I’m surprised you haven’t seen through it.”

“Excuse me, Thersites,” young Laomedon broke in, “but what exactly has Achilles ever done to you?”

“To me? Nothing in the slightest,” Thersites retorted indignantly. “What do I care about him? As a matter of fact, I don’t even speak to him; but everybody’s fed up with the way that fellow puts on airs. That business of sulking in his tent, for instance. We’re living in a historic moment here, when the honor of our Hellas is at stake; the whole world is watching us — And what does Mr. Hero do? Lolls around in his tent saying he won’t fight. And at this historic moment we’re supposed to do all the dirty work for him and save the honor of all Hellas? But that’s how it is: whenever the going gets tough, Achilles crawls into his tent and acts like he’s offended. Pff, what a farce! There’s your national heroes for you! They’re a bunch of cowards!”

“I don’t know, Thersites,” remarked the prudent Eupator. “They say Achilles is terribly offended because Agamemnon sent that slave girl of his — I forget her name, Briseis or Chryseis, something like that — back to her parents.. The son of Peleus is making it out to be a matter of prestige, but I think he really loved the girl. That wouldn’t be a farce, young man.”

“Don’t try to put anything over on me,” said Thersites. “ I know exactly what happened. Agamemnon simply took the girl for himself. Everybody knows he’s got piles of plundered jewels, and when it comes to female flesh he’s a tomcat — I’ve had enough of these women as it is: it’s all because of that trollop Helen that the war started in the first place, and here we go again — Did you hear that Helen’s sleeping with Hector now? Every man in Troy’s been with that woman, even that old geezer with one foot in the grave, that hoary old Priam. And we’re supposed to fight and suffer all kinds of hardship here just because of that tramp? Not me, thanks!”

“They say,” young Laomedon offered shyly, “that Helen is very beautiful.”

“They’re telling you wrong,” Thersites said scornfully. “She’s one faded flower and a slut besides, second to none. I wouldn’t give a sack of beans for her. Boys, here’s what I wish for that fool Menelaus: that we win this war and he gets Helen back. All that business about Helen’s beauty is a myth, a fraud, and with a dab of face-paint.”

“So we Greeks,” ventured Hippodamos, “are fighting for a mere myth. Is that it, Thersites?”

“My dear Hippodamos,” said Thersites, “you don’t seem to get it. We Hellenes are fighting, first of all, so that old fox Agamemnon can rake in a sackful of loot; in the second place, so that fop Achilles can satisfy his outrageous ambition; in the third place, so that crook Odysseus can steal our military supplies; and finally, so that a certain bought-off street singer, Homer or whatever the bum’s name is, for a few grubby pennies, can heap glory on the greatest of all traitors to the Greek nation — and, while he’s at it, vilify or at least hush up the true, modest, self-sacrificing Achaean heroes — like you. That’s how it is, Hippodamus.”

“’The greatest of all traitors,’” said Eupator. “Those words are a bit strong, Thersites.”

“Well, for your information,” Thersites burst out, and then he lowered his voice, “I have proof of their treachery. Gentlemen, it’s awful: I won’t tell you all I know, but you can tuck this under your helmets: we’ve been sold out. Surely you can see it for yourselves: why, who’d ever believe that we Greeks, the most courageous and civilized nation in the world, wouldn’t have taken that Trojan dungheap long ago and pounded those beggars and rascals to pieces, if we hadn’t been betrayed all these years? Do you really think, Eupator, that we, Achaeans, are such cowardly dogs that we couldn’t have polished off that filthy Troy long ago? That the Trojans might be better soldiers than us? Listen, Eupator, if you think that, then you’re no Greek, you’re some kind of Epirot or Thracian. A true Greek, a classical man, must feel genuine pain at the kind of shame and skulduggery we’re mixed up in.”

“It is true,” Hippodamos said thoughtfully, “that this war has gone on for a damnably long time.”

“You see?” exclaimed Thersites. “And I’ll tell you why: because the Trojans have allies and accomplices among us. Maybe you know who I mean.”

“Who?” Eupator demanded sternly. “Now you’ll have to finish what you started, Thersites.”

“I don’t like to say it,” protested Thersites. “You know me, Danaans, I don’t spread tales, but since you think it’s in the public interest, I’ll tell you something shocking. The other day I was talking with some good, brave Greeks; like any patriot, I was talking about the war and our enemies, and in my frank, open, Greek way I was saying that the Trojans, our mortal and savage enemies, are a pack of cowards, criminals, good-for-nothings, scoundrels, and rats, that their Priam is a senile old codger, and their Hector is yellow.