"He said what?"
The voice of an angry and disbelieving god,
fills my ears.
Sunbeams in the sanctuary
off the gold-plated wood
of the shining face
of Apollo's idol
like radiating shafts of anger.
As a priest,
I have trained to placate angry gods
on behalf of aggrieved pilgrims,
on behalf of quarreling villagers,
on behalf of luckless fishermen.
This time I have to stop myself,
to remind myself
that I myself
am the one who now stokes Apollo's holy fire
Overlord of the Achaean host,
commander of a thousand black ships.
With a hopeful heart,
I channel my outrage
into a repetition of my story.
"I entered the Achaean camp
under your standard,
Great Lord Apollo,
under your protection,
Great Lord Apollo,
standing in your place,
carrying a golden staff adorned with the ribbons of my office.
gathering a procession of followers
as I walked among the men,
as I approached the huts of Agamemnon and Menelaus,
the stalwart sons of Atreus,
and called out a prayer on their behalf.
'may the gods of Olympus grant you leave to sack Priam's city
and to sail again home in safety.
With me are fellow servants of Apollo,
burdened with bundles of wealth,
a ransom of gold and silver treasures,
with which I seek to redeem my captive daughter,
when strong-armed Achilles pacified the city of Thebe.
Show reverence to custom and to my office,
and you shall win the favor of far-shooting Apollo,
the son of Zeus,'
to which Agamemnon replied,
I best not see you loitering by the ships again,
with a staff of ribbons
as your only protection
against my wrath.
once the mere offshoot of a lowly islander,
is now the property of a mighty leader of kings!
I'll not give her up,
not while she can yet toil on a loom,
not while she can yet pleasure me in bed,
not until she's dead,
shriveled and useless,
broken and beaten,
if I decide on a whim
that her death might amuse me.
You'll never see your daughter again.
She will die,
far from her home,
in distant Mycenae,
from whence the news of her will never travel here.'
"This is what he said.
"And then he said,
And if you still need to beg for something,
beg for your own life,
that I allow you to pass safely out of my encampment.
Your prayer to Apollo should be
that you never find yourself
within striking distance of my sword!'"
"This, also, is what he said.
"Great son of Leto,
If you have ever taken pleasure
from this humble shrine,
raised by the hands of Chryses,
from the bulls and goats
slaughtered by the hands of Chryses,
from songs of prayer and thanksgiving,
sung by the voice of Chryses,
then loose your arrows
at the army of Agamemnon
to avenge the daughter of Chryses.
Make the Achaeans suffer a death
for every one of my daughter's tears."
My supplicant voice
in the sanctuary of Apollo,
and returns to my ears
as a resounding call:
Continuing from the end of The Iliad, an Amazon comes to Troy.