Oh, they listened to me when it pleased them, when some word from the gods would be a glittering addition to the success they had already resolved upon. A trinket, dangling on the wrist of some whore; thus my god-gift to them. In all matters where the gods crossed the man, the man won out and I was just some chattering fool, a temple priest full to burst with vainglory, and thrown down among the ashes when the gods had their way.

Idiots, all of them, Achaeans no less than Priam and his sons. She was mine by right after that strutting cockscomb died, but no, murder is a tighter bond than service and they gave her to my butcher of a brother, his arms red to the crook with the blood of his better. Well. Slight the gods at your peril; even in war battle goes to the cunning, not the strong. Troy burned at my command and I danced on Mount Ida to see it go. Thus to the land of my birth; loyalty must be earned!

They thought to make me a pet, after, a pampered sparrow hopping on an idle finger, pleased with scraps. Only Neoptolemus showed me right respect. Let the sea claim the rest; we will cross the mountains in safety, and I will take his mother as my right. No man has earned more. Let the stupid fight anew over a well-plowed field; where I sow only Achilles himself has reaped.