax. "Kings of the Greeks, throw a veil on your griefs, lay a curb on your anger. Moved man's tongue in its wrath looses speech that is hard to be pardoned, Afterwards stilled we regret, we forgive. If all were resented, None could live on this earth that is thick with our stumblings. Always This is the burden of man that he acts from his heart and his passions, Stung by the goads of the gods he hews at the ties that are dearest. Lust was the guide they sent us, wrath was a whip for his coursers, Madness they made the heart's comrade, repentance they gave for its scourger. This too our hearts demand that we bear with our friend when he chides us. Insult forgive from the noble embittered soul of Achilles! When with the scorn and the wrath of a lover our depths are tormented, Who shall forbid the cry and who shall measure the anguish? Sharper the pain that looses the taunt than theirs who endure it. Rage has wept in my blood as I lived through the flight o'er the pastures,
Page – 425 Shame coils a snake in my back when thought whispers of Penthesilea. Bright shine his morns if he mows down this hell-bitch armed by the Furies! But for this shaft of his pity it came from a lesser Pelides, Not from the slayer of Hector, not from the doom of Sarpedon, Memnon's mighty o'erthrower, the blood-stained splendid Achilles. These are the Trojan snares and the fateful smile of a woman! This thing the soul of a man shall not bear that blood of his labour Vainly has brought him victory leaving life to the hated; This is a wound to our race that a Greek should whisper of mercy. Who can pardon a foe though a god should descend to persuade him? Justice is first of the gods, but for Pity 'twas spawned by a mortal, Pity that only disturbs God's measures and false and unrighteous Holds man back from the joy he might win and troubles his bosom. Troy has a debt to our hearts; she shall pay it all down to the obol, Blood of the fall and anguish of flight when the heroes are slaughtered, Days without joy while we labour and see not the eyes of our parents, Toil of the war-cry, nights that drag past upon alien beaches, Helen ravished, Paris triumphant, endless the items Crowd on a wrath in the memory, kept as in bronze the credit Stretches out long and blood-stained and savage. Most for the terror Graved in the hearts of our fathers that still by our youth is remembered, Hellas waiting and crouching, dreading the spear of the Trojan, Flattering, sending gifts and pale in her mortal anguish, Agony long of a race at the mercy of iron invaders, This she shall pay most, the city of pride, the insolent nation, Pay with her temples charred and her golden mansions in ruins, Pay with the shrieks of her ravished virgins, the groans of the aged Burned in their burning homes for our holiday. Music and dancing Shall be in Troy of another sort than she loved in her greatness Merry with conquered gold and insulting the world with her flutings. All that she boasted of, statue and picture, all shall be shattered; Out of our shame she chiselled them, rich with our blood they were coloured. This not the gods from Olympus crowding, this not Achilles, This not your will, O ye Greeks, shall deny to the Locrian Ajax. Even though Pallas divine with her aegis counselling mercy Cumbered my path, I would push her aside to leap on my victims. Learn shall all men on that day how a warrior deals with his foemen."
Page – 426 Darting flames from his eyes the barbarian sate, and there rose up Frowning Tydeus' son, the Tirynthian, strong Diomedes. "Ajax Oileus, thy words are foam on the lips of a madman. Cretan Idomeneus, silence the vaunt that thy strength can fulfil not. Strong art thou, fearless in battle, but not by thy spear-point, O hero, Hector fell, nor Sarpedon, nor Troilus leading the war-cry. These were Achilles' deeds which a god might have done out of heaven. Him we upbraid who saved, nor would any now who revile him Still have a living tongue for ingratitude but for the hero. Much to the man forgive who has saved his race and his country: Him shall the termless centuries praise when we are forgotten. Curb then your speech, crush down in your hearts the grief and the choler; Has not Atrides curbed who is greatest of all in our nations Wrath in the heart and the words that are winged for our bale from our bosoms? For as a load to be borne were these passions given to mortals. Honour Achilles, conquer Troy by his god-given valour. Now of our discords and griefs debate not for joy of our foemen! First over Priam's corpse stand victors in Ilion's ramparts; Discord then let arise or concord solder our nations." Rugged words and few as fit for the soul that he harboured Great Tydides spoke and ceased; and there rose up impatient Tall from the spears of the north the hero king Prothoënor, Prince in Cadmeian Thebes who with Leitus led on his thousands. "Loudly thou vauntest thy freedom Ionian Minos recalling, Lord of thy southern isles who gildst with tribute Mycenae. We have not bowed our neck to Pelops' line, at Argos' Iron heel have not crouched, nor clasped like thy time-wearied nations, Python-befriended, gripped in the coils of an iron protection, Bondage soothed by a name and destruction masked as a helper. We are the young and lofty and free-souled sons of the Northland. Nobly Peleus, the Aeacid, seer of a vaster Achaia, Pride of his strength and his deeds renouncing for joy of that vision, Yielded his hoary right to the sapling stock of Atrides. Noble, we gave to that nobleness freely our grandiose approval. Not as a foe then, O King, who angered sharpens his arrows, Fits his wrath and hate to the bow and aims at the heart-strings
Page – 427 But from the Truth that is seated within me compelling my accents, Taught by my fathers stern not to lie nor to hide what I harbour, Truth the goddess I speak, nor constrain the voice in my bosom. Monarch, I own thee first of the Greeks save in valour and counsel, Brave, but less than Achilles, wise, but not as Odysseus, First still in greatness and calm and majesty. Yet, Agamemnon, Love of thy house and thy tribe disfigures the king in thy nature; Thou thy brother preferrest, thy friends and thy nations unjustly, Even as a common man whose heart is untaught by Athene, Beastlike favours his brood forgetting the law of the noble. Therefore Ajax grew wroth and Teucer sailing abandoned Over the angry seas this fierce-locked toil of the nations; Therefore Achilles has turned in his soul and gazed towards the Orient. Yet are we fixed in our truth like hills in heaven, Atrides; Greece and her safety and good our passions strive to remember. Not of this stamp was thy brother's speech; such words Lacedaemon Hearing may praise in her kings; we speak not in Thebes what is shameful. Shamefuller thoughts have never escaped from lips that were high-born. We will not send forth earth's greatest to die in a friendless battle, Nor will forsake the daughter of Zeus and white glory of Hellas, Helen the golden-haired Tyndarid, left for the joy of our foemen, Chained to Paris' delight, earth's goddess the slave of the Phrygian, Though Menelaus the Spartan abandon his wife to the Trojans And from the field where he lavished the unvalued blood of his people Flee to a hearth dishonoured. Not the Atreid's sullied grandeurs, Greece to defend we have toiled through the summers and lingering autumns Blind with our blood; for our country we bleed repelling her foemen. Dear is that loss to our veins and still that expense we would lavish Claiming its price from the heavens, though thou sail with thy brother and cohorts. Weakling, flee! take thy southern ships, take thy Spartan levies. Still will the Greeks fight on in the Troad helped by thy absence. For though the beaches vast grow empty, the tents can be numbered Standing friendless and few on the huge and hostile champaign, Always a few will be left whom the threatenings of Fate cannot conquer, Always souls are born whose courage waits not on fortune; Hellas' heart will be firm confronting the threat of the victor,
Page – 428 Sthenelus war and Tydides, Odysseus and Locrian Ajax, Thebes' unconquered sons and the hero chiefs of the northland. Stern and persistent as Time or the seas and as deaf to affliction We will clash on in the fight unsatisfied, fain of the war-cry, Helped by the gods and our cause through the dawns and the blood-haunted evenings, Rising in armour with morn and outstaying the red of the sunset, Till in her ashes Troy forgets that she lusted for empire Or in our own the honour and valour of Greece are extinguished." So Prothoënor spoke nor pleased with his words Agamemnon; But to the northern kings they were summer rain on the visage. Last Laertes' son, the Ithacan, war-wise Odysseus, Rose up wide-acclaimed; like an oak was he stunted in stature, Broad-shouldered, firm-necked, lone and sufficient, as on some island Regnant one peak whose genial streams flow down to the valley, Dusk on its slopes are the olives, the storms butt in vain at its shoulders, — Such he stood and pressed the earth with his feet like one vanquished, Striving, but held to his will. So Atlas might seem were he mortal, Atlas whose vastness free from impatience suffers the heavens, Suffering spares the earth, the thought-haunted motionless Titan, Bearer of worlds. In those jarring tribes no man was his hater; For as the Master of all guides humanity, so this Odysseus Dealt with men and helped and guided them, careful and selfless, Crafty, tender and wise, — like the Master who bends o'er His creatures, Suffers their sins and their errors and guides them screening the guidance; Each through his nature He leads and the world by the lure of His wisdom. "Princes of Argolis, chiefs of the Locrians, spears of the northland, Warriors vowed to a sacred hate and a vengeance that's holy, Sateless still is that hate, that vengeance cries for its victims, Still is the altar unladen, the priest yet waits with the death-knife. Who while the rites are unfinished, the god unsatisfied, impious Turns in his heart to the feuds of his house and his strife with his equals? None will approve the evil that fell from the younger Atrides; But it was anger and sorrow that spoke, it was not Menelaus. Who would return from Troy and arrive with his war-wasted legions Back to his home in populous city or orcharded island; There from his ships disembarked look round upon eyes that grow joyless
Page – 429 Seeking a father or husband slain, a brother heart-treasured, Mothers in tears for their children, and when he is asked, O our chieftain, What dost thou bring back in place of our dead to fill hearts that are empty?' Who then will say, I bring back my shame and the shame of my nation; Troy yet stands confronting her skies and Helen in Troya'? Not for such foil will I go back to Ithaca or to Laertes, Rather far would I sail in my ships past southern Cythera, Turning away in silence from waters where on some headland Gazing south o'er the waves my father waits for my coming, Leaving Sicily's shores and on through the pillars of Gades. Far I would sail whence sound of me never should come to Achaia Out into tossing worlds and weltering reaches of tempest Dwarfing the swell of the wide-wayed Aegean, — Oceans unbounded Either by cliff or by sandy margin, only the heavens Ever receding before my keel as it ploughs on for ever Frail and alone in a world of waves. Even there would I venture Seeking some island unknown, not return with shame to my fathers. Well might they wonder how souls like theirs begot us for their offspring. Fighters war-afflicted, champions banded by heaven, Wounds and defeat you have borne; bear too their errors who lead you. Mortals are kings and have hearts; our leaders too have their passions. Then if they err, yet still obey lest anarchy fostered, Discord and deaf rebellion that speed like a poison through kingdoms, Break all this army in pieces while Ate mocking at mortals Trails to a shameful end this lofty essay of the nations. Who among men has not thoughts that he holds for the wisest, though foolish? Who, though feeble and nought, esteems not his strength o'er his fellow's? Therefore the wisest and strongest choose out a king and a leader, Not as a perfect arbiter armed with impossible virtues Far o'er our heads and our ken like a god high-judging his creatures, But as a man among men who is valiant, wise and far-seeing, One of ourselves and the knot of our wills and the sword of our action. Him they advise and obey and cover his errors with silence. Not Agamemnon the Atreid, Greeks, we obey in this mortal; Greece we obey; for she walks in his gait and commands by his gestures. Evil he works then who loosens this living knot of Achaia;
Page – 430 Falling apart from his nation who, wed to a solitary virtue, Deeming he does but right, renounces the yoke of his fellows, Errs more than hearts of the mire that in blindness and weakness go stumbling. Man when he spurns his kind, when he equals himself with the deathless, Even in his virtues sins and, erring, calls up Ate: For among men we were born, not as wild-beasts sole in a fastness. Oft with a name are misled the passionate hearts of the noble; Chasing highly some image of good they trample its substance. Evil is worked, not justice, when into the mould of our thinkings God we would force and enchain to the throb of our hearts the immortals, — Justice and Virtue, her sister, — for where is justice mid creatures Perfectly? Even the gods are betrayed by our clay to a semblance. Evil not good he sows who lifted too high for his fellows, Dreams by his light or his force to compel this deity earth-born, Evil though his wisdom exceeded the gathered light of the millions, Evil though his single fate were vaster than Troy and Achaia. Less is our gain from gods upon earth than from men in our image; Just is the slow and common march, not a lonely swiftness Far from our human reach that is vowed to impossible strivings. Better the stumbling leader of men than inimitable paces. If he be Peleus' son and his name the Phthian Achilles, Worse is the bane: lo, the Ilian battlefield strewn with his errors! Yet, O ye Greeks, if the heart returns that was loved, though it wandered, Though with some pride it return and reproaching the friends that it fled from, Be not less fond than heart-satisfied parents who yearn o'er that coming, Smile at its pride and accept the wanderer. Happier music Never has beat on my grief-vexed ears than the steps of Achilles Turning back to this Greece and the cry of his strength in its rising. Zeus is awake in this man who his dreadful world-slaying puissance Gave in an hour of portentous birth to the single Achilles. Taken today are Ilion's towers, a dead man is Priam. Cross not the hero's will in his hour, Agamemnon Atrides, Cross not the man whom the gods have chosen to work out their purpose Then when he rises; his hour is his, though thine be all morrows. First in the chambers of Paris' delight let us stable our horses,
Page – 431 Afterwards bale that is best shall be done persuading Achilles; Doubt not the gods' decisions, awful, immutable, ruthless. Flame shall lick Troy's towers and the limbs of her old men and infants. O not today nor now remember the faults of the hero! Follow him rather bravely and blindly as children their leader, Guide your fate through the war-surge loud in the wake of his exploits. Rise, O ye kings of the Greeks! leave debate for the voices of battle. Peal forth the war-shout, pour forth the spear-sleet, surge towards Troya. Ilion falls today; we shall turn in our ships to our children." So Odysseus spoke and the Achaians heard him applauding; Ever the pack by the voice of the mighty is seized and attracted! Then from his seat Agamemnon arising his staff to the herald Gave and around him arose the Kings of the west and its leaders, Loud their assembly broke with a stern and martial rumour.
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