The swift Achilles listened and inquired: “Which of the gods, O Iris, speaks by thee?” And Iris, whose swift feet are like the wind, Answered: “The glorious spouse of Jupiter, Juno, hath sent me. Even Saturn’s son, On his high throne, knows not that I am sent, Nor any other of the gods who dwell Upon Olympus overspread with snow.”

“But how,” the swift Achilles asked again, “Shall I go forth to war? They have my arms, And my beloved mother strictly bade That I should put no armor on until I saw her face again. She promised me A suit of glorious mail from Vulcan’s hand. Nor know I any warrior here whose arms Might serve me, save, perhaps, it were the shield Of Telamonian Ajax, who, I hope, Is in the van, and dealing death among The foe, in vengeance for Patroclus slain.”