troilus and criseyde by geoffrey chaucer contents: book i. incipit liber primus the double sorwe of troilus to tellen, 1 that was the king priamus sone of troye, in lovinge, how his aventures fellen fro wo to wele, and after out of ioye, my purpos is, er that i parte fro ye. 5 thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte thise woful vers, that wepen as i wryte! to thee clepe i, thou goddesse of torment, thou cruel furie, sorwing ever in peyne; help me, that am the sorwful instrument 10 that helpeth lovers, as i can, to pleyne! for wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne, a woful wight to han a drery fere, and, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere. for i, that god of loves servaunts serve, 15 ne dar to love, for myn unlyklinesse, preyen for speed, al sholde i therfor sterve, so fer am i fro his help in derknesse; but nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse to any lover, and his cause avayle, 20 have he my thank, and myn be this travayle! but ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse, if any drope of pitee in yow be, remembreth yow on passed hevinesse that ye han felt, and on the adversitee 25 of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye han felt that love dorste yow displese; or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese. and preyeth for hem that ben in the cas of troilus, as ye may after here, 30 that love hem bringe in hevene to solas, and eek for me preyeth to god so dere, that i have might to shewe, in som manere, swich peyne and wo as loves folk endure, in troilus unsely aventure. 35 and biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred in love, that never nil recovered be, and eek for hem that falsly been apeyred thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she; thus biddeth god, for his benignitee, 40 so graunte hem sone out of this world to pace, that been despeyred out of loves grace. and biddeth eek for hem that been at ese, that god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce, and sende hem might hir ladies so to plese, 45 that it to love be worship and plesaunce. for so hope i my soule best avaunce, to preye for hem that loves servaunts be, and wryte hir wo, and live in charitee. and for to have of hem compassioun 50 as though i were hir owene brother dere. now herkeneth with a gode entencioun, for now wol i gon streight to my matere, in whiche ye may the double sorwes here of troilus, in loving of criseyde, 55 and how that she forsook him er she deyde. it is wel wist, how that the grekes stronge in armes with a thousand shippes wente to troyewardes, and the citee longe assegeden neigh ten yeer er they stente, 60 and, in diverse wyse and oon entente, the ravisshing to wreken of eleyne, by paris doon, they wroughten al hir peyne. now fil it so, that in the toun ther was dwellinge a lord of greet auctoritee, 65 a gret devyn that cleped was calkas, that in science so expert was, that he knew wel that troye sholde destroyed be, by answere of his god, that highte thus, daun phebus or apollo delphicus. 70 so whan this calkas knew by calculinge, and eek by answere of this appollo, that grekes sholden swich a peple bringe, thorugh which that troye moste been for-do, he caste anoon out of the toun to go; 75 for wel wiste he, by sort, that troye sholde destroyed ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde. for which, for to departen softely took purpos ful this forknowinge wyse, and to the grekes ost ful prively 80 he stal anoon; and they, in curteys wyse, hym deden bothe worship and servyse, in trust that he hath conning hem to rede in every peril which that is to drede. the noyse up roos, whan it was first aspyed, 85 thorugh al the toun, and generally was spoken, that calkas traytor fled was, and allyed with hem of grece; and casten to ben wroken on him that falsly hadde his feith so broken; and seyden, he and al his kin at ones 90 ben worthy for to brennen, fel and bones. now hadde calkas left, in this meschaunce, al unwist of this false and wikked dede, his doughter, which that was in gret penaunce, for of hir lyf she was ful sore in drede, 95 as she that niste what was best to rede; for bothe a widowe was she, and allone of any freend to whom she dorste hir mone. criseyde was this lady name a-right; as to my dome, in al troyes citee 100 nas noon so fair, for passing every wight so aungellyk was hir natyf beautee, that lyk a thing immortal semed she, as doth an hevenish parfit creature, that doun were sent in scorning of nature. 105 this lady, which that al-day herde at ere hir fadres shame, his falsnesse and tresoun, wel nigh out of hir wit for sorwe and fere, in widewes habit large of samit broun, on knees she fil biforn ector a-doun; 110 with pitous voys, and tendrely wepinge, his mercy bad, hir-selven excusinge. now was this ector pitous of nature, and saw that she was sorwfully bigoon, and that she was so fair a creature; 115 of his goodnesse he gladed hir anoon, and seyde, `lat your fadres treson goon forth with mischaunce, and ye your-self, in ioye, dwelleth with us, whyl you good list, in troye. `and al thonour that men may doon yow have, 120 as ferforth as your fader dwelled here, ye shul han, and your body shal men save, as fer as i may ought enquere or here.' and she him thonked with ful humble chere, and ofter wolde, and it hadde ben his wille, 125 and took hir leve, and hoom, and held hir stille. and in hir hous she abood with swich meynee as to hir honour nede was to holde; and whyl she was dwellinge in that citee, kepte hir estat, and bothe of yonge and olde 130 ful wel beloved, and wel men of hir tolde. but whether that she children hadde or noon, i rede it naught; therfore i late it goon. the thinges fellen, as they doon of werre, bitwixen hem of troye and grekes ofte; 135 for som day boughten they of troye it derre, and eft the grekes founden no thing softe the folk of troye; and thus fortune on-lofte, and under eft, gan hem to wheelen bothe after hir cours, ay whyl they were wrothe. 140 but how this toun com to destruccioun ne falleth nought to purpos me to telle; for it were a long digressioun fro my matere, and yow to longe dwelle. but the troyane gestes, as they felle, 145 in omer, or in dares, or in dyte, who-so that can, may rede hem as they wryte. but though that grekes hem of troye shetten, and hir citee bisegede al a-boute, hir olde usage wolde they not letten, 150 as for to honoure hir goddes ful devoute; but aldermost in honour, out of doute, they hadde a relik hight palladion, that was hir trist a-boven everichon. and so bifel, whan comen was the tyme 155 of aperil, whan clothed is the mede with newe grene, of lusty ver the pryme, and swote smellen floures whyte and rede, in sondry wyses shewed, as i rede, the folk of troye hir observaunces olde, 160 palladiones feste for to holde. and to the temple, in al hir beste wyse, in general, ther wente many a wight, to herknen of palladion servyse; and namely, so many a lusty knight, 165 so many a lady fresh and mayden bright, ful wel arayed, bothe moste and leste, ye, bothe for the seson and the feste. among thise othere folk was criseyda, in widewes habite blak; but nathelees, 170 right as our firste lettre is now an a, in beautee first so stood she, makelees; hir godly looking gladede al the prees. nas never seyn thing to ben preysed derre, nor under cloude blak so bright a sterre 175 as was criseyde, as folk seyde everichoon that hir behelden in hir blake wede; and yet she stood ful lowe and stille alloon, bihinden othere folk, in litel brede, and neigh the dore, ay under shames drede, 180 simple of a-tyr, and debonaire of chere, with ful assured loking and manere. this troilus, as he was wont to gyde his yonge knightes, ladde hem up and doun in thilke large temple on every syde, 185 biholding ay the ladyes of the toun, now here, now there, for no devocioun hadde he to noon, to reven him his reste, but gan to preyse and lakken whom him leste. and in his walk ful fast he gan to wayten 190 if knight or squyer of his companye gan for to syke, or lete his eyen bayten on any woman that he coude aspye; he wolde smyle, and holden it folye, and seye him thus, `god wot, she slepeth softe 195 for love of thee, whan thou tornest ful ofte! `i have herd told, pardieux, of your livinge, ye lovers, and your lewede observaunces, and which a labour folk han in winninge of love, and, in the keping, which doutaunces; 200 and whan your preye is lost, wo and penaunces; o verrey foles! nyce and blinde be ye; ther nis not oon can war by other be.' and with that word he gan cast up the browe, ascaunces, `lo! is this nought wysly spoken?' 205 at which the god of love gan loken rowe right for despyt, and shoop for to ben wroken; he kidde anoon his bowe nas not broken; for sodeynly he hit him at the fulle; and yet as proud a pekok can he pulle. 210 o blinde world, o blinde entencioun! how ofte falleth al theffect contraire of surquidrye and foul presumpcioun; for caught is proud, and caught is debonaire. this troilus is clomben on the staire, 215 and litel weneth that he moot descenden. but al-day falleth thing that foles ne wenden. as proude bayard ginneth for to skippe out of the wey, so priketh him his corn, til he a lash have of the longe whippe, 220 than thenketh he, `though i praunce al biforn first in the trays, ful fat and newe shorn, yet am i but an hors, and horses lawe i moot endure, and with my feres drawe.' so ferde it by this fers and proude knight; 225 though he a worthy kinges sone were, and wende nothing hadde had swiche might ayens his wil that sholde his herte stere, yet with a look his herte wex a-fere, that he, that now was most in pryde above, 230 wex sodeynly most subget un-to love. for-thy ensample taketh of this man, ye wyse, proude, and worthy folkes alle, to scornen love, which that so sone can the freedom of your hertes to him thralle; 235 for ever it was, and ever it shal bifalle, that love is he that alle thing may binde; for may no man for-do the lawe of kinde. that this be sooth, hath preved and doth yet; for this trowe i ye knowen, alle or some, 240 men reden not that folk han gretter wit than they that han be most with love y-nome; and strengest folk ben therwith overcome, the worthiest and grettest of degree: this was, and is, and yet men shal it see. 245 and trewelich it sit wel to be so; for alderwysest han ther-with ben plesed; and they that han ben aldermost in wo, with love han ben conforted most and esed; and ofte it hath the cruel herte apesed, 250 and worthy folk maad worthier of name, and causeth most to dreden vyce and shame. now sith it may not goodly be withstonde, and is a thing so vertuous in kinde, refuseth not to love for to be bonde, 255 sin, as him-selven list, he may yow binde. the yerde is bet that bowen wole and winde than that that brest; and therfor i yow rede to folwen him that so wel can yow lede. but for to tellen forth in special 260 as of this kinges sone of which i tolde, and leten other thing collateral, of him thenke i my tale for to holde, both of his ioye, and of his cares colde; and al his werk, as touching this matere, 265 for i it gan, i wol ther-to refere. with-inne the temple he wente him forth pleyinge, this troilus, of every wight aboute, on this lady and now on that lokinge, wher-so she were of toune, or of with-oute: 270 and up-on cas bifel, that thorugh a route his eye perced, and so depe it wente, til on criseyde it smoot, and ther it stente. and sodeynly he wax ther-with astoned, and gan hire bet biholde in thrifty wyse: 275 `o mercy, god!' thoughte he, `wher hastow woned, that art so fair and goodly to devyse?' ther-with his herte gan to sprede and ryse, and softe sighed, lest men mighte him here, and caughte a-yein his firste pleyinge chere. 280 she nas nat with the leste of hir stature, but alle hir limes so wel answeringe weren to womanhode, that creature was neuer lasse mannish in seminge. and eek the pure wyse of here meninge 285 shewede wel, that men might in hir gesse honour, estat, and wommanly noblesse. to troilus right wonder wel with-alle gan for to lyke hir meninge and hir chere, which somdel deynous was, for she leet falle 290 hir look a lite a-side, in swich manere, ascaunces, `what! may i not stonden here?' and after that hir loking gan she lighte, that never thoughte him seen so good a sighte. and of hir look in him ther gan to quiken 295 so greet desir, and swich affeccioun, that in his herte botme gan to stiken of hir his fixe and depe impressioun: and though he erst hadde poured up and doun, he was tho glad his hornes in to shrinke; 300 unnethes wiste he how to loke or winke. lo, he that leet him-selven so konninge, and scorned hem that loves peynes dryen, was ful unwar that love hadde his dwellinge with-inne the subtile stremes of hir yen; 305 that sodeynly him thoughte he felte dyen, right with hir look, the spirit in his herte; blissed be love, that thus can folk converte! she, this in blak, likinge to troylus, over alle thyng, he stood for to biholde; 310 ne his desir, ne wherfor he stood thus, he neither chere made, ne worde tolde; but from a-fer, his maner for to holde, on other thing his look som-tyme he caste, and eft on hir, whyl that servyse laste. 315 and after this, not fulliche al awhaped, out of the temple al esiliche he wente, repentinge him that he hadde ever y-iaped of loves folk, lest fully the descente of scorn fille on him-self; but, what he mente, 320 lest it were wist on any maner syde, his wo he gan dissimulen and hyde. whan he was fro the temple thus departed, he streyght anoon un-to his paleys torneth, right with hir look thurgh-shoten and thurgh-darted, 325 al feyneth he in lust that he soiorneth; and al his chere and speche also he borneth; and ay, of loves servants every whyle, him-self to wrye, at hem he gan to smyle. and seyde, `lord, so ye live al in lest, 330 ye loveres! for the conningest of yow, that serveth most ententiflich and best, him tit as often harm ther-of as prow; your hyre is quit ayein, ye, god wot how! nought wel for wel, but scorn for good servyse; 335 in feith, your ordre is ruled in good wyse! `in noun-certeyn ben alle your observaunces, but it a sely fewe poyntes be; ne no-thing asketh so grete attendaunces as doth youre lay, and that knowe alle ye; 340 but that is not the worste, as mote i thee; but, tolde i yow the worste poynt, i leve, al seyde i sooth, ye wolden at me greve! `but tak this, that ye loveres ofte eschuwe, or elles doon of good entencioun, 345 ful ofte thy lady wole it misconstrue, and deme it harm in hir opinioun; and yet if she, for other enchesoun, be wrooth, than shalt thou han a groyn anoon: lord! wel is him that may be of yow oon!' 350 but for al this, whan that he say his tyme, he held his pees, non other bote him gayned; for love bigan his fetheres so to lyme, that wel unnethe un-to his folk he fayned that othere besye nedes him destrayned; 355 for wo was him, that what to doon he niste, but bad his folk to goon wher that hem liste. and whan that he in chaumbre was allone, he doun up-on his beddes feet him sette, and first be gan to syke, and eft to grone, 360 and thoughte ay on hir so, with-outen lette, that, as he sat and wook, his spirit mette that he hir saw a temple, and al the wyse right of hir loke, and gan it newe avyse. thus gan he make a mirour of his minde, 365 in which he saugh al hoolly hir figure; and that he wel coude in his herte finde, it was to him a right good aventure to love swich oon, and if he dide his cure to serven hir, yet mighte he falle in grace, 370 or elles, for oon of hir servaunts pace. imagininge that travaille nor grame ne mighte, for so goodly oon, be lorn as she, ne him for his desir ne shame, al were it wist, but in prys and up-born 375 of alle lovers wel more than biforn; thus argumented he in his ginninge, ful unavysed of his wo cominge. thus took he purpos loves craft to suwe, and thoughte he wolde werken prively, 380 first, to hyden his desir in muwe from every wight y-born, al-outrely, but he mighte ought recovered be therby; remembring him, that love to wyde y-blowe yelt bittre fruyt, though swete seed be sowe. 385 and over al this, yet muchel more he thoughte what for to speke, and what to holden inne, and what to arten hir to love he soughte, and on a song anoon-right to biginne, and gan loude on his sorwe for to winne; 390 for with good hope he gan fully assente criseyde for to love, and nought repente. and of his song nought only the sentence, as writ myn autour called lollius, but pleynly, save our tonges difference, 395 i dar wel sayn, in al that troilus seyde in his song, lo! every word right thus as i shal seyn; and who-so list it here, lo! next this vers, he may it finden here. cantus troili. `if no love is, o god, what fele i so? 400 and if love is, what thing and whiche is he! if love be good, from whennes comth my wo? if it be wikke, a wonder thinketh me, whenne every torment and adversitee that cometh of him, may to me savory thinke; 405 for ay thurst i, the more that i it drinke. `and if that at myn owene lust i brenne, fro whennes cometh my wailing and my pleynte? if harme agree me, wher-to pleyne i thenne? i noot, ne why unwery that i feynte. 410 o quike deeth, o swete harm so queynte, how may of thee in me swich quantitee, but-if that i consente that it be? `and if that i consente, i wrongfully compleyne, y-wis; thus possed to and fro, 415 al sterelees with inne a boot am i a-mid the see, by-twixen windes two, that in contrarie stonden ever-mo. allas! what is this wonder maladye? for hete of cold, for cold of hete, i deye.' 420 and to the god of love thus seyde he with pitous voys, `o lord, now youres is my spirit, which that oughte youres be. yow thanke i, lord, that han me brought to this; but whether goddesse or womman, y-wis, 425 she be, i noot, which that ye do me serve; but as hir man i wole ay live and sterve. `ye stonden in hire eyen mightily, as in a place un-to youre vertu digne; wherfore, lord, if my servyse or i 430 may lyke yow, so beth to me benigne; for myn estat royal here i resigne in-to hir hond, and with ful humble chere bicome hir man, as to my lady dere.' in him ne deyned sparen blood royal 435 the fyr of love, wher-fro god me blesse, ne him forbar in no degree, for al his vertu or his excellent prowesse; but held him as his thral lowe in distresse, and brende him so in sondry wyse ay newe, 440 that sixty tyme a day he loste his hewe. so muche, day by day, his owene thought, for lust to hir, gan quiken and encrese, that every other charge he sette at nought; for-thy ful ofte, his hote fyr to cese, 445 to seen hir goodly look he gan to prese; for ther-by to ben esed wel he wende, and ay the ner he was, the more he brende. for ay the ner the fyr, the hotter is, this, trowe i, knoweth al this companye. 450 but were he fer or neer, i dar seye this, by night or day, for wisdom or folye, his herte, which that is his brestes ye, was ay on hir, that fairer was to sene than ever were eleyne or polixene. 455 eek of the day ther passed nought an houre that to him-self a thousand tyme he seyde, `good goodly, to whom serve i and laboure, as i best can, now wolde god, criseyde, ye wolden on me rewe er that i deyde! 460 my dere herte, allas! myn hele and hewe and lyf is lost, but ye wole on me rewe.' alle othere dredes weren from him fledde, both of the assege and his savacioun; ne in him desyr noon othere fownes bredde 465 but argumentes to his conclusioun, that she on him wolde han compassioun, and he to be hir man, whyl he may dure; lo, here his lyf, and from the deeth his cure! the sharpe shoures felle of armes preve, 470 that ector or his othere bretheren diden, ne made him only ther-fore ones meve; and yet was he, wher-so men wente or riden, founde oon the beste, and lengest tyme abiden ther peril was, and dide eek such travayle 475 in armes, that to thenke it was mervayle. but for non hate he to the grekes hadde, ne also for the rescous of the toun, ne made him thus in armes for to madde, but only, lo, for this conclusioun, 480 to lyken hir the bet for his renoun; fro day to day in armes so he spedde, that alle the grekes as the deeth him dredde. and fro this forth tho refte him love his sleep, and made his mete his foo; and eek his sorwe 485 gan multiplye, that, who-so toke keep, it shewed in his hewe, bothe eve and morwe; therfor a title he gan him for to borwe of other syknesse, lest of him men wende that the hote fyr of love him brende, 490 and seyde, he hadde a fever and ferde amis; but how it was, certayn, can i not seye, if that his lady understood not this, or feyned hir she niste, oon of the tweye; but wel i rede that, by no maner weye, 495 ne semed it as that she of him roughte, nor of his peyne, or what-so-ever he thoughte. but than fel to this troylus such wo, that he was wel neigh wood; for ay his drede was this, that she som wight had loved so, 500 that never of him she wolde have taken hede; for whiche him thoughte he felte his herte blede. ne of his wo ne dorste he not biginne to tellen it, for al this world to winne. but whanne he hadde a space fro his care, 505 thus to him-self ful ofte he gan to pleyne; he sayde, `o fool, now art thou in the snare, that whilom iapedest at loves peyne; now artow hent, now gnaw thyn owene cheyne; thou were ay wont eche lovere reprehende 510 of thing fro which thou canst thee nat defende. `what wol now every lover seyn of thee, if this be wist, but ever in thyn absence laughen in scorn, and seyn, `lo, ther gooth he, that is the man of so gret sapience, 515 that held us lovers leest in reverence! now, thonked be god, he may goon in the daunce of hem that love list febly for to avaunce!' `but, o thou woful troilus, god wolde, sin thou most loven thurgh thi destinee, 520 that thow beset were on swich oon that sholde knowe al thy wo, al lakkede hir pitee: but al so cold in love, towardes thee, thy lady is, as frost in winter mone, and thou fordoon, as snow in fyr is sone.' 525 `god wolde i were aryved in the port of deth, to which my sorwe wil me lede! a, lord, to me it were a gret comfort; than were i quit of languisshing in drede. for by myn hidde sorwe y-blowe on brede 530 i shal bi-iaped been a thousand tyme more than that fool of whos folye men ryme. `but now help god, and ye, swete, for whom i pleyne, y-caught, ye, never wight so faste! o mercy, dere herte, and help me from 535 the deeth, for i, whyl that my lyf may laste, more than my-self wol love yow to my laste. and with som freendly look gladeth me, swete, though never more thing ye me bi-hete!' this wordes and ful manye an-other to 540 he spak, and called ever in his compleynte hir name, for to tellen hir his wo, til neigh that he in salte teres dreynte. al was for nought, she herde nought his pleynte; and whan that he bithoughte on that folye, 545 a thousand fold his wo gan multiplye. bi-wayling in his chambre thus allone, a freend of his, that called was pandare, com ones in unwar, and herde him grone, and say his freend in swich distresse and care: `allas!' quod he, `who causeth al this fare? 551 o mercy, god! what unhap may this mene? han now thus sone grekes maad yow lene? `or hastow som remors of conscience, and art now falle in som devocioun, 555 and waylest for thy sinne and thyn offence, and hast for ferde caught attricioun? god save hem that bi-seged han our toun, and so can leye our iolyte on presse, and bring our lusty folk to holinesse!' 560 these wordes seyde he for the nones alle, that with swich thing he mighte him angry maken, and with an angre don his sorwe falle, as for the tyme, and his corage awaken; but wel he wist, as fer as tonges spaken, 565 ther nas a man of gretter hardinesse than he, ne more desired worthinesse. `what cas,' quod troilus, `or what aventure hath gyded thee to see my languisshinge, that am refus of euery creature? 570 but for the love of god, at my preyinge, go henne a-way, for certes, my deyinge wol thee disese, and i mot nedes deye; ther-for go wey, ther is no more to seye. `but if thou wene i be thus sik for drede, 575 it is not so, and ther-for scorne nought; ther is a-nother thing i take of hede wel more than ought the grekes han y-wrought, which cause is of my deeth, for sorwe and thought. but though that i now telle thee it ne leste, 580 be thou nought wrooth; i hyde it for the beste.' this pandare, that neigh malt for wo and routhe, ful often seyde, `allas! what may this be? now freend,' quod he, `if ever love or trouthe hath been, or is, bi-twixen thee and me, 585 ne do thou never swiche a crueltee to hyde fro thy freend so greet a care; wostow nought wel that it am i, pandare? `i wole parten with thee al thy peyne, if it be so i do thee no comfort, 590 as it is freendes right, sooth for to seyne, to entreparten wo, as glad desport. i have, and shal, for trewe or fals report, in wrong and right y-loved thee al my lyve; hyd not thy wo fro me, but telle it blyve.' 595 than gan this sorwful troilus to syke, and seyde him thus, "god leve it be my beste to telle it thee; for sith it may thee lyke, yet wole i telle it, though myn herte breste; and wel wot i thou mayst do me no reste. 600 but lest thow deme i truste not to thee, now herkne, freend, for thus it stant with me. `love, a-yeins the which who-so defendeth him-selven most, him alder-lest avayleth, with disespeir so sorwfully me offendeth, 605 that streyght un-to the deeth myn herte sayleth. ther-to desyr so brenningly me assaylleth, that to ben slayn it were a gretter ioye to me than king of grece been and troye! `suffiseth this, my fulle freend pandare, 610 that i have seyd, for now wostow my wo; and for the love of god, my colde care so hyd it wel, i telle it never to mo; for harmes mighte folwen, mo than two, if it were wist; but be thou in gladnesse, 615 and lat me sterve, unknowe, of my distresse.' `how hastow thus unkindely and longe hid this fro me, thou fool?' quod pandarus; `paraunter thou might after swich oon longe, that myn avys anoon may helpen us.' 620 `this were a wonder thing,' quod troylus, `thou coudest never in love thy-selven wisse; how devel maystow bringen me to blisse?' `ye, troilus, now herke,' quod pandare, `though i be nyce; it happeth ofte so, 625 that oon that exces doth ful yvele fare, by good counseyl can kepe his freend ther-fro. i have my-self eek seyn a blind man go ther-as he fel that coude loke wyde; a fool may eek a wys man ofte gyde. 630 `a whetston is no kerving instrument, and yet it maketh sharpe kerving-tolis. and ther thou woost that i have ought miswent, eschewe thou that, for swich thing to thee scole is; thus ofte wyse men ben war by folis. 635 if thou do so, thy wit is wel biwared; by his contrarie is every thing declared. `for how might ever sweetnesse have be knowe to him that never tasted bitternesse? ne no man may be inly glad, i trowe, 640 that never was in sorwe or som distresse; eek whyt by blak, by shame eek worthinesse, ech set by other, more for other semeth; as men may see; and so the wyse it demeth. `sith thus of two contraries is a lore, 645 i, that have in love so ofte assayed grevaunces, oughte conne, and wel the more counsayllen thee of that thou art amayed. eek thee ne oughte nat ben yvel apayed, though i desyre with thee for to bere 650 thyn hevy charge; it shal the lasse dere. `i woot wel that it fareth thus by me as to thy brother parys an herdesse, which that y-cleped was oenone, wrot in a compleynte of hir hevinesse: 655 ye say the lettre that she wroot, y gesse?' `nay, never yet, y-wis,' quod troilus. `now,' quod pandare, `herkneth, it was thus. - "phebus, that first fond art of medicyne,' quod she, `and coude in every wightes care 660 remede and reed, by herbes he knew fyne, yet to him-self his conning was ful bare; for love hadde him so bounden in a snare, al for the doughter of the kinge admete, that al his craft ne coude his sorwe bete." - 665 `right so fare i, unhappily for me; i love oon best, and that me smerteth sore; and yet, paraunter, can i rede thee, and not my-self; repreve me no more. i have no cause, i woot wel, for to sore 670 as doth an hauk that listeth for to pleye, but to thyn help yet somwhat can i seye. `and of o thing right siker maystow be, that certayn, for to deyen in the peyne, that i shal never-mo discoveren thee; 675 ne, by my trouthe, i kepe nat restreyne thee fro thy love, thogh that it were eleyne, that is thy brotheres wif, if ich it wiste; be what she be, and love hir as thee liste. `therfore, as freend fullich in me assure, 680 and tel me plat what is thyn enchesoun, and final cause of wo that ye endure; for douteth no-thing, myn entencioun nis nought to yow of reprehencioun, to speke as now, for no wight may bireve 685 a man to love, til that him list to leve. `and witeth wel, that bothe two ben vyces, mistrusten alle, or elles alle leve; but wel i woot, the mene of it no vyce is, for to trusten sum wight is a preve 690 of trouthe, and for-thy wolde i fayn remeve thy wrong conseyte, and do thee som wight triste, thy wo to telle; and tel me, if thee liste. `the wyse seyth, "wo him that is allone, for, and he falle, he hath noon help to ryse;" 695 and sith thou hast a felawe, tel thy mone; for this nis not, certeyn, the nexte wyse to winnen love, as techen us the wyse, to walwe and wepe as niobe the quene, whos teres yet in marbel been y-sene. 700 `lat be thy weping and thi drerinesse, and lat us lissen wo with other speche; so may thy woful tyme seme lesse. delyte not in wo thy wo to seche, as doon thise foles that hir sorwes eche 705 with sorwe, whan they han misaventure, and listen nought to seche hem other cure. `men seyn, "to wrecche is consolacioun to have an-other felawe in his peyne;" that oughte wel ben our opinioun, 710 for, bothe thou and i, of love we pleyne; so ful of sorwe am i, soth for to seyne, that certeynly no more harde grace may sitte on me, for-why ther is no space. `if god wole thou art not agast of me, 715 lest i wolde of thy lady thee bigyle, thow wost thy-self whom that i love, pardee, as i best can, gon sithen longe whyle. and sith thou wost i do it for no wyle, and sith i am he that thou tristest most, 720 tel me sumwhat, sin al my wo thou wost.' yet troilus, for al this, no word seyde, but longe he ley as stille as he ded were; and after this with sykinge he abreyde, and to pandarus voys he lente his ere, 725 and up his eyen caste he, that in fere was pandarus, lest that in frenesye he sholde falle, or elles sone dye; and cryde `a-wake' ful wonderly and sharpe; `what? slombrestow as in a lytargye? 730 or artow lyk an asse to the harpe, that hereth soun, whan men the strenges plye, but in his minde of that no melodye may sinken, him to glade, for that he so dul is of his bestialitee?' 735 and with that, pandare of his wordes stente; and troilus yet him no word answerde, for-why to telle nas not his entente to never no man, for whom that he so ferde. for it is seyd, `man maketh ofte a yerde 740 with which the maker is him-self y-beten in sondry maner,' as thise wyse treten, and namely, in his counseyl tellinge that toucheth love that oughte be secree; for of him-self it wolde y-nough out-springe, 745 but-if that it the bet governed be. eek som-tyme it is craft to seme flee fro thing which in effect men hunte faste; al this gan troilus in his herte caste. but nathelees, whan he had herd him crye 750 `awake!' he gan to syke wonder sore, and seyde, `freend, though that i stille lye, i am not deef; now pees, and cry no more; for i have herd thy wordes and thy lore; but suffre me my mischef to biwayle, 755 for thy proverbes may me nought avayle. `nor other cure canstow noon for me. eek i nil not be cured, i wol deye; what knowe i of the quene niobe? lat be thyne olde ensaumples, i thee preye.' 760 `no,' quod tho pandarus, `therfore i seye, swich is delyt of foles to biwepe hir wo, but seken bote they ne kepe. `now knowe i that ther reson in the fayleth. but tel me, if i wiste what she were 765 for whom that thee al this misaunter ayleth? dorstestow that i tolde hir in hir ere thy wo, sith thou darst not thy-self for fere, and hir bisoughte on thee to han som routhe?' `why, nay,' quod he, `by god and by my trouthe!' 770 `what, not as bisily,' quod pandarus, `as though myn owene lyf lay on this nede?' `no, certes, brother,' quod this troilus, `and why?' -`for that thou sholdest never spede.' `wostow that wel?' -`ye, that is out of drede,' 775 quod troilus, `for al that ever ye conne, she nil to noon swich wrecche as i be wonne.' quod pandarus, `allas! what may this be, that thou dispeyred art thus causelees? what? liveth not thy lady? benedicite! 780 how wostow so that thou art gracelees? swich yvel is nat alwey botelees. why, put not impossible thus thy cure, sin thing to come is ofte in aventure. `i graunte wel that thou endurest wo 785 as sharp as doth he, ticius, in helle, whos stomak foules tyren ever-mo that highte volturis, as bokes telle. but i may not endure that thou dwelle in so unskilful an opinioun 790 that of thy wo is no curacioun. `but ones niltow, for thy coward herte, and for thyn ire and folish wilfulnesse, for wantrust, tellen of thy sorwes smerte, ne to thyn owene help do bisinesse 795 as muche as speke a resoun more or lesse, but lyest as he that list of no-thing recche. what womman coude love swich a wrecche? `what may she demen other of thy deeth, if thou thus deye, and she not why it is, 800 but that for fere is yolden up thy breeth, for grekes han biseged us, y-wis? lord, which a thank than shaltow han of this! thus wol she seyn, and al the toun at ones, "the wrecche is deed, the devel have his bones!" 805 `thou mayst allone here wepe and crye and knele; but, love a woman that she woot it nought, and she wol quyte that thou shalt not fele; unknowe, unkist, and lost that is un-sought. what! many a man hath love ful dere y-bought 810 twenty winter that his lady wiste, that never yet his lady mouth he kiste. `what? shulde be therfor fallen in despeyr, or be recreaunt for his owene tene, or sleen him-self, al be his lady fayr? 815 nay, nay, but ever in oon be fresh and grene to serve and love his dere hertes quene, and thenke it is a guerdoun hir to serve a thousand-fold more than he can deserve.' of that word took hede troilus, 820 and thoughte anoon what folye he was inne, and how that sooth him seyde pandarus, that for to sleen him-self mighte he not winne, but bothe doon unmanhod and a sinne, and of his deeth his lady nought to wyte; 825 for of his wo, god woot, she knew ful lyte. and with that thought he gan ful sore syke, and seyde, `allas! what is me best to do?' to whom pandare answered, `if thee lyke, the best is that thou telle me thy wo; 830 and have my trouthe, but thou it finde so, i be thy bote, or that it be ful longe, to peces do me drawe, and sithen honge!' `ye, so thou seyst,' quod troilus tho, `allas! but, god wot, it is not the rather so; 835 ful hard were it to helpen in this cas, for wel finde i that fortune is my fo, ne alle the men that ryden conne or go may of hir cruel wheel the harm withstonde; for, as hir list, she pleyeth with free and bonde.' 840 quod pandarus, `than blamestow fortune for thou art wrooth, ye, now at erst i see; wostow nat wel that fortune is commune to every maner wight in som degree? and yet thou hast this comfort, lo, pardee! 845 that, as hir ioyes moten over-goon, so mote hir sorwes passen everichoon. `for if hir wheel stinte any-thing to torne, than cessed she fortune anoon to be: now, sith hir wheel by no wey may soiorne, 850 what wostow if hir mutabilitee right as thy-selven list, wol doon by thee, or that she be not fer fro thyn helpinge? paraunter, thou hast cause for to singe! `and therfor wostow what i thee beseche? 855 lat be thy wo and turning to the grounde; for who-so list have helping of his leche, to him bihoveth first unwrye his wounde. to cerberus in helle ay be i bounde, were it for my suster, al thy sorwe, 860 by my wil, she sholde al be thyn to-morwe. `loke up, i seye, and tel me what she is anoon, that i may goon aboute thy nede; knowe ich hir ought? for my love, tel me this; than wolde i hopen rather for to spede.' 865 tho gan the veyne of troilus to blede, for he was hit, and wex al reed for shame; `a ha!' quod pandare, `here biginneth game!' and with that word he gan him for to shake, and seyde, `theef, thou shalt hir name telle.' 870 but tho gan sely troilus for to quake as though men sholde han led him in-to helle, and seyde, `allas! of al my wo the welle, than is my swete fo called criseyde!' and wel nigh with the word for fere he deyde. 875 and whan that pandare herde hir name nevene, lord, he was glad, and seyde, `freend so dere, now fare a-right, for ioves name in hevene, love hath biset the wel, be of good chere; for of good name and wysdom and manere 880 she hath y-nough, and eek of gentilesse; if she be fayr, thou wost thy-self, i gesse, `ne i never saw a more bountevous of hir estat, ne a gladder, ne of speche a freendlier, ne a more gracious 885 for to do wel, ne lasse hadde nede to seche what for to doon; and al this bet to eche, in honour, to as fer as she may strecche, a kinges herte semeth by hirs a wrecche. `and for-thy loke of good comfort thou be; 890 for certeinly, the firste poynt is this of noble corage and wel ordeyne, a man to have pees with him-self, y-wis; so oughtest thou, for nought but good it is to loven wel, and in a worthy place; 895 thee oghte not to clepe it hap, but grace. `and also thenk, and ther-with glade thee, that sith thy lady vertuous is al, so folweth it that ther is som pitee amonges alle thise othere in general; 900 and for-thy see that thou, in special, requere nought that is ayein hir name; for vertue streccheth not him-self to shame. `but wel is me that ever that i was born, that thou biset art in so good a place; 905 for by my trouthe, in love i dorste have sworn, thee sholde never han tid thus fayr a grace; and wostow why? for thou were wont to chace at love in scorn, and for despyt him calle "seynt idiot, lord of thise foles alle." 910 `how often hastow maad thy nyce iapes, and seyd, that loves servants everichone of nycetee been verray goddes apes; and some wolde monche hir mete alone, ligging a-bedde, and make hem for to grone; 915 and som, thou seydest, hadde a blaunche fevere, and preydest god he sholde never kevere. `and som of hem tok on hem, for the colde, more than y-nough, so seydestow ful ofte; and som han feyned ofte tyme, and tolde 920 how that they wake, whan they slepen softe; and thus they wolde han brought hem-self a-lofte, and nathelees were under at the laste; thus seydestow, and iapedest ful faste. `yet seydestow, that, for the more part, 925 these loveres wolden speke in general, and thoughten that it was a siker art, for fayling, for to assayen over-al. now may i iape of thee, if that i shal! but nathelees, though that i sholde deye, 930 that thou art noon of tho, that dorste i seye. `now beet thy brest, and sey to god of love, "thy grace, lord! for now i me repente if i mis spak, for now my-self i love:" thus sey with al thyn herte in good entente.' 935 quod troilus, `a! lord! i me consente, and prey to thee my iapes thou foryive, and i shal never-more whyl i live.' `thou seyst wel,' quod pandare, `and now i hope that thou the goddes wraththe hast al apesed; 940 and sithen thou hast wepen many a drope, and seyd swich thing wher-with thy god is plesed, now wolde never god but thou were esed; and think wel, she of whom rist al thy wo here-after may thy comfort been al-so. 945 `for thilke ground, that bereth the wedes wikke, bereth eek thise holsom herbes, as ful ofte next the foule netle, rough and thikke, the rose waxeth swote and smothe and softe; and next the valey is the hil a-lofte; 950 and next the derke night the glade morwe; and also ioye is next the fyn of sorwe. `now loke that atempre be thy brydel, and, for the beste, ay suffre to the tyde, or elles al our labour is on ydel; 955 he hasteth wel that wysly can abyde; be diligent, and trewe, and ay wel hyde. be lusty, free, persevere in thy servyse, and al is wel, if thou werke in this wyse. `but he that parted is in every place 960 is no-wher hool, as writen clerkes wyse; what wonder is, though swich oon have no grace? eek wostow how it fareth of som servyse? as plaunte a tre or herbe, in sondry wyse, and on the morwe pulle it up as blyve, 965 no wonder is, though it may never thryve. `and sith that god of love hath thee bistowed in place digne un-to thy worthinesse, stond faste, for to good port hastow rowed; and of thy-self, for any hevinesse, 970 hope alwey wel; for, but-if drerinesse or over-haste our bothe labour shende, i hope of this to maken a good ende. `and wostow why i am the lasse a-fered of this matere with my nece trete? 975 for this have i herd seyd of wyse y-lered, "was never man ne woman yet bigete that was unapt to suffren loves hete, celestial, or elles love of kinde;" for-thy som grace i hope in hir to finde. 980 `and for to speke of hir in special, hir beautee to bithinken and hir youthe, it sit hir nought to be celestial as yet, though that hir liste bothe and couthe; but trewely, it sete hir wel right nouthe 985 a worthy knight to loven and cheryce, and but she do, i holde it for a vyce. `wherfore i am, and wol be, ay redy to peyne me to do yow this servyse; for bothe yow to plese thus hope i 990 her-afterward; for ye beth bothe wyse, and conne it counseyl kepe in swich a wyse that no man shal the wyser of it be; and so we may be gladed alle three. `and, by my trouthe, i have right now of thee 995 a good conceyt in my wit, as i gesse, and what it is, i wol now that thou see. i thenke, sith that love, of his goodnesse, hath thee converted out of wikkednesse, that thou shalt be the beste post, i leve, 1000 of al his lay, and most his foos to-greve. `ensample why, see now these wyse clerkes, that erren aldermost a-yein a lawe, and ben converted from hir wikked werkes thorugh grace of god, that list hem to him drawe, 1005 than arn they folk that han most god in awe, and strengest-feythed been, i understonde, and conne an errour alder-best withstonde.' whan troilus had herd pandare assented to been his help in loving of criseyde, 1010 wex of his wo, as who seyth, untormented, but hotter wex his love, and thus he seyde, with sobre chere, al-though his herte pleyde, `now blisful venus helpe, er that i sterve, of thee, pandare, i may som thank deserve. 1015 `but, dere frend, how shal myn wo ben lesse til this be doon? and goode, eek tel me this, how wiltow seyn of me and my destresse? lest she be wrooth, this drede i most, y-wys, or nil not here or trowen how it is. 1020 al this drede i, and eek for the manere of thee, hir eem, she nil no swich thing here.' quod pandarus, `thou hast a ful gret care lest that the cherl may falle out of the mone! why, lord! i hate of the thy nyce fare! 1025 why, entremete of that thou hast to done! for goddes love, i bidde thee a bone, so lat me alone, and it shal be thy beste.' - `why, freend,' quod he, `now do right as the leste. `but herke, pandare, o word, for i nolde 1030 that thou in me wendest so greet folye, that to my lady i desiren sholde that toucheth harm or any vilenye; for dredelees, me were lever dye than she of me ought elles understode 1035 but that, that mighte sounen in-to gode.' tho lough this pandare, and anoon answerde, `and i thy borw? fy! no wight dooth but so; i roughte nought though that she stode and herde how that thou seyst; but fare-wel, i wol go. 1040 a-dieu! be glad! god spede us bothe two! yif me this labour and this besinesse, and of my speed be thyn al that swetnesse.' tho troilus gan doun on knees to falle, and pandare in his armes hente faste, 1045 and seyde, `now, fy on the grekes alle! yet, pardee, god shal helpe us at the laste; and dredelees, if that my lyf may laste, and god to-forn, lo, som of hem shal smerte; and yet me athinketh that this avaunt me asterte! 1050 `now, pandare, i can no more seye, but thou wys, thou wost, thou mayst, thou art al! my lyf, my deeth, hool in thyn bonde i leye; help now,' quod he, `yis, by my trouthe, i shal.' `god yelde thee, freend, and this in special,' 1055 quod troilus, `that thou me recomaunde to hir that to the deeth me may comaunde.' this pandarus tho, desirous to serve his fulle freend, than seyde in this manere, 1059 `far-wel, and thenk i wol thy thank deserve; have here my trouthe, and that thou shalt wel here.' - and wente his wey, thenking on this matere, and how he best mighte hir beseche of grace, and finde a tyme ther-to, and a place. for every wight that hath an hous to founde 1065 ne renneth nought the werk for to biginne with rakel hond, but he wol byde a stounde, and sende his hertes lyne out fro with-inne alderfirst his purpos for to winne. al this pandare in his herte thoughte, 1070 and caste his werk ful wysly, or he wroughte. but troilus lay tho no lenger doun, but up anoon up-on his stede bay, and in the feld he pleyde tho leoun; wo was that greek that with him mette that day. 1075 and in the toun his maner tho forth ay so goodly was, and gat him so in grace, that ech him lovede that loked on his face. for he bicom the frendlyeste wight, the gentileste, and eek the moste free, 1080 the thriftieste and oon the beste knight, that in his tyme was, or mighte be. dede were his iapes and his crueltee, his heighe port and his manere estraunge, and ech of tho gan for a vertu chaunge. 1085 now lat us stinte of troilus a stounde, that fareth lyk a man that hurt is sore, and is somdel of akinge of his wounde y-lissed wel, but heled no del more: and, as an esy pacient, the lore 1090 abit of him that gooth aboute his cure; and thus he dryveth forth his aventure. explicit liber primus book ii. incipit prohemium secundi libri. out of these blake wawes for to sayle, o wind, o wind, the weder ginneth clere; for in this see the boot hath swich travayle, of my conning, that unnethe i it stere: this see clepe i the tempestous matere 5 of desespeyr that troilus was inne: but now of hope the calendes biginne. o lady myn, that called art cleo, thou be my speed fro this forth, and my muse, to ryme wel this book, til i have do; 10 me nedeth here noon other art to use. for-why to every lovere i me excuse, that of no sentement i this endyte, but out of latin in my tonge it wryte. wherfore i nil have neither thank ne blame 15 of al this werk, but prey yow mekely, disblameth me if any word be lame, for as myn auctor seyde, so seye i. eek though i speke of love unfelingly, no wondre is, for it no-thing of newe is; 20 a blind man can nat iuggen wel in hewis. ye knowe eek, that in forme of speche is chaunge with-inne a thousand yeer, and wordes tho that hadden prys, now wonder nyce and straunge us thinketh hem; and yet they spake hem so, 25 and spedde as wel in love as men now do; eek for to winne love in sondry ages, in sondry londes, sondry ben usages. and for-thy if it happe in any wyse, that here be any lovere in this place 30 that herkneth, as the storie wol devyse, how troilus com to his lady grace, and thenketh, so nolde i nat love purchace, or wondreth on his speche or his doinge, i noot; but it is me no wonderinge; 35 for every wight which that to rome went, halt nat o path, or alwey o manere; eek in som lond were al the gamen shent, if that they ferde in love as men don here, as thus, in open doing or in chere, 40 in visitinge, in forme, or seyde hire sawes; for-thy men seyn, ech contree hath his lawes. eek scarsly been ther in this place three that han in love seid lyk and doon in al; for to thy purpos this may lyken thee, 45 and thee right nought, yet al is seyd or shal; eek som men grave in tree, som in stoon wal, as it bitit; but sin i have begonne, myn auctor shal i folwen, if i conne. exclipit prohemium secundi libri. incipit liber secundus. in may, that moder is of monthes glade, 50 that fresshe floures, blewe, and whyte, and rede, ben quike agayn, that winter dede made, and ful of bawme is fleting every mede; whan phebus doth his brighte bemes sprede right in the whyte bole, it so bitidde 55 as i shal singe, on mayes day the thridde, that pandarus, for al his wyse speche, felt eek his part of loves shottes kene, that, coude he never so wel of loving preche, it made his hewe a-day ful ofte grene; 60 so shoop it, that hym fil that day a tene in love, for which in wo to bedde he wente, and made, er it was day, ful many a wente. the swalwe proigne, with a sorwful lay, whan morwe com, gan make hir waymentinge, 65 why she forshapen was; and ever lay pandare a-bedde, half in a slomeringe, til she so neigh him made hir chiteringe how tereus gan forth hir suster take, that with the noyse of hir he gan a-wake; 70 and gan to calle, and dresse him up to ryse, remembringe him his erand was to done from troilus, and eek his greet empryse; and caste and knew in good plyt was the mone to doon viage, and took his wey ful sone 75 un-to his neces paleys ther bi-syde; now ianus, god of entree, thou him gyde! whan he was come un-to his neces place, `wher is my lady?' to hir folk seyde he; and they him tolde; and he forth in gan pace, 80 and fond, two othere ladyes sete and she, with-inne a paved parlour; and they three herden a mayden reden hem the geste of the sege of thebes, whyl hem leste. quod pandarus, `ma dame, god yow see, 85 with al your book and al the companye!' `ey, uncle myn, welcome y-wis,' quod she, and up she roos, and by the hond in hye she took him faste, and seyde, `this night thrye, to goode mote it turne, of yow i mette!' 90 and with that word she doun on bench him sette. `ye, nece, ye shal fare wel the bet, if god wole, al this yeer,' quod pandarus; `but i am sory that i have yow let to herknen of your book ye preysen thus; 95 for goddes love, what seith it? tel it us. is it of love? o, som good ye me lere!' `uncle,' quod she, `your maistresse is not here!' with that they gonnen laughe, and tho she seyde, `this romaunce is of thebes, that we rede; 100 and we han herd how that king laius deyde thurgh edippus his sone, and al that dede; and here we stenten at these lettres rede, how the bisshop, as the book can telle, amphiorax, fil thurgh the ground to helle.' 105 quod pandarus, `al this knowe i my-selve, and al the assege of thebes and the care; for her-of been ther maked bokes twelve: - but lat be this, and tel me how ye fare; do wey your barbe, and shew your face bare; 110 do wey your book, rys up, and lat us daunce, and lat us don to may som observaunce.' `a! god forbede!' quod she. `be ye mad? is that a widewes lyf, so god you save? by god, ye maken me right sore a-drad, 115 ye ben so wilde, it semeth as ye rave! it sete me wel bet ay in a cave to bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves; lat maydens gon to daunce, and yonge wyves.' `as ever thryve i,' quod this pandarus, 120 `yet coude i telle a thing to doon you pleye.' `now, uncle dere,' quod she, `tel it us for goddes love; is than the assege aweye? i am of grekes so ferd that i deye.' `nay, nay,' quod he, `as ever mote i thryve! 125 it is a thing wel bet than swiche fyve.' `ye, holy god,' quod she, `what thing is that? what! bet than swiche fyve? ey, nay, y-wis! for al this world ne can i reden what it sholde been; som iape, i trowe, is this; 130 and but your-selven telle us what it is, my wit is for to arede it al to lene; as help me god, i noot nat what ye meene.' `and i your borow, ne never shal, for me, this thing be told to yow, as mote i thryve!' 135 `and why so, uncle myn? why so?' quod she. `by god,' quod he, `that wole i telle as blyve; for prouder womman were ther noon on-lyve, and ye it wiste, in al the toun of troye; i iape nought, as ever have i ioye!' 140 tho gan she wondren more than biforn a thousand fold, and doun hir eyen caste; for never, sith the tyme that she was born, to knowe thing desired she so faste; and with a syk she seyde him at the laste, 145 `now, uncle myn, i nil yow nought displese, nor axen more, that may do yow disese.' so after this, with many wordes glade, and freendly tales, and with mery chere, of this and that they pleyde, and gunnen wade 150 in many an unkouth glad and deep matere, as freendes doon, whan they ben met y-fere; til she gan axen him how ector ferde, that was the tounes wal and grekes yerde. `ful wel, i thanke it god,' quod pandarus, 155 `save in his arm he hath a litel wounde; and eek his fresshe brother troilus, the wyse worthy ector the secounde, in whom that ever vertu list abounde, as alle trouthe and alle gentillesse, 160 wysdom, honour, fredom, and worthinesse.' `in good feith, eem,' quod she, `that lyketh me; they faren wel, god save hem bothe two! for trewely i holde it greet deyntee a kinges sone in armes wel to do, 165 and been of good condiciouns ther-to; for greet power and moral vertu here is selde y-seye in o persone y-fere.' `in good feith, that is sooth,' quod pandarus; `but, by my trouthe, the king hath sones tweye, 170 that is to mene, ector and troilus, that certainly, though that i sholde deye, they been as voyde of vyces, dar i seye, as any men that liveth under the sonne, hir might is wyde y-knowe, and what they conne. 175 `of ector nedeth it nought for to telle: in al this world ther nis a bettre knight than he, that is of worthinesse welle; and he wel more vertu hath than might. this knoweth many a wys and worthy wight. 180 the same prys of troilus i seye, god help me so, i knowe not swiche tweye.' `by god,' quod she, `of ector that is sooth; of troilus the same thing trowe i; for, dredelees, men tellen that he dooth 185 in armes day by day so worthily, and bereth him here at hoom so gentilly to every wight, that al the prys hath he of hem that me were levest preysed be.' `ye sey right sooth, y-wis,' quod pandarus; 190 `for yesterday, who-so hadde with him been, he might have wondred up-on troilus; for never yet so thikke a swarm of been ne fleigh, as grekes fro him gonne fleen; and thorugh the feld, in everi wightes ere, 195 ther nas no cry but "troilus is there!" `now here, now there, he hunted hem so faste, ther nas but grekes blood; and troilus, now hem he hurte, and hem alle doun he caste; ay where he wente, it was arayed thus: 200 he was hir deeth, and sheld and lyf for us; that as that day ther dorste noon with-stonde, whyl that he held his blody swerd in honde. `therto he is the freendlieste man of grete estat, that ever i saw my lyve; 205 and wher him list, best felawshipe can to suche as him thinketh able for to thryve.' and with that word tho pandarus, as blyve, he took his leve, and seyde, `i wol go henne.' `nay, blame have i, myn uncle,' quod she thenne. 210 `what eyleth yow to be thus wery sone, and namelich of wommen? wol ye so? nay, sitteth down; by god, i have to done with yow, to speke of wisdom er ye go.' and every wight that was a-boute hem tho, 215 that herde that, gan fer a-wey to stonde, whyl they two hadde al that hem liste in honde. whan that hir tale al brought was to an ende, of hire estat and of hir governaunce, quod pandarus, `now is it tyme i wende; 220 but yet, i seye, aryseth, lat us daunce, and cast your widwes habit to mischaunce: what list yow thus your-self to disfigure, sith yow is tid thus fair an aventure?' `a! wel bithought! for love of god,' quod she, 225 `shal i not witen what ye mene of this?' `no, this thing axeth layser,' tho quod he, `and eek me wolde muche greve, y-wis, if i it tolde, and ye it toke amis. yet were it bet my tonge for to stille 230 than seye a sooth that were ayeins your wille. `for, nece, by the goddesse minerve, and iuppiter, that maketh the thonder ringe, and by the blisful venus that i serve, ye been the womman in this world livinge, 235 with-oute paramours, to my wittinge, that i best love, and lothest am to greve, and that ye witen wel your-self, i leve.' `y-wis, myn uncle,' quod she, `grant mercy; your freendship have i founden ever yit; 240 i am to no man holden trewely, so muche as yow, and have so litel quit; and, with the grace of god, emforth my wit, as in my gilt i shal you never offende; and if i have er this, i wol amende. 245 `but, for the love of god, i yow beseche, as ye ben he that i love most and triste, lat be to me your fremde manere speche, and sey to me, your nece, what yow liste:' and with that word hir uncle anoon hir kiste, 250 and seyde, `gladly, leve nece dere, tak it for good that i shal seye yow here.' with that she gan hir eiyen doun to caste, and pandarus to coghe gan a lyte, and seyde, `nece, alwey, lo! to the laste, 255 how-so it be that som men hem delyte with subtil art hir tales for to endyte, yet for al that, in hir entencioun hir tale is al for som conclusioun. `and sithen thende is every tales strengthe, 260 and this matere is so bihovely, what sholde i peynte or drawen it on lengthe to yow, that been my freend so feithfully?' and with that word he gan right inwardly biholden hir, and loken on hir face, 265 and seyde, `on suche a mirour goode grace!' than thoughte he thus: `if i my tale endyte ought hard, or make a proces any whyle, she shal no savour han ther-in but lyte, and trowe i wolde hir in my wil bigyle. 270 for tendre wittes wenen al be wyle ther-as they can nat pleynly understonde; for-thy hir wit to serven wol i fonde --' and loked on hir in a besy wyse, and she was war that he byheld hir so, 275 and seyde, `lord! so faste ye me avyse! sey ye me never er now? what sey ye, no?' `yes, yes,' quod he, `and bet wole er i go; but, by my trouthe, i thoughte now if ye be fortunat, for now men shal it see. 280 `for to every wight som goodly aventure som tyme is shape, if he it can receyven; and if that he wol take of it no cure, whan that it commeth, but wilfully it weyven, lo, neither cas nor fortune him deceyven, 285 but right his verray slouthe and wrecchednesse; and swich a wight is for to blame, i gesse. `good aventure, o bele nece, have ye ful lightly founden, and ye conne it take; and, for the love of god, and eek of me, 290 cacche it anoon, lest aventure slake. what sholde i lenger proces of it make? yif me your hond, for in this world is noon, if that yow list, a wight so wel begoon. `and sith i speke of good entencioun, 295 as i to yow have told wel here-biforn, and love as wel your honour and renoun as creature in al this world y-born; by alle the othes that i have yow sworn, and ye be wrooth therfore, or wene i lye, 300 ne shal i never seen yow eft with ye. `beth nought agast, ne quaketh nat; wher-to? ne chaungeth nat for fere so your hewe; for hardely the werste of this is do; and though my tale as now be to yow newe, 305 yet trist alwey, ye shal me finde trewe; and were it thing that me thoughte unsittinge, to yow nolde i no swiche tales bringe.' `now, my good eem, for goddes love, i preye,' quod she, `com of, and tel me what it is; 310 for bothe i am agast what ye wol seye, and eek me longeth it to wite, y-wis. for whether it be wel or be amis, say on, lat me not in this fere dwelle:' `so wol i doon; now herkneth, i shal telle: 315 `now, nece myn, the kinges dere sone, the goode, wyse, worthy, fresshe, and free, which alwey for to do wel is his wone, the noble troilus, so loveth thee, that, bot ye helpe, it wol his bane be. 320 lo, here is al, what sholde i more seye? doth what yow list, to make him live or deye. `but if ye lete him deye, i wol sterve; have her my trouthe, nece, i nil not lyen; al sholde i with this knyf my throte kerve --' 325 with that the teres braste out of his yen, and seyde, `if that ye doon us bothe dyen, thus giltelees, than have ye fisshed faire; what mende ye, though that we bothe apeyre? `allas! he which that is my lord so dere, 330 that trewe man, that noble gentil knight, that nought desireth but your freendly chere, i see him deye, ther he goth up-right, and hasteth him, with al his fulle might, for to be slayn, if fortune wol assente; 335 allas! that god yow swich a beautee sente! `if it be so that ye so cruel be, that of his deeth yow liste nought to recche, that is so trewe and worthy, as ye see, no more than of a iapere or a wrecche, 340 if ye be swich, your beautee may not strecche to make amendes of so cruel a dede; avysement is good bifore the nede. `wo worth the faire gemme vertulees! wo worth that herbe also that dooth no bote! 345 wo worth that beautee that is routhelees! wo worth that wight that tret ech under fote! and ye, that been of beautee crop and rote, if therwith-al in you ther be no routhe, than is it harm ye liven, by my trouthe! 350 `and also thenk wel that this is no gaude; for me were lever, thou and i and he were hanged, than i sholde been his baude, as heyghe, as men mighte on us alle y-see: i am thyn eem, the shame were to me, 355 as wel as thee, if that i sholde assente, thorugh myn abet, that he thyn honour shente. `now understond, for i yow nought requere, to binde yow to him thorugh no beheste, but only that ye make him bettre chere 360 than ye han doon er this, and more feste, so that his lyf be saved, at the leste; this al and som, and playnly our entente; god help me so, i never other mente. `lo, this request is not but skile, y-wis, 365 ne doute of reson, pardee, is ther noon. i sette the worste that ye dredden this, men wolden wondren seen him come or goon: ther-ayeins answere i thus a-noon, that every wight, but he be fool of kinde, 370 wol deme it love of freendship in his minde. `what? who wol deme, though he see a man to temple go, that he the images eteth? thenk eek how wel and wysly that he can governe him-self, that he no-thing foryeteth, 375 that, wher he cometh, he prys and thank him geteth; and eek ther-to, he shal come here so selde, what fors were it though al the toun behelde? `swich love of freendes regneth al this toun; and wrye yow in that mantel ever-mo; 380 and god so wis be my savacioun, as i have seyd, your beste is to do so. but alwey, goode nece, to stinte his wo, so lat your daunger sucred ben a lyte, that of his deeth ye be nought for to wyte.' 385 criseyde, which that herde him in this wyse, thoughte, `i shal fele what he meneth, y-wis.' `now, eem,' quod she, `what wolde ye devyse? what is your reed i sholde doon of this?' `that is wel seyd,' quod be. `certayn, best is 390 that ye him love ayein for his lovinge, as love for love is skilful guerdoninge. `thenk eek, how elde wasteth every houre in eche of yow a party of beautee; and therfore, er that age thee devoure, 395 go love, for, olde, ther wol no wight of thee. lat this proverbe a lore un-to yow be; "to late y-war, quod beautee, whan it paste;" and elde daunteth daunger at the laste. `the kinges fool is woned to cryen loude, 400 whan that him thinketh a womman bereth hir hye, "so longe mote ye live, and alle proude, til crowes feet be growe under your ye, and sende yow thanne a mirour in to prye in whiche that ye may see your face a-morwe!" 405 nece, i bidde wisshe yow no more sorwe.' with this he stente, and caste adoun the heed, and she bigan to breste a-wepe anoon, and seyde, `allas, for wo! why nere i deed? for of this world the feith is al agoon! 410 allas! what sholden straunge to me doon, whan he, that for my beste freend i wende, ret me to love, and sholde it me defende? `allas! i wolde han trusted, doutelees, that if that i, thurgh my disaventure, 415 had loved other him or achilles, ector, or any mannes creature, ye nolde han had no mercy ne mesure on me, but alwey had me in repreve; this false world, allas! who may it leve? 420 `what? is this al the ioye and al the feste? is this your reed, is this my blisful cas? is this the verray mede of your beheste? is al this peynted proces seyd, allas! right for this fyn? o lady myn, pallas! 425 thou in this dredful cas for me purveye; for so astonied am i that i deye!' with that she gan ful sorwfully to syke; `a! may it be no bet?' quod pandarus; `by god, i shal no-more come here this wyke, 430 and god to-forn, that am mistrusted thus; i see ful wel that ye sette lyte of us, or of our deeth! allas! i woful wrecche! mighte he yet live, of me is nought to recche. `o cruel god, o dispitouse marte, 435 o furies three of helle, on yow i crye! so lat me never out of this hous departe, if that i mente harm or vilanye! but sith i see my lord mot nedes dye, and i with him, here i me shryve, and seye 440 that wikkedly ye doon us bothe deye. `but sith it lyketh yow that i be deed, by neptunus, that god is of the see, fro this forth shal i never eten breed til i myn owene herte blood may see; 445 for certayn, i wole deye as sone as he --' and up he sterte, and on his wey he raughte, til she agayn him by the lappe caughte. criseyde, which that wel neigh starf for fere, so as she was the ferfulleste wight 450 that mighte be, and herde eek with hir ere, and saw the sorwful ernest of the knight, and in his preyere eek saw noon unright, and for the harm that mighte eek fallen more, she gan to rewe and dredde hir wonder sore; 455 and thoughte thus, `unhappes fallen thikke alday for love, and in swich maner cas, as men ben cruel in hem-self and wikke; and if this man slee here him-self, allas! in my presence, it wol be no solas. 460 what men wolde of hit deme i can nat seye; it nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye.' and with a sorwful syk she seyde thrye, `a! lord! what me is tid a sory chaunce! for myn estat lyth in iupartye, 465 and eek myn emes lyf lyth in balaunce; but nathelees, with goddes governaunce, i shal so doon, myn honour shal i kepe, and eek his lyf;' and stinte for to wepe. `of harmes two, the lesse is for to chese; 470 yet have i lever maken him good chere in honour, than myn emes lyf to lese; ye seyn, ye no-thing elles me requere?' `no, wis,' quod he, `myn owene nece dere.' `now wel,' quod she, `and i wol doon my peyne; 475 i shal myn herte ayeins my lust constreyne. `but that i nil not holden him in honde, ne love a man, ne can i not, ne may ayeins my wil; but elles wol i fonde, myn honour sauf, plese him fro day to day; 480 ther-to nolde i nought ones have seyd nay, but that i dredde, as in my fantasye; but cesse cause, ay cesseth maladye. `and here i make a protestacioun, that in this proces if ye depper go, 485 that certaynly, for no savacioun of yow, though that ye sterve bothe two, though al the world on o day be my fo, ne shal i never on him han other routhe. --' `i graunte wel,' quod pandare, `by my trouthe. 490 `but may i truste wel ther-to,' quod he, `that of this thing that ye han hight me here, ye wol it holden trewly un-to me?' `ye, doutelees,' quod she, `myn uncle dere.' `ne that i shal han cause in this matere,' 495 quod he, `to pleyne, or after yow to preche?' `why, no, parde; what nedeth more speche?' tho fillen they in othere tales glade, til at the laste, `o good eem,' quod she tho, `for love of god, which that us bothe made, 500 tel me how first ye wisten of his wo: wot noon of hit but ye?' he seyde, `no.' `can he wel speke of love?' quod she, `i preye, tel me, for i the bet me shal purveye.' tho pandarus a litel gan to smyle, 505 and seyde, `by my trouthe, i shal yow telle. this other day, nought gon ful longe whyle, in-with the paleys-gardyn, by a welle, gan he and i wel half a day to dwelle, right for to speken of an ordenaunce, 510 how we the grekes myghte disavaunce. `sone after that bigonne we to lepe, and casten with our dartes to and fro, til at the laste he seyde he wolde slepe, and on the gres a-doun he leyde him tho; 515 and i after gan rome to and fro til that i herde, as that i welk allone, how he bigan ful wofully to grone. `tho gan i stalke him softely bihinde, and sikerly, the sothe for to seyne, 520 as i can clepe ayein now to my minde, right thus to love he gan him for to pleyne; he seyde, "lord! have routhe up-on my peyne, al have i been rebel in myn entente; now, mea culpa, lord! i me repente. 525 `"o god, that at thy disposicioun ledest the fyn by iuste purveyaunce, of every wight, my lowe confessioun accepte in gree, and send me swich penaunce as lyketh thee, but from desesperaunce, 530 that may my goost departe awey fro thee, thou be my sheld, for thy benignitee. `"for certes, lord, so soore hath she me wounded, that stod in blak, with loking of hir yen, that to myn hertes botme it is y-sounded, 535 thorugh which i woot that i mot nedes dyen; this is the worste, i dar me not bi-wryen; and wel the hotter been the gledes rede, that men hem wryen with asshen pale and dede." `with that he smoot his heed adoun anoon, 540 and gan to motre, i noot what, trewely. and i with that gan stille awey to goon, and leet ther-of as no-thing wist hadde i, and come ayein anoon and stood him by, and seyde, "a-wake, ye slepen al to longe; 545 it semeth nat that love dooth yow longe, `"that slepen so that no man may yow wake. who sey ever or this so dul a man?" "ye, freend," quod he, "do ye your hedes ake for love, and lat me liven as i can." 550 but though that he for wo was pale and wan, yet made he tho as freshe a countenaunce as though he shulde have led the newe daunce. `this passed forth, til now, this other day, it fel that i com roming al allone 555 into his chaumbre, and fond how that he lay up-on his bed; but man so sore grone ne herde i never, and what that was his mone, ne wist i nought; for, as i was cominge, al sodeynly he lefte his compleyninge. 560 `of which i took somwat suspecioun, and neer i com, and fond he wepte sore; and god so wis be my savacioun, as never of thing hadde i no routhe more. for neither with engyn, ne with no lore, 565 unethes mighte i fro the deeth him kepe; that yet fele i myn herte for him wepe. `and god wot, never, sith that i was born, was i so bisy no man for to preche, ne never was to wight so depe y-sworn, 570 or he me tolde who mighte been his leche. but now to yow rehersen al his speche, or alle his woful wordes for to soune, ne bid me not, but ye wol see me swowne. `but for to save his lyf, and elles nought, 575 and to non harm of yow, thus am i driven; and for the love of god that us hath wrought, swich chere him dooth, that he and i may liven. now have i plat to yow myn herte shriven; and sin ye woot that myn entente is clene, 580 tak hede ther-of, for i non yvel mene. `and right good thrift, i prey to god, have ye, that han swich oon y-caught with-oute net; and be ye wys, as ye ben fair to see, wel in the ring than is the ruby set. 585 ther were never two so wel y-met, whan ye ben his al hool, as he is youre: ther mighty god yet graunte us see that houre!' `nay, therof spak i not, a, ha!' quod she, `as helpe me god, ye shenden every deel!' 590 `o mercy, dere nece,' anoon quod he, `what-so i spak, i mente nought but weel, by mars the god, that helmed is of steel; now beth nought wrooth, my blood, my nece dere.' `now wel,' quod she, `foryeven be it here!' 595 with this he took his leve, and hoom he wente; and lord, he was glad and wel bigoon! criseyde aroos, no lenger she ne stente, but straught in-to hir closet wente anoon, and sette here doun as stille as any stoon, 600 and every word gan up and doun to winde, that he hadde seyd, as it com hir to minde; and wex somdel astonied in hir thought, right for the newe cas; but whan that she was ful avysed, tho fond she right nought 605 of peril, why she oughte afered be. for man may love, of possibilitee, a womman so, his herte may to-breste, and she nought love ayein, but-if hir leste. but as she sat allone and thoughte thus, 610 thascry aroos at skarmish al with-oute, and men cryde in the strete, `see, troilus hath right now put to flight the grekes route!' with that gan al hir meynee for to shoute, `a! go we see, caste up the latis wyde; 615 for thurgh this strete he moot to palays ryde; `for other wey is fro the yate noon of dardanus, ther open is the cheyne.' with that com he and al his folk anoon an esy pas rydinge, in routes tweyne, 620 right as his happy day was, sooth to seyne, for which, men say, may nought disturbed be that shal bityden of necessitee. this troilus sat on his baye stede, al armed, save his heed, ful richely, 625 and wounded was his hors, and gan to blede, on whiche he rood a pas, ful softely; but swych a knightly sighte, trewely, as was on him, was nought, with-outen faile, to loke on mars, that god is of batayle. 630 so lyk a man of armes and a knight he was to seen, fulfild of heigh prowesse; for bothe he hadde a body and a might to doon that thing, as wel as hardinesse; and eek to seen him in his gere him dresse, 635 so fresh, so yong, so weldy semed he, it was an heven up-on him for to see. his helm to-hewen was in twenty places, that by a tissew heng, his bak bihinde, his sheld to-dasshed was with swerdes and maces, 640 in which men mighte many an arwe finde that thirled hadde horn and nerf and rinde; and ay the peple cryde, `here cometh our ioye, and, next his brother, holdere up of troye!' for which he wex a litel reed for shame, 645 whan he the peple up-on him herde cryen, that to biholde it was a noble game, how sobreliche he caste doun his yen. cryseyda gan al his chere aspyen, and leet so softe it in hir herte sinke, 650 that to hir-self she seyde, `who yaf me drinke?' for of hir owene thought she wex al reed, remembringe hir right thus, `lo, this is he which that myn uncle swereth he moot be deed, but i on him have mercy and pitee;' 655 and with that thought, for pure a-shamed, she gan in hir heed to pulle, and that as faste, whyl he and al the peple for-by paste, and gan to caste and rollen up and doun with-inne hir thought his excellent prowesse, 660 and his estat, and also his renoun, his wit, his shap, and eek his gentillesse; but most hir favour was, for his distresse was al for hir, and thoughte it was a routhe to sleen swich oon, if that he mente trouthe. 665 now mighte som envyous iangle thus, `this was a sodeyn love; how mighte it be that she so lightly lovede troilus right for the firste sighte; ye, pardee?' now who-so seyth so, mote he never thee! 670 for every thing, a ginning hath it nede er al be wrought, with-outen any drede. for i sey nought that she so sodeynly yaf him hir love, but that she gan enclyne to lyke him first, and i have told yow why; 675 and after that, his manhod and his pyne made love with-inne hir for to myne, for which, by proces and by good servyse, he gat hir love, and in no sodeyn wyse. and also blisful venus, wel arayed, 680 sat in hir seventhe hous of hevene tho, disposed wel, and with aspectes payed, to helpen sely troilus of his wo. and, sooth to seyn, she nas not al a fo to troilus in his nativitee; 685 god woot that wel the soner spedde he. now lat us stinte of troilus a throwe, that rydeth forth, and lat us tourne faste un-to criseyde, that heng hir heed ful lowe, ther-as she sat allone, and gan to caste 690 wher-on she wolde apoynte hir at the laste, if it so were hir eem ne wolde cesse, for troilus, up-on hir for to presse. and, lord! so she gan in hir thought argue in this matere of which i have yow told, 695 and what to doon best were, and what eschue, that plyted she ful ofte in many fold. now was hir herte warm, now was it cold, and what she thoughte somwhat shal i wryte, as to myn auctor listeth for to endyte. 700 she thoughte wel that troilus persone she knew by sighte and eek his gentillesse, and thus she seyde, `al were it nought to done, to graunte him love, yet, for his worthinesse, it were honour, with pley and with gladnesse, 705 in honestee, with swich a lord to dele, for myn estat, and also for his hele. `eek, wel wot i my kinges sone is he; and sith he hath to see me swich delyt, if i wolde utterly his sighte flee, 710 peraunter he mighte have me in dispyt, thurgh which i mighte stonde in worse plyt; now were i wys, me hate to purchace, with-outen nede, ther i may stonde in grace? `in every thing, i woot, ther lyth mesure. 715 for though a man forbede dronkenesse, he nought for-bet that every creature be drinkelees for alwey, as i gesse; eek sith i woot for me is his distresse, i ne oughte not for that thing him despyse, 720 sith it is so, he meneth in good wyse. `and eek i knowe, of longe tyme agoon, his thewes goode, and that he is not nyce. ne avauntour, seyth men, certein, he is noon; to wys is he to do so gret a vyce; 725 ne als i nel him never so cheryce, that he may make avaunt, by iuste cause; he shal me never binde in swiche a clause. `now set a cas, the hardest is, y-wis, men mighten deme that he loveth me; 730 what dishonour were it un-to me, this? may i him lette of that? why nay, pardee! i knowe also, and alday here and see, men loven wommen al this toun aboute; be they the wers? why, nay, with-outen doute. 735 `i thenk eek how he able is for to have of al this noble toun the thriftieste, to been his love, so she hir honour save; for out and out he is the worthieste, save only ector, which that is the beste. 740 and yet his lyf al lyth now in my cure, but swich is love, and eek myn aventure. `ne me to love, a wonder is it nought; for wel wot i my-self, so god me spede, al wolde i that noon wiste of this thought, 745 i am oon the fayreste, out of drede, and goodlieste, who-so taketh hede; and so men seyn in al the toun of troye. what wonder is it though he of me have ioye? `i am myn owene woman, wel at ese, 750 i thank it god, as after myn estat; right yong, and stonde unteyd in lusty lese, with-outen ialousye or swich debat; shal noon housbonde seyn to me "chekmat!" for either they ben ful of ialousye, 755 or maisterful, or loven novelrye. `what shal i doon? to what fyn live i thus? shal i nat loven, in cas if that me leste? what, par dieux! i am nought religious! and though that i myn herte sette at reste 760 upon this knight, that is the worthieste, and kepe alwey myn honour and my name, by alle right, it may do me no shame.' but right as whan the sonne shyneth brighte, in march, that chaungeth ofte tyme his face, 765 and that a cloud is put with wind to flighte which over-sprat the sonne as for a space, a cloudy thought gan thorugh hir soule pace, that over-spradde hir brighte thoughtes alle, so that for fere almost she gan to falle. 770 that thought was this: `allas! sin i am free, sholde i now love, and putte in iupartye my sikernesse, and thrallen libertee? allas! how dorste i thenken that folye? may i nought wel in other folk aspye 775 hir dredful ioye, hir constreynt, and hir peyne? ther loveth noon, that she nath why to pleyne. `for love is yet the moste stormy lyf, right of him-self, that ever was bigonne; for ever som mistrust, or nyce stryf, 780 ther is in love, som cloud is over that sonne: ther-to we wrecched wommen no-thing conne, whan us is wo, but wepe and sitte and thinke; our wreche is this, our owene wo to drinke. `also these wikked tonges been so prest 785 to speke us harm, eek men be so untrewe, that, right anoon as cessed is hir lest, so cesseth love, and forth to love a newe: but harm y-doon, is doon, who-so it rewe. for though these men for love hem first to-rende, 790 ful sharp biginning breketh ofte at ende. `how ofte tyme hath it y-knowen be, the treson, that to womman hath be do? to what fyn is swich love, i can nat see, or wher bicometh it, whan it is ago; 795 ther is no wight that woot, i trowe so, wher it bycomth; lo, no wight on it sporneth; that erst was no-thing, in-to nought it torneth. `how bisy, if i love, eek moste i be to plesen hem that iangle of love, and demen, 800 and coye hem, that they sey non harm of me? for though ther be no cause, yet hem semen al be for harm that folk hir freendes quemen; and who may stoppen every wikked tonge, or soun of belles whyl that they be ronge?' 805 and after that, hir thought bigan to clere, and seyde, `he which that no-thing under-taketh, no thing ne acheveth, be him looth or dere.' and with an other thought hir herte quaketh; than slepeth hope, and after dreed awaketh; 810 now hoot, now cold; but thus, bi-twixen tweye, she rist hir up, and went hir for to pleye. adoun the steyre anoon-right tho she wente in-to the gardin, with hir neces three, and up and doun ther made many a wente, 815 flexippe, she, tharbe, and antigone, to pleyen, that it ioye was to see; and othere of hir wommen, a gret route, hir folwede in the gardin al aboute. this yerd was large, and rayled alle the aleyes, 820 and shadwed wel with blosmy bowes grene, and benched newe, and sonded alle the weyes, in which she walketh arm in arm bi-twene; til at the laste antigone the shene gan on a troian song to singe clere, 825 that it an heven was hir voys to here. - she seyde, `o love, to whom i have and shal ben humble subgit, trewe in myn entente, as i best can, to yow, lord, yeve ich al for ever-more, myn hertes lust to rente. 830 for never yet thy grace no wight sente so blisful cause as me, my lyf to lede in alle ioye and seurtee, out of drede. `ye, blisful god, han me so wel beset in love, y-wis, that al that bereth lyf 835 imaginen ne cowde how to ben bet; for, lord, with-outen ialousye or stryf, i love oon which that is most ententyf to serven wel, unwery or unfeyned, that ever was, and leest with harm distreyned. 840 `as he that is the welle of worthinesse, of trouthe ground, mirour of goodliheed, of wit appollo, stoon of sikernesse, of vertu rote, of lust findere and heed, thurgh which is alle sorwe fro me deed, 845 y-wis, i love him best, so doth he me; now good thrift have he, wher-so that he be! `whom sholde i thanke but yow, god of love, of al this blisse, in which to bathe i ginne? and thanked be ye, lord, for that i love! 850 this is the righte lyf that i am inne, to flemen alle manere vyce and sinne: this doth me so to vertu for to entende, that day by day i in my wil amende. `and who-so seyth that for to love is vyce, 855 or thraldom, though he fele in it distresse, he outher is envyous, or right nyce, or is unmighty, for his shrewednesse, to loven; for swich maner folk, i gesse, defamen love, as no-thing of him knowe; 860 thei speken, but they bente never his bowe. `what is the sonne wers, of kinde righte, though that a man, for feblesse of his yen, may nought endure on it to see for brighte? or love the wers, though wrecches on it cryen? 865 no wele is worth, that may no sorwe dryen. and for-thy, who that hath an heed of verre, fro cast of stones war him in the werre! `but i with al myn herte and al my might, as i have seyd, wol love, un-to my laste, 870 my dere herte, and al myn owene knight, in which myn herte growen is so faste, and his in me, that it shal ever laste. al dredde i first to love him to biginne, now woot i wel, ther is no peril inne.' 875 and of hir song right with that word she stente, and therwith-al, `now, nece,' quod criseyde, `who made this song with so good entente?' antigone answerde anoon, and seyde, `ma dame, y-wis, the goodlieste mayde 880 of greet estat in al the toun of troye; and let hir lyf in most honour and ioye.' `forsothe, so it semeth by hir song,' quod tho criseyde, and gan ther-with to syke, and seyde, `lord, is there swich blisse among 885 these lovers, as they conne faire endyte?' `ye, wis,' quod freshe antigone the whyte, `for alle the folk that han or been on lyve ne conne wel the blisse of love discryve. `but wene ye that every wrecche woot 890 the parfit blisse of love? why, nay, y-wis; they wenen al be love, if oon be hoot; do wey, do wey, they woot no-thing of this! men mosten axe at seyntes if it is aught fair in hevene; why? for they conne telle; 895 and axen fendes, is it foul in helle.' criseyde un-to that purpos nought answerde, but seyde, `y-wis, it wol be night as faste.' but every word which that she of hir herde, she gan to prenten in hir herte faste; 900 and ay gan love hir lasse for to agaste than it dide erst, and sinken in hir herte, that she wex somwhat able to converte. the dayes honour, and the hevenes ye, the nightes fo, al this clepe i the sonne, 905 gan westren faste, and dounward for to wrye, as he that hadde his dayes cours y-ronne; and whyte thinges wexen dimme and donne for lak of light, and sterres for to appere, that she and al hir folk in wente y-fere. 910 so whan it lyked hir to goon to reste, and voyded weren they that voyden oughte, she seyde, that to slepe wel hir leste. hir wommen sone til hir bed hir broughte. whan al was hust, than lay she stille, and thoughte 915 of al this thing the manere and the wyse. reherce it nedeth nought, for ye ben wyse. a nightingale, upon a cedre grene, under the chambre-wal ther as she lay, ful loude sang ayein the mone shene, 920 paraunter, in his briddes wyse, a lay of love, that made hir herte fresh and gay. that herkned she so longe in good entente, til at the laste the dede sleep hir hente. and as she sleep, anoon-right tho hir mette, 925 how that an egle, fethered whyt as boon, under hir brest his longe clawes sette, and out hir herte he rente, and that a-noon, and dide his herte in-to hir brest to goon, of which she nought agroos, ne no-thing smerte, 930 and forth he fleigh, with herte left for herte. now lat hir slepe, and we our tales holde of troilus, that is to paleys riden, fro the scarmuch, of the whiche i tolde, and in his chaumbre sit, and hath abiden 935 til two or three of his messages yeden for pandarus, and soughten him ful faste, til they him founde and broughte him at the laste. this pandarus com leping in at ones, and seiyde thus: `who hath ben wel y-bete 940 to-day with swerdes, and with slinge-stones, but troilus, that hath caught him an hete?' and gan to iape, and seyde, `lord, so ye swete! but rys, and lat us soupe and go to reste;' 944 and he answerde him, `do we as thee leste.' with al the haste goodly that they mighte, they spedde hem fro the souper un-to bedde; and every wight out at the dore him dighte, and wher him liste upon his wey him spedde; but troilus, that thoughte his herte bledde 950 for wo, til that he herde som tydinge, he seyde, `freend, shal i now wepe or singe?' quod pandarus, `ly stille and lat me slepe, and don thyn hood, thy nedes spedde be; and chese, if thou wolt singe or daunce or lepe; 955 at shorte wordes, thow shal trowe me. - sire, my nece wol do wel by thee, and love thee best, by god and by my trouthe, but lak of pursuit make it in thy slouthe. `for thus ferforth i have thy work bigonne, 960 fro day to day, til this day, by the morwe, hir love of freendship have i to thee wonne, and also hath she leyd hir feyth to borwe. algate a foot is hameled of thy sorwe.' what sholde i lenger sermon of it holde? 965 as ye han herd bifore, al he him tolde. but right as floures, thorugh the colde of night y-closed, stoupen on hir stalke lowe, redressen hem a-yein the sonne bright, and spreden on hir kinde cours by rowe, 970 right so gan tho his eyen up to throwe this troilus, and seyde, `o venus dere, thy might, thy grace, y-heried be it here!' and to pandare he held up bothe his hondes, and seyde, `lord, al thyn be that i have; 975 for i am hool, al brosten been my bondes; a thousand troians who so that me yave, eche after other, god so wis me save, ne mighte me so gladen; lo, myn herte, it spredeth so for ioye, it wol to-sterte! 980 `but lord, how shal i doon, how shal i liven? whan shal i next my dere herte see? how shal this longe tyme a-wey be driven, til that thou be ayein at hir fro me? thou mayst answere, "a-byd, a-byd," but he 985 that hangeth by the nekke, sooth to seyne, in grete disese abydeth for the peyne.' `al esily, now, for the love of marte,' quod pandarus, `for every thing hath tyme; so longe abyd til that the night departe; 990 for al so siker as thow lyst here by me, and god toforn, i wol be there at pryme, and for thy werk somwhat as i shal seye, or on som other wight this charge leye. `for pardee, god wot, i have ever yit 995 ben redy thee to serve, and to this night have i nought fayned, but emforth my wit don al thy lust, and shal with al my might. do now as i shal seye, and fare a-right; and if thou nilt, wyte al thy-self thy care, 1000 on me is nought along thyn yvel fare. `i woot wel that thow wyser art than i a thousand fold, but if i were as thou, god help me so, as i wolde outrely, right of myn owene hond, wryte hir right now 1005 a lettre, in which i wolde hir tellen how i ferde amis, and hir beseche of routhe; now help thy-self, and leve it not for slouthe. `and i my-self shal ther-with to hir goon; and whan thou wost that i am with hir there, 1010 worth thou up-on a courser right anoon, ye, hardily, right in thy beste gere, and ryd forth by the place, as nought ne were, and thou shalt finde us, if i may, sittinge at som windowe, in-to the strete lokinge. 1015 `and if thee list, than maystow us saluwe, and up-on me make thy contenaunce; but, by thy lyf, be war and faste eschuwe to tarien ought, god shilde us fro mischaunce! ryd forth thy wey, and hold thy governaunce; 1020 and we shal speke of thee som-what, i trowe, whan thou art goon, to do thyne eres glowe! `touching thy lettre, thou art wys y-nough, i woot thow nilt it digneliche endyte; as make it with thise argumentes tough; 1025 ne scrivenish or craftily thou it wryte; beblotte it with thy teres eek a lyte; and if thou wryte a goodly word al softe, though it be good, reherce it not to ofte. `for though the beste harpour upon lyve 1030 wolde on the beste souned ioly harpe that ever was, with alle his fingres fyve, touche ay o streng, or ay o werbul harpe, were his nayles poynted never so sharpe, it shulde maken every wight to dulle, 1035 to here his glee, and of his strokes fulle. `ne iompre eek no discordaunt thing y-fere, as thus, to usen termes of phisyk; in loves termes, hold of thy matere the forme alwey, and do that it be lyk; 1040 for if a peyntour wolde peynte a pyk with asses feet, and hede it as an ape, it cordeth nought; so nere it but a iape.' this counseyl lyked wel to troilus; but, as a dreedful lover, he seyde this: - 1045 `allas, my dere brother pandarus, i am ashamed for to wryte, y-wis, lest of myn innocence i seyde a-mis, or that she nolde it for despyt receyve; thanne were i deed, ther mighte it no-thing weyve.' 1050 to that pandare answerde, `if thee lest, do that i seye, and lat me therwith goon; for by that lord that formed est and west, i hope of it to bringe answere anoon right of hir hond, and if that thou nilt noon, 1055 lat be; and sory mote he been his lyve, ayeins thy lust that helpeth thee to thryve.' quod troilus, `depardieux, i assente; sin that thee list, i will aryse and wryte; and blisful god preye ich, with good entente, 1060 the vyage, and the lettre i shal endyte, so spede it; and thou, minerva, the whyte, yif thou me wit my lettre to devyse:' and sette him doun, and wroot right in this wyse. - first he gan hir his righte lady calle, 1065 his hertes lyf, his lust, his sorwes leche, his blisse, and eek these othere termes alle, that in swich cas these loveres alle seche; and in ful humble wyse, as in his speche, he gan him recomaunde un-to hir grace; 1070 to telle al how, it axeth muchel space. and after this, ful lowly he hir prayde to be nought wrooth, though he, of his folye, so hardy was to hir to wryte, and seyde, that love it made, or elles moste he dye, 1075 and pitously gan mercy for to crye; and after that he seyde, and ley ful loude, him-self was litel worth, and lesse he coude; and that she sholde han his conning excused, that litel was, and eek he dredde hir so, 1080 and his unworthinesse he ay acused; and after that, than gan he telle his woo; but that was endeles, with-outen ho; and seyde, he wolde in trouthe alwey him holde; - and radde it over, and gan the lettre folde. 1085 and with his salte teres gan he bathe the ruby in his signet, and it sette upon the wex deliverliche and rathe; ther-with a thousand tymes, er he lette, he kiste tho the lettre that he shette, 1090 and seyde, `lettre, a blisful destenee thee shapen is, my lady shal thee see.' this pandare took the lettre, and that by tyme a-morwe, and to his neces paleys sterte, and faste he swoor, that it was passed pryme, 1095 and gan to iape, and seyde, `y-wis, myn herte, so fresh it is, al-though it sore smerte, i may not slepe never a mayes morwe; i have a ioly wo, a lusty sorwe.' criseyde, whan that she hir uncle herde, 1100 with dreedful herte, and desirous to here the cause of his cominge, thus answerde: `now by your feyth, myn uncle,' quod she, `dere, what maner windes gydeth yow now here? tel us your ioly wo and your penaunce, 1105 how ferforth be ye put in loves daunce.' `by god,' quod he, `i hoppe alwey bihinde!' and she to-laugh, it thoughte hir herte breste. quod pandarus, `loke alwey that ye finde game in myn hood, but herkneth, if yow leste; 1110 ther is right now come in-to toune a geste, a greek espye, and telleth newe thinges, for which i come to telle yow tydinges. `into the gardin go we, and we shal here, al prevely, of this a long sermoun.' 1115 with that they wenten arm in arm y-fere in-to the gardin from the chaumbre doun. and whan that he so fer was that the soun of that he speke, no man here mighte, he seyde hir thus, and out the lettre plighte, 1120 `lo, he that is al hoolly youres free him recomaundeth lowly to your grace, and sent to you this lettre here by me; avyseth you on it, whan ye han space, and of som goodly answere yow purchace; 1125 or, helpe me god, so pleynly for to seyne, he may not longe liven for his peyne.' ful dredfully tho gan she stonde stille, and took it nought, but al hir humble chere gan for to chaunge, and seyde, `scrit ne bille, 1130 for love of god, that toucheth swich matere, ne bring me noon; and also, uncle dere, to myn estat have more reward, i preye, than to his lust; what sholde i more seye? `and loketh now if this be resonable, 1135 and letteth nought, for favour ne for slouthe, to seyn a sooth; now were it covenable to myn estat, by god, and by your trouthe, to taken it, or to han of him routhe, in harming of my-self or in repreve? 1140 ber it a-yein, for him that ye on leve!' this pandarus gan on hir for to stare, and seyde, `now is this the grettest wonder that ever i sey! lat be this nyce fare! to deethe mote i smiten be with thonder, 1145 if, for the citee which that stondeth yonder, wolde i a lettre un-to yow bringe or take to harm of yow; what list yow thus it make? `but thus ye faren, wel neigh alle and some, that he that most desireth yow to serve, 1150 of him ye recche leest wher he bicome, and whether that he live or elles sterve. but for al that that ever i may deserve, refuse it nought,' quod he, and hente hir faste, and in hir bosom the lettre doun he thraste, 1155 and seyde hire, `now cast it awey anoon, that folk may seen and gauren on us tweye.' quod she, `i can abyde til they be goon,' and gan to smyle, and seyde hym, `eem, i preye, swich answere as yow list, your-self purveye, 1160 for trewely i nil no lettre wryte.' `no? than wol i,' quod he, `so ye endyte.' therwith she lough, and seyde, `go we dyne.' and he gan at him-self to iape faste, and seyde, `nece, i have so greet a pyne 1165 for love, that every other day i faste' - and gan his beste iapes forth to caste; and made hir so to laughe at his folye, that she for laughter wende for to dye. and whan that she was comen in-to halle, 1170 `now, eem,' quod she, `we wol go dine anoon;' and gan some of hir women to hir calle, and streyght in-to hir chaumbre gan she goon; but of hir besinesses, this was oon a-monges othere thinges, out of drede, 1175 ful prively this lettre for to rede; avysed word by word in every lyne, and fond no lak, she thoughte he coude good; and up it putte, and went hir in to dyne. but pandarus, that in a study stood, 1180 er he was war, she took him by the hood, and seyde, `ye were caught er that ye wiste;' `i vouche sauf,' quod he. `do what yow liste.' tho wesshen they, and sette hem doun and ete; and after noon ful sleyly pandarus 1185 gan drawe him to the window next the strete, and seyde, `nece, who hath arayed thus the yonder hous, that stant afor-yeyn us?' `which hous?' quod she, and gan for to biholde, and knew it wel, and whos it was him tolde, 1190 and fillen forth in speche of thinges smale, and seten in the window bothe tweye. whan pandarus saw tyme un-to his tale, and saw wel that hir folk were alle aweye, `now, nece myn, tel on,' quod he; `i seye, 1195 how liketh yow the lettre that ye woot? can he ther-on? for, by my trouthe, i noot.' therwith al rosy hewed tho wex she, and gan to humme, and seyde, `so i trowe.' `aquyte him wel, for goddes love,' quod he; 1200 `my-self to medes wol the lettre sowe.' and held his hondes up, and sat on knowe, `now, goode nece, be it never so lyte, yif me the labour, it to sowe and plyte.' `ye, for i can so wryte,' quod she tho; 1205 `and eek i noot what i sholde to him seye.' `nay, nece,' quod pandare, `sey nat so; yet at the leste thanketh him, i preye, of his good wil, and doth him not to deye. now for the love of me, my nece dere, 1210 refuseth not at this tyme my preyere.' `depar-dieux,' quod she, `god leve al be wel! god help me so, this is the firste lettre that ever i wroot, ye, al or any del.' and in-to a closet, for to avyse hir bettre, 1215 she wente allone, and gan hir herte unfettre out of disdaynes prison but a lyte; and sette hir doun, and gan a lettre wryte, of which to telle in short is myn entente theffect, as fer as i can understonde: - 1220 she thonked him of al that he wel mente towardes hir, but holden him in honde she nolde nought, ne make hir-selven bonde in love, but as his suster, him to plese, she wolde fayn to doon his herte an ese. 1225 she shette it, and to pandarus in gan goon, there as he sat and loked in-to the strete, and doun she sette hir by him on a stoon of iaspre, up-on a quisshin gold y-bete, and seyde, `as wisly helpe me god the grete, 1230 i never dide a thing with more peyne than wryte this, to which ye me constreyne;' and took it him: he thonked hir and seyde, `god woot, of thing ful ofte looth bigonne cometh ende good; and nece myn, criseyde, 1235 that ye to him of hard now ben y-wonne oughte he be glad, by god and yonder sonne! for-why men seyth, "impressiounes lighte ful lightly been ay redy to the flighte.' `but ye han pleyed tyraunt neigh to longe, 1240 and hard was it your herte for to grave; now stint, that ye no longer on it honge, al wolde ye the forme of daunger save. but hasteth yow to doon him ioye have; for trusteth wel, to longe y-doon hardnesse 1245 causeth despyt ful often, for destresse.' and right as they declamed this matere, lo, troilus, right at the stretes ende, com ryding with his tenthe some y-fere, al softely, and thiderward gan bende 1250 ther-as they sete, as was his way to wende to paleys-ward; and pandare him aspyde, and seyde, `nece, y-see who cometh here ryde! `o flee not in, he seeth us, i suppose; lest he may thinke that ye him eschuwe.' 1255 `nay, nay,' quod she, and wex as reed as rose. with that he gan hir humbly to saluwe with dreedful chere, and oft his hewes muwe; and up his look debonairly he caste, and bekked on pandare, and forth he paste. 1260 god woot if he sat on his hors a-right, or goodly was beseyn, that ilke day! god woot wher he was lyk a manly knight! what sholde i drecche, or telle of his aray? criseyde, which that alle these thinges say, 1265 to telle in short, hir lyked al y-fere, his persone, his aray, his look, his chere, his goodly manere, and his gentillesse, so wel, that never, sith that she was born, ne hadde she swich routhe of his distresse; 1270 and how-so she hath hard ben her-biforn, to god hope i, she hath now caught a thorn, she shal not pulle it out this nexte wyke; god sende mo swich thornes on to pyke! pandare, which that stood hir faste by, 1275 felte iren hoot, and he bigan to smyte, and seyde, `nece, i pray yow hertely, tel me that i shal axen yow a lyte: a womman, that were of his deeth to wyte, with-outen his gilt, but for hir lakked routhe, 1280 were it wel doon?' quod she, `nay, by my trouthe!' `god help me so,' quod he, `ye sey me sooth. ye felen wel your-self that i not lye; lo, yond he rit!' quod she, `ye, so he dooth!' `wel,' quod pandare, `as i have told yow thrye, 1285 lat be youre nyce shame and youre folye, and spek with him in esing of his herte; lat nycetee not do yow bothe smerte.' but ther-on was to heven and to done; considered al thing, it may not be; 1290 and why, for shame; and it were eek to sone to graunten him so greet a libertee. `for playnly hir entente,' as seyde she, `was for to love him unwist, if she mighte, and guerdon him with no-thing but with sighte.' 1295 but pandarus thoughte, `it shal not be so, if that i may; this nyce opinioun shal not be holden fully yeres two.' what sholde i make of this a long sermoun? he moste assente on that conclusioun, 1300 as for the tyme; and whan that it was eve, and al was wel, he roos and took his leve. and on his wey ful faste homward he spedde, and right for ioye he felte his herte daunce; and troilus he fond alone a-bedde, 1305 that lay as dooth these loveres, in a traunce, bitwixen hope and derk desesperaunce. but pandarus, right at his in-cominge, he song, as who seyth, `lo! sumwhat i bringe,' and seyde, `who is in his bed so sone 1310 y-buried thus?' `it am i, freend,' quod he. `who, troilus? nay, helpe me so the mone,' quod pandarus, `thou shalt aryse and see a charme that was sent right now to thee, the which can helen thee of thyn accesse, 1315 if thou do forth-with al thy besinesse.' `ye, through the might of god!' quod troilus. and pandarus gan him the lettre take, and seyde, `pardee, god hath holpen us; have here a light, and loke on al this blake.' 1320 but ofte gan the herte glade and quake of troilus, whyl that he gan it rede, so as the wordes yave him hope or drede. but fynally, he took al for the beste that she him wroot, for somwhat he biheld 1325 on which, him thoughte, he mighte his herte reste, al covered she the wordes under sheld. thus to the more worthy part he held, that, what for hope and pandarus biheste, his grete wo for-yede he at the leste. 1330 but as we may alday our-selven see, through more wode or col, the more fyr; right so encrees hope, of what it be, therwith ful ofte encreseth eek desyr; or, as an ook cometh of a litel spyr, 1335 so through this lettre, which that she him sente, encresen gan desyr, of which he brente. wherfore i seye alwey, that day and night this troilus gan to desiren more than he dide erst, thurgh hope, and dide his might 1340 to pressen on, as by pandarus lore, and wryten to hir of his sorwes sore fro day to day; he leet it not refreyde, that by pandare he wroot somwhat or seyde; and dide also his othere observaunces 1345 that to a lovere longeth in this cas; and, after that these dees turnede on chaunces, so was he outher glad or seyde `allas!' and held after his gestes ay his pas; and aftir swiche answeres as he hadde, 1350 so were his dayes sory outher gladde. but to pandare alwey was his recours, and pitously gan ay til him to pleyne, and him bisoughte of rede and som socours; and pandarus, that sey his wode peyne, 1355 wex wel neigh deed for routhe, sooth to seyne, and bisily with al his herte caste som of his wo to sleen, and that as faste; and seyde, `lord, and freend, and brother dere, god woot that thy disese dooth me wo. 1360 but woltow stinten al this woful chere, and, by my trouthe, or it be dayes two, and god to-forn, yet shal i shape it so, that thou shalt come in-to a certayn place, ther-as thou mayst thy-self hir preye of grace. 1365 `and certainly, i noot if thou it wost, but tho that been expert in love it seye, it is oon of the thinges that furthereth most, a man to have a leyser for to preye, and siker place his wo for to biwreye; 1370 for in good herte it moot som routhe impresse, to here and see the giltles in distresse. `paraunter thenkestow: though it be so that kinde wolde doon hir to biginne to han a maner routhe up-on my wo, 1375 seyth daunger, "nay, thou shalt me never winne; so reuleth hir hir hertes goost with-inne, that, though she bende, yet she stant on rote; what in effect is this un-to my bote?" `thenk here-ayeins, whan that the sturdy ook, 1380 on which men hakketh ofte, for the nones, receyved hath the happy falling strook, the grete sweigh doth it come al at ones, as doon these rokkes or these milne-stones. for swifter cours cometh thing that is of wighte, 1385 whan it descendeth, than don thinges lighte. `and reed that boweth doun for every blast, ful lightly, cesse wind, it wol aryse; but so nil not an ook whan it is cast; it nedeth me nought thee longe to forbyse. 1390 men shal reioysen of a greet empryse acheved wel, and stant with-outen doute, al han men been the lenger ther-aboute. `but, troilus, yet tel me, if thee lest, a thing now which that i shal axen thee; 1395 which is thy brother that thou lovest best as in thy verray hertes privetee?' `y-wis, my brother deiphebus,' quod he. `now,' quod pandare, `er houres twyes twelve, he shal thee ese, unwist of it him-selve. 1400 `now lat me allone, and werken as i may,' quod he; and to deiphebus wente he tho which hadde his lord and grete freend ben ay; save troilus, no man he lovede so. to telle in short, with-outen wordes mo, 1405 quod pandarus, `i pray yow that ye be freend to a cause which that toucheth me.' `yis, pardee,' quod deiphebus, `wel thow wost, in al that ever i may, and god to-fore, al nere it but for man i love most, 1410 my brother troilus; but sey wherfore it is; for sith that day that i was bore, i nas, ne never-mo to been i thinke, ayeins a thing that mighte thee for-thinke.' pandare gan him thonke, and to him seyde, 1415 `lo, sire, i have a lady in this toun, that is my nece, and called is criseyde, which some men wolden doon oppressioun, and wrongfully have hir possessioun: wherfor i of your lordship yow biseche 1420 to been our freend, with-oute more speche.' deiphebus him answerde, `o, is not this, that thow spekest of to me thus straungely, criseyda, my freend?' he seyde, `yis.' `than nedeth,' quod deiphebus, `hardely, 1425 na-more to speke, for trusteth wel, that i wol be hir champioun with spore and yerde; i roughte nought though alle hir foos it herde. `but tel me how, thou that woost al this matere, how i might best avaylen? now lat see.' 1430 quod pandarus; `if ye, my lord so dere, wolden as now don this honour to me, to preyen hir to-morwe, lo, that she come un-to yow hir pleyntes to devyse, hir adversaries wolde of it agryse. 1435 `and if i more dorste preye as now, and chargen yow to have so greet travayle, to han som of your bretheren here with yow, that mighten to hir cause bet avayle, than, woot i wel, she mighte never fayle 1440 for to be holpen, what at your instaunce, what with hir othere freendes governaunce.' deiphebus, which that comen was, of kinde, to al honour and bountee to consente, answerde, `it shal be doon; and i can finde 1445 yet gretter help to this in myn entente. what wolt thow seyn, if i for eleyne sente to speke of this? i trowe it be the beste; for she may leden paris as hir leste. `of ector, which that is my lord, my brother, 1450 it nedeth nought to preye him freend to be; for i have herd him, o tyme and eek other, speke of criseyde swich honour, that he may seyn no bet, swich hap to him hath she. it nedeth nought his helpes for to crave; 1455 he shal be swich, right as we wole him have. `spek thou thy-self also to troilus on my bihalve, and pray him with us dyne.' `sire, al this shal be doon,' quod pandarus; and took his leve, and never gan to fyne, 1460 but to his neces hous, as streyt as lyne, he com; and fond hir fro the mete aryse; and sette him doun, and spak right in this wyse. he seyde, `o veray god, so have i ronne! lo, nece myn, see ye nought how i swete? 1465 i noot whether ye the more thank me conne. be ye nought war how that fals poliphete is now aboute eft-sones for to plete, and bringe on yow advocacyes newe?' `i? no,' quod she, and chaunged al hir hewe. 1470 `what is he more aboute, me to drecche and doon me wrong? what shal i do, allas? yet of him-self no-thing ne wolde i recche, nere it for antenor and eneas, that been his freendes in swich maner cas; 1475 but, for the love of god, myn uncle dere, no fors of that; lat him have al y-fere; `with-outen that i have ynough for us.' `nay,' quod pandare, `it shal no-thing be so. for i have been right now at deiphebus, 1480 and ector, and myne othere lordes mo, and shortly maked eche of hem his fo; that, by my thrift, he shal it never winne for ought he can, whan that so he biginne.' and as they casten what was best to done, 1485 deiphebus, of his owene curtasye, com hir to preye, in his propre persone, to holde him on the morwe companye at diner, which she nolde not denye, but goodly gan to his preyere obeye. 1490 he thonked hir, and wente up-on his weye. whanne this was doon, this pandare up a-noon, to telle in short, and forth gan for to wende to troilus, as stille as any stoon; and al this thing he tolde him, word and ende; 1495 and how that he deiphebus gan to blende; and seyde him, `now is tyme, if that thou conne, to bere thee wel to-morwe, and al is wonne. `now spek, now prey, now pitously compleyne; lat not for nyce shame, or drede, or slouthe; 1500 som-tyme a man mot telle his owene peyne; bileve it, and she shal han on thee routhe; thou shalt be saved by thy feyth, in trouthe. but wel wot i, thou art now in a drede; and what it is, i leye, i can arede. 1505 `thow thinkest now, "how sholde i doon al this? for by my cheres mosten folk aspye, that for hir love is that i fare a-mis; yet hadde i lever unwist for sorwe dye." now thenk not so, for thou dost greet folye. 1510 for i right now have founden o manere of sleighte, for to coveren al thy chere. `thow shalt gon over night, and that as blyve, un-to deiphebus hous, as thee to pleye, thy maladye a-wey the bet to dryve, 1515 for-why thou semest syk, soth for to seye. sone after that, doun in thy bed thee leye, and sey, thow mayst no lenger up endure, and ly right there, and byde thyn aventure. `sey that thy fever is wont thee for to take 1520 the same tyme, and lasten til a-morwe; and lat see now how wel thou canst it make, for, par-dee, syk is he that is in sorwe. go now, farwel! and, venus here to borwe, i hope, and thou this purpos holde ferme, 1525 thy grace she shal fully ther conferme.' quod troilus, `y-wis, thou nedelees conseylest me, that sykliche i me feyne, for i am syk in ernest, doutelees, so that wel neigh i sterve for the peyne.' 1530 quod pandarus, `thou shalt the bettre pleyne, and hast the lasse need to countrefete; for him men demen hoot that men seen swete. `lo, holde thee at thy triste cloos, and i shal wel the deer un-to thy bowe dryve.' 1535 therwith he took his leve al softely, and troilus to paleys wente blyve. so glad ne was he never in al his lyve; and to pandarus reed gan al assente, and to deiphebus hous at night he wente. 1540 what nedeth yow to tellen al the chere that deiphebus un-to his brother made, or his accesse, or his siklych manere, how men gan him with clothes for to lade, whan he was leyd, and how men wolde him glade? 1545 but al for nought; he held forth ay the wyse that ye han herd pandare er this devyse. but certeyn is, er troilus him leyde, deiphebus had him prayed, over night, to been a freend and helping to criseyde. 1550 god woot, that he it grauntede anon-right, to been hir fulle freend with al his might. but swich a nede was to preye him thenne, as for to bidde a wood man for to renne. the morwen com, and neighen gan the tyme 1555 of meel-tyd, that the faire quene eleyne shoop hir to been, an houre after the pryme, with deiphebus, to whom she nolde feyne; but as his suster, hoomly, sooth to seyne, she com to diner in hir playn entente. 1560 but god and pandare wiste al what this mente. com eek criseyde, al innocent of this, antigone, hir sister tarbe also; but flee we now prolixitee best is, for love of god, and lat us faste go 1565 right to the effect, with-oute tales mo, why al this folk assembled in this place; and lat us of hir saluinges pace. gret honour dide hem deiphebus, certeyn, and fedde hem wel with al that mighte lyke. 1570 but ever-more, `allas!' was his refreyn, `my goode brother troilus, the syke, lyth yet"--and therwith-al he gan to syke; and after that, he peyned him to glade hem as he mighte, and chere good he made. 1575 compleyned eek eleyne of his syknesse so feithfully, that pitee was to here, and every wight gan waxen for accesse a leche anoon, and seyde, `in this manere men curen folk; this charme i wol yow lere.' 1580 but ther sat oon, al list hir nought to teche, that thoughte, best coude i yet been his leche. after compleynt, him gonnen they to preyse, as folk don yet, whan som wight hath bigonne to preyse a man, and up with prys him reyse 1585 a thousand fold yet hyer than the sonne: - `he is, he can, that fewe lordes conne.' and pandarus, of that they wolde afferme, he not for-gat hir preysing to conferme. herde al this thing criseyde wel y-nough, 1590 and every word gan for to notifye; for which with sobre chere hir herte lough; for who is that ne wolde hir glorifye, to mowen swich a knight don live or dye? but al passe i, lest ye to longe dwelle; 1595 for for o fyn is al that ever i telle. the tyme com, fro diner for to ryse, and, as hem oughte, arisen everychoon, and gonne a while of this and that devyse. but pandarus brak al this speche anoon, 1600 and seyde to deiphebus, `wole ye goon, if youre wille be, as i yow preyde, to speke here of the nedes of criseyde?' eleyne, which that by the hond hir held, took first the tale, and seyde, `go we blyve;' 1605 and goodly on criseyde she biheld, and seyde, `ioves lat him never thryve, that dooth yow harm, and bringe him sone of lyve! and yeve me sorwe, but he shal it rewe, if that i may, and alle folk be trewe.' 1610 `tel thou thy neces cas,' quod deiphebus to pandarus, `for thou canst best it telle.' - `my lordes and my ladyes, it stant thus; what sholde i lenger,' quod he, `do yow dwelle?' he rong hem out a proces lyk a belle, 1615 up-on hir fo, that highte poliphete, so heynous, that men mighte on it spete. answerde of this ech worse of hem than other, and poliphete they gonnen thus to warien, `an-honged be swich oon, were he my brother; 1620 and so he shal, for it ne may not varien.' what sholde i lenger in this tale tarien? pleynly, alle at ones, they hir highten to been hir helpe in al that ever they mighten. spak than eleyne, and seyde, `pandarus, 1625 woot ought my lord, my brother, this matere, i mene, ector? or woot it troilus?' he seyde, `ye, but wole ye now me here? me thinketh this, sith troilus is here, it were good, if that ye wolde assente, 1630 she tolde hir-self him al this, er she wente. `for he wole have the more hir grief at herte, by cause, lo, that she a lady is; and, by your leve, i wol but right in sterte, and do yow wite, and that anoon, y-wis, 1635 if that he slepe, or wole ought here of this.' and in he lepte, and seyde him in his ere, `god have thy soule, y-brought have i thy bere!' to smylen of this gan tho troilus, and pandarus, with-oute rekeninge, 1640 out wente anoon to eleyne and deiphebus, and seyde hem, `so there be no taryinge, ne more pres, he wol wel that ye bringe criseyda, my lady, that is here; and as he may enduren, he wole here. 1645 `but wel ye woot, the chaumbre is but lyte, and fewe folk may lightly make it warm; now loketh ye, (for i wol have no wyte, to bringe in prees that mighte doon him harm or him disesen, for my bettre arm), 1650 wher it be bet she byde til eft-sones; now loketh ye, that knowen what to doon is. `i sey for me, best is, as i can knowe, that no wight in ne wente but ye tweye, but it were i, for i can, in a throwe, 1655 reherce hir cas unlyk that she can seye; and after this, she may him ones preye to ben good lord, in short, and take hir leve; this may not muchel of his ese him reve. `and eek, for she is straunge, he wol forbere 1660 his ese, which that him thar nought for yow; eek other thing that toucheth not to here, he wol me telle, i woot it wel right now, that secret is, and for the tounes prow.' and they, that no-thing knewe of his entente, 1665 with-oute more, to troilus in they wente. eleyne, in al hir goodly softe wyse, gan him saluwe, and womanly to pleye, and seyde, `ywis, ye moste alweyes aryse! now fayre brother, beth al hool, i preye!' 1670 and gan hir arm right over his sholder leye, and him with al hir wit to recomforte; as she best coude, she gan him to disporte. so after this quod she, `we yow biseke, my dere brother, deiphebus and i, 1675 for love of god, and so doth pandare eke, to been good lord and freend, right hertely, un-to criseyde, which that certeinly receyveth wrong, as woot wel here pandare, that can hir cas wel bet than i declare.' 1680 this pandarus gan newe his tunge affyle, and al hir cas reherce, and that anoon; whan it was seyd, sone after, in a whyle, quod troilus, `as sone as i may goon, i wol right fayn with al my might ben oon, 1685 have god my trouthe, hir cause to sustene.' `good thrift have ye,' quod eleyne the quene. quod pandarus, `and it your wille be that she may take hir leve, er that she go?' `o, elles god for-bede,' tho quod he, 1690 `if that she vouche sauf for to do so.' and with that word quod troilus, `ye two, deiphebus, and my suster leef and dere, to yow have i to speke of o matere, `to been avysed by your reed the bettre': - 1695 and fond, as hap was, at his beddes heed, the copie of a tretis and a lettre, that ector hadde him sent to axen reed, if swich a man was worthy to ben deed, woot i nought who; but in a grisly wyse 1700 he preyede hem anoon on it avyse. deiphebus gan this lettre to unfolde in ernest greet; so did eleyne the quene; and rominge outward, fast it gan biholde, downward a steyre, in-to an herber grene. 1705 this ilke thing they redden hem bi-twene; and largely, the mountaunce of an houre, thei gonne on it to reden and to poure. now lat hem rede, and turne we anoon to pandarus, that gan ful faste prye 1710 that al was wel, and out he gan to goon in-to the grete chambre, and that in hye, and seyde, `god save al this companye! com, nece myn; my lady quene eleyne abydeth yow, and eek my lordes tweyne. 1715 `rys, take with yow your nece antigone, or whom yow list, or no fors, hardily; the lesse prees, the bet; com forth with me, and loke that ye thonke humblely hem alle three, and, whan ye may goodly 1720 your tyme y-see, taketh of hem your leve, lest we to longe his restes him bireve.' al innocent of pandarus entente, quod tho criseyde, `go we, uncle dere'; and arm in arm inward with him she wente, 1725 avysed wel hir wordes and hir chere; and pandarus, in ernestful manere, seyde, `alle folk, for goddes love, i preye, stinteth right here, and softely yow pleye. `aviseth yow what folk ben here with-inne, 1730 and in what plyt oon is, god him amende! and inward thus ful softely biginne; nece, i conjure and heighly yow defende, on his half, which that sowle us alle sende, and in the vertue of corounes tweyne, 1735 slee nought this man, that hath for yow this peyne! `fy on the devel! thenk which oon he is, and in what plyt he lyth; com of anoon; thenk al swich taried tyd, but lost it nis! that wol ye bothe seyn, whan ye ben oon. 1740 secoundelich, ther yet devyneth noon up-on yow two; come of now, if ye conne; whyl folk is blent, lo, al the tyme is wonne! `in titering, and pursuite, and delayes, the folk devyne at wagginge of a stree; 1745 and though ye wolde han after merye dayes, than dar ye nought, and why? for she, and she spak swich a word; thus loked he, and he; lest tyme i loste, i dar not with yow dele; com of therfore, and bringeth him to hele.' 1750 but now to yow, ye lovers that ben here, was troilus nought in a cankedort, that lay, and mighte whispringe of hem here, and thoughte, `o lord, right now renneth my sort fully to dye, or han anoon comfort'; 1755 and was the firste tyme he shulde hir preye of love; o mighty god, what shal he seye? explicit secundus liber. book iii. incipit prohemium tercii libri. o blisful light of whiche the bemes clere 1 adorneth al the thridde hevene faire! o sonnes lief, o ioves doughter dere, plesaunce of love, o goodly debonaire, in gentil hertes ay redy to repaire! 5 o verray cause of hele and of gladnesse, y-heried be thy might and thy goodnesse! in hevene and helle, in erthe and salte see is felt thy might, if that i wel descerne; as man, brid, best, fish, herbe and grene tree 10 thee fele in tymes with vapour eterne. god loveth, and to love wol nought werne; and in this world no lyves creature, with-outen love, is worth, or may endure. ye ioves first to thilke effectes glade, 15 thorugh which that thinges liven alle and be, comeveden, and amorous him made on mortal thing, and as yow list, ay ye yeve him in love ese or adversitee; and in a thousand formes doun him sente 20 for love in erthe, and whom yow liste, he hente. ye fierse mars apeysen of his ire, and, as yow list, ye maken hertes digne; algates, hem that ye wol sette a-fyre, they dreden shame, and vices they resigne; 25 ye do hem corteys be, fresshe and benigne, and hye or lowe, after a wight entendeth; the ioyes that he hath, your might him sendeth. ye holden regne and hous in unitee; ye soothfast cause of frendship been also; 30 ye knowe al thilke covered qualitee of thinges which that folk on wondren so, whan they can not construe how it may io, she loveth him, or why he loveth here; as why this fish, and nought that, comth to were. 35 ye folk a lawe han set in universe, and this knowe i by hem that loveres be, that who-so stryveth with yow hath the werse: now, lady bright, for thy benignitee, at reverence of hem that serven thee, 40 whos clerk i am, so techeth me devyse som ioye of that is felt in thy servyse. ye in my naked herte sentement inhelde, and do me shewe of thy swetnesse. - caliope, thy vois be now present, 45 for now is nede; sestow not my destresse, how i mot telle anon-right the gladnesse of troilus, to venus heryinge? to which gladnes, who nede hath, god him bringe! explicit prohemium tercii libri. incipit liber tercius. lay al this mene whyle troilus, 50 recordinge his lessoun in this manere, `ma fey!' thought he, `thus wole i seye and thus; thus wole i pleyne unto my lady dere; that word is good, and this shal be my chere; this nil i not foryeten in no wyse.' 55 god leve him werken as he can devyse! and, lord, so that his herte gan to quappe, heringe hir come, and shorte for to syke! and pandarus, that ledde hir by the lappe, com ner, and gan in at the curtin pyke, 60 and seyde, `god do bote on alle syke! see, who is here yow comen to visyte; lo, here is she that is your deeth to wyte.' ther-with it semed as he wepte almost; `a ha,' quod troilus so rewfully, 65 `wher me be wo, o mighty god, thow wost! who is al there? i se nought trewely.' `sire,' quod criseyde, `it is pandare and i.' `ye, swete herte? allas, i may nought ryse to knele, and do yow honour in som wyse.' 70 and dressede him upward, and she right tho gan bothe here hondes softe upon him leye, `o, for the love of god, do ye not so to me,' quod she, `ey! what is this to seye? sire, come am i to yow for causes tweye; 75 first, yow to thonke, and of your lordshipe eke continuance i wolde yow biseke.' this troilus, that herde his lady preye of lordship him, wex neither quik ne deed, ne mighte a word for shame to it seye, 80 al-though men sholde smyten of his heed. but lord, so he wex sodeinliche reed, and sire, his lesson, that he wende conne, to preyen hir, is thurgh his wit y-ronne. cryseyde al this aspyede wel y-nough, 85 for she was wys, and lovede him never-the-lasse, al nere he malapert, or made it tough, or was to bold, to singe a fool a masse. but whan his shame gan somwhat to passe, his resons, as i may my rymes holde, 90 i yow wole telle, as techen bokes olde. in chaunged vois, right for his verray drede, which vois eek quook, and ther-to his manere goodly abayst, and now his hewes rede, now pale, un-to criseyde, his lady dere, 95 with look doun cast and humble yolden chere, lo, the alderfirste word that him asterte was, twyes, `mercy, mercy, swete herte!' and stinte a whyl, and whan he mighte out-bringe, the nexte word was, `god wot, for i have, 100 as feyfully as i have had konninge, ben youres, also god so my sowle save; and shal til that i, woful wight, be grave. and though i dar ne can un-to yow pleyne, y-wis, i suffre nought the lasse peyne. 105 `thus muche as now, o wommanliche wyf, i may out-bringe, and if this yow displese, that shal i wreke upon myn owne lyf right sone, i trowe, and doon your herte an ese, if with my deeth your herte i may apese. 110 but sin that ye han herd me som-what seye, now recche i never how sone that i deye.' ther-with his manly sorwe to biholde, it mighte han maad an herte of stoon to rewe; and pandare weep as he to watre wolde, 115 and poked ever his nece newe and newe, and seyde, `wo bigon ben hertes trewe! for love of god, make of this thing an ende, or slee us bothe at ones, er that ye wende.' `i? what?' quod she, `by god and by my trouthe, 120 i noot nought what ye wilne that i seye.' `i? what?' quod he, `that ye han on him routhe, for goddes love, and doth him nought to deye.' `now thanne thus,' quod she, `i wolde him preye to telle me the fyn of his entente; 125 yet wist i never wel what that he mente.' `what that i mene, o swete herte dere?' quod troilus, `o goodly, fresshe free! that, with the stremes of your eyen clere, ye wolde som-tyme freendly on me see, 130 and thanne agreen that i may ben he, with-oute braunche of vyce on any wyse, in trouthe alwey to doon yow my servyse, `as to my lady right and chief resort, with al my wit and al my diligence, 135 and i to han, right as yow list, comfort, under your yerde, egal to myn offence, as deeth, if that i breke your defence; and that ye deigne me so muche honoure, me to comaunden ought in any houre. 140 `and i to ben your verray humble trewe, secret, and in my paynes pacient, and ever-mo desire freshly newe, to serven, and been y-lyke ay diligent, and, with good herte, al holly your talent 145 receyven wel, how sore that me smerte, lo, this mene i, myn owene swete herte.' quod pandarus, `lo, here an hard request, and resonable, a lady for to werne! now, nece myn, by natal ioves fest, 150 were i a god, ye sholde sterve as yerne, that heren wel, this man wol no-thing yerne but your honour, and seen him almost sterve, and been so looth to suffren him yow serve.' with that she gan hir eyen on him caste 155 ful esily, and ful debonairly, avysing hir, and hyed not to faste with never a word, but seyde him softely, `myn honour sauf, i wol wel trewely, and in swich forme as he can now devyse, 160 receyven him fully to my servyse, `biseching him, for goddes love, that he wolde, in honour of trouthe and gentilesse, as i wel mene, eek mene wel to me, and myn honour, with wit and besinesse 165 ay kepe; and if i may don him gladnesse, from hennes-forth, y-wis, i nil not feyne: now beeth al hool; no lenger ye ne pleyne. `but nathelees, this warne i yow,' quod she, `a kinges sone al-though ye be, y-wis, 170 ye shal na-more have soverainetee of me in love, than right in that cas is; ne i nil forbere, if that ye doon a-mis, to wrathen yow; and whyl that ye me serve, cherycen yow right after ye deserve. 175 `and shortly, dere herte and al my knight, beth glad, and draweth yow to lustinesse, and i shal trewely, with al my might, your bittre tornen al in-to swetenesse. if i be she that may yow do gladnesse, 180 for every wo ye shal recovere a blisse'; and him in armes took, and gan him kisse. fil pandarus on knees, and up his eyen to hevene threw, and held his hondes hye, `immortal god!' quod he, `that mayst nought dyen, 185 cupide i mene, of this mayst glorifye; and venus, thou mayst maken melodye; with-outen hond, me semeth that in the towne, for this merveyle, i here ech belle sowne. `but ho! no more as now of this matere, 190 for-why this folk wol comen up anoon, that han the lettre red; lo, i hem here. but i coniure thee, criseyde, and oon, and two, thou troilus, whan thow mayst goon, that at myn hous ye been at my warninge, 195 for i ful wel shal shape youre cominge; `and eseth ther your hertes right y-nough; and lat see which of yow shal bere the belle to speke of love a-right!' ther-with he lough, `for ther have ye a layser for to telle.' 200 quod troilus, `how longe shal i dwelle er this be doon?' quod he, `whan thou mayst ryse, this thing shal be right as i yow devyse.' with that eleyne and also deiphebus tho comen upward, right at the steyres ende; 205 and lord, so than gan grone troilus, his brother and his suster for to blende. quod pandarus, `it tyme is that we wende; tak, nece myn, your leve at alle three, and lat hem speke, and cometh forth with me.' 210 she took hir leve at hem ful thriftily, as she wel coude, and they hir reverence un-to the fulle diden hardely, and speken wonder wel, in hir absence, of hir, in preysing of hir excellence, 215 hir governaunce, hir wit; and hir manere commendeden, it ioye was to here. now lat hir wende un-to hir owne place, and torne we to troilus a-yein, that gan ful lightly of the lettre passe 220 that deiphebus hadde in the gardin seyn. and of eleyne and him he wolde fayn delivered been, and seyde that him leste to slepe, and after tales have reste. eleyne him kiste, and took hir leve blyve, 225 deiphebus eek, and hoom wente every wight; and pandarus, as faste as he may dryve, to troilus tho com, as lyne right; and on a paillet, al that glade night, by troilus he lay, with mery chere, 230 to tale; and wel was hem they were y-fere. whan every wight was voided but they two, and alle the dores were faste y-shette, to telle in short, with-oute wordes mo, this pandarus, with-outen any lette, 235 up roos, and on his beddes syde him sette, and gan to speken in a sobre wyse to troilus, as i shal yow devyse: `myn alderlevest lord, and brother dere, god woot, and thou, that it sat me so sore, 240 when i thee saw so languisshing to-yere, for love, of which thy wo wex alwey more; that i, with al my might and al my lore, have ever sithen doon my bisinesse to bringe thee to ioye out of distresse, 245 `and have it brought to swich plyt as thou wost, so that, thorugh me, thow stondest now in weye to fare wel, i seye it for no bost, and wostow which? for shame it is to seye, for thee have i bigonne a gamen pleye 250 which that i never doon shal eft for other, al-though he were a thousand fold my brother. `that is to seye, for thee am i bicomen, bitwixen game and ernest, swich a mene as maken wommen un-to men to comen; 255 al sey i nought, thou wost wel what i mene. for thee have i my nece, of vyces clene, so fully maad thy gentilesse triste, that al shal been right as thy-selve liste. `but god, that al wot, take i to witnesse, 260 that never i this for coveityse wroughte, but only for to abregge that distresse, for which wel nygh thou deydest, as me thoughte. but, gode brother, do now as thee oughte, for goddes love, and kep hir out of blame, 265 sin thou art wys, and save alwey hir name. `for wel thou wost, the name as yet of here among the peple, as who seyth, halwed is; for that man is unbore, i dar wel swere, that ever wiste that she dide amis. 270 but wo is me, that i, that cause al this, may thenken that she is my nece dere, and i hir eem, and trattor eek y-fere! `and were it wist that i, through myn engyn, hadde in my nece y-put this fantasye, 275 to do thy lust, and hoolly to be thyn, why, al the world up-on it wolde crye, and seye, that i the worste trecherye dide in this cas, that ever was bigonne, and she for-lost, and thou right nought y-wonne. 280 `wher-fore, er i wol ferther goon a pas, yet eft i thee biseche and fully seye, that privetee go with us in this cas; that is to seye, that thou us never wreye; and be nought wrooth, though i thee ofte preye 285 to holden secree swich an heigh matere; for skilful is, thow wost wel, my preyere. `and thenk what wo ther hath bitid er this, for makinge of avantes, as men rede; and what mischaunce in this world yet ther is, 290 fro day to day, right for that wikked dede; for which these wyse clerkes that ben dede han ever yet proverbed to us yonge, that "firste vertu is to kepe tonge." `and, nere it that i wilne as now tabregge 295 diffusioun of speche, i coude almost a thousand olde stories thee alegge of wommen lost, thorugh fals and foles bost; proverbes canst thy-self y-nowe, and wost, ayeins that vyce, for to been a labbe, 300 al seyde men sooth as often as they gabbe. `o tonge, allas! so often here-biforn hastow made many a lady bright of hewe seyd, "welawey! the day that i was born!" and many a maydes sorwes for to newe; 305 and, for the more part, al is untrewe that men of yelpe, and it were brought to preve; of kinde non avauntour is to leve. `avauntour and a lyere, al is on; as thus: i pose, a womman graunte me 310 hir love, and seyth that other wol she non, and i am sworn to holden it secree, and after i go telle it two or three; y-wis, i am avauntour at the leste, and lyere, for i breke my biheste. 315 `now loke thanne, if they be nought to blame, swich maner folk; what shal i clepe hem, what, that hem avaunte of wommen, and by name, that never yet bihighte hem this ne that, ne knewe hem more than myn olde hat? 320 no wonder is, so god me sende hele, though wommen drede with us men to dele. `i sey not this for no mistrust of yow, ne for no wys man, but for foles nyce, and for the harm that in the world is now, 325 as wel for foly ofte as for malyce; for wel wot i, in wyse folk, that vyce no womman drat, if she be wel avysed; for wyse ben by foles harm chastysed. `but now to purpos; leve brother dere, 330 have al this thing that i have seyd in minde, and keep thee clos, and be now of good chere, for at thy day thou shalt me trewe finde. i shal thy proces sette in swich a kinde, and god to-forn, that it shall thee suffyse, 335 for it shal been right as thou wolt devyse. `for wel i woot, thou menest wel, parde; therfore i dar this fully undertake. thou wost eek what thy lady graunted thee, and day is set, the chartres up to make. 340 have now good night, i may no lenger wake; and bid for me, sin thou art now in blisse, that god me sende deeth or sone lisse.' who mighte telle half the ioye or feste which that the sowle of troilus tho felte, 345 heringe theffect of pandarus biheste? his olde wo, that made his herte swelte, gan tho for ioye wasten and to-melte, and al the richesse of his sykes sore at ones fledde, he felte of hem no more. 350 but right so as these holtes and these hayes, that han in winter dede been and dreye, revesten hem in grene, whan that may is, whan every lusty lyketh best to pleye; right in that selve wyse, sooth to seye, 355 wax sodeynliche his herte ful of ioye, that gladder was ther never man in troye. and gan his look on pandarus up caste ful sobrely, and frendly for to see, and seyde, `freend, in aprille the laste, 360 as wel thou wost, if it remembre thee, how neigh the deeth for wo thou founde me; and how thou didest al thy bisinesse to knowe of me the cause of my distresse. `thou wost how longe i it for-bar to seye 365 to thee, that art the man that i best triste; and peril was it noon to thee by-wreye, that wiste i wel; but tel me, if thee liste, sith i so looth was that thy-self it wiste, how dorst i mo tellen of this matere, 370 that quake now, and no wight may us here? `but natheles, by that god i thee swere, that, as him list, may al this world governe, and, if i lye, achilles with his spere myn herte cleve, al were my lyf eterne, 375 as i am mortal, if i late or yerne wolde it biwreye, or dorste, or sholde conne, for al the good that god made under sonne; `that rather deye i wolde, and determyne, as thinketh me, now stokked in presoun, 380 in wrecchednesse, in filthe, and in vermyne, caytif to cruel king agamenoun; and this, in alle the temples of this toun upon the goddes alle, i wol thee swere, to-morwe day, if that thee lyketh here. 385 `and that thou hast so muche y-doon for me, that i ne may it never-more deserve, this knowe i wel, al mighte i now for thee a thousand tymes on a morwen sterve. i can no more, but that i wol thee serve 390 right as thy sclave, whider-so thou wende, for ever-more, un-to my lyves ende! `but here, with al myn herte, i thee biseche, that never in me thou deme swich folye as i shal seyn; me thoughte, by thy speche, 395 that this, which thou me dost for companye, i sholde wene it were a bauderye; i am nought wood, al-if i lewed be; it is not so, that woot i wel, pardee. `but he that goth, for gold or for richesse, 400 on swich message, calle him what thee list; and this that thou dost, calle it gentilesse, compassioun, and felawship, and trist; departe it so, for wyde-where is wist how that there is dyversitee requered 405 bitwixen thinges lyke, as i have lered. `and, that thou knowe i thenke nought ne wene that this servyse a shame be or iape, i have my faire suster polixene, cassandre, eleyne, or any of the frape; 410 be she never so faire or wel y-shape, tel me, which thou wilt of everichone, to han for thyn, and lat me thanne allone. `but, sith that thou hast don me this servyse my lyf to save, and for noon hope of mede, 415 so, for the love of god, this grete empryse performe it out; for now is moste nede. for high and low, with-outen any drede, i wol alwey thyne hestes alle kepe; have now good night, and lat us bothe slepe.' 420 thus held him ech of other wel apayed, that al the world ne mighte it bet amende; and, on the morwe, whan they were arayed, ech to his owene nedes gan entende. but troilus, though as the fyr he brende 425 for sharp desyr of hope and of plesaunce, he not for-gat his gode governaunce. but in him-self with manhod gan restreyne ech rakel dede and ech unbrydled chere, that alle tho that liven, sooth to seyne, 430 ne sholde han wist, by word or by manere, what that he mente, as touching this matere. from every wight as fer as is the cloude he was, so wel dissimulen he coude. and al the whyl which that i yow devyse, 435 this was his lyf; with al his fulle might, by day he was in martes high servyse, this is to seyn, in armes as a knight; and for the more part, the longe night he lay, and thoughte how that he mighte serve 440 his lady best, hir thank for to deserve. nil i nought swere, al-though he lay softe, that in his thought he nas sumwhat disesed, ne that he tornede on his pilwes ofte, and wolde of that him missed han ben sesed; 445 but in swich cas men is nought alwey plesed, for ought i wot, no more than was he; that can i deme of possibilitee. but certeyn is, to purpos for to go, that in this whyle, as writen is in geste, 450 he say his lady som-tyme; and also she with him spak, whan that she dorste or leste, and by hir bothe avys, as was the beste, apoynteden ful warly in this nede, so as they dorste, how they wolde procede. 455 but it was spoken in so short a wyse, in swich awayt alwey, and in swich fere, lest any wyght devynen or devyse wolde of hem two, or to it leye an ere, that al this world so leef to hem ne were 460 as that cupido wolde hem grace sende to maken of hir speche aright an ende. but thilke litel that they spake or wroughte, his wyse goost took ay of al swich hede, it semed hir, he wiste what she thoughte 465 with-outen word, so that it was no nede to bidde him ought to done, or ought for-bede; for which she thought that love, al come it late, of alle ioye hadde opned hir the yate. and shortly of this proces for to pace, 470 so wel his werk and wordes he bisette, that he so ful stood in his lady grace, that twenty thousand tymes, or she lette, she thonked god she ever with him mette; so coude he him governe in swich servyse, 475 that al the world ne might it bet devyse. for-why she fond him so discreet in al, so secret, and of swich obeisaunce, that wel she felte he was to hir a wal of steel, and sheld from every displesaunce; 480 that, to ben in his gode governaunce, so wys he was, she was no more afered, i mene, as fer as oughte ben requered. and pandarus, to quike alwey the fyr, was evere y-lyke prest and diligent; 485 to ese his frend was set al his desyr. he shof ay on, he to and fro was sent; he lettres bar whan troilus was absent. that never man, as in his freendes nede, ne bar him bet than he, with-outen drede. 490 but now, paraunter, som man wayten wolde that every word, or sonde, or look, or chere of troilus that i rehersen sholde, in al this whyle un-to his lady dere; i trowe it were a long thing for to here; 495 or of what wight that stant in swich disioynte, his wordes alle, or every look, to poynte. for sothe, i have not herd it doon er this, in storye noon, ne no man here, i wene; and though i wolde i coude not, y-wis; 500 for ther was som epistel hem bitwene, that wolde, as seyth myn auctor, wel contene neigh half this book, of which him list not wryte; how sholde i thanne a lyne of it endyte? but to the grete effect: than sey i thus, 505 that stonding in concord and in quiete, thise ilke two, criseyde and troilus, as i have told, and in this tyme swete, save only often mighte they not mete, ne layser have hir speches to fulfelle, 510 that it befel right as i shal yow telle. that pandarus, that ever dide his might right for the fyn that i shal speke of here, as for to bringe to his hous som night his faire nece, and troilus y-fere, 515 wher-as at leyser al this heigh matere, touching hir love, were at the fulle up-bounde, hadde out of doute a tyme to it founde. for he with greet deliberacioun hadde every thing that her-to mighte avayle 520 forn-cast, and put in execucioun. and neither laft, for cost ne for travayle; come if hem list, hem sholde no-thing fayle; and for to been in ought espyed there, that, wiste he wel, an inpossible were. 525 dredelees, it cleer was in the wind of every pye and every lette-game; now al is wel, for al the world is blind in this matere, bothe fremed and tame. this timbur is al redy up to frame; 530 us lakketh nought but that we witen wolde a certein houre, in which she comen sholde. and troilus, that al this purveyaunce knew at the fulle, and waytede on it ay, hadde here-up-on eek made gret ordenaunce, 535 and founde his cause, and ther-to his aray, if that he were missed, night or day, ther-whyle he was aboute this servyse, that he was goon to doon his sacrifyse, and moste at swich a temple alone wake, 540 answered of appollo for to be; and first to seen the holy laurer quake, er that apollo spak out of the tree, to telle him next whan grekes sholden flee, and forthy lette him no man, god forbede, 545 but preye apollo helpen in this nede. now is ther litel more for to doone, but pandare up, and shortly for to seyne, right sone upon the chaunging of the mone, whan lightles is the world a night or tweyne, 550 and that the welken shoop him for to reyne, he streight a-morwe un-to his nece wente; ye han wel herd the fyn of his entente. whan he was come, he gan anoon to pleye as he was wont, and of him-self to iape; 555 and fynally, he swor and gan hir seye, by this and that, she sholde him not escape, ne lengere doon him after hir to gape; but certeynly she moste, by hir leve, come soupen in his hous with him at eve. 560 at whiche she lough, and gan hir faste excuse, and seyde, `it rayneth; lo, how sholde i goon?' `lat be,' quod he, `ne stond not thus to muse; this moot be doon, ye shal be ther anoon.' so at the laste her-of they felle at oon, 565 or elles, softe he swor hir in hir ere, he nolde never come ther she were. sone after this, to him she gan to rowne, and asked him if troilus were there? he swor hir, `nay, for he was out of towne,' 570 and seyde, `nece, i pose that he were, yow thurfte never have the more fere. for rather than men mighte him ther aspye, me were lever a thousand-fold to dye.' nought list myn auctor fully to declare 575 what that she thoughte whan he seyde so, that troilus was out of town y-fare, as if he seyde ther-of sooth or no; but that, with-outen awayt, with him to go, she graunted him, sith he hir that bisoughte 580 and, as his nece, obeyed as hir oughte. but nathelees, yet gan she him biseche, al-though with him to goon it was no fere, for to be war of goosish peples speche, that dremen thinges whiche that never were, 585 and wel avyse him whom he broughte there; and seyde him, `eem, sin i mot on yow triste, loke al be wel, and do now as yow liste.' he swor hire, `yis, by stokkes and by stones, and by the goddes that in hevene dwelle, 590 or elles were him levere, soule and bones, with pluto king as depe been in helle as tantalus!' what sholde i more telle? whan al was wel, he roos and took his leve, and she to souper com, whan it was eve, 595 with a certayn of hir owene men, and with hir faire nece antigone, and othere of hir wommen nyne or ten; but who was glad now, who, as trowe ye, but troilus, that stood and mighte it see 600 thurgh-out a litel windowe in a stewe, ther he bishet, sin midnight, was in mewe, unwist of every wight but of pandare? but to the poynt; now whan that she was y-come with alle ioye, and alle frendes fare, 605 hir em anoon in armes hath hir nome, and after to the souper, alle and some, whan tyme was, ful softe they hem sette; god wot, ther was no deyntee for to fette. and after souper gonnen they to ryse, 610 at ese wel, with hertes fresshe and glade, and wel was him that coude best devyse to lyken hir, or that hir laughen made. he song; she pleyde; he tolde tale of wade. but at the laste, as every thing hath ende, 615 she took hir leve, and nedes wolde wende. but o, fortune, executrice of wierdes, o influences of thise hevenes hye! soth is, that, under god, ye ben our hierdes, though to us bestes been the causes wrye. 620 this mene i now, for she gan hoomward hye, but execut was al bisyde hir leve, at the goddes wil, for which she moste bleve. the bente mone with hir hornes pale, saturne, and iove, in cancro ioyned were, 625 that swich a rayn from hevene gan avale that every maner womman that was there hadde of that smoky reyn a verray fere; at which pandare tho lough, and seyde thenne, `now were it tyme a lady to go henne! 630 `but goode nece, if i mighte ever plese yow any-thing, than prey i yow,' quod he, `to doon myn herte as now so greet an ese as for to dwelle here al this night with me, for-why this is your owene hous, pardee. 635 for, by my trouthe, i sey it nought a-game, to wende as now, it were to me a shame.' criseyde, which that coude as muche good as half a world, tok hede of his preyere; and sin it ron, and al was on a flood, 640 she thoughte, as good chep may i dwellen here, and graunte it gladly with a freendes chere, and have a thank, as grucche and thanne abyde; for hoom to goon, it may nought wel bityde.' `i wol,' quod she, `myn uncle leef and dere, 645 sin that yow list, it skile is to be so; i am right glad with yow to dwellen here; i seyde but a-game, i wolde go.' `y-wis, graunt mercy, nece!' quod he tho; `were it a game or no, soth for to telle, 650 now am i glad, sin that yow list to dwelle.' thus al is wel; but tho bigan aright the newe ioye, and al the feste agayn; but pandarus, if goodly hadde he might, he wolde han hyed hir to bedde fayn, 655 and seyde, `lord, this is an huge rayn! this were a weder for to slepen inne; and that i rede us sone to biginne. `and nece, woot ye wher i wol yow leye, for that we shul not liggen fer asonder, 660 and for ye neither shullen, dar i seye, heren noise of reynes nor of thondre? by god, right in my lyte closet yonder. and i wol in that outer hous allone be wardeyn of your wommen everichone. 665 `and in this middel chaumbre that ye see shal youre wommen slepen wel and softe; and ther i seyde shal your-selve be; and if ye liggen wel to-night, com ofte, and careth not what weder is on-lofte. 670 the wyn anon, and whan so that yow leste, so go we slepe, i trowe it be the beste.' ther nis no more, but here-after sone, the voyde dronke, and travers drawe anon, gan every wight, that hadde nought to done 675 more in the place, out of the chaumber gon. and ever-mo so sternelich it ron, and blew ther-with so wonderliche loude, that wel neigh no man heren other coude. tho pandarus, hir eem, right as him oughte, 680 with women swiche as were hir most aboute, ful glad un-to hir beddes syde hir broughte, and toke his leve, and gan ful lowe loute, and seyde, `here at this closet-dore with-oute, right over-thwart, your wommen liggen alle, 685 that, whom yow list of hem, ye may here calle.' so whan that she was in the closet leyd, and alle hir wommen forth by ordenaunce a-bedde weren, ther as i have seyd, there was no more to skippen nor to traunce, 690 but boden go to bedde, with mischaunce, if any wight was steringe any-where, and late hem slepe that a-bedde were. but pandarus, that wel coude eche a del the olde daunce, and every poynt ther-inne, 695 whan that he sey that alle thing was wel, he thoughte he wolde up-on his werk biginne, and gan the stewe-dore al softe un-pinne; and stille as stoon, with-outen lenger lette, by troilus a-doun right he him sette. 700 and, shortly to the poynt right for to gon, of al this werk he tolde him word and ende, and seyde, `make thee redy right anon, for thou shalt in-to hevene blisse wende.' `now blisful venus, thou me grace sende,' 705 quod troilus, `for never yet no nede hadde i er now, ne halvendel the drede.' quod pandarus, `ne drede thee never a del, for it shal been right as thou wilt desyre; so thryve i, this night shal i make it wel, 710 or casten al the gruwel in the fyre.' `yit blisful venus, this night thou me enspyre,' quod troilus, `as wis as i thee serve, and ever bet and bet shal, til i sterve. `and if i hadde, o venus ful of murthe, 715 aspectes badde of mars or of saturne, or thou combust or let were in my birthe, thy fader prey al thilke harm disturne of grace, and that i glad ayein may turne, for love of him thou lovedest in the shawe, 720 i mene adoon, that with the boor was slawe. `o iove eek, for the love of faire europe, the whiche in forme of bole awey thou fette; now help, o mars, thou with thy blody cope, for love of cipris, thou me nought ne lette; 725 o phebus, thenk whan dane hir-selven shette under the bark, and laurer wex for drede, yet for hir love, o help now at this nede! `mercurie, for the love of hierse eke, for which pallas was with aglauros wrooth, 730 now help, and eek diane, i thee biseke that this viage be not to thee looth. o fatal sustren, which, er any clooth me shapen was, my destene me sponne, so helpeth to this werk that is bi-gonne!' 735 quod pandarus, `thou wrecched mouses herte, art thou agast so that she wol thee byte? why, don this furred cloke up-on thy sherte, and folowe me, for i wol have the wyte; but byd, and lat me go bifore a lyte.' 740 and with that word he gan un-do a trappe, and troilus he broughte in by the lappe. the sterne wind so loude gan to route that no wight other noyse mighte here; and they that layen at the dore with-oute, 745 ful sykerly they slepten alle y-fere; and pandarus, with a ful sobre chere, goth to the dore anon with-outen lette, ther-as they laye, and softely it shette. and as he com ayeinward prively, 750 his nece awook, and asked, `who goth there?' `my dere nece,' quod he, `it am i; ne wondreth not, ne have of it no fere;' and ner he com, and seyde hir in hir ere, `no word, for love of god i yow biseche; 755 lat no wight ryse and heren of oure speche.' `what! which wey be ye comen, benedicite?' quod she; `and how thus unwist of hem alle?' `here at this secre trappe-dore,' quod he. quod tho criseyde, `lat me som wight calle.' 760 `ey! god forbede that it sholde falle,' quod pandarus, `that ye swich foly wroughte! they mighte deme thing they never er thoughte! `it is nought good a sleping hound to wake, ne yeve a wight a cause to devyne; 765 your wommen slepen alle, i under-take, so that, for hem, the hous men mighte myne; and slepen wolen til the sonne shyne. and whan my tale al brought is to an ende, unwist, right as i com, so wol i wende. 770 `now, nece myn, ye shul wel understonde,' quod he, `so as ye wommen demen alle, that for to holde in love a man in honde, and him hir "leef" and "dere herte" calle, and maken him an howve above a calle, 775 i mene, as love an other in this whyle, she doth hir-self a shame, and him a gyle. `now wherby that i telle yow al this? ye woot your-self, as wel as any wight, how that your love al fully graunted is 780 to troilus, the worthieste knight, oon of this world, and ther-to trouthe plyght, that, but it were on him along, ye nolde him never falsen, whyle ye liven sholde. `now stant it thus, that sith i fro yow wente, 785 this troilus, right platly for to seyn, is thurgh a goter, by a prive wente, in-to my chaumbre come in al this reyn, unwist of every maner wight, certeyn, save of my-self, as wisly have i ioye, 790 and by that feith i shal pryam of troye! `and he is come in swich peyne and distresse that, but he be al fully wood by this, he sodeynly mot falle in-to wodnesse, but-if god helpe; and cause why this is, 795 he seyth him told is, of a freend of his, how that ye sholde love oon that hatte horaste, for sorwe of which this night shalt been his laste.' criseyde, which that al this wonder herde, gan sodeynly aboute hir herte colde, 800 and with a syk she sorwfully answerde, `allas! i wende, who-so tales tolde, my dere herte wolde me not holde so lightly fals! allas! conceytes wronge, what harm they doon, for now live i to longe! 805 `horaste! allas! and falsen troilus? i knowe him not, god helpe me so,' quod she; `allas! what wikked spirit tolde him thus? now certes, eem, to-morwe, and i him see, i shal ther-of as ful excusen me 810 as ever dide womman, if him lyke'; and with that word she gan ful sore syke. `o god!' quod she, `so worldly selinesse, which clerkes callen fals felicitee, y-medled is with many a bitternesse! 815 ful anguisshous than is, god woot,' quod she, `condicioun of veyn prosperitee; for either ioyes comen nought y-fere, or elles no wight hath hem alwey here. `o brotel wele of mannes ioye unstable! 820 with what wight so thou be, or how thou pleye, either he woot that thou, ioye, art muable, or woot it not, it moot ben oon of tweye; now if he woot it not, how may he seye that he hath verray ioye and selinesse, 825 that is of ignoraunce ay in derknesse? `now if he woot that ioye is transitorie, as every ioye of worldly thing mot flee, than every tyme he that hath in memorie, the drede of lesing maketh him that he 830 may in no perfit selinesse be. and if to lese his ioye he set a myte, than semeth it that ioye is worth ful lyte. `wherfore i wol deffyne in this matere, that trewely, for ought i can espye, 835 ther is no verray wele in this world here. but o, thou wikked serpent, ialousye, thou misbeleved and envious folye, why hastow troilus me mad untriste, that never yet agilte him, that i wiste?' 840 quod pandarus, `thus fallen is this cas.' `why, uncle myn,' quod she, `who tolde him this? why doth my dere herte thus, allas?' `ye woot, ye nece myn,' quod he, `what is; i hope al shal be wel that is amis, 845 for ye may quenche al this, if that yow leste, and doth right so, for i holde it the beste.' `so shal i do to-morwe, y-wis,' quod she, `and god to-forn, so that it shal suffyse.' `to-morwe? allas, that were a fair!' quod he, 850 `nay, nay, it may not stonden in this wyse; for, nece myn, thus wryten clerkes wyse, that peril is with drecching in y-drawe; nay, swich abodes been nought worth an hawe. `nece, al thing hath tyme, i dar avowe; 855 for whan a chaumber a-fyr is, or an halle, wel more nede is, it sodeynly rescowe than to dispute, and axe amonges alle how is this candele in the straw y-falle? a! benedicite! for al among that fare 860 the harm is doon, and fare-wel feldefare! `and, nece myn, ne take it not a-greef, if that ye suffre him al night in this wo, god help me so, ye hadde him never leef, that dar i seyn, now there is but we two; 865 but wel i woot, that ye wol not do so; ye been to wys to do so gret folye, to putte his lyf al night in iupertye. `hadde i him never leef? by god, i wene ye hadde never thing so leef,' quod she. 870 `now by my thrift,' quod he, `that shal be sene; for, sin ye make this ensample of me, if i al night wolde him in sorwe see for al the tresour in the toun of troye, i bidde god, i never mote have ioye! 875 `now loke thanne, if ye, that been his love, shul putte al night his lyf in iupartye for thing of nought! now, by that god above, nought only this delay comth of folye, but of malyce, if that i shal nought lye. 880 what, platly, and ye suffre him in distresse, ye neither bountee doon ne gentilesse!' quod tho criseyde, `wole ye doon o thing, and ye therwith shal stinte al his disese? have here, and bereth him this blewe ringe, 885 for ther is no-thing mighte him bettre plese, save i my-self, ne more his herte apese; and sey my dere herte, that his sorwe is causeles, that shal be seen to-morwe.' `a ring?' quod he, `ye, hasel-wodes shaken! 890 ye nece myn, that ring moste han a stoon that mighte dede men alyve maken; and swich a ring trowe i that ye have noon. discrecioun out of your heed is goon; that fele i now,' quod he, `and that is routhe; 895 o tyme y-lost, wel maystow cursen slouthe! `wot ye not wel that noble and heigh corage ne sorweth not, ne stinteth eek for lyte? but if a fool were in a ialous rage, i nolde setten at his sorwe a myte, 900 but feffe him with a fewe wordes whyte another day, whan that i mighte him finde; but this thing stant al in another kinde. `this is so gentil and so tendre of herte, that with his deeth he wol his sorwes wreke; 905 for trusteth wel, how sore that him smerte, he wol to yow no ialouse wordes speke. and for-thy, nece, er that his herte breke, so spek your-self to him of this matere; for with o word ye may his herte stere. 910 `now have i told what peril he is inne, and his coming unwist is to every wight; ne, pardee, harm may ther be noon, ne sinne; i wol my-self be with yow al this night. ye knowe eek how it is your owne knight, 915 and that, by right, ye moste upon him triste, and i al prest to fecche him whan yow liste.' this accident so pitous was to here, and eek so lyk a sooth, at pryme face, and troilus hir knight to hir so dere, 920 his prive coming, and the siker place, that, though that she dide him as thanne a grace, considered alle thinges as they stode, no wonder is, sin she dide al for gode. cryseyde answerde, `as wisly god at reste 925 my sowle bringe, as me is for him wo! and eem, y-wis, fayn wolde i doon the beste, if that i hadde grace to do so. but whether that ye dwelle or for him go, i am, til god me bettre minde sende, 930 at dulcarnon, right at my wittes ende.' quod pandarus, `ye, nece, wol ye here? dulcarnon called is "fleminge of wrecches"; it semeth hard, for wrecches wol not lere for verray slouthe or othere wilful tecches; 935 this seyd by hem that be not worth two fecches. but ye ben wys, and that we han on honde nis neither hard, ne skilful to withstonde.' `thanne, eem,' quod she, `doth her-of as yow list; but er he come, i wil up first aryse; 940 and, for the love of god, sin al my trist is on yow two, and ye ben bothe wyse, so wircheth now in so discreet a wyse, that i honour may have, and he plesaunce; for i am here al in your governaunce.' 945 `that is wel seyd,' quod he, `my nece dere' ther good thrift on that wyse gentil herte! but liggeth stille, and taketh him right here, it nedeth not no ferther for him sterte; and ech of yow ese otheres sorwes smerte, 950 for love of god; and, venus, i the herie; for sone hope i we shulle ben alle merie.' this troilus ful sone on knees him sette ful sobrely, right be hir beddes heed, and in his beste wyse his lady grette; 955 but lord, so she wex sodeynliche reed! ne, though men sholden smyten of hir heed, she coude nought a word a-right out-bringe so sodeynly, for his sodeyn cominge. but pandarus, that so wel coude fele 960 in every thing, to pleye anoon bigan, and seyde, `nece, see how this lord can knele! now, for your trouthe, seeth this gentil man!' and with that word he for a quisshen ran, and seyde, `kneleth now, whyl that yow leste, 965 ther god your hertes bringe sone at reste!' can i not seyn, for she bad him not ryse, if sorwe it putte out of hir remembraunce, or elles that she toke it in the wyse of duetee, as for his observaunce; 970 but wel finde i she dide him this plesaunce, that she him kiste, al-though she syked sore; and bad him sitte a-doun with-outen more. quod pandarus, `now wol ye wel biginne; now doth him sitte, gode nece dere, 975 upon your beddes syde al there with-inne, that ech of yow the bet may other here.' and with that word he drow him to the fere, and took a light, and fond his contenaunce, as for to loke up-on an old romaunce. 980 criseyde, that was troilus lady right, and cleer stood on a ground of sikernesse, al thoughte she, hir servaunt and hir knight ne sholde of right non untrouthe in hir gesse, yet nathelees, considered his distresse, 985 and that love is in cause of swich folye, thus to him spak she of his ialousye: `lo, herte myn, as wolde the excellence of love, ayeins the which that no man may, ne oughte eek goodly maken resistence 990 and eek bycause i felte wel and say youre grete trouthe, and servyse every day; and that your herte al myn was, sooth to seyne, this droof me for to rewe up-on your peyne. `and your goodnesse have i founde alwey yit, 995 of whiche, my dere herte and al my knight, i thonke it yow, as fer as i have wit, al can i nought as muche as it were right; and i, emforth my conninge and my might, have and ay shal, how sore that me smerte, 1000 ben to yow trewe and hool, with a myn herte; `and dredelees, that shal be founde at preve. - but, herte myn, what al this is to seyne shal wel be told, so that ye noght yow greve, though i to yow right on your-self compleyne. 1005 for ther-with mene i fynally the peyne, that halt your herte and myn in hevinesse, fully to sleen, and every wrong redresse. `my goode, myn, not i for-why ne how that ialousye, allas! that wikked wivere, 1010 thus causelees is cropen in-to yow; the harm of which i wolde fayn delivere! allas! that he, al hool, or of him slivere, shuld have his refut in so digne a place, ther iove him sone out of your herte arace! 1015 `but o, thou iove, o auctor of nature, is this an honour to thy deitee, that folk ungiltif suffren here iniure, and who that giltif is, al quit goth he? o were it leful for to pleyne on thee, 1020 that undeserved suffrest ialousye, of that i wolde up-on thee pleyne and crye! `eek al my wo is this, that folk now usen to seyn right thus, "ye, ialousye is love!" and wolde a busshel venim al excusen, 1025 for that o greyn of love is on it shove! but that wot heighe god that sit above, if it be lyker love, or hate, or grame; and after that, it oughte bere his name. `but certeyn is, som maner ialousye 1030 is excusable more than som, y-wis. as whan cause is, and som swich fantasye with pietee so wel repressed is, that it unnethe dooth or seyth amis, but goodly drinketh up al his distresse; 1035 and that excuse i, for the gentilesse. `and som so ful of furie is and despyt that it sourmounteth his repressioun; but herte myn, ye be not in that plyt, that thanke i god, for whiche your passioun 1040 i wol not calle it but illusioun, of habundaunce of love and bisy cure, that dooth your herte this disese endure. `of which i am right sory but not wrooth; but, for my devoir and your hertes reste, 1045 wher-so yow list, by ordal or by ooth, by sort, or in what wyse so yow leste, for love of god, lat preve it for the beste! and if that i be giltif, do me deye, allas! what mighte i more doon or seye?' 1050 with that a fewe brighte teres newe owt of hir eyen fille, and thus she seyde, `now god, thou wost, in thought ne dede untrewe to troilus was never yet criseyde.' with that hir heed doun in the bed she leyde, 1055 and with the shete it wreigh, and syghed sore, and held hir pees; not o word spak she more. but now help god to quenchen al this sorwe, so hope i that he shal, for he best may; for i have seyn, of a ful misty morwe 1060 folwen ful ofte a mery someres day; and after winter folweth grene may. men seen alday, and reden eek in stories, that after sharpe shoures been victories. this troilus, whan he hir wordes herde, 1065 have ye no care, him liste not to slepe; for it thoughte him no strokes of a yerde to here or seen criseyde, his lady wepe; but wel he felte aboute his herte crepe, for every teer which that criseyde asterte, 1070 the crampe of deeth, to streyne him by the herte. and in his minde he gan the tyme acurse that he cam there, and that that he was born; for now is wikke y-turned in-to worse, and al that labour he hath doon biforn, 1075 he wende it lost, he thoughte he nas but lorn. `o pandarus,' thoughte he, `allas! thy wyle serveth of nought, so weylaway the whyle!' and therwithal he heng a-doun the heed, and fil on knees, and sorwfully he sighte; 1080 what mighte he seyn? he felte he nas but deed, for wrooth was she that shulde his sorwes lighte. but nathelees, whan that he speken mighte, than seyde he thus, `god woot, that of this game, whan al is wist, than am i not to blame!' 1085 ther-with the sorwe so his herte shette, that from his eyen fil there not a tere, and every spirit his vigour in-knette, so they astoned or oppressed were. the feling of his sorwe, or of his fere, 1090 or of ought elles, fled was out of towne; and doun he fel al sodeynly a-swowne. this was no litel sorwe for to see; but al was hust, and pandare up as faste, `o nece, pees, or we be lost,' quod he, 1095 `beth nought agast;' but certeyn, at the laste, for this or that, he in-to bedde him caste, and seyde, `o theef, is this a mannes herte?' and of he rente al to his bare sherte; and seyde, `nece, but ye helpe us now, 1100 allas, your owne troilus is lorn!' `y-wis, so wolde i, and i wiste how, ful fayn,' quod she; `allas! that i was born!' `ye, nece, wole ye pullen out the thorn that stiketh in his herte?' quod pandare; 1105 `sey "al foryeve," and stint is al this fare!' `ye, that to me,' quod she, `ful lever were than al the good the sonne aboute gooth'; and therwith-al she swoor him in his ere, `y-wis, my dere herte, i am nought wrooth, 1110 have here my trouthe and many another ooth; now speek to me, for it am i, cryseyde!' but al for nought; yet mighte he not a-breyde. therwith his pous and pawmes of his hondes they gan to frote, and wete his temples tweyne, 1115 and, to deliveren him from bittre bondes, she ofte him kiste; and, shortly for to seyne, him to revoken she dide al hir peyne. and at the laste, he gan his breeth to drawe, and of his swough sone after that adawe, 1120 and gan bet minde and reson to him take, but wonder sore he was abayst, y-wis. and with a syk, whan he gan bet a-wake, he seyde, `o mercy, god, what thing is this?' `why do ye with your-selven thus amis?' 1125 quod tho criseyde, `is this a mannes game? what, troilus! wol ye do thus, for shame?' and therwith-al hir arm over him she leyde, and al foryaf, and ofte tyme him keste. he thonked hir, and to hir spak, and seyde 1130 as fil to purpos for his herte reste. and she to that answerde him as hir leste; and with hir goodly wordes him disporte she gan, and ofte his sorwes to comforte. quod pandarus, `for ought i can espyen, 1135 this light, nor i ne serven here of nought; light is not good for syke folkes yen. but for the love of god, sin ye be brought in thus good plyt, lat now non hevy thought ben hanginge in the hertes of yow tweye:' 1140 and bar the candele to the chimeneye. sone after this, though it no nede were, whan she swich othes as hir list devyse hadde of him take, hir thoughte tho no fere, ne cause eek non, to bidde him thennes ryse. 1145 yet lesse thing than othes may suffyse in many a cas; for every wight, i gesse, that loveth wel meneth but gentilesse. but in effect she wolde wite anoon of what man, and eek where, and also why 1150 he ielous was, sin ther was cause noon; and eek the signe, that he took it by, she bad him that to telle hir bisily, or elles, certeyn, she bar him on honde, that this was doon of malis, hir to fonde. 1155 with-outen more, shortly for to seyne, he moste obeye un-to his lady heste; and for the lasse harm, he moste feyne. he seyde hir, whan she was at swiche a feste, she mighte on him han loked at the leste; 1160 not i not what, al dere y-nough a risshe, as he that nedes moste a cause fisshe. and she answerde, `swete, al were it so, what harm was that, sin i non yvel mene? for, by that god that boughte us bothe two, 1165 in alle thinge is myn entente clene. swich arguments ne been not worth a bene; wol ye the childish ialous contrefete? now were it worthy that ye were y-bete.' tho troilus gan sorwfully to syke, 1170 lest she be wrooth, him thoughte his herte deyde; and seyde, `allas! up-on my sorwes syke have mercy, swete herte myn, cryseyde! and if that, in tho wordes that i seyde, be any wrong, i wol no more trespace; 1175 do what yow list, i am al in your grace.' and she answerde, `of gilt misericorde! that is to seyn, that i foryeve al this; and ever-more on this night yow recorde, and beth wel war ye do no more amis.' 1180 `nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, `y-wis.' `and now,' quod she, `that i have do yow smerte, foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.' this troilus, with blisse of that supprysed, put al in goddes hond, as he that mente 1185 no-thing but wel; and, sodeynly avysed, he hir in armes faste to him hente. and pandarus, with a ful good entente, leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `if ye ben wyse, swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.' 1190 what mighte or may the sely larke seye, whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot? i can no more, but of thise ilke tweye, to whom this tale sucre be or soot, though that i tarie a yeer, som-tyme i moot, 1195 after myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse, as wel as i have told hir hevinesse. criseyde, which that felte hir thus y-take, as writen clerkes in hir bokes olde, right as an aspes leef she gan to quake, 1200 whan she him felte hir in his armes folde. but troilus, al hool of cares colde, gan thanken tho the blisful goddes sevene; thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene. this troilus in armes gan hir streyne, 1205 and seyde, `o swete, as ever mote i goon, now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne; now yeldeth yow, for other boot is noon.' to that criseyde answerde thus anoon, `ne hadde i er now, my swete herte dere, 1210 ben yolde, y-wis, i were now not here!' o! sooth is seyd, that heled for to be as of a fevre or othere greet syknesse, men moste drinke, as men may often see, ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse, 1215 men drinken often peyne and greet distresse; i mene it here, as for this aventure, that thourgh a peyne hath founden al his cure. and now swetnesse semeth more sweet, that bitternesse assayed was biforn; 1220 for out of wo in blisse now they flete; non swich they felten, sith they were born; now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn! for love of god, take every womman hede to werken thus, if it comth to the nede. 1225 criseyde, al quit from every drede and tene, as she that iuste cause hadde him to triste, made him swich feste, it ioye was to sene, whan she his trouthe and clene entente wiste. and as aboute a tree, with many a twiste, 1230 bitrent and wryth the sote wode-binde, gan eche of hem in armes other winde. and as the newe abaysshed nightingale, that stinteth first whan she biginneth to singe, whan that she hereth any herde tale, 1235 or in the hegges any wight steringe, and after siker dooth hir voys out-ringe; right so criseyde, whan hir drede stente, opned hir herte and tolde him hir entente. and right as he that seeth his deeth y-shapen, 1240 and deye moot, in ought that he may gesse, and sodeynly rescous doth him escapen, and from his deeth is brought in sikernesse, for al this world, in swich present gladnesse was troilus, and hath his lady swete; 1245 with worse hap god lat us never mete! hir armes smale, hir streyghte bak and softe, hir sydes longe, fleshly, smothe, and whyte he gan to stroke, and good thrift bad ful ofte hir snowish throte, hir brestes rounde and lyte; 1250 thus in this hevene he gan him to delyte, and ther-with-al a thousand tyme hir kiste; that, what to done, for ioye unnethe he wiste. than seyde he thus, `o, love, o, charitee, thy moder eek, citherea the swete, 1255 after thy-self next heried be she, venus mene i, the wel-willy planete; and next that, imeneus, i thee grete; for never man was to yow goddes holde as i, which ye han brought fro cares colde. 1260 `benigne love, thou holy bond of thinges, who-so wol grace, and list thee nought honouren, lo, his desyr wol flee with-outen winges. for, noldestow of bountee hem socouren that serven best and most alwey labouren, 1265 yet were al lost, that dar i wel seyn, certes, but-if thy grace passed our desertes. `and for thou me, that coude leest deserve of hem that nombred been un-to thy grace, hast holpen, ther i lykly was to sterve, 1270 and me bistowed in so heygh a place that thilke boundes may no blisse pace, i can no more, but laude and reverence be to thy bounte and thyn excellence!' and therwith-al criseyde anoon he kiste, 1275 of which, certeyn, she felte no disese, and thus seyde he, `now wolde god i wiste, myn herte swete, how i yow mighte plese! what man,' quod he, `was ever thus at ese as i, on whiche the faireste and the beste 1280 that ever i say, deyneth hir herte reste. `here may men seen that mercy passeth right; the experience of that is felt in me, that am unworthy to so swete a wight. but herte myn, of your benignitee, 1285 so thenketh, though that i unworthy be, yet mot i nede amenden in som wyse, right thourgh the vertu of your heyghe servyse. `and for the love of god, my lady dere, sin god hath wrought me for i shal yow serve, 1290 as thus i mene, that ye wol be my stere, to do me live, if that yow liste, or sterve, so techeth me how that i may deserve your thank, so that i, thurgh myn ignoraunce, ne do no-thing that yow be displesaunce. 1295 `for certes, fresshe wommanliche wyf, this dar i seye, that trouthe and diligence, that shal ye finden in me al my lyf, ne wol not, certeyn, breken your defence; and if i do, present or in absence, 1300 for love of god, lat slee me with the dede, if that it lyke un-to your womanhede.' `y-wis,' quod she, `myn owne hertes list, my ground of ese, and al myn herte dere, graunt mercy, for on that is al my trist; 1305 but late us falle awey fro this matere; for it suffyseth, this that seyd is here. and at o word, with-outen repentaunce, wel-come, my knight, my pees, my suffisaunce!' of hir delyt, or ioyes oon the leste 1310 were impossible to my wit to seye; but iuggeth, ye that han ben at the feste, of swich gladnesse, if that hem liste pleye! i can no more, but thus thise ilke tweye that night, be-twixen dreed and sikernesse, 1315 felten in love the grete worthinesse. o blisful night, of hem so longe y-sought, how blithe un-to hem bothe two thou were! why ne hadde i swich on with my soule y-bought, ye, or the leeste ioye that was there? 1320 a-wey, thou foule daunger and thou fere, and lat hem in this hevene blisse dwelle, that is so heygh, that al ne can i telle! but sooth is, though i can not tellen al, as can myn auctor, of his excellence, 1325 yet have i seyd, and, god to-forn, i shal in every thing al hoolly his sentence. and if that i, at loves reverence, have any word in eched for the beste, doth therwith-al right as your-selven leste. 1330 for myne wordes, here and every part, i speke hem alle under correccioun of yow, that feling han in loves art, and putte it al in your discrecioun to encrese or maken diminucioun 1335 of my langage, and that i yow bi-seche; but now to purpos of my rather speche. thise ilke two, that ben in armes laft, so looth to hem a-sonder goon it were, that ech from other wende been biraft, 1340 or elles, lo, this was hir moste fere, that al this thing but nyce dremes were; for which ful ofte ech of hem seyde, `o swete, clippe ich yow thus, or elles i it mete?' and, lord! so he gan goodly on hir see, 1345 that never his look ne bleynte from hir face, and seyde, `o dere herte, may it be that it be sooth, that ye ben in this place?' `ye, herte myn, god thank i of his grace!' quod tho criseyde, and therwith-al him kiste, 1350 that where his spirit was, for ioye he niste. this troilus ful ofte hir eyen two gan for to kisse, and seyde, `o eyen clere, it were ye that wroughte me swich wo, ye humble nettes of my lady dere! 1355 though ther be mercy writen in your chere, god wot, the text ful hard is, sooth, to finde, how coude ye with-outen bond me binde?' therwith he gan hir faste in armes take, and wel an hundred tymes gan he syke, 1360 nought swiche sorwfull sykes as men make for wo, or elles whan that folk ben syke, but esy sykes, swiche as been to lyke, that shewed his affeccioun with-inne; of swiche sykes coude he nought bilinne. 1365 sone after this they speke of sondry thinges, as fil to purpos of this aventure, and pleyinge entrechaungeden hir ringes, of which i can nought tellen no scripture; but wel i woot, a broche, gold and asure, 1370 in whiche a ruby set was lyk an herte, criseyde him yaf, and stak it on his sherte. lord! trowe ye, a coveitous, a wreccbe, that blameth love and holt of it despyt, that, of tho pens that he can mokre and kecche, 1375 was ever yet y-yeve him swich delyt, as is in love, in oo poynt, in som plyt? nay, doutelees, for also god me save, so parfit ioye may no nigard have! they wol sey `yis,' but lord! so that they lye, 1380 tho bisy wrecches, ful of wo and drede! they callen love a woodnesse or folye, but it shal falle hem as i shal yow rede; they shul forgo the whyte and eke the rede, and live in wo, ther god yeve hem mischaunce, 1385 and every lover in his trouthe avaunce! as wolde god, tho wrecches, that dispyse servyse of love, hadde eres al-so longe as hadde myda, ful of coveityse, and ther-to dronken hadde as hoot and stronge 1390 as crassus dide for his affectis wronge, to techen hem that they ben in the vyce, and loveres nought, al-though they holde hem nyce! thise ilke two, of whom that i yow seye, whan that hir hertes wel assured were, 1395 tho gonne they to speken and to pleye, and eek rehercen how, and whanne, and where, they knewe hem first, and every wo and fere that passed was; but al swich hevinesse, i thanke it god, was tourned to gladnesse. 1400 and ever-mo, whan that hem fel to speke of any thing of swich a tyme agoon, with kissing al that tale sholde breke, and fallen in a newe ioye anoon, and diden al hir might, sin they were oon, 1405 for to recoveren blisse and been at ese, and passed wo with ioye countrepeyse. reson wil not that i speke of sleep, for it accordeth nought to my matere; god woot, they toke of that ful litel keep, 1410 but lest this night, that was to hem so dere, ne sholde in veyn escape in no manere, it was biset in ioye and bisinesse of al that souneth in-to gentilnesse. but whan the cok, comune astrologer, 1415 gan on his brest to bete, and after crowe, and lucifer, the dayes messager, gan for to ryse, and out hir bemes throwe; and estward roos, to him that coude it knowe, fortuna maior, than anoon criseyde, 1420 with herte sore, to troilus thus seyde: - `myn hertes lyf, my trist and my plesaunce, that i was born, allas! what me is wo, that day of us mot make desseveraunce! for tyme it is to ryse, and hennes go, 1425 or elles i am lost for evermo! o night, allas! why niltow over us hove, as longe as whanne almena lay by iove? `o blake night, as folk in bokes rede, that shapen art by god this world to hyde 1430 at certeyn tymes with thy derke wede, that under that men mighte in reste abyde, wel oughte bestes pleyne, and folk thee chyde, that there-as day with labour wolde us breste, that thou thus fleest, and deynest us nought reste! 1435 `thou dost, allas! to shortly thyn offyce, thou rakel night, ther god, makere of kinde, thee, for thyn hast and thyn unkinde vyce, so faste ay to our hemi-spere binde. that never-more under the ground thou winde! 1440 for now, for thou so hyest out of troye, have i forgon thus hastily my ioye!' this troilus, that with tho wordes felte, as thoughte him tho, for pietous distresse, the blody teres from his herte melte, 1445 as he that never yet swich hevinesse assayed hadde, out of so greet gladnesse, gan therwith-al criseyde his lady dere in armes streyne, and seyde in this manere: - `o cruel day, accusour of the ioye 1450 that night and love han stole and faste y-wryen, a-cursed be thy coming in-to troye, for every bore hath oon of thy bright yen! envyous day, what list thee so to spyen? what hastow lost, why sekestow this place, 1455 ther god thy lyght so quenche, for his grace? `allas! what han thise loveres thee agilt, dispitous day? thyn be the pyne of helle! for many a lovere hastow shent, and wilt; thy pouring in wol no-wher lete hem dwelle. 1460 what proferestow thy light here for to selle? go selle it hem that smale seles graven, we wol thee nought, us nedeth no day haven.' and eek the sonne tytan gan he chyde, and seyde, `o fool, wel may men thee dispyse, 1465 that hast the dawing al night by thy syde, and suffrest hir so sone up fro thee ryse, for to disesen loveres in this wyse. what! holde your bed ther, thou, and eek thy morwe! i bidde god, so yeve yow bothe sorwe!' 1470 therwith ful sore he sighte, and thus he seyde, `my lady right, and of my wele or wo the welle and rote, o goodly myn, criseyde, and shal i ryse, allas! and shal i go? now fele i that myn herte moot a-two! 1475 for how sholde i my lyf an houre save, sin that with yow is al the lyf i have? `what shal i doon, for certes, i not how, ne whanne, allas! i shal the tyme see, that in this plyt i may be eft with yow; 1480 and of my lyf, god woot, how that shal be, sin that desyr right now so byteth me, that i am deed anoon, but i retourne. how sholde i longe, allas! fro yow soiourne? `but nathelees, myn owene lady bright, 1485 yit were it so that i wiste outrely, that i, your humble servaunt and your knight, were in your herte set so fermely as ye in myn, the which thing, trewely, me lever were than thise worldes tweyne, 1490 yet sholde i bet enduren al my peyne.' to that cryseyde answerde right anoon, and with a syk she seyde, `o herte dere, the game, y-wis, so ferforth now is goon, that first shal phebus falle fro his spere, 1495 and every egle been the dowves fere, and every roche out of his place sterte, er troilus out of criseydes herte! `ye he so depe in-with myn herte grave, that, though i wolde it turne out of my thought, 1500 as wisly verray god my soule save, to dyen in the peyne, i coude nought! and, for the love of god that us bath wrought, lat in your brayn non other fantasye so crepe, that it cause me to dye! 1505 `and that ye me wolde han as faste in minde as i have yow, that wolde i yow bi-seche; and, if i wiste soothly that to finde, god mighte not a poynt my ioyes eche! but, herte myn, with-oute more speche, 1510 beth to me trewe, or elles were it routhe; for i am thyn, by god and by my trouthe! `beth glad for-thy, and live in sikernesse; thus seyde i never er this, ne shal to mo; and if to yow it were a gret gladnesse 1515 to turne ayein, soone after that ye go, as fayn wolde i as ye, it were so, as wisly god myn herte bringe at reste!' and him in armes took, and ofte keste. agayns his wil, sin it mot nedes be, 1520 this troilus up roos, and faste him cledde, and in his armes took his lady free an hundred tyme, and on his wey him spedde, and with swich wordes as his herte bledde, he seyde, `farewel, mr dere herte swete, 1525 ther god us graunte sounde and sone to mete!' to which no word for sorwe she answerde, so sore gan his parting hir destreyne; and troilus un-to his palays ferde, as woo bigon as she was, sooth to seyne; 1530 so hard him wrong of sharp desyr the peyne for to ben eft there he was in plesaunce, that it may never out of his remembraunce. retorned to his real palais, sone he softe in-to his bed gan for to slinke, 1535 to slepe longe, as he was wont to done, but al for nought; he may wel ligge and winke, but sleep ne may ther in his herte sinke; thenkinge how she, for whom desyr him brende, a thousand-fold was worth more than he wende. 1540 and in his thought gan up and doun to winde hir wordes alle, and every countenaunce, and fermely impressen in his minde the leste poynt that to him was plesaunce; and verrayliche, of thilke remembraunce, 1545 desyr al newe him brende, and lust to brede gan more than erst, and yet took he non hede. criseyde also, right in the same wyse, of troilus gan in hir herte shette his worthinesse, his lust, his dedes wyse, 1550 his gentilesse, and how she with him mette, thonkinge love he so wel hir bisette; desyring eft to have hir herte dere in swich a plyt, she dorste make him chere. pandare, a-morwe which that comen was 1555 un-to his nece, and gan hir fayre grete, seyde, `al this night so reyned it, allas! that al my drede is that ye, nece swete, han litel layser had to slepe and mete; al night,' quod he, `hath reyn so do me wake, 1560 that som of us, i trowe, hir hedes ake.' and ner he com, and seyde, `how stont it now this mery morwe, nece, how can ye fare?' criseyde answerde, `never the bet for yow, fox that ye been, god yeve youre herte care! 1565 god help me so, ye caused al this fare, trow i,' quod she, `for alle your wordes whyte; o! who-so seeth yow knoweth yow ful lyte!' with that she gan hir face for to wrye with the shete, and wex for shame al reed; 1570 and pandarus gan under for to prye, and seyde, `nece, if that i shal be deed, have here a swerd, and smyteth of myn heed.' with that his arm al sodeynly he thriste under hir nekke, and at the laste hir kiste. 1575 i passe al that which chargeth nought to seye, what! god foryaf his deeth, and she al-so foryaf, and with hir uncle gan to pleye, for other cause was ther noon than so. but of this thing right to the effect to go, 1580 whan tyme was, hom til hir hous she wente, and pandarus hath fully his entente. now torne we ayein to troilus, that resteles ful longe a-bedde lay, and prevely sente after pandarus, 1585 to him to come in al the haste he may. he com anoon, nought ones seyde he `nay,' and troilus ful sobrely he grette, and doun upon his beddes syde him sette. this troilus, with al the affeccioun 1590 of frendes love that herte may devyse, to pandarus on knees fil adoun, and er that he wolde of the place aryse, he gan him thonken in his beste wyse; an hondred sythe he gan the tyme blesse, 1595 that he was born, to bringe him fro distresse. he seyde, `o frend of frendes the alderbeste that ever was, the sothe for to telle, thou hast in hevene y-brought my soule at reste fro flegitoun, the fery flood of helle; 1600 that, though i mighte a thousand tymes selle, upon a day, my lyf in thy servyse, it mighte nought a mote in that suffyse. `the sonne, which that al the world may see, saw never yet, my lyf, that dar i leye, 1605 so inly fayr and goodly as is she, whos i am al, and shal, til that i deye; and, that i thus am hires, dar i seye, that thanked be the heighe worthinesse of love, and eek thy kinde bisinesse. 1610 `thus hastow me no litel thing y-yive, fo which to thee obliged be for ay my lyf, and why? for thorugh thyn help i live; for elles deed hadde i be many a day.' and with that word doun in his bed he lay, 1615 and pandarus ful sobrely him herde til al was seyd, and than he thus answerde: `my dere frend, if i have doon for thee in any cas, god wot, it is me leef; and am as glad as man may of it be, 1620 god help me so; but tak now a-greef that i shal seyn, be war of this myscheef, that, there-as thou now brought art in-to blisse, that thou thy-self ne cause it nought to misse. `for of fortunes sharpe adversitee 1625 the worst kinde of infortune is this, a man to have ben in prosperitee, and it remembren, whan it passed is. thou art wys y-nough, for-thy do nought amis; be not to rakel, though thou sitte warme, for if thou be, certeyn, it wol thee harme. 1631 `thou art at ese, and holde the wel ther-inne. for also seur as reed is every fyr, as greet a craft is kepe wel as winne; brydle alwey wel thy speche and thy desyr, 1635 for worldly ioye halt not but by a wyr; that preveth wel, it brest alday so ofte; for-thy nede is to werke with it softe.' quod troilus, `i hope, and god to-forn, my dere frend, that i shal so me bere, 1640 that in my gilt ther shal no thing be lorn, ne i nil not rakle as for to greven here; it nedeth not this matere ofte tere; for wistestow myn herte wel, pandare, god woot, of this thou woldest litel care.' 1645 tho gan he telle him of his glade night, and wher-of first his herte dredde, and how, and seyde, `freend, as i am trewe knight, and by that feyth i shal to god and yow, i hadde it never half so hote as now; 1650 and ay the more that desyr me byteth to love hir best, the more it me delyteth. `i noot my-self not wisly what it is; but now i fele a newe qualitee, ye, al another than i dide er this.' 1655 pandare answerde, and seyde thus, that he that ones may in hevene blisse be, he feleth other weyes, dar i leye, than thilke tyme he first herde of it seye. this is o word for al: this troilus 1660 was never ful to speke of this matere, and for to preysen un-to pandarus the bountee of his righte lady dere, and pandarus to thanke and maken chere. this tale ay was span-newe to biginne, 1665 til that the night departed hem a-twinne. sone after this, for that fortune it wolde, i-comen was the blisful tyme swete, that troilus was warned that he sholde, ther he was erst, criseyde his lady mete; 1670 for which he felte his herte in ioye flete; and feythfully gan alle the goddes herie; and lat see now if that he can be merie. and holden was the forme and al the wyse, of hir cominge, and eek of his also, 1675 as it was erst, which nedeth nought devyse. but playnly to the effect right for to go, in ioye and suerte pandarus hem two a-bedde broughte, whan that hem bothe leste, and thus they ben in quiete and in reste. 1680 nought nedeth it to yow, sin they ben met, to aske at me if that they blythe were; for if it erst was wel, tho was it bet a thousand-fold, this nedeth not enquere. a-gon was every sorwe and every fere; 1685 and bothe, y-wis, they hadde, and so they wende, as muche ioye as herte may comprende. this is no litel thing of for to seye, this passeth every wit for to devyse; for eche of hem gan otheres lust obeye; 1690 felicitee, which that thise clerkes wyse commenden so, ne may not here suffyse. this ioye may not writen been with inke, this passeth al that herte may bithinke. but cruel day, so wel-awey the stounde! 1695 gan for to aproche, as they by signes knewe, for whiche hem thoughte felen dethes wounde; so wo was hem, that changen gan hir hewe, and day they goonnen to dispyse al newe, calling it traytour, envyous, and worse, 1700 and bitterly the dayes light they curse. quod troilus, `allas! now am i war that pirous and tho swifte stedes three, whiche that drawen forth the sonnes char, han goon som by-path in despyt of me; 1705 that maketh it so sone day to be; and, for the sonne him hasteth thus to ryse, ne shal i never doon him sacrifyse!' but nedes day departe moste hem sone, and whanne hir speche doon was and hir chere, 1710 they twinne anoon as they were wont to done, and setten tyme of meting eft y-fere; and many a night they wroughte in this manere. and thus fortune a tyme ladde in ioye criseyde, and eek this kinges sone of troye. 1715 in suffisaunce, in blisse, and in singinges, this troilus gan al his lyf to lede; he spendeth, iusteth, maketh festeynges; he yeveth frely ofte, and chaungeth wede, and held aboute him alwey, out of drede, 1720 a world of folk, as cam him wel of kinde, the fressheste and the beste he coude fynde; that swich a voys was of hym and a stevene thorugh-out the world, of honour and largesse, that it up rong un-to the yate of hevene. 1725 and, as in love, he was in swich gladnesse, that in his herte he demede, as i gesse, that there nis lovere in this world at ese so wel as he, and thus gan love him plese. the godlihede or beautee which that kinde 1730 in any other lady hadde y-set can not the mountaunce of a knot unbinde, a-boute his herte, of al criseydes net. he was so narwe y-masked and y-knet, that it undon on any manere syde, 1735 that nil not been, for ought that may betyde. and by the hond ful ofte he wolde take this pandarus, and in-to gardin lede, and swich a feste and swich a proces make him of criseyde, and of hir womanhede, 1740 and of hir beautee, that, with-outen drede, it was an hevene his wordes for to here; and thanne he wolde singe in this manere. `love, that of erthe and see hath governaunce, love, that his hestes hath in hevene hye, 1745 love, that with an holsom alliaunce halt peples ioyned, as him list hem gye, love, that knetteth lawe of companye, and couples doth in vertu for to dwelle, bind this acord, that i have told and telle; 1750 `that that the world with feyth, which that is stable, dyverseth so his stoundes concordinge, that elements that been so discordable holden a bond perpetuely duringe, that phebus mote his rosy day forth bringe, 1755 and that the mone hath lordship over the nightes, al this doth love; ay heried be his mightes! `that, that the see, that gredy is to flowen, constreyneth to a certeyn ende so his flodes, that so fersly they ne growen 1760 to drenchen erthe and al for ever-mo; and if that love ought lete his brydel go, al that now loveth a-sonder sholde lepe, and lost were al, that love halt now to-hepe. `so wolde god, that auctor is of kinde, 1765 that, with his bond, love of his vertu liste to cerclen hertes alle, and faste binde, that from his bond no wight the wey out wiste. and hertes colde, hem wolde i that he twiste to make hem love, and that hem leste ay rewe 1770 on hertes sore, and kepe hem that ben trewe.' in alle nedes, for the tounes werre, he was, and ay the firste in armes dight; and certeynly, but-if that bokes erre, save ector, most y-drad of any wight; 1775 and this encrees of hardinesse and might cam him of love, his ladies thank to winne, that altered his spirit so with-inne. in tyme of trewe, on haukinge wolde he ryde, or elles hunten boor, bere, or lyoun; 1780 the smale bestes leet he gon bi-syde. and whan that he com rydinge in-to toun, ful ofte his lady, from hir window doun, as fresh as faucon comen out of muwe, ful redy was, him goodly to saluwe. 1785 and most of love and vertu was his speche, and in despyt hadde alle wrecchednesse; and doutelees, no nede was him biseche to honouren hem that hadde worthinesse, and esen hem that weren in distresse. 1790 and glad was he if any wight wel ferde, that lover was, whan he it wiste or herde. for sooth to seyn, he lost held every wight but-if he were in loves heigh servyse, i mene folk that oughte it been of right. 1795 and over al this, so wel coude he devyse of sentement, and in so unkouth wyse al his array, that every lover thoughte, that al was wel, what-so he seyde or wroughte. and though that he be come of blood royal, 1800 him liste of pryde at no wight for to chase; benigne he was to ech in general, for which he gat him thank in every place. thus wolde love, y-heried be his grace, that pryde, envye, ire, and avaryce 1805 he gan to flee, and every other vyce. thou lady bright, the doughter to dione, thy blinde and winged sone eek, daun cupyde; ye sustren nyne eek, that by elicone in hil parnaso listen for to abyde, 1810 that ye thus fer han deyned me to gyde, i can no more, but sin that ye wol wende, ye heried been for ay, with-outen ende! thourgh yow have i seyd fully in my song theffect and ioye of troilus servyse, 1815 al be that ther was som disese among, as to myn auctor listeth to devyse. my thridde book now ende ich in this wyse; and troilus in luste and in quiete is with criseyde, his owne herte swete. 1820 explicit liber tercius. book iv. incipit prohemium liber quartus. but al to litel, weylaway the whyle, lasteth swich ioye, y-thonked be fortune! that semeth trewest, whan she wol bygyle, and can to foles so hir song entune, that she hem hent and blent, traytour comune; 5 and whan a wight is from hir wheel y-throwe, than laugheth she, and maketh him the mowe. from troilus she gan hir brighte face awey to wrythe, and took of him non hede, but caste him clene out of his lady grace, 10 and on hir wheel she sette up diomede; for which right now myn herte ginneth blede, and now my penne, allas! with which i wryte, quaketh for drede of that i moot endyte. for how criseyde troilus forsook, 15 or at the leste, how that she was unkinde, mot hennes-forth ben matere of my book, as wryten folk through which it is in minde. allas! that they sholde ever cause finde to speke hir harm; and if they on hir lye, 20 y-wis, hem-self sholde han the vilanye. o ye herines, nightes doughtren three, that endelees compleynen ever in pyne, megera, alete, and eek thesiphone; thou cruel mars eek, fader to quiryne, 25 this ilke ferthe book me helpeth fyne, so that the los of lyf and love y-fere of troilus be fully shewed here. explicit prohemium. incipit quartus liber. ligginge in ost, as i have seyd er this, the grekes stronge, aboute troye toun, 30 bifel that, whan that phebus shyning is up-on the brest of hercules lyoun, that ector, with ful many a bold baroun, caste on a day with grekes for to fighte, as he was wont to greve hem what he mighte. 35 not i how longe or short it was bitwene this purpos and that day they fighte mente; but on a day wel armed, bright and shene, ector, and many a worthy wight out wente, with spere in hond and bigge bowes bente; 40 and in the herd, with-oute lenger lette, hir fomen in the feld anoon hem mette. the longe day, with speres sharpe y-grounde, with arwes, dartes, swerdes, maces felle, they fighte and bringen hors and man to grounde, 45 and with hir axes out the braynes quelle. but in the laste shour, sooth for to telle, the folk of troye hem-selven so misledden, that with the worse at night homward they fledden. at whiche day was taken antenor, 50 maugre polydamas or monesteo, santippe, sarpedon, polynestor, polyte, or eek the troian daun ripheo, and othere lasse folk, as phebuseo. so that, for harm, that day the folk of troye 55 dredden to lese a greet part of hir ioye. of pryamus was yeve, at greek requeste, a tyme of trewe, and tho they gonnen trete, hir prisoneres to chaungen, moste and leste, and for the surplus yeven sommes grete. 60 this thing anoon was couth in every strete, bothe in thassege, in toune, and every-where, and with the firste it cam to calkas ere. whan calkas knew this tretis sholde holde, in consistorie, among the grekes, sone 65 he gan in thringe forth, with lordes olde, and sette him there-as he was wont to done; and with a chaunged face hem bad a bone, for love of god, to don that reverence, to stinte noyse, and yeve him audience. 70 thanne seyde he thus, `lo! lordes myne, i was troian, as it is knowen out of drede; and, if that yow remembre, i am calkas, that alderfirst yaf comfort to your nede, and tolde wel how that ye sholden spede. 75 for dredelees, thorugh yow, shal, in a stounde, ben troye y-brend, and beten doun to grounde. `and in what forme, or in what maner wyse this town to shende, and al your lust to acheve, ye han er this wel herd it me devyse; 80 this knowe ye, my lordes, as i leve. and for the grekes weren me so leve, i com my-self in my propre persone, to teche in this how yow was best to done; `havinge un-to my tresour ne my rente 85 right no resport, to respect of your ese. thus al my good i loste and to yow wente, wening in this you, lordes, for to plese. but al that los ne doth me no disese. i vouche-sauf, as wisly have i ioye, 90 for you to lese al that i have in troye, `save of a doughter, that i lafte, allas! slepinge at hoom, whanne out of troye i sterte. o sterne, o cruel fader that i was! how mighte i have in that so hard an herte? 95 allas! i ne hadde y-brought hir in hir sherte! for sorwe of which i wol not live to morwe, but-if ye lordes rewe up-on my sorwe. `for, by that cause i say no tyme er now hir to delivere, i holden have my pees; 100 but now or never, if that it lyke yow, i may hir have right sone, doutelees. o help and grace! amonges al this prees, rewe on this olde caitif in destresse, sin i through yow have al this hevinesse! 105 `ye have now caught and fetered in prisoun troians y-nowe; and if your willes be, my child with oon may have redempcioun. now for the love of god and of bountee, oon of so fele, allas! so yeve him me. 110 what nede were it this preyere for to werne, sin ye shul bothe han folk and toun as yerne? `on peril of my lyf, i shal nat lye, appollo hath me told it feithfully; i have eek founde it be astronomye, 115 by sort, and by augurie eek trewely, and dar wel seye, the tyme is faste by, that fyr and flaumbe on al the toun shal sprede; and thus shal troye turne to asshen dede. `for certeyn, phebus and neptunus bothe, 120 that makeden the walles of the toun, ben with the folk of troye alwey so wrothe, that thei wol bringe it to confusioun, right in despyt of king lameadoun. by-cause he nolde payen hem hir hyre, 125 the toun of troye shal ben set on-fyre.' telling his tale alwey, this olde greye, humble in speche, and in his lokinge eke, the salte teres from his eyen tweye ful faste ronnen doun by eyther cheke. 130 so longe he gan of socour hem by-seke that, for to hele him of his sorwes sore, they yave him antenor, with-oute more. but who was glad y-nough but calkas tho? and of this thing ful sone his nedes leyde 135 on hem that sholden for the tretis go, and hem for antenor ful ofte preyde to bringen hoom king toas and criseyde; and whan pryam his save-garde sente, thembassadours to troye streyght they wente. 140 the cause y-told of hir cominge, the olde pryam the king ful sone in general let here-upon his parlement to holde, of which the effect rehersen yow i shal. thembassadours ben answered for fynal, 145 theschaunge of prisoners and al this nede hem lyketh wel, and forth in they procede. this troilus was present in the place, whan axed was for antenor criseyde, for which ful sone chaungen gan his face, 150 as he that with tho wordes wel neigh deyde. but nathelees, he no word to it seyde, lest men sholde his affeccioun espye; with mannes herte he gan his sorwes drye. and ful of anguissh and of grisly drede 155 abood what lordes wolde un-to it seye; and if they wolde graunte, as god forbede, theschaunge of hir, than thoughte he thinges tweye, first, how to save hir honour, and what weye he mighte best theschaunge of hir withstonde; 160 ful faste he caste how al this mighte stonde. love him made al prest to doon hir byde, and rather dye than she sholde go; but resoun seyde him, on that other syde, `with-oute assent of hir ne do not so, 165 lest for thy werk she wolde be thy fo, and seyn, that thorugh thy medling is y-blowe your bother love, there it was erst unknowe.' for which he gan deliberen, for the beste, that though the lordes wolde that she wente, 170 he wolde lat hem graunte what hem leste, and telle his lady first what that they mente. and whan that she had seyd him hir entente, ther-after wolde he werken also blyve, though al the world ayein it wolde stryve. 175 ector, which that wel the grekes herde, for antenor how they wolde han criseyde, gan it withstonde, and sobrely answerde: - `sires, she nis no prisoner,' he seyde; `i noot on yow who that this charge leyde, 180 but, on my part, ye may eft-sone hem telle, we usen here no wommen for to selle.' the noyse of peple up-stirte thanne at ones, as breme as blase of straw y-set on fyre; for infortune it wolde, for the nones, 185 they sholden hir confusioun desyre. `ector,' quod they, `what goost may yow enspyre this womman thus to shilde and doon us lese daun antenor? -a wrong wey now ye chese - `that is so wys, and eek so bold baroun, 190 and we han nede to folk, as men may see; he is eek oon, the grettest of this toun; o ector, lat tho fantasyes be! o king priam,' quod they, `thus seggen we, that al our voys is to for-gon criseyde;' 195 and to deliveren antenor they preyde. o iuvenal, lord! trewe is thy sentence, that litel witen folk what is to yerne that they ne finde in hir desyr offence; for cloud of errour let hem not descerne 200 what best is; and lo, here ensample as yerne. this folk desiren now deliveraunce of antenor, that broughte hem to mischaunce! for he was after traytour to the toun of troye; allas! they quitte him out to rathe; 205 o nyce world, lo, thy discrecioun! criseyde, which that never dide hem skathe, shal now no lenger in hir blisse bathe; but antenor, he shal com hoom to toune, and she shal out; thus seyden here and howne. 210 for which delibered was by parlement for antenor to yelden out criseyde, and it pronounced by the president, al-theigh that ector `nay' ful ofte preyde. and fynaly, what wight that it with-seyde, 215 it was for nought, it moste been, and sholde; for substaunce of the parlement it wolde. departed out of parlement echone, this troilus, with-oute wordes mo, un-to his chaumbre spedde him faste allone, 220 but-if it were a man of his or two, the whiche he bad out faste for to go, by-cause he wolde slepen, as he seyde, and hastely up-on his bed him leyde. and as in winter leves been biraft, 225 eche after other, til the tree be bare, so that ther nis but bark and braunche y-laft, lyth troilus, biraft of ech wel-fare, y-bounden in the blake bark of care, disposed wood out of his wit to breyde, 230 so sore him sat the chaunginge of criseyde. he rist him up, and every dore he shette and windowe eek, and tho this sorweful man up-on his beddes syde a-doun him sette, ful lyk a deed image pale and wan; 235 and in his brest the heped wo bigan out-breste, and he to werken in this wyse in his woodnesse, as i shal yow devyse. right as the wilde bole biginneth springe now here, now there, y-darted to the herte, 240 and of his deeth roreth in compleyninge, right so gan he aboute the chaumbre sterte, smyting his brest ay with his festes smerte; his heed to the wal, his body to the grounde ful ofte he swapte, him-selven to confounde. 245 his eyen two, for pitee of his herte, out stremeden as swifte welles tweye; the heighe sobbes of his sorwes smerte his speche him refte, unnethes mighte he seye, `o deeth, allas! why niltow do me deye? 250 a-cursed be the day which that nature shoop me to ben a lyves creature!' but after, whan the furie and the rage which that his herte twiste and faste threste, by lengthe of tyme somwhat gan asswage, 255 up-on his bed he leyde him doun to reste; but tho bigonne his teres more out-breste, that wonder is, the body may suffyse to half this wo, which that i yow devyse. than seyde he thus, `fortune! allas the whyle! 260 what have i doon, what have i thus a-gilt? how mightestow for reuthe me bigyle? is ther no grace, and shal i thus be spilt? shal thus criseyde awey, for that thou wilt? allas! how maystow in thyn herte finde 265 to been to me thus cruel and unkinde? `have i thee nought honoured al my lyve, as thou wel wost, above the goddes alle? why wiltow me fro ioye thus depryve? o troilus, what may men now thee calle 270 but wrecche of wrecches, out of honour falle in-to miserie, in which i wol biwayle criseyde, allas! til that the breeth me fayle? `allas, fortune! if that my lyf in ioye displesed hadde un-to thy foule envye, 275 why ne haddestow my fader, king of troye, by-raft the lyf, or doon my bretheren dye, or slayn my-self, that thus compleyne and crye, i, combre-world, that may of no-thing serve, but ever dye, and never fully sterve? 280 `if that criseyde allone were me laft, nought roughte i whider thou woldest me stere; and hir, allas! than hastow me biraft. but ever-more, lo! this is thy manere, to reve a wight that most is to him dere, 285 to preve in that thy gerful violence. thus am i lost, ther helpeth no defence! `o verray lord of love, o god, allas! that knowest best myn herte and al my thought, what shal my sorwful lyf don in this cas 290 if i for-go that i so dere have bought? sin ye cryseyde and me han fully brought in-to your grace, and bothe our hertes seled, how may ye suffre, allas! it be repeled? `what i may doon, i shal, whyl i may dure 295 on lyve in torment and in cruel peyne, this infortune or this disaventure, allone as i was born, y-wis, compleyne; ne never wil i seen it shyne or reyne; but ende i wil, as edippe, in derknesse 300 my sorwful lyf, and dyen in distresse. `o wery goost, that errest to and fro, why niltow fleen out of the wofulleste body, that ever mighte on grounde go? o soule, lurkinge in this wo, unneste, 305 flee forth out of myn herte, and lat it breste, and folwe alwey criseyde, thy lady dere; thy righte place is now no lenger here! `o wofulle eyen two, sin your disport was al to seen criseydes eyen brighte, 310 what shal ye doon but, for my discomfort, stonden for nought, and wepen out your sighte? sin she is queynt, that wont was yow to lighte, in veyn fro-this-forth have i eyen tweye y-formed, sin your vertue is a-weye. 315 `o my criseyde, o lady sovereyne of thilke woful soule that thus cryeth, who shal now yeven comfort to the peyne? allas, no wight; but when myn herte dyeth, my spirit, which that so un-to yow hyeth, 320 receyve in gree, for that shal ay yow serve; for-thy no fors is, though the body sterve. `o ye loveres, that heighe upon the wheel ben set of fortune, in good aventure, god leve that ye finde ay love of steel, 325 and longe mot your lyf in ioye endure! but whan ye comen by my sepulture, remembreth that your felawe resteth there; for i lovede eek, though i unworthy were. `o olde, unholsom, and mislyved man, 330 calkas i mene, allas! what eyleth thee to been a greek, sin thou art born troian? o calkas, which that wilt my bane be, in cursed tyme was thou born for me! as wolde blisful iove, for his ioye, 335 that i thee hadde, where i wolde, in troye!' a thousand sykes, hottere than the glede, out of his brest ech after other wente, medled with pleyntes newe, his wo to fede, for which his woful teres never stente; 340 and shortly, so his peynes him to-rente, and wex so mat, that ioye nor penaunce he feleth noon, but lyth forth in a traunce. pandare, which that in the parlement hadde herd what every lord and burgeys seyde, 345 and how ful graunted was, by oon assent, for antenor to yelden so criseyde, gan wel neigh wood out of his wit to breyde, so that, for wo, he niste what he mente; but in a rees to troilus he wente. 350 a certeyn knight, that for the tyme kepte the chaumbre-dore, un-dide it him anoon; and pandare, that ful tendreliche wepte, in-to the derke chaumbre, as stille as stoon, toward the bed gan softely to goon, 355 so confus, that he niste what to seye; for verray wo his wit was neigh aweye. and with his chere and loking al to-torn, for sorwe of this, and with his armes folden, he stood this woful troilus biforn, 360 and on his pitous face he gan biholden; but lord, so often gan his herte colden, seing his freend in wo, whos hevinesse his herte slow, as thoughte him, for distresse. this woful wight, this troilus, that felte 365 his freend pandare y-comen him to see, gan as the snow ayein the sonne melte, for which this sorwful pandare, of pitee, gan for to wepe as tendreliche as he; and specheles thus been thise ilke tweye, 370 that neyther mighte o word for sorwe seye. but at the laste this woful troilus, ney deed for smert, gan bresten out to rore, and with a sorwful noyse he seyde thus, among his sobbes and his sykes sore, 375 `lo! pandare, i am deed, with-outen more. hastow nought herd at parlement,' he seyde, `for antenor how lost is my criseyde?' this pandarus, ful deed and pale of hewe, ful pitously answerde and seyde, `yis! 380 as wisly were it fals as it is trewe, that i have herd, and wot al how it is. o mercy, god, who wolde have trowed this? who wolde have wend that, in so litel a throwe, fortune our ioye wolde han over-throwe? 385 `for in this world ther is no creature, as to my doom, that ever saw ruyne straungere than this, thorugh cas or aventure. but who may al eschewe, or al devyne? swich is this world; for-thy i thus defyne, 390 ne trust no wight to finden in fortune ay propretee; hir yeftes been comune. `but tel me this, why thou art now so mad to sorwen thus? why lystow in this wyse, sin thy desyr al holly hastow had, 395 so that, by right, it oughte y-now suffyse? but i, that never felte in my servyse a frendly chere or loking of an ye, lat me thus wepe and wayle, til i dye. `and over al this, as thou wel wost thy-selve, 400 this town is ful of ladies al aboute; and, to my doom, fairer than swiche twelve as ever she was, shal i finde, in som route, ye, oon or two, with-outen any doute. for-thy be glad, myn owene dere brother, 405 if she be lost, we shal recovere another. `what, god for-bede alwey that ech plesaunce in o thing were, and in non other wight! if oon can singe, another can wel daunce; if this be goodly, she is glad and light; 410 and this is fayr, and that can good a-right. ech for his vertu holden is for dere, bothe heroner and faucon for rivere. `and eek, as writ zanzis, that was ful wys, "the newe love out chaceth ofte the olde;" 415 and up-on newe cas lyth newe avys. thenk eek, thy-self to saven artow holde; swich fyr, by proces, shal of kinde colde. for sin it is but casuel plesaunce, som cas shal putte it out of remembraunce. 420 `for al-so seur as day cometh after night, the newe love, labour or other wo, or elles selde seinge of a wight, don olde affecciouns alle over-go. and, for thy part, thou shalt have oon of tho 425 to abrigge with thy bittre peynes smerte; absence of hir shal dryve hir out of herte.' thise wordes seyde he for the nones alle, to helpe his freend, lest he for sorwe deyde. for douteles, to doon his wo to falle, 430 he roughte not what unthrift that he seyde. but troilus, that neigh for sorwe deyde, tok litel hede of al that ever he mente; oon ere it herde, at the other out it wente: but at the laste answerde and seyde, `freend, 435 this lechecraft, or heled thus to be, were wel sitting, if that i were a feend, to traysen hir that trewe is unto me! i pray god, lat this consayl never y-thee; but do me rather sterve anon-right here 440 er i thus do as thou me woldest lere. `she that i serve, y-wis, what so thou seye, to whom myn herte enhabit is by right, shal han me holly hires til that i deye. for, pandarus, sin i have trouthe hir hight, 445 i wol not been untrewe for no wight; but as hir man i wol ay live and sterve, and never other creature serve. `and ther thou seyst, thou shalt as faire finde as she, lat be, make no comparisoun 450 to creature y-formed here by kinde. o leve pandare, in conclusioun, i wol not be of thyn opinioun, touching al this; for whiche i thee biseche, so hold thy pees; thou sleest me with thy speche. 455 `thow biddest me i sholde love an-other al freshly newe, and lat criseyde go! it lyth not in my power, leve brother. and though i mighte, i wolde not do so. but canstow pleyen raket, to and fro, 460 netle in, dokke out, now this, now that, pandare? now foule falle hir, for thy wo that care! `thow farest eek by me, thou pandarus, as he, that whan a wight is wo bi-goon, he cometh to him a pas, and seyth right thus, 465 "thenk not on smert, and thou shalt fele noon." thou most me first transmuwen in a stoon, and reve me my passiounes alle, er thou so lightly do my wo to falle. `the deeth may wel out of my brest departe 470 the lyf, so longe may this sorwe myne; but fro my soule shal criseydes darte out never-mo; but doun with proserpyne, whan i am deed, i wol go wone in pyne; and ther i wol eternaly compleyne 475 my wo, and how that twinned be we tweyne. `thow hast here maad an argument, for fyn, how that it sholde a lasse peyne be criseyde to for-goon, for she was myn, and live in ese and in felicitee. 480 why gabbestow, that seydest thus to me that "him is wors that is fro wele y-throwe, than he hadde erst non of that wele y-knowe?" `but tel me now, sin that thee thinketh so light to chaungen so in love, ay to and fro, 485 why hastow not don bisily thy might to chaungen hir that doth thee al thy wo? why niltow lete hir fro thyn herte go? why niltow love an-other lady swete, that may thyn herte setten in quiete? 490 `if thou hast had in love ay yet mischaunce, and canst it not out of thyn herte dryve, i, that livede in lust and in plesaunce with hir as muche as creature on-lyve, how sholde i that foryete, and that so blyve? 495 o where hastow ben hid so longe in muwe, that canst so wel and formely arguwe? `nay, nay, god wot, nought worth is al thy reed, for which, for what that ever may bifalle, with-outen wordes mo, i wol be deed. 500 o deeth, that endere art of sorwes alle, com now, sin i so ofte after thee calle, for sely is that deeth, soth for to seyne, that, ofte y-cleped, cometh and endeth peyne. `wel wot i, whyl my lyf was in quiete, 505 er thou me slowe, i wolde have yeven hyre; but now thy cominge is to me so swete, that in this world i no-thing so desyre. o deeth, sin with this sorwe i am a-fyre, thou outher do me anoon yn teres drenche, 510 or with thy colde strook myn hete quenche! `sin that thou sleest so fele in sondry wyse ayens hir wil, unpreyed, day and night, do me, at my requeste, this servyse, delivere now the world, so dostow right, 515 of me, that am the wofulleste wight that ever was; for tyme is that i sterve, sin in this world of right nought may i serve.' this troilus in teres gan distille, as licour out of alambyk ful faste; 520 and pandarus gan holde his tunge stille, and to the ground his eyen doun he caste. but nathelees, thus thoughte he at the laste, `what, parde, rather than my felawe deye, yet shal i som-what more un-to him seye:' 525 and seyde, `freend, sin thou hast swich distresse, and sin thee list myn arguments to blame, why nilt thy-selven helpen doon redresse, and with thy manhod letten al this grame? go ravisshe hir ne canstow not for shame! 530 and outher lat hir out of toune fare, or hold hir stille, and leve thy nyce fare. `artow in troye, and hast non hardiment to take a womman which that loveth thee, and wolde hir-selven been of thyn assent? 535 now is not this a nyce vanitee? rys up anoon, and lat this weping be, and kyth thou art a man, for in this houre i wil be deed, or she shal bleven oure.' to this answerde him troilus ful softe, 540 and seyde, `parde, leve brother dere, al this have i my-self yet thought ful ofte, and more thing than thou devysest here. but why this thing is laft, thou shalt wel here; and whan thou me hast yeve an audience, 545 ther-after mayst thou telle al thy sentence. `first, sin thou wost this toun hath al this werre for ravisshing of wommen so by might, it sholde not be suffred me to erre, as it stant now, ne doon so gret unright. 550 i sholde han also blame of every wight, my fadres graunt if that i so withstode, sin she is chaunged for the tounes goode. `i have eek thought, so it were hir assent, to aske hir at my fader, of his grace; 555 than thenke i, this were hir accusement, sin wel i woot i may hir not purchace. for sin my fader, in so heigh a place as parlement, hath hir eschaunge enseled, he nil for me his lettre be repeled. 560 `yet drede i most hir herte to pertourbe with violence, if i do swich a game; for if i wolde it openly distourbe, it moste been disclaundre to hir name. and me were lever deed than hir defame, 565 as nolde god but-if i sholde have hir honour lever than my lyf to save! `thus am i lost, for ought that i can see; for certeyn is, sin that i am hir knight, i moste hir honour levere han than me 570 in every cas, as lovere oughte of right. thus am i with desyr and reson twight; desyr for to destourben hir me redeth, and reson nil not, so myn herte dredeth.' thus wepinge that he coude never cesse, 575 he seyde, `allas! how shal i, wrecche, fare? for wel fele i alwey my love encresse, and hope is lasse and lasse alwey, pandare! encressen eek the causes of my care; so wel-a-wey, why nil myn herte breste? 580 for, as in love, ther is but litel reste.' pandare answerde, `freend, thou mayst, for me, don as thee list; but hadde ich it so hote, and thyn estat, she sholde go with me; though al this toun cryede on this thing by note, 585 i nolde sette at al that noyse a grote. for when men han wel cryed, than wol they roune; a wonder last but nyne night never in toune. `devyne not in reson ay so depe ne curteysly, but help thy-self anoon; 590 bet is that othere than thy-selven wepe, and namely, sin ye two been al oon. rys up, for by myn heed, she shal not goon; and rather be in blame a lyte y-founde than sterve here as a gnat, with-oute wounde. 595 `it is no shame un-to yow, ne no vyce hir to with-holden, that ye loveth most. paraunter, she mighte holden thee for nyce to lete hir go thus to the grekes ost. thenk eek fortune, as wel thy-selven wost, 600 helpeth hardy man to his enpryse, and weyveth wrecches, for hir cowardyse. `and though thy lady wolde a litel hir greve, thou shalt thy pees ful wel here-after make, but as for me, certayn, i can not leve 605 that she wolde it as now for yvel take. why sholde than for ferd thyn herte quake? thenk eek how paris hath, that is thy brother, a love; and why shaltow not have another? `and troilus, o thing i dar thee swere, 610 that if criseyde, whiche that is thy leef, now loveth thee as wel as thou dost here, god helpe me so, she nil nat take a-greef, though thou do bote a-noon in this mischeef. and if she wilneth fro thee for to passe, 615 thanne is she fals; so love hir wel the lasse. `for-thy tak herte, and thenk, right as a knight, thourgh love is broken alday every lawe. kyth now sumwhat thy corage and thy might, have mercy on thy-self, for any awe. 620 lat not this wrecched wo thin herte gnawe, but manly set the world on sixe and sevene; and, if thou deye a martir, go to hevene. `i wol my-self be with thee at this dede, though ich and al my kin, up-on a stounde, 625 shulle in a strete as dogges liggen dede, thourgh-girt with many a wyd and blody wounde. in every cas i wol a freend be founde. and if thee list here sterven as a wrecche, a-dieu, the devel spede him that it recche!' 630 this troilus gan with tho wordes quiken, and seyde, `freend, graunt mercy, ich assente; but certaynly thou mayst not me so priken, ne peyne noon ne may me so tormente, that, for no cas, it is not myn entente, 635 at shorte wordes, though i dyen sholde, to ravisshe hir, but-if hir-self it wolde.' `why, so mene i,' quod pandarus, `al this day. but tel me than, hastow hir wil assayed, that sorwest thus?' and he answerde, `nay.' `wher-of artow,' quod pandare, `than a-mayed, 640 that nost not that she wol ben y-vel apayed to ravisshe hir, sin thou hast not ben there, but-if that iove tolde it in thyn ere? `for-thy rys up, as nought ne were, anoon, 645 and wash thy face, and to the king thou wende, or he may wondren whider thou art goon. thou most with wisdom him and othere blende; or, up-on cas, he may after thee sende er thou be war; and shortly, brother dere, 650 be glad, and lat me werke in this matere. `for i shal shape it so, that sikerly thou shalt this night som tyme, in som manere, com speke with thy lady prevely, and by hir wordes eek, and by hir chere, 655 thou shalt ful sone aperceyve and wel here al hir entente, and in this cas the beste; and fare now wel, for in this point i reste.' the swifte fame, whiche that false thinges egal reporteth lyk the thinges trewe, 660 was thorugh-out troye y-fled with preste winges fro man to man, and made this tale al newe, how calkas doughter, with hir brighte hewe, at parlement, with-oute wordes more, i-graunted was in chaunge of antenore. 665 the whiche tale anoon-right as criseyde had herd, she, which that of hir fader roughte, as in this cas, right nought, ne whanne he deyde, ful bisily to iuppiter bisoughte yeve hem mischaunce that this tretis broughte. 670 but shortly, lest thise tales sothe were, she dorste at no wight asken it, for fere. as she that hadde hir herte and al hir minde on troilus y-set so wonder faste, that al this world ne mighte hir love unbinde, 675 ne troilus out of hir herte caste; she wol ben his, whyl that hir lyf may laste. and thus she brenneth bothe in love and drede, so that she niste what was best to rede. but as men seen in toune, and al aboute, 680 that wommen usen frendes to visyte, so to criseyde of wommen com a route for pitous ioye, and wenden hir delyte; and with hir tales, dere y-nough a myte, these wommen, whiche that in the cite dwelle, 685 they sette hem doun, and seyde as i shal telle. quod first that oon, `i am glad, trewely, by-cause of yow, that shal your fader see.' a-nother seyde, `y-wis, so nam not i, for al to litel hath she with us be.' 690 quod tho the thridde, `i hope, y-wis, that she shal bringen us the pees on every syde, that, whan she gooth, almighty god hir gyde!' tho wordes and tho wommanisshe thinges, she herde hem right as though she thennes were; 695 for, god it wot, hir herte on other thing is, although the body sat among hem there. hir advertence is alwey elles-where; for troilus ful faste hir soule soughte; with-outen word, alwey on him she thoughte. 700 thise wommen, that thus wenden hir to plese, aboute nought gonne alle hir tales spende; swich vanitee ne can don hir non ese, as she that, al this mene whyle. brende of other passioun than that they wende, 705 so that she felte almost hir herte deye for wo, and wery of that companye. for which no lenger mighte she restreyne hir teres, so they gonnen up to welle, that yaven signes of the bitter peyne 710 in whiche hir spirit was, and moste dwelle; remembring hir, fro heven unto which helle she fallen was, sith she forgoth the sighte of troilus, and sorowfully she sighte. and thilke foles sittinge hir aboute 715 wenden, that she wepte and syked sore by-cause that she sholde out of that route departe, and never pleye with hem more. and they that hadde y-knowen hir of yore seye hir so wepe, and thoughte it kindenesse, 720 and eche of hem wepte eek for hir destresse; and bisily they gonnen hir conforten of thing, god wot, on which she litel thoughte; and with hir tales wenden hir disporten, and to be glad they often hir bisoughte. 725 but swich an ese ther-with they hir wroughte right as a man is esed for to fele, for ache of heed, to clawen him on his hele! but after al this nyce vanitee they took hir leve, and hoom they wenten alle. 730 criseyde, ful of sorweful pitee, in-to hir chaumbre up wente out of the halle, and on hir bed she gan for deed to falle, in purpos never thennes for to ryse; and thus she wroughte, as i shal yow devyse. 735 hir ounded heer, that sonnish was of hewe, she rente, and eek hir fingres longe and smale she wrong ful ofte, and bad god on hir rewe, and with the deeth to doon bote on hir bale. hir hewe, whylom bright, that tho was pale, 740 bar witnes of hir wo and hir constreynte; and thus she spak, sobbinge, in hir compleynte: `alas!' quod she, `out of this regioun i, woful wrecche and infortuned wight, and born in corsed constellacioun, 745 mot goon, and thus departen fro my knight; wo worth, allas! that ilke dayes light on which i saw him first with eyen tweyne, that causeth me, and i him, al this peyne!' therwith the teres from hir eyen two 750 doun fille, as shour in aperill ful swythe; hir whyte brest she bet, and for the wo after the deeth she cryed a thousand sythe, sin he that wont hir wo was for to lythe, she mot for-goon; for which disaventure 755 she held hir-self a forlost creature. she seyde, `how shal he doon, and i also? how sholde i live, if that i from him twinne? o dere herte eek, that i love so, who shal that sorwe sleen that ye ben inne? 760 o calkas, fader, thyn be al this sinne! o moder myn, that cleped were argyve, wo worth that day that thou me bere on lyve! `to what fyn sholde i live and sorwen thus? how sholde a fish with-oute water dure? 765 what is criseyde worth, from troilus? how sholde a plaunte or lyves creature live, with-oute his kinde noriture? for which ful oft a by-word here i seye, that "rotelees, mot grene sone deye." 770 `i shal don thus, sin neither swerd ne darte dar i non handle, for the crueltee, that ilke day that i from yow departe, if sorwe of that nil not my bane be, than shal no mete or drinke come in me 775 til i my soule out of my breste unshethe; and thus my-selven wol i do to dethe. `and, troilus, my clothes everichoon shul blake been, in tokeninge, herte swete, that i am as out of this world agoon, 780 that wont was yow to setten in quiete; and of myn ordre, ay til deeth me mete, the observaunce ever, in your absence, shal sorwe been, compleynte, and abstinence. `myn herte and eek the woful goost ther-inne 785 biquethe i, with your spirit to compleyne eternally, for they shal never twinne. for though in erthe y-twinned be we tweyne, yet in the feld of pitee, out of peyne, that hight elysos, shul we been y-fere, 790 as orpheus and erudice, his fere. `thus, herte myn, for antenor, allas! i sone shal be chaunged, as i wene. but how shul ye don in this sorwful cas, how shal youre tendre herte this sustene? 795 but herte myn, for-yet this sorwe and tene, and me also; for, soothly for to seye, so ye wel fare, i recche not to deye.' how mighte it ever y-red ben or y-songe, the pleynte that she made in hir distresse? 800 i noot; but, as for me, my litel tonge, if i discreven wolde hir hevinesse, it sholde make hir sorwe seme lesse than that it was, and childishly deface hir heigh compleynte, and therfore i it pace. 805 pandare, which that sent from troilus was to criseyde, as ye han herd devyse, that for the beste it was accorded thus, and he ful glad to doon him that servyse, un-to criseyde, in a ful secree wyse, 810 ther-as she lay in torment and in rage, com hir to telle al hoolly his message, and fond that she hir-selven gan to trete ful pitously; for with hir salte teres hir brest, hir face, y-bathed was ful wete; 815 the mighty tresses of hir sonnish heres, unbroyden, hangen al aboute hir eres; which yaf him verray signal of martyre of deeth, which that hir herte gan desyre. whan she him saw, she gan for sorwe anoon 820 hir tery face a-twixe hir armes hide, for which this pandare is so wo bi-goon, that in the hous he mighte unnethe abyde, as he that pitee felte on every syde. for if criseyde hadde erst compleyned sore, 825 tho gan she pleyne a thousand tymes more. and in hir aspre pleynte than she seyde, `pandare first of ioyes mo than two was cause causinge un-to me, criseyde, that now transmuwed been in cruel wo. 830 wher shal i seye to yow "wel come" or no, that alderfirst me broughte in-to servyse of love, allas! that endeth in swich wyse? `endeth than love in wo? ye, or men lyeth! and alle worldly blisse, as thinketh me. 835 the ende of blisse ay sorwe it occupyeth; and who-so troweth not that it so be, lat him upon me, woful wrecche, y-see, that my-self hate, and ay my birthe acorse, felinge alwey, fro wikke i go to worse. 840 `who-so me seeth, he seeth sorwe al at ones, peyne, torment, pleynte, wo, distresse. out of my woful body harm ther noon is, as anguish, langour, cruel bitternesse, a-noy, smert, drede, fury, and eek siknesse. 845 i trowe, y-wis, from hevene teres reyne, for pitee of myn aspre and cruel peyne! ' `and thou, my suster, ful of discomfort,' quod pandarus, `what thenkestow to do? why ne hastow to thy-selven som resport, 850 why woltow thus thy-selve, allas, for-do? leef al this werk and tak now hede to that i shal seyn, and herkne, of good entente, this, which by me thy troilus thee sente.' torned hir tho criseyde, a wo makinge 855 so greet that it a deeth was for to see: - `allas!' quod she, `what wordes may ye bringe? what wol my dere herte seyn to me, which that i drede never-mo to see? wol he have pleynte or teres, er i wende? 860 i have y-nowe, if he ther-after sende!' she was right swich to seen in hir visage as is that wight that men on bere binde; hir face, lyk of paradys the image, was al y-chaunged in another kinde. 865 the pleye, the laughtre men was wont to finde on hir, and eek hir ioyes everychone, ben fled, and thus lyth now criseyde allone. aboute hir eyen two a purpre ring bi-trent, in sothfast tokninge of hir peyne, 870 that to biholde it was a dedly thing, for which pandare mighte not restreyne the teres from his eyen for to reyne. but nathelees, as he best mighte, he seyde from troilus thise wordes to criseyde. 875 `lo, nece, i trowe ye han herd al how the king, with othere lordes, for the beste, hath mad eschaunge of antenor and yow, that cause is of this sorwe and this unreste. but how this cas doth troilus moleste, 880 that may non erthely mannes tonge seye; for verray wo his wit is al aweye. `for which we han so sorwed, he and i, that in-to litel bothe it hadde us slawe; but thurgh my conseil this day, fynally, 885 he somwhat is fro weping now with-drawe. and semeth me that he desyreth fawe with yow to been al night, for to devyse remede in this, if ther were any wyse. `this, short and pleyne, theffect of my message, 890 as ferforth as my wit can comprehende. for ye, that been of torment in swich rage, may to no long prologe as now entende; and her-upon ye may answere him sende. and, for the love of god, my nece dere, 895 so leef this wo er troilus be here.' `gret is my wo,' quod she, and sighte sore, as she that feleth dedly sharp distresse; `but yet to me his sorwe is muchel more, that love him bet than he him-self, i gesse. 900 allas! for me hath he swich hevinesse? can he for me so pitously compleyne? y-wis, his sorwe doubleth al my peyne. `grevous to me, god wot, is for to twinne,' quod she, `but yet it hardere is to me 905 to seen that sorwe which that he is inne; for wel wot i, it wol my bane be; and deye i wol in certayn,' tho quod she; `but bidde him come, er deeth, that thus me threteth, dryve out that goost which in myn herte beteth.' 910 thise wordes seyd, she on hir armes two fil gruf, and gan to wepe pitously. quod pandarus, `allas! why do ye so, syn wel ye woot the tyme is faste by, that he shal come? arys up hastely, 915 that he yow nat biwopen thus ne finde, but ye wol have him wood out of his minde! `for wiste he that ye ferde in this manere, he wolde him-selve slee; and if i wende to han this fare, he sholde not come here 920 for al the good that pryam may despende. for to what fyn he wolde anoon pretende, that knowe i wel; and for-thy yet i seye, so leef this sorwe, or platly he wol deye. `and shapeth yow his sorwe for to abregge, 925 and nought encresse, leve nece swete; beth rather to him cause of flat than egge, and with som wysdom ye his sorwes bete. what helpeth it to wepen ful a strete, or though ye bothe in salte teres dreynte? 930 bet is a tyme of cure ay than of pleynte. `i mene thus; whan i him hider bringe, sin ye ben wyse, and bothe of oon assent, so shapeth how distourbe your goinge, or come ayen, sone after ye be went. 935 wommen ben wyse in short avysement; and lat sen how your wit shal now avayle; and what that i may helpe, it shal not fayle.' `go,' quod criseyde, `and uncle, trewely, i shal don al my might, me to restreyne 940 from weping in his sighte, and bisily, him for to glade, i shal don al my peyne, and in myn herte seken every veyne; if to this soor ther may be founden salve, it shal not lakken, certain, on myn halve.' 945 goth pandarus, and troilus he soughte, til in a temple he fond him allone, as he that of his lyf no lenger roughte; but to the pitouse goddes everichone ful tendrely he preyde, and made his mone, 950 to doon him sone out of this world to pace; for wel he thoughte ther was non other grace. and shortly, al the sothe for to seye, he was so fallen in despeyr that day, that outrely he shoop him for to deye. 955 for right thus was his argument alwey: he seyde, he nas but loren, waylawey! `for al that comth, comth by necessitee; thus to be lorn, it is my destinee. `for certaynly, this wot i wel,' he seyde, 960 `that for-sight of divyne purveyaunce hath seyn alwey me to for-gon criseyde, sin god seeth every thing, out of doutaunce, and hem disponeth, thourgh his ordenaunce, in hir merytes sothly for to be, 965 as they shul comen by predestinee. `but nathelees, allas! whom shal i leve? for ther ben grete clerkes many oon, that destinee thorugh argumentes preve; and som men seyn that nedely ther is noon; 970 but that free chois is yeven us everichoon. o, welaway! so sleye arn clerkes olde, that i not whos opinion i may holde. `for som men seyn, if god seth al biforn, ne god may not deceyved ben, pardee, 975 than moot it fallen, though men hadde it sworn, that purveyaunce hath seyn bifore to be. wherfor i seye, that from eterne if he hath wist biforn our thought eek as our dede, we have no free chois, as these clerkes rede. 980 `for other thought nor other dede also might never be, but swich as purveyaunce, which may not ben deceyved never-mo, hath feled biforn, with-outen ignoraunce. for if ther mighte been a variaunce 985 to wrythen out fro goddes purveyinge, ther nere no prescience of thing cominge; `but it were rather an opinioun uncerteyn, and no stedfast forseinge; and certes, that were an abusioun, 990 that god shuld han no parfit cleer witinge more than we men that han doutous weninge. but swich an errour up-on god to gesse were fals and foul, and wikked corsednesse. `eek this is an opinioun of somme 995 that han hir top ful heighe and smothe y-shore; they seyn right thus, that thing is not to come for that the prescience hath seyn bifore that it shal come; but they seyn that therfore that it shal come, therfore the purveyaunce 1000 wot it biforn with-outen ignoraunce; `and in this manere this necessitee retorneth in his part contrarie agayn. for needfully bihoveth it not to be that thilke thinges fallen in certayn 1005 that ben purveyed; but nedely, as they seyn, bihoveth it that thinges, whiche that falle, that they in certayn ben purveyed alle. `i mene as though i laboured me in this, to enqueren which thing cause of which thing be; 1010 as whether that the prescience of god is the certayn cause of the necessitee of thinges that to comen been, pardee; or if necessitee of thing cominge be cause certeyn of the purveyinge. 1015 `but now ne enforce i me nat in shewinge how the ordre of causes stant; but wel wot i, that it bihoveth that the bifallinge of thinges wist biforen certeynly be necessarie, al seme it not ther-by 1020 that prescience put falling necessaire to thing to come, al falle it foule or faire. `for if ther sit a man yond on a see, than by necessitee bihoveth it that, certes, thyn opinioun soth be, 1025 that wenest or coniectest that he sit; and ferther-over now ayenward yit, lo, right so it is of the part contrarie, as thus; (now herkne, for i wol not tarie): `i seye, that if the opinioun of thee 1030 be sooth, for that he sit, than seye i this, that he mot sitten by necessitee; and thus necessitee in either is. for in him nede of sittinge is, y-wis, and in thee nede of sooth; and thus, forsothe, 1035 ther moot necessitee ben in yow bothe. `but thou mayst seyn, the man sit not therfore, that thyn opinioun of sitting soth is; but rather, for the man sit ther bifore, therfore is thyn opinioun sooth, y-wis. 1040 and i seye, though the cause of sooth of this comth of his sitting, yet necessitee is entrechaunged, bothe in him and thee. `thus on this same wyse, out of doutaunce, i may wel maken, as it semeth me, 1045 my resoninge of goddes purveyaunce, and of the thinges that to comen be; by whiche reson men may wel y-see, that thilke thinges that in erthe falle, that by necessitee they comen alle. 1050 `for al-though that, for thing shal come, y-wis, therfore is it purveyed, certaynly, nat that it comth for it purveyed is: yet nathelees, bihoveth it nedfully, that thing to come be purveyed, trewely; 1055 or elles, thinges that purveyed be, that they bityden by necessitee. `and this suffyseth right y-now, certeyn, for to destroye our free chois every del. - but now is this abusion, to seyn, 1060 that fallinge of the thinges temporel is cause of goddes prescience eternel. now trewely, that is a fals sentence, that thing to come sholde cause his prescience. `what mighte i wene, and i hadde swich a thought, 1065 but that god purveyth thing that is to come for that it is to come, and elles nought? so mighte i wene that thinges alle and some, that whylom been bifalle and over-come, ben cause of thilke sovereyn purveyaunce, 1070 that for-wot al with-outen ignoraunce. `and over al this, yet seye i more herto, that right as whan i woot ther is a thing, y-wis, that thing mot nedefully be so; eek right so, whan i woot a thing coming, 1075 so mot it come; and thus the bifalling of thinges that ben wist bifore the tyde, they mowe not been eschewed on no syde.' than seyde he thus, `almighty iove in trone, that wost of al this thing the soothfastnesse, 1080 rewe on my sorwe, or do me deye sone, or bring criseyde and me fro this distresse.' and whyl he was in al this hevinesse, disputinge with him-self in this matere, com pandare in, and seyde as ye may here. 1085 `o mighty god,' quod pandarus, `in trone, ey! who seigh ever a wys man faren so? why, troilus, what thenkestow to done? hastow swich lust to been thyn owene fo? what, parde, yet is not criseyde a-go! 1090 why list thee so thy-self for-doon for drede, that in thyn heed thyn eyen semen dede? `hastow not lived many a yeer biforn with-outen hir, and ferd ful wel at ese? artow for hir and for non other born? 1095 hath kinde thee wroughte al-only hir to plese? lat be, and thenk right thus in thy disese. that, in the dees right as ther fallen chaunces, right so in love, ther come and goon plesaunces. `and yet this is a wonder most of alle, 1100 why thou thus sorwest, sin thou nost not yit, touching hir goinge, how that it shal falle, ne if she can hir-self distorben it. thou hast not yet assayed al hir wit. a man may al by tyme his nekke bede 1105 whan it shal of, and sorwen at the nede. `for-thy take hede of that that i shal seye; i have with hir y-spoke and longe y-be, so as accorded was bitwixe us tweye. and ever-mor me thinketh thus, that she 1110 hath som-what in hir hertes prevetee, wher-with she can, if i shal right arede, distorbe al this, of which thou art in drede. `for which my counseil is, whan it is night, thou to hir go, and make of this an ende; 1115 and blisful iuno, thourgh hir grete mighte, shal, as i hope, hir grace un-to us sende. myn herte seyth, "certeyn, she shal not wende;" and for-thy put thyn herte a whyle in reste; and hold this purpos, for it is the beste.' 1120 this troilus answerde, and sighte sore, `thou seyst right wel, and i wil do right so;' and what him liste, he seyde un-to it more. and whan that it was tyme for to go, ful prevely him-self, with-outen mo, 1125 un-to hir com, as he was wont to done; and how they wroughte, i shal yow telle sone. soth is, that whan they gonne first to mete, so gan the peyne hir hertes for to twiste, that neither of hem other mighte grete, 1130 but hem in armes toke and after kiste. the lasse wofulle of hem bothe niste wher that he was, ne mighte o word out-bringe, as i seyde erst, for wo and for sobbinge. tho woful teres that they leten falle 1135 as bittre weren, out of teres kinde, for peyne, as is ligne aloes or galle. so bittre teres weep nought, as i finde, the woful myrra through the bark and rinde. that in this world ther nis so hard an herte, 1140 that nolde han rewed on hir peynes smerte. but whan hir woful wery gostes tweyne retorned been ther-as hem oughte dwelle, and that som-what to wayken gan the peyne by lengthe of pleynte, and ebben gan the welle 1145 of hire teres, and the herte unswelle, with broken voys, al hoors for-shright, criseyde to troilus thise ilke wordes seyde: `o iove, i deye, and mercy i beseche! help, troilus!' and ther-with-al hir face 1150 upon his brest she leyde, and loste speche; hir woful spirit from his propre place, right with the word, alwey up poynt to pace. and thus she lyth with hewes pale and grene, that whylom fresh and fairest was to sene. 1155 this troilus, that on hir gan biholde, clepinge hir name, (and she lay as for deed, with-oute answere, and felte hir limes colde, hir eyen throwen upward to hir heed), this sorwful man can now noon other reed, 1160 but ofte tyme hir colde mouth he kiste; wher him was wo, god and him-self it wiste! he rist him up, and long streight he hir leyde; for signe of lyf, for ought he can or may, can he noon finde in no-thing on criseyde, 1165 for which his song ful ofte is `weylaway!' but whan he saugh that specheles she lay, with sorwful voys and herte of blisse al bare, he seyde how she was fro this world y-fare! so after that he longe hadde hir compleyned, 1170 his hondes wrong, and seyde that was to seye, and with his teres salte hir brest bireyned, he gan tho teris wypen of ful dreye, and pitously gan for the soule preye, and seyde, `o lord, that set art in thy trone, 1175 rewe eek on me, for i shal folwe hir sone!' she cold was and with-outen sentement, for aught he woot, for breeth ne felte he noon; and this was him a preignant argument that she was forth out of this world agoon; 1180 and whan he seigh ther was non other woon, he gan hir limes dresse in swich manere as men don hem that shul be leyd on bere. and after this, with sterne and cruel herte, his swerd a-noon out of his shethe he twighte, 1185 him-self to sleen, how sore that him smerte, so that his sowle hir sowle folwen mighte, ther-as the doom of mynos wolde it dighte; sin love and cruel fortune it ne wolde, that in this world he lenger liven sholde. 1190 thanne seyde he thus, fulfild of heigh desdayn, `o cruel iove, and thou, fortune adverse, this al and som, that falsly have ye slayn criseyde, and sin ye may do me no werse, fy on your might and werkes so diverse! 1195 thus cowardly ye shul me never winne; ther shal no deeth me fro my lady twinne. `for i this world, sin ye han slayn hir thus, wol lete, and folowe hir spirit lowe or hye; shal never lover seyn that troilus 1200 dar not, for fere, with his lady dye; for certeyn, i wol bere hir companye. but sin ye wol not suffre us liven here, yet suffreth that our soules ben y-fere. `and thou, citee, whiche that i leve in wo, 1205 and thou, pryam, and bretheren al y-fere, and thou, my moder, farwel! for i go; and attropos, make redy thou my bere! and thou, criseyde, o swete herte dere, receyve now my spirit!' wolde he seye, 1210 with swerd at herte, al redy for to deye but as god wolde, of swough ther-with she abreyde, and gan to syke, and `troilus' she cryde; and he answerde, `lady myn criseyde, live ye yet?' and leet his swerd doun glyde. 1215 `ye, herte myn, that thanked be cupyde!' quod she, and ther-with-al she sore sighte; and he bigan to glade hir as he mighte; took hir in armes two, and kiste hir ofte, and hir to glade he dide al his entente; 1220 for which hir goost, that flikered ay on-lofte, in-to hir woful herte ayein it wente. but at the laste, as that hir eyen glente a-syde, anoon she gan his swerd aspye, as it lay bare, and gan for fere crye, 1225 and asked him, why he it hadde out-drawe? and troilus anoon the cause hir tolde, and how himself ther-with he wolde have slawe. for which criseyde up-on him gan biholde, and gan him in hir armes faste folde, 1230 and seyde, `o mercy, god, lo, which a dede! allas! how neigh we were bothe dede! `thanne if i ne hadde spoken, as grace was, ye wolde han slayn your-self anoon?' quod she. `ye, douteless;' and she answerde, `allas! 1235 for, by that ilke lord that made me, i nolde a forlong wey on-lyve han be, after your deeth, to han been crouned quene of al the lond the sonne on shyneth shene. `but with this selve swerd, which that here is, 1240 my-selve i wolde han slayn!' -quod she tho; `but ho, for we han right y-now of this, and late us ryse and streight to bedde go and there lat ys speken of oure wo. for, by the morter which that i see brenne, 1245 knowe i ful wel that day is not fer henne.' whan they were in hir bedde, in armes folde, nought was it lyk tho nightes here-biforn; for pitously ech other gan biholde, as they that hadden al hir blisse y-lorn, 1250 biwaylinge ay the day that they were born. til at the last this sorwful wight criseyde to troilus these ilke wordes seyde: - `lo, herte myn, wel wot ye this,' quod she, `that if a wight alwey his wo compleyne, 1255 and seketh nought how holpen for to be, it nis but folye and encrees of peyne; and sin that here assembled be we tweyne to finde bote of wo that we ben inne, it were al tyme sone to biginne. 1260 `i am a womman, as ful wel ye woot, and as i am avysed sodeynly, so wol i telle yow, whyl it is hoot. me thinketh thus, that nouther ye nor i oughte half this wo to make skilfully. 1265 for there is art y-now for to redresse that yet is mis, and sleen this hevinesse. `sooth is, the wo, the whiche that we ben inne, for ought i woot, for no-thing elles is but for the cause that we sholden twinne. 1270 considered al, ther nis no-more amis. but what is thanne a remede un-to this, but that we shape us sone for to mete? this al and som, my dere herte swete. `now that i shal wel bringen it aboute 1275 to come ayein, sone after that i go, ther-of am i no maner thing in doute. for dredeles, with-inne a wouke or two, i shal ben here; and, that it may be so by alle right, and in a wordes fewe, 1280 i shal yow wel an heep of weyes shewe. `for which i wol not make long sermoun, for tyme y-lost may not recovered be; but i wol gon to my conclusioun, and to the beste, in ought that i can see. 1285 and, for the love of god, for-yeve it me if i speke ought ayein your hertes reste; for trewely, i speke it for the beste; `makinge alwey a protestacioun, that now these wordes, whiche that i shal seye, 1290 nis but to shewe yow my mocioun, to finde un-to our helpe the beste weye; and taketh it non other wyse, i preye. for in effect what-so ye me comaunde, that wol i doon, for that is no demaunde. 1295 `now herkneth this, ye han wel understonde, my goinge graunted is by parlement so ferforth, that it may not be with-stonde for al this world, as by my iugement. and sin ther helpeth noon avysement 1300 to letten it, lat it passe out of minde; and lat us shape a bettre wey to finde. `the sothe is, that the twinninge of us tweyne wol us disese and cruelliche anoye. but him bihoveth som-tyme han a peyne, 1305 that serveth love, if that he wol have ioye. and sin i shal no ferthere out of troye than i may ryde ayein on half a morwe, it oughte lesse causen us to sorwe. `so as i shal not so ben hid in muwe, 1310 that day by day, myn owene herte dere, sin wel ye woot that it is now a trewe, ye shal ful wel al myn estat y-here. and er that truwe is doon, i shal ben here, and thanne have ye bothe antenor y-wonne 1315 and me also; beth glad now, if ye conne; `and thenk right thus, "criseyde is now agoon, but what! she shal come hastely ayeyn;" and whanne, allas? by god, lo, right anoon, er dayes ten, this dar i saufly seyn. 1320 and thanne at erste shul we been so fayn, so as we shulle to-gederes ever dwelle, that al this world ne mighte our blisse telle. `i see that ofte, ther-as we ben now, that for the beste, our counseil for to hyde, 1325 ye speke not with me, nor i with yow in fourtenight; ne see yow go ne ryde. may ye not ten dayes thanne abyde, for myn honour, in swich an aventure? y-wis, ye mowen elles lite endure! 1330 `ye knowe eek how that al my kin is here, but-if that onliche it my fader be; and eek myn othere thinges alle y-fere, and nameliche, my dere herte, ye, whom that i nolde leven for to see 1335 for al this world, as wyd as it hath space; or elles, see ich never ioves face! `why trowe ye my fader in this wyse coveiteth so to see me, but for drede lest in this toun that folkes me dispyse 1340 by-cause of him, for his unhappy dede? what woot my fader what lyf that i lede? for if he wiste in troye how wel i fare, us neded for my wending nought to care. `ye seen that every day eek, more and more, 1345 men trete of pees; and it supposed is, that men the quene eleyne shal restore, and grekes us restore that is mis. so though ther nere comfort noon but this, that men purposen pees on every syde, 1350 ye may the bettre at ese of herte abyde. `for if that it be pees, myn herte dere, the nature of the pees mot nedes dryve that men moste entrecomunen y-fere, and to and fro eek ryde and gon as blyve 1355 alday as thikke as been flen from an hyve; and every wight han libertee to bleve where-as him list the bet, with-outen leve. `and though so be that pees ther may be noon, yet hider, though ther never pees ne were, 1360 i moste come; for whider sholde i goon, or how mischaunce sholde i dwelle there among tho men of armes ever in fere? for which, as wisly god my soule rede, i can not seen wher-of ye sholden drede. 1365 `have here another wey, if it so be that al this thing ne may yow not suffyse. my fader, as ye knowen wel, pardee, is old, and elde is ful of coveityse, and i right now have founden al the gyse, 1370 with-oute net, wher-with i shal him hente; and herkeneth how, if that ye wole assente. `lo, troilus, men seyn that hard it is the wolf ful, and the wether hool to have; this is to seyn, that men ful ofte, y-wis, 1375 mot spenden part, the remenant for to save. for ay with gold men may the herte grave of him that set is up-on coveityse; and how i mene, i shal it yow devyse. `the moeble which that i have in this toun 1380 un-to my fader shal i take, and seye, that right for trust and for savacioun it sent is from a freend of his or tweye, the whiche freendes ferventliche him preye to senden after more, and that in hye, 1385 whyl that this toun stant thus in iupartye. `and that shal been an huge quantitee, thus shal i seyn, but, lest it folk aspyde, this may be sent by no wight but by me; i shal eek shewen him, if pees bityde, 1390 what frendes that ich have on every syde toward the court, to doon the wrathe pace of priamus, and doon him stonde in grace. `so what for o thing and for other, swete, i shal him so enchaunten with my sawes, 1395 that right in hevene his sowle is, shal he mete! for al appollo, or his clerkes lawes, or calculinge avayleth nought three hawes; desyr of gold shal so his sowle blende, that, as me lyst, i shal wel make an ende. 1400 `and if he wolde ought by his sort it preve if that i lye, in certayn i shal fonde distorben him, and plukke him by the sleve, makinge his sort, and beren him on honde, he hath not wel the goddes understonde. 1405 for goddes speken in amphibologyes, and, for o sooth they tellen twenty lyes. `eek drede fond first goddes, i suppose, thus shal i seyn, and that his cowarde herte made him amis the goddes text to glose, 1410 whan he for ferde out of his delphos sterte. and but i make him sone to converte, and doon my reed with-inne a day or tweye, i wol to yow oblige me to deye.' and treweliche, as writen wel i finde, 1415 that al this thing was seyd of good entente; and that hir herte trewe was and kinde towardes him, and spak right as she mente, and that she starf for wo neigh, whan she wente, and was in purpos ever to be trewe; 1420 thus writen they that of hir werkes knewe. this troilus, with herte and eres spradde, herde al this thing devysen to and fro; and verraylich him semed that he hadde the selve wit; but yet to lete hir go 1425 his herte misforyaf him ever-mo. but fynally, he gan his herte wreste to trusten hir, and took it for the beste. for which the grete furie of his penaunce was queynt with hope, and ther-with hem bitwene 1430 bigan for ioye the amorouse daunce. and as the briddes, whan the sonne is shene, delyten in hir song in leves grene, right so the wordes that they spake y-fere delyted hem, and made hir hertes clere. 1435 but natheles, the wending of criseyde, for al this world, may nought out of his minde; for which ful ofte he pitously hir preyde, that of hir heste he might hir trewe finde, and seyde hire, `certes, if ye be unkinde, 1440 and but ye come at day set in-to troye, ne shal i never have hele, honour, ne ioye. `for al-so sooth as sonne up-rist on morwe, and, god! so wisly thou me, woful wrecche, to reste bringe out of this cruel sorwe, 1445 i wol my-selven slee if that ye drecche. but of my deeth though litel be to recche, yet, er that ye me cause so to smerte, dwel rather here, myn owene swete herte! `for trewely, myn owene lady dere, 1450 tho sleightes yet that i have herd yow stere ful shaply been to failen alle y-fere. for thus men seyn, "that oon thenketh the bere, but al another thenketh his ledere." your sire is wys, and seyd is, out of drede, 1455 "men may the wyse at-renne, and not at-rede." `it is ful hard to halten unespyed bifore a crepul, for he can the craft; your fader is in sleighte as argus yed; for al be that his moeble is him biraft, 1460 his olde sleighte is yet so with him laft, ye shal not blende him for your womanhede, ne feyne a-right, and that is al my drede. `i noot if pees shal ever-mo bityde; but, pees or no, for ernest ne for game, 1465 i woot, sin calkas on the grekis syde hath ones been, and lost so foule his name, he dar no more come here ayein for shame; for which that weye, for ought i can espye, to trusten on, nis but a fantasye. 1470 `ye shal eek seen, your fader shal yow glose to been a wyf, and as he can wel preche, he shal som grek so preyse and wel alose, that ravisshen he shal yow with his speche, or do yow doon by force as he shal teche. 1475 and troilus, of whom ye nil han routhe, shal causeles so sterven in his trouthe! `and over al this, your fader shal despyse us alle, and seyn this citee nis but lorn; and that thassege never shal aryse, 1480 for-why the grekes han it alle sworn til we be slayn, and doun our walles torn. and thus he shal yow with his wordes fere, that ay drede i, that ye wol bleve there. `ye shul eek seen so many a lusty knight 1485 a-mong the grekes, ful of worthinesse, and eche of hem with herte, wit, and might to plesen yow don al his besinesse, that ye shul dullen of the rudenesse of us sely troianes, but-if routhe 1490 remorde yow, or vertue of your trouthe. `and this to me so grevous is to thinke, that fro my brest it wol my soule rende; ne dredeles, in me ther may not sinke a good opinioun, if that ye wende; 1495 for-why your faderes sleighte wol us shende. and if ye goon, as i have told yow yore, so thenk i nam but deed, with-oute more. `for which, with humble, trewe, and pitous herte, a thousand tymes mercy i yow preye; 1500 so reweth on myn aspre peynes smerte, and doth somwhat, as that i shal yow seye, and lat us stele away bitwixe us tweye; and thenk that folye is, whan man may chese, for accident his substaunce ay to lese. 1505 `i mene this, that sin we mowe er day wel stele away, and been to-gider so, what wit were it to putten in assay, in cas ye sholden to your fader go, if that ye mighte come ayein or no? 1510 thus mene i, that it were a gret folye to putte that sikernesse in iupertye. `and vulgarly to speken of substaunce of tresour, may we bothe with us lede y-nough to live in honour and plesaunce, 1515 til in-to tyme that we shal ben dede; and thus we may eschewen al this drede. for everich other wey ye can recorde, myn herte, y-wis, may not ther-with acorde. `and hardily, ne dredeth no poverte, 1520 for i have kin and freendes elles-where that, though we comen in oure bare sherte, us sholde neither lakke gold ne gere, but been honured whyl we dwelten there. and go we anoon, for, as in myn entente, 1525 this is the beste, if that ye wole assente.' criseyde, with a syk, right in this wyse answerde, `y-wis, my dere herte trewe, we may wel stele away, as ye devyse, and finde swich unthrifty weyes newe; 1530 but afterward, ful sore it wol us rewe. and help me god so at my moste nede as causeles ye suffren al this drede! `for thilke day that i for cherisshinge or drede of fader, or of other wight, 1535 or for estat, delyt, or for weddinge, be fals to yow, my troilus, my knight, saturnes doughter, iuno, thorugh hir might, as wood as athamante do me dwelle eternaly in stix, the put of helle! 1540 `and this on every god celestial i swere it yow; and eek on eche goddesse, on every nymphe and deite infernal, on satiry and fauny more and lesse, that halve goddes been of wildernesse; 1545 and attropos my threed of lyf to-breste if i be fals; now trowe me if thow leste! `and thou, simoys, that as an arwe clere thorugh troye rennest ay downward to the see, ber witnesse of this word that seyd is here, 1550 that thilke day that ich untrewe be to troilus, myn owene herte free, that thou retorne bakwarde to thy welle, and i with body and soule sinke in helle! `but that ye speke, awey thus for to go 1555 and leten alle your freendes, god for-bede, for any womman, that ye sholden so, and namely, sin troye hath now swich nede of help; and eek of o thing taketh hede, if this were wist, my lif laye in balaunce, 1560 and your honour; god shilde us fro mischaunce! `and if so be that pees her-after take, as alday happeth, after anger, game, why, lord! the sorwe and wo ye wolden make, that ye ne dorste come ayein for shame! 1565 and er that ye iuparten so your name, beth nought to hasty in this hote fare; for hasty man ne wanteth never care. `what trowe ye the peple eek al aboute wolde of it seye? it is ful light to arede. 1570 they wolden seye, and swere it, out of doute, that love ne droof yow nought to doon this dede, but lust voluptuous and coward drede. thus were al lost, y-wis, myn herte dere, your honour, which that now shyneth so clere. 1575 `and also thenketh on myn honestee, that floureth yet, how foule i sholde it shende, and with what filthe it spotted sholde be, if in this forme i sholde with yow wende. ne though i livede un-to the worldes ende, 1580 my name sholde i never ayeinward winne; thus were i lost, and that were routhe and sinne. `and for-thy slee with reson al this hete; men seyn, "the suffraunt overcometh," pardee; eek "who-so wol han leef, he lief mot lete;" 1585 thus maketh vertue of necessitee by pacience, and thenk that lord is he of fortune ay, that nought wol of hir recche; and she ne daunteth no wight but a wrecche. `and trusteth this, that certes, herte swete, 1590 er phebus suster, lucina the shene, the leoun passe out of this ariete, i wol ben here, with-outen any wene. i mene, as helpe me iuno, hevenes quene, the tenthe day, but-if that deeth me assayle, 1595 i wol yow seen with-outen any fayle.' `and now, so this be sooth,' quod troilus, `i shal wel suffre un-to the tenthe day, sin that i see that nede it moot be thus. but, for the love of god, if it be may, 1600 so lat us stele prively away; for ever in oon, as for to live in reste, myn herte seyth that it wol been the beste.' `o mercy, god, what lyf is this?' quod she; `allas, ye slee me thus for verray tene! 1605 i see wel now that ye mistrusten me; for by your wordes it is wel y-sene. now, for the love of cynthia the shene, mistrust me not thus causeles, for routhe; sin to be trewe i have yow plight my trouthe. 1610 `and thenketh wel, that som tyme it is wit to spende a tyme, a tyme for to winne; ne, pardee, lorn am i nought fro yow yit, though that we been a day or two a-twinne. dryf out the fantasyes yow with-inne; 1615 and trusteth me, and leveth eek your sorwe, or here my trouthe, i wol not live til morwe. `for if ye wiste how sore it doth me smerte, ye wolde cesse of this; for god, thou wost, the pure spirit wepeth in myn herte, 1620 to see yow wepen that i love most, and that i moot gon to the grekes ost. ye, nere it that i wiste remedye to come ayein, right here i wolde dye! `but certes, i am not so nyce a wight 1625 that i ne can imaginen a wey to come ayein that day that i have hight. for who may holde thing that wol a-way? my fader nought, for al his queynte pley. and by my thrift, my wending out of troye 1630 another day shal torne us alle to ioye. `for-thy, with al myn herte i yow beseke, if that yow list don ought for my preyere, and for the love which that i love yow eke, that er that i departe fro yow here, 1635 that of so good a comfort and a chere i may you seen, that ye may bringe at reste myn herte, which that is at point to breste. `and over al this i pray yow,' quod she tho, `myn owene hertes soothfast suffisaunce, 1640 sin i am thyn al hool, with-outen mo, that whyl that i am absent, no plesaunce of othere do me fro your remembraunce. for i am ever a-gast, for-why men rede, that "love is thing ay ful of bisy drede." 1645 `for in this world ther liveth lady noon, if that ye were untrewe, as god defende! that so bitraysed were or wo bigoon as i, that alle trouthe in yow entende. and douteles, if that ich other wende, 1650 i nere but deed; and er ye cause finde, for goddes love, so beth me not unkinde.' to this answerde troilus and seyde, `now god, to whom ther nis no cause y-wrye, me glade, as wis i never un-to criseyde, 1655 sin thilke day i saw hir first with ye, was fals, ne never shal til that i dye. at shorte wordes, wel ye may me leve; i can no more, it shal be founde at preve.' `graunt mercy, goode myn, y-wis,' quod she, 1660 `and blisful venus lat me never sterve er i may stonde of plesaunce in degree to quyte him wel, that so wel can deserve; and whyl that god my wit wol me conserve, i shal so doon, so trewe i have yow founde, 1665 that ay honour to me-ward shal rebounde. `for trusteth wel, that your estat royal ne veyn delyt, nor only worthinesse of yow in werre, or torney marcial, ne pompe, array, nobley, or eek richesse, 1670 ne made me to rewe on your distresse; but moral vertue, grounded upon trouthe, that was the cause i first hadde on yow routhe! `eek gentil herte and manhod that ye hadde, and that ye hadde, as me thoughte, in despyt 1675 every thing that souned in-to badde, as rudenesse and poeplish appetyt; and that your reson brydled your delyt, this made, aboven every creature, that i was your, and shal, whyl i may dure. 1680 `and this may lengthe of yeres not for-do, ne remuable fortune deface; but iuppiter, that of his might may do the sorwful to be glad, so yeve us grace, er nightes ten, to meten in this place, 1685 so that it may your herte and myn suffyse; and fareth now wel, for tyme is that ye ryse.' and after that they longe y-pleyned hadde, and ofte y-kist, and streite in armes folde, the day gan ryse, and troilus him cladde, 1690 and rewfulliche his lady gan biholde, as he that felte dethes cares colde, and to hir grace he gan him recomaunde; wher him was wo, this holde i no demaunde. for mannes heed imaginen ne can, 1695 ne entendement considere, ne tonge telle the cruel peynes of this sorwful man, that passen every torment doun in helle. for whan he saugh that she ne mighte dwelle, which that his soule out of his herte rente, 1700 with-outen more, out of the chaumbre he wente. explicit liber quartus. book v. incipit liber quintus. aprochen gan the fatal destinee that ioves hath in disposicioun, and to yow, angry parcas, sustren three, committeth, to don execucioun; for which criseyde moste out of the toun, 5 and troilus shal dwelle forth in pyne til lachesis his threed no lenger twyne. - the golden-tressed phebus heighe on-lofte thryes hadde alle with his bemes shene the snowes molte, and zephirus as ofte 10 y-brought ayein the tendre leves grene, sin that the sone of ecuba the quene bigan to love hir first, for whom his sorwe was al, that she departe sholde a-morwe. ful redy was at pryme dyomede, 15 criseyde un-to the grekes ost to lede, for sorwe of which she felt hir herte blede, as she that niste what was best to rede. and trewely, as men in bokes rede, men wiste never womman han the care, 20 ne was so looth out of a toun to fare. this troilus, with-outen reed or lore, as man that hath his ioyes eek forlore, was waytinge on his lady ever-more as she that was the soothfast crop and more 25 of al his lust, or ioyes here-tofore. but troilus, now farewel al thy ioye, for shaltow never seen hir eft in troye! soth is, that whyl he bood in this manere, he gan his wo ful manly for to hyde. 30 that wel unnethe it seen was in his chere; but at the yate ther she sholde oute ryde with certeyn folk, he hoved hir tabyde, so wo bigoon, al wolde he nought him pleyne, that on his hors unnethe he sat for peyne. 35 for ire he quook, so gan his herte gnawe, whan diomede on horse gan him dresse, and seyde un-to him-self this ilke sawe, `allas,' quod he, `thus foul a wrecchednesse why suffre ich it, why nil ich it redresse? 40 were it not bet at ones for to dye than ever-more in langour thus to drye? `why nil i make at ones riche and pore to have y-nough to done, er that she go? why nil i bringe al troye upon a rore? 45 why nil i sleen this diomede also? why nil i rather with a man or two stele hir a-way? why wol i this endure? why nil i helpen to myn owene cure?' but why he nolde doon so fel a dede, 50 that shal i seyn, and why him liste it spare; he hadde in herte alweyes a maner drede, lest that criseyde, in rumour of this fare, sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care. and ellis, certeyn, as i seyde yore, 55 he hadde it doon, with-outen wordes more. criseyde, whan she redy was to ryde, ful sorwfully she sighte, and seyde `allas!' but forth she moot, for ought that may bityde, and forth she rit ful sorwfully a pas. 60 ther nis non other remedie in this cas. what wonder is though that hir sore smerte, whan she forgoth hir owene swete herte? this troilus, in wyse of curteisye, with hauke on hond, and with an huge route 65 of knightes, rood and dide hir companye, passinge al the valey fer with-oute, and ferther wolde han riden, out of doute, ful fayn, and wo was him to goon so sone; but torne he moste, and it was eek to done. 70 and right with that was antenor y-come out of the grekes ost, and every wight was of it glad, and seyde he was wel-come. and troilus, al nere his herte light, he peyned him with al his fulle might 75 him to with-holde of wepinge at the leste, and antenor he kiste, and made feste. and ther-with-al he moste his leve take, and caste his eye upon hir pitously, and neer he rood, his cause for to make, 80 to take hir by the honde al sobrely. and lord! so she gan wepen tendrely! and he ful softe and sleighly gan hir seye, `now hold your day, and dooth me not to deye.' with that his courser torned he a-boute 85 with face pale, and un-to diomede no word he spak, ne noon of al his route; of which the sone of tydeus took hede, as he that coude more than the crede in swich a craft, and by the reyne hir hente; 90 and troilus to troye homwarde he wente. this diomede, that ladde hir by the brydel, whan that he saw the folk of troye aweye, thoughte, `al my labour shal not been on ydel, if that i may, for somwhat shal i seye, 95 for at the worste it may yet shorte our weye. i have herd seyd, eek tymes twyes twelve, "he is a fool that wol for-yete him-selve."' but natheles this thoughte he wel ynough, `that certaynly i am aboute nought, 100 if that i speke of love, or make it tough; for douteles, if she have in hir thought him that i gesse, he may not been y-brought so sone awey; but i shal finde a mene, that she not wite as yet shal what i mene.' 105 this diomede, as he that coude his good, whan this was doon, gan fallen forth in speche of this and that, and asked why she stood in swich disese, and gan hir eek biseche, that if that he encrese mighte or eche 110 with any thing hir ese, that she sholde comaunde it him, and seyde he doon it wolde. for trewely he swoor hir, as a knight, that ther nas thing with whiche he mighte hir plese, that he nolde doon his peyne and al his might 115 to doon it, for to doon hir herte an ese. and preyede hir, she wolde hir sorwe apese, and seyde, `y-wis, we grekes con have ioye to honouren yow, as wel as folk of troye.' he seyde eek thus, `i woot, yow thinketh straunge, 120 no wonder is, for it is to yow newe, thaqueintaunce of these troianis to chaunge, for folk of grece, that ye never knewe. but wolde never god but-if as trewe a greek ye shulde among us alle finde 125 as any troian is, and eek as kinde. `and by the cause i swoor yow right, lo, now, to been your freend, and helply, to my might, and for that more aqueintaunce eek of yow have ich had than another straunger wight, 130 so fro this forth, i pray yow, day and night, comaundeth me, how sore that me smerte, to doon al that may lyke un-to your herte; `and that ye me wolde as your brother trete, and taketh not my frendship in despyt; 135 and though your sorwes be for thinges grete, noot i not why, but out of more respyt, myn herte hath for to amende it greet delyt. and if i may your harmes not redresse, i am right sory for your hevinesse, 140 `and though ye troians with us grekes wrothe han many a day be, alwey yet, pardee, o god of love in sooth we serven bothe. and, for the love of god, my lady free, whom so ye hate, as beth not wroth with me. 145 for trewely, ther can no wight yow serve, that half so looth your wraththe wolde deserve. `and nere it that we been so neigh the tente of calkas, which that seen us bothe may, i wolde of this yow telle al myn entente; 150 but this enseled til another day. yeve me your hond, i am, and shal ben ay, god help me so, whyl that my lyf may dure, your owene aboven every creature. `thus seyde i never er now to womman born; 155 for god myn herte as wisly glade so, i lovede never womman here-biforn as paramours, ne never shal no mo. and, for the love of god, beth not my fo; al can i not to yow, my lady dere, 160 compleyne aright, for i am yet to lere. `and wondreth not, myn owene lady bright, though that i speke of love to you thus blyve; for i have herd or this of many a wight, hath loved thing he never saugh his lyve. 165 eek i am not of power for to stryve ayens the god of love, but him obeye i wol alwey, and mercy i yow preye. `ther been so worthy knightes in this place, and ye so fair, that everich of hem alle 170 wol peynen him to stonden in your grace. but mighte me so fair a grace falle, that ye me for your servaunt wolde calle, so lowly ne so trewely you serve nil noon of hem, as i shal, til i sterve.' 175 criseide un-to that purpos lyte answerde, as she that was with sorwe oppressed so that, in effect, she nought his tales herde, but here and there, now here a word or two. hir thoughte hir sorwful herte brast a-two. 180 for whan she gan hir fader fer aspye, wel neigh doun of hir hors she gan to sye. but natheles she thonked diomede of al his travaile, and his goode chere, and that him liste his friendship hir to bede; 185 and she accepteth it in good manere, and wolde do fayn that is him leef and dere; and trusten him she wolde, and wel she mighte, as seyde she, and from hir hors she alighte. hir fader hath hir in his armes nome, 190 and tweynty tyme he kiste his doughter swete, and seyde, `o dere doughter myn, wel-come!' she seyde eek, she was fayn with him to mete, and stood forth mewet, milde, and mansuete. but here i leve hir with hir fader dwelle, 195 and forth i wol of troilus yow telle. to troye is come this woful troilus, in sorwe aboven alle sorwes smerte, with felon look, and face dispitous. tho sodeinly doun from his hors he sterte, 200 and thorugh his paleys, with a swollen herte, to chambre he wente; of no-thing took he hede, ne noon to him dar speke a word for drede. and there his sorwes that he spared hadde he yaf an issue large, and `deeth!' he cryde; 205 and in his throwes frenetyk and madde he cursed iove, appollo, and eek cupyde, he cursed ceres, bacus, and cipryde, his burthe, him-self, his fate, and eek nature, and, save his lady, every creature. 210 to bedde he goth, and weyleth there and torneth in furie, as dooth he, ixion in helle; and in this wyse he neigh til day soiorneth. but tho bigan his herte a lyte unswelle thorugh teres which that gonnen up to welle; 215 and pitously he cryde up-on criseyde, and to him-self right thus he spak, and seyde: - `wher is myn owene lady lief and dere, wher is hir whyte brest, wher is it, where? wher ben hir armes and hir eyen clere, 220 that yesternight this tyme with me were? now may i wepe allone many a tere, and graspe aboute i may, but in this place, save a pilowe, i finde nought tenbrace. `how shal i do? whan shal she com ayeyn? 225 i noot, allas! why leet ich hir to go? as wolde god, ich hadde as tho be sleyn! o herte myn, criseyde, o swete fo! o lady myn, that i love and no mo! to whom for ever-mo myn herte i dowe; 230 see how i deye, ye nil me not rescowe! `who seeth yow now, my righte lode-sterre? who sit right now or stant in your presence? who can conforten now your hertes werre? now i am gon, whom yeve ye audience? 235 who speketh for me right now in myn absence? allas, no wight; and that is al my care; for wel wot i, as yvel as i ye fare. `how sholde i thus ten dayes ful endure, whan i the firste night have al this tene? 240 how shal she doon eek, sorwful creature? for tendernesse, how shal she this sustene, swich wo for me? o pitous, pale, and grene shal been your fresshe wommanliche face for langour, er ye torne un-to this place.' 245 and whan he fil in any slomeringes, anoon biginne he sholde for to grone, and dremen of the dredfulleste thinges that mighte been; as, mete he were allone in place horrible, makinge ay his mone, 250 or meten that he was amonges alle his enemys, and in hir hondes falle. and ther-with-al his body sholde sterte, and with the stert al sodeinliche awake, and swich a tremour fele aboute his herte, 255 that of the feer his body sholde quake; and there-with-al he sholde a noyse make, and seme as though he sholde falle depe from heighe a-lofte; and than he wolde wepe, and rewen on him-self so pitously, 260 that wonder was to here his fantasye. another tyme he sholde mightily conforte him-self, and seyn it was folye, so causeles swich drede for to drye, and eft biginne his aspre sorwes newe, 265 that every man mighte on his sorwes rewe. who coude telle aright or ful discryve his wo, his pleynt, his langour, and his pyne? nought al the men that han or been on-lyve. thou, redere, mayst thy-self ful wel devyne 270 that swich a wo my wit can not defyne. on ydel for to wryte it sholde i swinke, whan that my wit is wery it to thinke. on hevene yet the sterres were sene, al-though ful pale y-waxen was the mone; 275 and whyten gan the orisonte shene al estward, as it woned is for to done. and phebus with his rosy carte sone gan after that to dresse him up to fare, whan troilus hath sent after pandare. 280 this pandare, that of al the day biforn ne mighte han comen troilus to see, al-though he on his heed it hadde y-sworn, for with the king pryam alday was he, so that it lay not in his libertee 285 no-wher to gon, but on the morwe he wente to troilus, whan that he for him sente. for in his herte he coude wel devyne, that troilus al night for sorwe wook; and that he wolde telle him of his pyne, 290 this knew he wel y-nough, with-oute book. for which to chaumbre streight the wey he took, and troilus tho sobreliche he grette, and on the bed ful sone he gan him sette. `my pandarus,' quod troilus, `the sorwe 295 which that i drye, i may not longe endure. i trowe i shal not liven til to-morwe; for whiche i wolde alwey, on aventure, to thee devysen of my sepulture the forme, and of my moeble thou dispone 300 right as thee semeth best is for to done. `but of the fyr and flaumbe funeral in whiche my body brenne shal to glede, and of the feste and pleyes palestral at my vigile, i prey thee tak good hede 305 that be wel; and offre mars my stede, my swerd, myn helm, and, leve brother dere, my sheld to pallas yef, that shyneth clere. `the poudre in which myn herte y-brend shal torne, that preye i thee thou take and it conserve 310 in a vessel, that men clepeth an urne, of gold, and to my lady that i serve, for love of whom thus pitously i sterve, so yeve it hir, and do me this plesaunce, to preye hir kepe it for a remembraunce. 315 `for wel i fele, by my maladye, and by my dremes now and yore ago, al certeinly, that i mot nedes dye. the owle eek, which that hight ascaphilo, hath after me shright alle thise nightes two. 320 and, god mercurie! of me now, woful wrecche, the soule gyde, and, whan thee list, it fecche!' pandare answerde, and seyde, `troilus, my dere freend, as i have told thee yore, that it is folye for to sorwen thus, 325 and causeles, for whiche i can no-more. but who-so wol not trowen reed ne lore, i can not seen in him no remedye, but lete him worthen with his fantasye. `but troilus, i pray thee tel me now, 330 if that thou trowe, er this, that any wight hath loved paramours as wel as thou? ye, god wot, and fro many a worthy knight hath his lady goon a fourtenight, and he not yet made halvendel the fare. 335 what nede is thee to maken al this care? `sin day by day thou mayst thy-selven see that from his love, or elles from his wyf, a man mot twinnen of necessitee, ye, though he love hir as his owene lyf; 340 yet nil he with him-self thus maken stryf. for wel thow wost, my leve brother dere, that alwey freendes may nought been y-fere. `how doon this folk that seen hir loves wedded by freendes might, as it bi-tit ful ofte, 345 and seen hem in hir spouses bed y-bedded? god woot, they take it wysly, faire and softe. for-why good hope halt up hir herte on-lofte, and for they can a tyme of sorwe endure; as tyme hem hurt, a tyme doth hem cure. 350 `so sholdestow endure, and late slyde the tyme, and fonde to ben glad and light. ten dayes nis so longe not tabyde. and sin she thee to comen hath bihight, she nil hir hestes breken for no wight. 355 for dred thee not that she nil finden weye to come ayein, my lyf that dorste i leye. `thy swevenes eek and al swich fantasye dryf out, and lat hem faren to mischaunce; for they procede of thy malencolye, 360 that doth thee fele in sleep al this penaunce. a straw for alle swevenes signifiaunce! god helpe me so, i counte hem not a bene, ther woot no man aright what dremes mene. `for prestes of the temple tellen this, 365 that dremes been the revelaciouns of goddes, and as wel they telle, y-wis, that they ben infernals illusiouns; and leches seyn, that of complexiouns proceden they, or fast, or glotonye. 370 who woot in sooth thus what they signifye? `eek othere seyn that thorugh impressiouns, as if a wight hath faste a thing in minde, that ther-of cometh swiche avisiouns; and othere seyn, as they in bokes finde, 375 that, after tymes of the yeer by kinde, men dreme, and that theffect goth by the mone; but leve no dreem, for it is nought to done. `wel worth of dremes ay thise olde wyves, and treweliche eek augurie of thise foules; 380 for fere of which men wenen lese her lyves, as ravenes qualm, or shryking of thise oules. to trowen on it bothe fals and foul is. allas, allas, so noble a creature as is a man, shal drede swich ordure! 385 `for which with al myn herte i thee beseche, un-to thy-self that al this thou foryive; and rys up now with-oute more speche, and lat us caste how forth may best be drive this tyme, and eek how freshly we may live 390 whan that she cometh, the which shal be right sone; god help me so, the beste is thus to done. `rys, lat us speke of lusty lyf in troye that we han lad, and forth the tyme dryve; and eek of tyme cominge us reioye, 395 that bringen shal our blisse now so blyve; and langour of these twyes dayes fyve we shal ther-with so foryete or oppresse, that wel unnethe it doon shal us duresse. `this toun is ful of lordes al aboute, 400 and trewes lasten al this mene whyle. go we pleye us in som lusty route to sarpedon, not hennes but a myle. and thus thou shalt the tyme wel bigyle, and dryve it forth un-to that blisful morwe, 405 that thou hir see, that cause is of thy sorwe. `now rys, my dere brother troilus; for certes, it noon honour is to thee to wepe, and in thy bedde to iouken thus. for trewely, of o thing trust to me, 410 if thou thus ligge a day, or two, or three, the folk wol wene that thou, for cowardyse, thee feynest syk, and that thou darst not ryse.' this troilus answerde, `o brother dere, this knowen folk that han y-suffred peyne, 415 that though he wepe and make sorwful chere, that feleth harm and smert in every veyne, no wonder is; and though i ever pleyne, or alwey wepe, i am no-thing to blame, sin i have lost the cause of al my game. 420 `but sin of fyne force i moot aryse, i shal aryse as sone as ever i may; and god, to whom myn herte i sacrifyse, so sende us hastely the tenthe day! for was ther never fowl so fayn of may, 425 as i shal been, whan that she cometh in troye, that cause is of my torment and my ioye. `but whider is thy reed,' quod troilus, `that we may pleye us best in al this toun?' `bi god, my conseil is,' quod pandarus, 430 `to ryde and pleye us with king sarpedoun.' so longe of this they speken up and doun, til troilus gan at the laste assente to ryse, and forth to sarpedoun they wente. this sarpedoun, as he that honourable 435 was ever his lyve, and ful of heigh prowesse, with al that mighte y-served been on table, that deyntee was, al coste it greet richesse, he fedde hem day by day, that swich noblesse, as seyden bothe the moste and eek the leste, 440 was never er that day wist at any feste. nor in this world ther is non instrument delicious, through wind, or touche, of corde, as fer as any wight hath ever y-went, that tonge telle or herte may recorde, 445 that at that feste it nas wel herd acorde; ne of ladies eek so fayr a companye on daunce, er tho, was never y-seyn with ye. but what avayleth this to troilus, that for his sorwe no-thing of it roughte? 450 for ever in oon his herte pietous ful bisily criseyde his lady soughte. on hir was ever al that his herte thoughte, now this, now that, so faste imagininge, that glade, y-wis, can him no festeyinge. 455 these ladies eek that at this feste been, sin that he saw his lady was a-weye, it was his sorwe upon hem for to seen, or for to here on instrumentz so pleye. for she, that of his herte berth the keye, 460 was absent, lo, this was his fantasye, that no wight sholde make melodye. nor ther nas houre in al the day or night, whan he was ther-as no wight mighte him here, that he ne seyde, `o lufsom lady bright, 465 how have ye faren, sin that ye were here? wel-come, y-wis, myn owene lady dere.' but welaway, al this nas but a mase; fortune his howve entended bet to glase. the lettres eek, that she of olde tyme 470 hadde him y-sent, he wolde allone rede, an hundred sythe, a-twixen noon and pryme; refiguringe hir shap, hir womanhede, with-inne his herte, and every word and dede that passed was, and thus he droof to an ende 475 the ferthe day, and seyde, he wolde wende. and seyde, `leve brother pandarus, intendestow that we shal here bleve til sarpedoun wol forth congeyen us? yet were it fairer that we toke our leve. 480 for goddes love, lat us now sone at eve our leve take, and homward lat us torne; for trewely, i nil not thus soiourne.' pandare answerde, `be we comen hider to fecchen fyr, and rennen hoom ayeyn? 485 god helpe me so, i can not tellen whider we mighten goon, if i shal soothly seyn, ther any wight is of us more fayn than sarpedoun; and if we hennes hye thus sodeinly, i holde it vilanye. 490 `sin that we seyden that we wolde bleve with him a wouke; and now, thus sodeinly, the ferthe day to take of him oure leve, he wolde wondren on it, trewely! lat us holde forth our purpos fermely; 495 and sin that ye bihighten him to byde, hold forward now, and after lat us ryde.' thus pandarus, with alle peyne and wo, made him to dwelle; and at the woukes ende, of sarpedoun they toke hir leve tho, 500 and on hir wey they spedden hem to wende. quod troilus, `now god me grace sende, that i may finden, at myn hom-cominge, criseyde comen!' and ther-with gan he singe. `ye, hasel-wode!' thoughte this pandare, 505 and to him-self ful softely he seyde, `god woot, refreyden may this hote fare, er calkas sende troilus criseyde!' but natheles, he iaped thus, and seyde, and swor, y-wis, his herte him wel bihighte, 510 she wolde come as sone as ever she mighte. whan they un-to the paleys were y-comen of troilus, they doun of hors alighte, and to the chambre hir wey than han they nomen. and in-to tyme that it gan to nighte, 515 they spaken of crysede the brighte. and after this, whan that hem bothe leste, they spedde hem fro the soper un-to reste. on morwe, as sone as day bigan to clere, this troilus gan of his sleep tabrayde, 520 and to pandare, his owene brother dere, `for love of god,' ful pitously he seyde, `as go we seen the paleys of criseyde; for sin we yet may have namore feste, so lat us seen hir paleys at the leste.' 525 and ther-with-al, his meyne for to blende, a cause he fond in toune for to go, and to criseydes hous they gonnen wende. but lord! this sely troilus was wo! him thoughte his sorweful herte braste a-two. 530 for whan he saugh hir dores sperred alle, wel neigh for sorwe a-doun he gan to falle. therwith, whan he was war and gan biholde how shet was every windowe of the place, as frost, him thoughte, his herte gan to colde; 535 for which with chaunged deedlich pale face, with-outen word, he forth bigan to pace; and, as god wolde, he gan so faste ryde, that no wight of his contenance aspyde. than seyde he thus; `o paleys desolat, 540 o hous, of houses whylom best y-hight, o paleys empty and disconsolat, o thou lanterne, of which queynt is the light, o paleys, whylom day, that now art night, wel oughtestow to falle, and i to dye, 545 sin she is went that wont was us to gye! `o paleys, whylom croune of houses alle, enlumined with sonne of alle blisse! o ring, fro which the ruby is out-falle, o cause of wo, that cause hast been of lisse! 550 yet, sin i may no bet, fayn wolde i kisse thy colde dores, dorste i for this route; and fare-wel shryne, of which the seynt is oute!' ther-with he caste on pandarus his ye with chaunged face, and pitous to biholde; 555 and whan he mighte his tyme aright aspye, ay as he rood, to pandarus he tolde his newe sorwe, and eek his ioyes olde, so pitously and with so dede an hewe, that every wight mighte on his sorwe rewe. 560 fro thennesforth he rydeth up and doun, and every thing com him to remembraunce as he rood forbi places of the toun in whiche he whylom hadde al his plesaunce. `lo, yond saugh i myn owene lady daunce; 565 and in that temple, with hir eyen clere, me coughte first my righte lady dere. `and yonder have i herd ful lustily my dere herte laugh, and yonder pleye saugh i hir ones eek ful blisfully. 570 and yonder ones to me gan she seye, "now goode swete, love me wel, i preye." and yond so goodly gan she me biholde, that to the deeth myn herte is to hir holde. `and at that corner, in the yonder hous, 575 herde i myn alderlevest lady dere so wommanly, with voys melodious, singen so wel, so goodly, and so clere, that in my soule yet me thinketh i here the blisful soun; and, in that yonder place, 580 my lady first me took un-to hir grace.' thanne thoughte he thus, `o blisful lord cupyde, whanne i the proces have in my memorie, how thou me hast wereyed on every syde, men might a book make of it, lyk a storie. 585 what nede is thee to seke on me victorie, sin i am thyn, and hoolly at thy wille? what ioye hastow thyn owene folk to spille? `wel hastow, lord, y-wroke on me thyn ire, thou mighty god, and dredful for to greve! 590 now mercy, lord, thou wost wel i desire thy grace most, of alle lustes leve, and live and deye i wol in thy bileve, for which i naxe in guerdon but a bone, that thou criseyde ayein me sende sone. 595 `distreyne hir herte as faste to retorne as thou dost myn to longen hir to see; than woot i wel, that she nil nought soiorne. now, blisful lord, so cruel thou ne be un-to the blood of troye, i preye thee, 600 as iuno was un-to the blood thebane, for which the folk of thebes caughte hir bane.' and after this he to the yates wente ther-as criseyde out-rood a ful good paas, and up and doun ther made he many a wente, 605 and to him-self ful ofte he seyde `allas! from hennes rood my blisse and my solas! as wolde blisful god now, for his ioye, i mighte hir seen ayein come in-to troye! `and to the yonder hille i gan hir gyde, 610 allas! and there i took of hir my leve! and yond i saugh hir to hir fader ryde, for sorwe of which myn herte shal to-cleve. and hider hoom i com whan it was eve; and here i dwelle out-cast from alle ioye, 615 and shal, til i may seen hir eft in troye.' and of him-self imagened he ofte to ben defet, and pale, and waxen lesse than he was wont, and that men seyden softe, `what may it be? who can the sothe gesse 620 why troilus hath al this hevinesse?' and al this nas but his malencolye, that he hadde of him-self swich fantasye. another tyme imaginen he wolde that every wight that wente by the weye 625 had of him routhe, and that they seyen sholde, `i am right sory troilus wole deye.' and thus he droof a day yet forth or tweye. as ye have herd, swich lyf right gan he lede, as he that stood bitwixen hope and drede. 630 for which him lyked in his songes shewe thencheson of his wo, as he best mighte, and made a song of wordes but a fewe, somwhat his woful herte for to lighte. and whan he was from every mannes sighte, 635 with softe voys he, of his lady dere, that was absent, gan singe as ye may here. `o sterre, of which i lost have al the light, with herte soor wel oughte i to bewayle, that ever derk in torment, night by night, 640 toward my deeth with wind in stere i sayle; for which the tenthe night if that i fayle the gyding of thy bemes brighte an houre, my ship and me caribdis wole devoure.' this song whan he thus songen hadde, sone 645 he fil ayein in-to his sykes olde; and every night, as was his wone to done, he stood the brighte mone to beholde, and al his sorwe he to the mone tolde; and seyde, `y-wis, whan thou art horned newe, 650 i shal be glad, if al the world be trewe! `i saugh thyn hornes olde eek by the morwe, whan hennes rood my righte lady dere, that cause is of my torment and my sorwe; for whiche, o brighte lucina the clere, 655 for love of god, ren faste aboute thy spere! for whan thyn hornes newe ginne springe, than shal she come, that may my blisse bringe!' the day is more, and lenger every night, than they be wont to be, him thoughte tho; 660 and that the sonne wente his course unright by lenger wey than it was wont to go; and seyde, `y-wis, me dredeth ever-mo, the sonnes sone, pheton, be on-lyve, and that his fadres cart amis he dryve.' 665 upon the walles faste eek wolde he walke, and on the grekes ost he wolde see, and to him-self right thus he wolde talke, `lo, yonder is myn owene lady free, or elles yonder, ther tho tentes be! 670 and thennes comth this eyr, that is so sote, that in my soule i fele it doth me bote. `and hardely this wind, that more and more thus stoundemele encreseth in my face, is of my ladyes depe sykes sore. 675 i preve it thus, for in non othere place of al this toun, save onliche in this space, fele i no wind that souneth so lyk peyne; it seyth, "allas! why twinned be we tweyne?"' this longe tyme he dryveth forth right thus, 680 til fully passed was the nynthe night; and ay bi-syde him was this pandarus, that bisily dide alle his fulle might him to comforte, and make his herte light; yevinge him hope alwey, the tenthe morwe 685 that she shal come, and stinten al his sorwe. up-on that other syde eek was criseyde, with wommen fewe, among the grekes stronge; for which ful ofte a day `allas,' she seyde, `that i was born! wel may myn herte longe 690 after my deeth; for now live i to longe! allas! and i ne may it not amende; for now is wors than ever yet i wende. `my fader nil for no-thing do me grace to goon ayein, for nought i can him queme; 695 and if so be that i my terme passe, my troilus shal in his herte deme that i am fals, and so it may wel seme. thus shal i have unthank on every syde; that i was born, so weylaway the tyde! 700 `and if that i me putte in iupartye, to stele awey by nighte, and it bifalle that i be caught, i shal be holde a spye; or elles, lo, this drede i most of alle, if in the hondes of som wrecche i falle, 705 i am but lost, al be myn herte trewe; now mighty god, thou on my sorwe rewe!' ful pale y-waxen was hir brighte face, hir limes lene, as she that al the day stood whan she dorste, and loked on the place 710 ther she was born, and ther she dwelt hadde ay. and al the night wepinge, allas! she lay. and thus despeired, out of alle cure, she ladde hir lyf, this woful creature. ful ofte a day she sighte eek for destresse, 715 and in hir-self she wente ay portrayinge of troilus the grete worthinesse, and alle his goodly wordes recordinge sin first that day hir love bigan to springe. and thus she sette hir woful herte a-fyre 720 through remembraunce of that she gan desyre. in al this world ther nis so cruel herte that hir hadde herd compleynen in hir sorwe, that nolde han wopen for hir peynes smerte, so tendrely she weep, bothe eve and morwe. 725 hir nedede no teres for to borwe. and this was yet the worste of al hir peyne, ther was no wight to whom she dorste hir pleyne. ful rewfully she loked up-on troye, biheld the toures heighe and eek the halles; 730 `allas!' quod she, `the plesaunce and the ioye the whiche that now al torned in-to galle is, have i had ofte with-inne yonder walles! o troilus, what dostow now,' she seyde; `lord! whether yet thou thenke up-on criseyde? 735 `allas! i ne hadde trowed on your lore, and went with yow, as ye me radde er this! thanne hadde i now not syked half so sore. who mighte han seyd, that i had doon a-mis to stele awey with swich on as he is? 740 but al to late cometh the letuarie, whan men the cors un-to the grave carie. `to late is now to speke of this matere; prudence, allas! oon of thyn eyen three me lakked alwey, er that i come here; 745 on tyme y-passed, wel remembred me; and present tyme eek coude i wel y-see. but futur tyme, er i was in the snare, coude i not seen; that causeth now my care. `but natheles, bityde what bityde, 750 i shal to-morwe at night, by est or weste, out of this ost stele on som maner syde, and go with troilus wher-as him leste. this purpos wol i holde, and this is beste. no fors of wikked tonges ianglerye, 755 for ever on love han wrecches had envye. `for who-so wole of every word take hede, or rewlen him by every wightes wit, ne shal he never thryven, out of drede. for that that som men blamen ever yit, 760 lo, other maner folk commenden it. and as for me, for al swich variaunce, felicitee clepe i my suffisaunce. `for which, with-outen any wordes mo, to troye i wol, as for conclusioun.' 765 but god it wot, er fully monthes two, she was ful fer fro that entencioun. for bothe troilus and troye toun shal knotteles through-out hir herte slyde; for she wol take a purpos for tabyde. 770 this diomede, of whom yow telle i gan, goth now, with-inne him-self ay arguinge with al the sleighte and al that ever he can, how he may best, with shortest taryinge, in-to his net criseydes herte bringe. 775 to this entente he coude never fyne; to fisshen hir, he leyde out hook and lyne. but natheles, wel in his herte he thoughte, that she nas nat with-oute a love in troye, for never, sithen he hir thennes broughte, 780 ne coude he seen her laughe or make ioye. he nist how best hir herte for tacoye. `but for to assaye,' he seyde, `it nought ne greveth; for he that nought nassayeth, nought nacheveth.' yet seide he to him-self upon a night, 785 `now am i not a fool, that woot wel how hir wo for love is of another wight, and here-up-on to goon assaye hir now? i may wel wite, it nil not been my prow. for wyse folk in bokes it expresse, 790 "men shal not wowe a wight in hevinesse." `but who-so mighte winnen swich a flour from him, for whom she morneth night and day, he mighte seyn, he were a conquerour.' and right anoon, as he that bold was ay, 795 thoughte in his herte, `happe how happe may, al sholde i deye, i wole hir herte seche; i shal no more lesen but my speche.' this diomede, as bokes us declare, was in his nedes prest and corageous; 800 with sterne voys and mighty limes square, hardy, testif, strong, and chevalrous of dedes, lyk his fader tideus. and som men seyn, he was of tunge large; and heir he was of calidoine and arge. 805 criseyde mene was of hir stature, ther-to of shap, of face, and eek of chere, ther mighte been no fairer creature. and ofte tyme this was hir manere, to gon y-tressed with hir heres clere 810 doun by hir coler at hir bak bihinde, which with a threde of gold she wolde binde. and, save hir browes ioyneden y-fere, ther nas no lak, in ought i can espyen; but for to speken of hir eyen clere, 815 lo, trewely, they writen that hir syen, that paradys stood formed in hir yen. and with hir riche beautee ever-more strof love in hir, ay which of hem was more. she sobre was, eek simple, and wys with-al, 820 the beste y-norisshed eek that mighte be, and goodly of hir speche in general, charitable, estatliche, lusty, and free; ne never-mo ne lakkede hir pitee; tendre-herted, slydinge of corage; 825 but trewely, i can not telle hir age. and troilus wel waxen was in highte, and complet formed by proporcioun so wel, that kinde it not amenden mighte; yong, fresshe, strong, and hardy as lyoun; 830 trewe as steel in ech condicioun; on of the beste enteched creature, that is, or shal, whyl that the world may dure. and certainly in storie it is y-founde, that troilus was never un-to no wight, 835 as in his tyme, in no degree secounde in durring don that longeth to a knight. al mighte a geaunt passen him of might, his herte ay with the firste and with the beste stood paregal, to durre don that him leste. 840 but for to tellen forth of diomede: - it fil that after, on the tenthe day, sin that criseyde out of the citee yede, this diomede, as fresshe as braunche in may, com to the tente ther-as calkas lay, 845 and feyned him with calkas han to done; but what he mente, i shal yow telle sone. criseyde, at shorte wordes for to telle, welcomed him, and doun by hir him sette; and he was ethe y-nough to maken dwelle. 850 and after this, with-outen longe lette, the spyces and the wyn men forth hem fette; and forth they speke of this and that y-fere, as freendes doon, of which som shal ye here. he gan first fallen of the werre in speche 855 bitwixe hem and the folk of troye toun; and of thassege he gan hir eek byseche, to telle him what was hir opinioun. fro that demaunde he so descendeth doun to asken hir, if that hir straunge thoughte 860 the grekes gyse, and werkes that they wroughte? and why hir fader tarieth so longe to wedden hir un-to som worthy wight? criseyde, that was in hir peynes stronge for love of troilus, hir owene knight, 865 as fer-forth as she conning hadde or might, answerde him tho; but, as of his entente, it semed not she wiste what he mente. but natheles, this ilke diomede gan in him-self assure, and thus he seyde, 870 `if ich aright have taken of yow hede, me thinketh thus, o lady myn, criseyde, that sin i first hond on your brydel leyde, whan ye out come of troye by the morwe, ne coude i never seen yow but in sorwe. 875 `can i not seyn what may the cause be but-if for love of som troyan it were, the which right sore wolde athinken me that ye, for any wight that dwelleth there, sholden spille a quarter of a tere, 880 or pitously your-selven so bigyle; for dredelees, it is nought worth the whyle. `the folk of troye, as who seyth, alle and some in preson been, as ye your-selven see; nor thennes shal not oon on-lyve come 885 for al the gold bitwixen sonne and see. trusteth wel, and understondeth me. ther shal not oon to mercy goon on-lyve, al were he lord of worldes twyes fyve! `swich wreche on hem, for fecching of eleyne, 890 ther shal be take, er that we hennes wende, that manes, which that goddes ben of peyne, shal been agast that grekes wol hem shende. and men shul drede, un-to the worldes ende, from hennes-forth to ravisshe any quene, 895 so cruel shal our wreche on hem be sene. `and but-if calkas lede us with ambages, that is to seyn, with double wordes slye, swich as men clepe a "word with two visages," ye shal wel knowen that i nought ne lye, 900 and al this thing right seen it with your ye, and that anoon; ye nil not trowe how sone; now taketh heed, for it is for to done. `what wene ye your wyse fader wolde han yeven antenor for yow anoon, 905 if he ne wiste that the citee sholde destroyed been? why, nay, so mote i goon! he knew ful wel ther shal not scapen oon that troyan is; and for the grete fere, he dorste not, ye dwelte lenger there. 910 `what wole ye more, lufsom lady dere? lat troye and troyan fro your herte pace! dryf out that bittre hope, and make good chere, and clepe ayein the beautee of your face, that ye with salte teres so deface. 915 for troye is brought in swich a iupartye, that, it to save, is now no remedye. `and thenketh wel, ye shal in grekes finde, a more parfit love, er it be night, than any troian is, and more kinde, 920 and bet to serven yow wol doon his might. and if ye vouche sauf, my lady bright, i wol ben he to serven yow my-selve, yee, lever than he lord of greces twelve!' and with that word he gan to waxen reed, 925 and in his speche a litel wight he quook, and caste a-syde a litel wight his heed, and stinte a whyle; and afterward awook, and sobreliche on hir he threw his look, and seyde, `i am, al be it yow no ioye, 930 as gentil man as any wight in troye. `for if my fader tydeus,' he seyde, `y-lived hadde, i hadde been, er this, of calidoine and arge a king, criseyde! and so hope i that i shal yet, y-wis. 935 but he was slayn, allas! the more harm is, unhappily at thebes al to rathe, polymites and many a man to scathe. `but herte myn, sin that i am your man, and been the ferste of whom i seche grace, 940 to serven you as hertely as i can, and ever shal, whyl i to live have space, so, er that i departe out of this place, ye wol me graunte, that i may to-morwe, at bettre leyser, telle yow my sorwe.' 945 what shold i telle his wordes that he seyde? he spak y-now, for o day at the meste; it preveth wel, he spak so that criseyde graunted, on the morwe, at his requeste, for to speken with him at the leste, 950 so that he nolde speke of swich matere; and thus to him she seyde, as ye may here: as she that hadde hir herte on troilus so faste, that ther may it noon arace; and straungely she spak, and seyde thus; 955 `o diomede, i love that ilke place ther i was born; and ioves, for his grace, delivere it sone of al that doth it care! god, for thy might, so leve it wel to fare! `that grekes wolde hir wraththe on troye wreke, 960 if that they mighte, i knowe it wel, y-wis. but it shal not bifallen as ye speke; and god to-forn, and ferther over this, i wot my fader wys and redy is; and that he me hath bought, as ye me tolde, 965 so dere, i am the more un-to him holde. `that grekes been of heigh condicioun, i woot eek wel; but certein, men shal finde as worthy folk with-inne troye toun, as conning, and as parfit and as kinde, 970 as been bitwixen orcades and inde. and that ye coude wel your lady serve, i trowe eek wel, hir thank for to deserve. `but as to speke of love, y-wis,' she seyde, `i hadde a lord, to whom i wedded was, 975 the whos myn herte al was, til that he deyde; and other love, as helpe me now pallas, ther in myn herte nis, ne nevere was. and that ye been of noble and heigh kinrede, i have wel herd it tellen, out of drede. 980 `and that doth me to han so gret a wonder, that ye wol scornen any womman so. eek, god wot, love and i be fer a-sonder! i am disposed bet, so mote i go, un-to my deeth, to pleyne and maken wo. 985 what i shal after doon, i can not seye; but trewely, as yet me list not pleye. `myn herte is now in tribulacioun, and ye in armes bisy, day by day. here-after, whan ye wonnen han the toun, 990 paraunter, thanne so it happen may, that whan i see that i never er say, than wole i werke that i never wroughte! this word to yow y-nough suffysen oughte. `to-morwe eek wol i speken with yow fayn, 995 so that ye touchen nought of this matere. and whan yow list, ye may come here ayeyn; and, er ye gon, thus muche i seye yow here; as help me pallas with hir heres clere, if that i sholde of any greek han routhe, 1000 it sholde be your-selven, by my trouthe! `i sey not therfore that i wol yow love, ne i sey not nay, but in conclusioun, i mene wel, by god that sit above:' - and ther-with-al she caste hir eyen doun, 1005 and gan to syke, and seyde, `o troye toun, yet bidde i god, in quiete and in reste i may yow seen, or do myn herte breste.' but in effect, and shortly for to seye, this diomede al freshly newe ayeyn 1010 gan pressen on, and faste hir mercy preye; and after this, the sothe for to seyn, hir glove he took, of which he was ful fayn. and fynally, whan it was waxen eve, and al was wel, he roos and took his leve. 1015 the brighte venus folwede and ay taughte the wey, ther brode phebus doun alighte; and cynthea hir char-hors over-raughte to whirle out of the lyon, if she mighte; and signifer his candelse shewed brighte, 1020 whan that criseyde un-to hir bedde wente in-with hir fadres faire brighte tente. retorning in hir soule ay up and doun the wordes of this sodein diomede, his greet estat, and peril of the toun, 1025 and that she was allone and hadde nede of freendes help; and thus bigan to brede the cause why, the sothe for to telle, that she tok fully purpos for to dwelle. the morwe com, and goostly for to speke, 1030 this diomede is come un-to criseyde, and shortly, lest that ye my tale breke, so wel he for him-selve spak and seyde, that alle hir sykes sore adoun he leyde. and fynally, the sothe for to seyne, 1035 he refte hir of the grete of al hir peyne. and after this the story telleth us, that she him yaf the faire baye stede, the which he ones wan of troilus; and eek a broche (and that was litel nede) 1040 that troilus was, she yaf this diomede. and eek, the bet from sorwe him to releve, she made him were a pencel of hir sleve. i finde eek in stories elles-where, whan through the body hurt was diomede 1045 of troilus, tho weep she many a tere, whan that she saugh his wyde woundes blede; and that she took to kepen him good hede, and for to hele him of his sorwes smerte. men seyn, i not, that she yaf him hir herte. 1050 but trewely, the story telleth us, ther made never womman more wo than she, whan that she falsed troilus. she seyde, `allas! for now is clene a-go my name of trouthe in love, for ever-mo! 1055 for i have falsed oon, the gentileste that ever was, and oon the worthieste! `allas, of me, un-to the worldes ende, shal neither been y-writen nor y-songe no good word, for thise bokes wol me shende. 1060 o, rolled shal i been on many a tonge; through-out the world my belle shal be ronge; and wommen most wol hate me of alle. allas, that swich a cas me sholde falle! `they wol seyn, in as muche as in me is, 1065 i have hem don dishonour, weylawey! al be i not the first that dide amis, what helpeth that to do my blame awey? but sin i see there is no bettre way, and that to late is now for me to rewe, 1070 to diomede algate i wol be trewe. `but troilus, sin i no better may, and sin that thus departen ye and i, yet preye i god, so yeve yow right good day as for the gentileste, trewely, 1075 that ever i say, to serven feithfully, and best can ay his lady honour kepe:' - and with that word she brast anon to wepe. `and certes yow ne haten shal i never, and freendes love, that shal ye han of me, 1080 and my good word, al mighte i liven ever. and, trewely, i wolde sory be for to seen yow in adversitee. and giltelees, i woot wel, i yow leve; but al shal passe; and thus take i my leve.' 1085 but trewely, how longe it was bitwene, that she for-sook him for this diomede, ther is non auctor telleth it, i wene. take every man now to his bokes hede; he shal no terme finden, out of drede. 1090 for though that he bigan to wowe hir sone, er he hir wan, yet was ther more to done. ne me ne list this sely womman chyde ferther than the story wol devyse. hir name, allas! is publisshed so wyde, 1095 that for hir gilt it oughte y-noe suffyse. and if i mighte excuse hir any wyse, for she so sory was for hir untrouthe, y-wis, i wolde excuse hir yet for routhe. this troilus, as i biforn have told, 1100 thus dryveth forth, as wel as he hath might. but often was his herte hoot and cold, and namely, that ilke nynthe night, which on the morwe she hadde him byhight to come ayein: god wot, ful litel reste 1105 hadde he that night; no-thing to slepe him leste. the laurer-crouned phebus, with his hete, gan, in his course ay upward as he wente, to warmen of the est see the wawes wete, and nisus doughter song with fresh entente, 1110 whan troilus his pandare after sente; and on the walles of the toun they pleyde, to loke if they can seen ought of criseyde. til it was noon, they stoden for to see who that ther come; and every maner wight, 1115 that cam fro fer, they seyden it was she, til that they coude knowen him a-right. now was his herte dul, now was it light; and thus by-iaped stonden for to stare aboute nought, this troilus and pandare. 1120 to pandarus this troilus tho seyde, `for ought i wot, bi-for noon, sikerly, in-to this toun ne comth nought here criseyde. she hath y-now to done, hardily, to winnen from hir fader, so trowe i; 1125 hir olde fader wol yet make hir dyne er that she go; god yeve his herte pyne!' pandare answerde, `it may wel be, certeyn; and for-thy lat us dyne, i thee biseche; and after noon than maystw thou come ayeyn.' 1130 and hoom they go, with-oute more speche; and comen ayein, but longe may they seche er that they finde that they after cape; fortune hem bothe thenketh for to iape. quod troilus, `i see wel now, that she 1135 is taried with hir olde fader so, that er she come, it wole neigh even be. com forth, i wol un-to the yate go. thise portours been unkonninge ever-mo; and i wol doon hem holden up the yate 1140 as nought ne were, al-though she come late.' the day goth faste, and after that comth eve, and yet com nought to troilus criseyde. he loketh forth by hegge, by tree, by greve, and fer his heed over the wal he leyde. 1145 and at the laste he torned him, and seyde. `by god, i woot hir mening now, pandare! al-most, y-wis, al newe was my care. `now douteles, this lady can hir good; i woot, she meneth ryden prively. 1150 i comende hir wysdom, by myn hood! she wol not maken peple nycely gaure on hir, whan she comth; but softely by nighte in-to the toun she thenketh ryde. and, dere brother, thenk not longe to abyde. 1155 `we han nought elles for to don, y-wis. and pandarus, now woltow trowen me? have here my trouthe, i see hir! yond she is. heve up thyn eyen, man! maystow not see?' pandare answerde, `nay, so mote i thee! 1160 al wrong, by god; what seystow, man, wher art? that i see yond nis but a fare-cart.' `allas, thou seist right sooth,' quod troilus; `but, hardely, it is not al for nought that in myn herte i now reioyse thus. 1165 it is ayein som good i have a thought. noot i not how, but sin that i was wrought, ne felte i swich a confort, dar i seye; she comth to-night, my lyf, that dorste i leye!' pandare answerde, `it may be wel, y-nough'; 1170 and held with him of al that ever he seyde; but in his herte he thoughte, and softe lough, and to him-self ful sobrely he seyde: `from hasel-wode, ther ioly robin pleyde, shal come al that thou abydest here; 1175 ye, fare-wel al the snow of ferne yere!' the wardein of the yates gan to calle the folk which that with-oute the yates were, and bad hem dryven in hir bestes alle, or al the night they moste bleven there. 1180 and fer with-in the night, with many a tere, this troilus gan hoomward for to ryde; for wel he seeth it helpeth nought tabyde. but natheles, he gladded him in this; he thoughte he misacounted hadde his day, 1185 and seyde, `i understonde have al a-mis. for thilke night i last criseyde say, she seyde, "i shal ben here, if that i may, er that the mone, o dere herte swete! the lyon passe, out of this ariete." 1190 `for which she may yet holde al hir biheste.' and on the morwe un-to the yate he wente, and up and down, by west and eek by este, up-on the walles made he many a wente. but al for nought; his hope alwey him blente; 1195 for which at night, in sorwe and sykes sore, he wente him hoom, with-outen any more. this hope al clene out of his herte fledde, he nath wher-on now lenger for to honge; but for the peyne him thoughte his herte bledde, 1200 so were his throwes sharpe and wonder stronge. for when he saugh that she abood so longe, he niste what he iuggen of it mighte, sin she hath broken that she him bihighte. the thridde, ferthe, fifte, sixte day 1205 after tho dayes ten, of which i tolde, bitwixen hope and drede his herte lay, yet som-what trustinge on hir hestes olde. but whan he saugh she nolde hir terme holde, he can now seen non other remedye, 1210 but for to shape him sone for to dye. ther-with the wikked spirit, god us blesse, which that men clepeth wode ialousye, gan in him crepe, in al this hevinesse; for which, by-cause he wolde sone dye, 1215 he ne eet ne dronk, for his malencolye, and eek from every companye he fledde; this was the lyf that al the tyme he ledde. he so defet was, that no maner man unneth mighte him knowe ther he wente; 1220 so was he lene, and ther-to pale and wan, and feble, that he walketh by potente; and with his ire he thus himselven shente. but who-so axed him wher-of him smerte, he seyde, his harm was al aboute his herte. 1225 pryam ful ofte, and eek his moder dere, his bretheren and his sustren gonne him freyne why he so sorwful was in al his chere, and what thing was the cause of al his peyne? but al for nought; he nolde his cause pleyne, 1230 but seyde, he felte a grevous maladye a-boute his herte, and fayn he wolde dye. so on a day he leyde him doun to slepe, and so bifel that in his sleep him thoughte, that in a forest faste he welk to wepe 1235 for love of hir that him these peynes wroughte; and up and doun as he the forest soughte, he mette he saugh a boor with tuskes grete, that sleep ayein the brighte sonnes hete. and by this boor, faste in his armes folde, 1240 lay kissing ay his lady bright criseyde: for sorwe of which, whan he it gan biholde, and for despyt, out of his slepe he breyde, and loude he cryde on pandarus, and seyde, `o pandarus, now knowe i crop and rote! 1245 i nam but deed; ther nis non other bote! `my lady bright criseyde hath me bitrayed, in whom i trusted most of any wight, she elles-where hath now hir herte apayed; the blisful goddes, through hir grete might, 1250 han in my dreem y-shewed it ful right. thus in my dreem criseyde i have biholde' - and al this thing to pandarus he tolde. `o my criseyde, allas! what subtiltee. what newe lust, what beautee, what science, 1255 what wratthe of iuste cause have ye to me? what gilt of me, what fel experience hath fro me raft, allas! thyn advertence? o trust, o feyth, o depe aseuraunce, who hath me reft criseyde, al my plesaunce? 1260 `allas! why leet i you from hennes go, for which wel neigh out of my wit i breyde? who shal now trowe on any othes mo? god wot i wende, o lady bright, criseyde, that every word was gospel that ye seyde! 1265 but who may bet bigylen, yf him liste, than he on whom men weneth best to triste? `what shal i doon, my pandarus, allas! i fele now so sharpe a newe peyne, sin that ther is no remedie in this cas, 1270 that bet were it i with myn hondes tweyne my-selven slow, than alwey thus to pleyne. for through my deeth my wo sholde han an ende, ther every day with lyf my-self i shende.' pandare answerde and seyde, `allas the whyle 1275 that i was born; have i not seyd er this, that dremes many a maner man bigyle? and why? for folk expounden hem a-mis. how darstow seyn that fals thy lady is, for any dreem, right for thyn owene drede? 1280 lat be this thought, thou canst no dremes rede. `paraunter, ther thou dremest of this boor, it may so be that it may signifye hir fader, which that old is and eek hoor, ayein the sonne lyth, on poynt to dye, 1285 and she for sorwe ginneth wepe and crye, and kisseth him, ther he lyth on the grounde; thus shuldestow thy dreem a-right expounde.' `how mighte i thanne do?' quod troilus, `to knowe of this, ye, were it never so lyte?' 1290 `now seystow wysly,' quod this pandarus, `my reed is this, sin thou canst wel endyte, that hastely a lettre thou hir wryte, thorugh which thou shalt wel bringen it aboute, to knowe a sooth of that thou art in doute. 1295 `and see now why; for this i dar wel seyn, that if so is that she untrewe be, i can not trowe that she wol wryte ayeyn. and if she wryte, thou shalt ful sone see, as whether she hath any libertee 1300 to come ayein, or ellis in som clause, if she be let, she wol assigne a cause. `thou hast not writen hir sin that she wente, nor she to thee, and this i dorste leye, ther may swich cause been in hir entente, 1305 that hardely thou wolt thy-selven seye, that hir a-bood the beste is for yow tweye. now wryte hir thanne, and thou shalt fele sone a sothe of al; ther is no more to done.' acorded been to this conclusioun, 1310 and that anoon, these ilke lordes two; and hastely sit troilus adoun, and rolleth in his herte to and fro, how he may best discryven hir his wo. and to criseyde, his owene lady dere, 1315 he wroot right thus, and seyde as ye may here. `right fresshe flour, whos i have been and shal, with-outen part of elles-where servyse, with herte, body, lyf, lust, thought, and al; i, woful wight, in every humble wyse 1320 that tonge telle or herte may devyse, as ofte as matere occupyeth place, me recomaunde un-to your noble grace. `lyketh it yow to witen, swete herte, as ye wel knowe how longe tyme agoon 1325 that ye me lefte in aspre peynes smerte, whan that ye wente, of which yet bote noon have i non had, but ever wers bigoon fro day to day am i, and so mot dwelle, while it yow list, of wele and wo my welle. 1330 `for which to yow, with dredful herte trewe, i wryte, as he that sorwe dryfth to wryte, my wo, that every houre encreseth newe, compleyninge as i dar or can endyte. and that defaced is, that may ye wyte 1335 the teres, which that fro myn eyen reyne, that wolde speke, if that they coude, and pleyne. `yow first biseche i, that your eyen clere to look on this defouled ye not holde; and over al this, that ye, my lady dere, 1340 wol vouche-sauf this lettre to biholde. and by the cause eek of my cares colde, that sleeth my wit, if ought amis me asterte, for-yeve it me, myn owene swete herte. `if any servant dorste or oughte of right 1345 up-on his lady pitously compleyne, than wene i, that ich oughte be that wight, considered this, that ye these monthes tweyne han taried, ther ye seyden, sooth to seyne, but dayes ten ye nolde in ost soiourne, 1350 but in two monthes yet ye not retourne. `but for-as-muche as me mot nedes lyke al that yow list, i dar not pleyne more, but humbely with sorwful sykes syke; yow wryte ich myn unresty sorwes sore, 1355 fro day to day desyring ever-more to knowen fully, if your wil it were, how ye han ferd and doon, whyl ye be there. `the whos wel-fare and hele eek god encresse in honour swich, that upward in degree 1360 it growe alwey, so that it never cesse; right as your herte ay can, my lady free, devyse, i prey to god so mote it be. and graunte it that ye sone up-on me rewe as wisly as in al i am yow trewe. 1365 `and if yow lyketh knowen of the fare of me, whos wo ther may no wight discryve, i can no more but, cheste of every care, at wrytinge of this lettre i was on-lyve, al redy out my woful gost to dryve; 1370 which i delaye, and holde him yet in honde, upon the sight of matere of your sonde. `myn eyen two, in veyn with which i see, of sorweful teres salte arn waxen welles; my song, in pleynte of myn adversitee; 1375 my good, in harm; myn ese eek waxen helle is. my ioye, in wo; i can sey yow nought elles, but turned is, for which my lyf i warie, everich ioye or ese in his contrarie. `which with your cominge hoom ayein to troye 1380 ye may redresse, and, more a thousand sythe than ever ich hadde, encressen in me ioye. for was ther never herte yet so blythe to han his lyf, as i shal been as swythe as i yow see; and, though no maner routhe 1385 commeve yow, yet thinketh on your trouthe. `and if so be my gilt hath deeth deserved, or if yow list no more up-on me see, in guerdon yet of that i have you served, biseche i yow, myn hertes lady free, 1390 that here-upon ye wolden wryte me, for love of god, my righte lode-sterre, ther deeth may make an ende of al my werre. `if other cause aught doth yow for to dwelle, that with your lettre ye me recomforte; 1395 for though to me your absence is an helle, with pacience i wol my wo comporte, and with your lettre of hope i wol desporte. now wryteth, swete, and lat me thus not pleyne; with hope, or deeth, delivereth me fro peyne. 1400 `y-wis, myn owene dere herte trewe, i woot that, whan ye next up-on me see, so lost have i myn hele and eek myn hewe, criseyde shal nought conne knowe me! y-wis, myn hertes day, my lady free, 1405 so thursteth ay myn herte to biholde your beautee, that my lyf unnethe i holde. `i sey no more, al have i for to seye to you wel more than i telle may; but whether that ye do me live or deye, 1410 yet pray i god, so yeve yow right good day. and fareth wel, goodly fayre fresshe may, as ye that lyf or deeth me may comaunde; and to your trouthe ay i me recomaunde `with hele swich that, but ye yeven me 1415 the same hele, i shal noon hele have. in you lyth, whan yow liste that it so be, the day in which me clothen shal my grave. in yow my lyf, in yow might for to save me from disese of alle peynes smerte; 1420 and fare now wel, myn owene swete herte! le vostre t.' this lettre forth was sent un-to criseyde, of which hir answere in effect was this; ful pitously she wroot ayein, and seyde, that also sone as that she might, y-wis, 1425 she wolde come, and mende al that was mis. and fynally she wroot and seyde him thanne, she wolde come, ye, but she niste whenne. but in hir lettre made she swich festes, that wonder was, and swereth she loveth him best, 1430 of which he fond but botmelees bihestes. but troilus, thou mayst now, est or west, pype in an ivy leef, if that thee lest; thus gooth the world; god shilde us fro mischaunce, and every wight that meneth trouthe avaunce! 1435 encresen gan the wo fro day to night of troilus, for taryinge of criseyde; and lessen gan his hope and eek his might, for which al doun he in his bed him leyde; he ne eet, ne dronk, ne sleep, ne word he seyde, 1440 imagininge ay that she was unkinde; for which wel neigh he wex out of his minde. this dreem, of which i told have eek biforn, may never come out of his remembraunce; he thoughte ay wel he hadde his lady lorn, 1445 and that ioves, of his purveyaunce, him shewed hadde in sleep the signifiaunce of hir untrouthe and his disaventure, and that the boor was shewed him in figure. for which he for sibille his suster sente, 1450 that called was cassandre eek al aboute; and al his dreem he tolde hir er he stente, and hir bisoughte assoilen him the doute of the stronge boor, with tuskes stoute; and fynally, with-inne a litel stounde, 1455 cassandre him gan right thus his dreem expounde. she gan first smyle, and seyde, `o brother dere, if thou a sooth of this desyrest knowe, thou most a fewe of olde stories here, to purpos, how that fortune over-throwe 1460 hath lordes olde; through which, with-inne a throwe, thou wel this boor shalt knowe, and of what kinde he comen is, as men in bokes finde. `diane, which that wrooth was and in ire for grekes nolde doon hir sacrifyse, 1465 ne encens up-on hir auter sette a-fyre, she, for that grekes gonne hir so dispyse, wrak hir in a wonder cruel wyse. for with a boor as greet as oxe in stalle she made up frete hir corn and vynes alle. 1470 `to slee this boor was al the contree reysed, a-monges which ther com, this boor to see, a mayde, oon of this world the best y-preysed; and meleagre, lord of that contree, he lovede so this fresshe mayden free 1475 that with his manhod, er he wolde stente, this boor he slow, and hir the heed he sente; `of which, as olde bokes tellen us, ther roos a contek and a greet envye; and of this lord descended tydeus 1480 by ligne, or elles olde bokes lye; but how this meleagre gan to dye thorugh his moder, wol i yow not telle, for al to long it were for to dwelle.' [argument of the 12 books of statius' "thebais"] associat profugum tideo primus polimitem; tidea legatum docet insidiasque secundus; tercius hemoniden canit et vates latitantes; quartus habet reges ineuntes prelia septem; mox furie lenne quinto narratur et anguis; archimori bustum sexto ludique leguntur; dat graios thebes et vatem septimus vmbria; octauo cecidit tideus, spes, vita pelasgia; ypomedon nono moritur cum parthonopeo; fulmine percussus, decimo capaneus superatur; vndecimo sese perimunt per vulnera fratres; argiuam flentem narrat duodenus et igneum. she tolde eek how tydeus, er she stente, 1485 un-to the stronge citee of thebes, to cleyme kingdom of the citee, wente, for his felawe, daun polymites, of which the brother, daun ethyocles, ful wrongfully of thebes held the strengthe; 1490 this tolde she by proces, al by lengthe. she tolde eek how hemonides asterte, whan tydeus slough fifty knightes stoute. she tolde eek al the prophesyes by herte, and how that sevene kinges, with hir route, 1495 bisegeden the citee al aboute; and of the holy serpent, and the welle, and of the furies, al she gan him telle. of archimoris buryinge and the pleyes, and how amphiorax fil through the grounde, 1500 how tydeus was slayn, lord of argeyes, and how ypomedoun in litel stounde was dreynt, and deed parthonope of wounde; and also how cappaneus the proude with thonder-dint was slayn, that cryde loude. 1505 she gan eek telle him how that either brother, ethyocles and polimyte also, at a scarmyche, eche of hem slough other, and of argyves wepinge and hir wo; and how the town was brent she tolde eek tho. 1510 and so descendeth doun from gestes olde to diomede, and thus she spak and tolde. `this ilke boor bitokneth diomede, tydeus sone, that doun descended is fro meleagre, that made the boor to blede. 1515 and thy lady, wher-so she be, y-wis, this diomede hir herte hath, and she his. weep if thou wolt, or leef; for, out of doute, this diomede is inne, and thou art oute.' `thou seyst nat sooth,' quod he, `thou sorceresse, 1520 with al thy false goost of prophesye! thou wenest been a greet devyneresse; now seestow not this fool of fantasye peyneth hir on ladyes for to lye? awey!' quod he. `ther ioves yeve thee sorwe! 1525 thou shalt be fals, paraunter, yet to-morwe! `as wel thou mightest lyen on alceste, that was of creatures, but men lye, that ever weren, kindest and the beste. for whanne hir housbonde was in iupartye 1530 to dye him-self, but-if she wolde dye, she chees for him to dye and go to helle, and starf anoon, as us the bokes telle.' cassandre goth, and he with cruel herte for-yat his wo, for angre of hir speche; 1535 and from his bed al sodeinly he sterte, as though al hool him hadde y-mad a leche. and day by day he gan enquere and seche a sooth of this, with al his fulle cure; and thus he dryeth forth his aventure. 1540 fortune, whiche that permutacioun of thinges hath, as it is hir committed through purveyaunce and disposicioun of heighe iove, as regnes shal ben flitted fro folk in folk, or whan they shal ben smitted, 1545 gan pulle awey the fetheres brighte of troye fro day to day, til they ben bare of ioye. among al this, the fyn of the parodie of ector gan approchen wonder blyve; the fate wolde his soule sholde unbodie, 1550 and shapen hadde a mene it out to dryve; ayeins which fate him helpeth not to stryve; but on a day to fighten gan he wende, at which, allas! he coughte his lyves ende. for which me thinketh every maner wight 1555 that haunteth armes oughte to biwayle the deeth of him that was so noble a knight; for as he drough a king by thaventayle, unwar of this, achilles through the mayle and through the body gan him for to ryve; 1560 and thus this worthy knight was brought of lyve. for whom, as olde bokes tellen us, was mad swich wo, that tonge it may not telle; and namely, the sorwe of troilus, that next him was of worthinesse welle. 1565 and in this wo gan troilus to dwelle, that, what for sorwe, and love, and for unreste, ful ofte a day he bad his herte breste. but natheles, though he gan him dispeyre, and dradde ay that his lady was untrewe, 1570 yet ay on hir his herte gan repeyre. and as these loveres doon, he soughte ay newe to gete ayein criseyde, bright of hewe. and in his herte he wente hir excusinge, that calkas causede al hir taryinge. 1575 and ofte tyme he was in purpos grete him-selven lyk a pilgrim to disgyse, to seen hir; but he may not contrefete to been unknowen of folk that weren wyse, ne finde excuse aright that may suffyse, 1580 if he among the grekes knowen were; for which he weep ful ofte many a tere. to hir he wroot yet ofte tyme al newe ful pitously, he lefte it nought for slouthe, biseching hir that, sin that he was trewe, 1585 she wolde come ayein and holde hir trouthe. for which criseyde up-on a day, for routhe, i take it so, touchinge al this matere, wrot him ayein, and seyde as ye may here. `cupydes sone, ensample of goodlihede, 1590 o swerd of knighthod, sours of gentilesse! how might a wight in torment and in drede and helelees, yow sende as yet gladnesse? i hertelees, i syke, i in distresse; sin ye with me, nor i with yow may dele, 1595 yow neither sende ich herte may nor hele. `your lettres ful, the papir al y-pleynted, conceyved hath myn hertes pietee; i have eek seyn with teres al depeynted your lettre, and how that ye requeren me 1600 to come ayein, which yet ne may not be. but why, lest that this lettre founden were, no mencioun ne make i now, for fere. `grevous to me, god woot, is your unreste, your haste, and that, the goddes ordenaunce, 1605 it semeth not ye take it for the beste. nor other thing nis in your remembraunce, as thinketh me, but only your plesaunce. but beth not wrooth, and that i yow biseche; for that i tarie, is al for wikked speche. 1610 `for i have herd wel more than i wende, touchinge us two, how thinges han y-stonde; which i shal with dissimulinge amende. and beth nought wrooth, i have eek understonde, how ye ne doon but holden me in honde. 1615 but now no fors, i can not in yow gesse but alle trouthe and alle gentilesse. `comen i wol, but yet in swich disioynte i stonde as now, that what yeer or what day that this shal be, that can i not apoynte. 1620 but in effect, i prey yow, as i may, of your good word and of your frendship ay. for trewely, whyl that my lyf may dure, as for a freend, ye may in me assure. `yet preye i yow on yvel ye ne take, 1625 that it is short which that i to yow wryte; i dar not, ther i am, wel lettres make, ne never yet ne coude i wel endyte. eek greet effect men wryte in place lite. thentente is al, and nought the lettres space; 1630 and fareth now wel, god have you in his grace! la vostre c.' this troilus this lettre thoughte al straunge, whan he it saugh, and sorwefully he sighte; him thoughte it lyk a kalendes of chaunge; but fynally, he ful ne trowen mighte 1635 that she ne wolde him holden that she highte; for with ful yvel wil list him to leve that loveth wel, in swich cas, though him greve. but natheles, men seyn that, at the laste, for any thing, men shal the sothe see; 1640 and swich a cas bitidde, and that as faste, that troilus wel understood that she nas not so kinde as that hir oughte be. and fynally, he woot now, out of doute, that al is lost that he hath been aboute. 1645 stood on a day in his malencolye this troilus, and in suspecioun of hir for whom he wende for to dye. and so bifel, that through-out troye toun, as was the gyse, y-bore was up and doun 1650 a maner cote-armure, as seyth the storie, biforn deiphebe, in signe of his victorie, the whiche cote, as telleth lollius, deiphebe it hadde y-rent from diomede the same day; and whan this troilus 1655 it saugh, he gan to taken of it hede, avysing of the lengthe and of the brede, and al the werk; but as he gan biholde, ful sodeinly his herte gan to colde, as he that on the coler fond with-inne 1660 a broche, that he criseyde yaf that morwe that she from troye moste nedes twinne, in remembraunce of him and of his sorwe; and she him leyde ayein hir feyth to borwe to kepe it ay; but now, ful wel he wiste, 1665 his lady nas no lenger on to triste. he gooth him hoom, and gan ful sone sende for pandarus; and al this newe chaunce, and of this broche, he tolde him word and ende, compleyninge of hir hertes variaunce, 1670 his longe love, his trouthe, and his penaunce; and after deeth, with-outen wordes more, ful faste he cryde, his reste him to restore. than spak he thus, `o lady myn criseyde, wher is your feyth, and wher is your biheste? 1675 wher is your love, wher is your trouthe,' he seyde; `of diomede have ye now al this feste! allas, i wolde have trowed at the leste. that, sin ye nolde in trouthe to me stonde, that ye thus nolde han holden me in honde! 1680 `who shal now trowe on any othes mo? allas, i never wolde han wend, er this, that ye, criseyde, coude han chaunged so; ne, but i hadde a-gilt and doon amis, so cruel wende i not your herte, y-wis, 1685 to slee me thus; allas, your name of trouthe is now for-doon, and that is al my routhe. `was ther non other broche yow liste lete to feffe with your newe love,' quod he, `but thilke broche that i, with teres wete, 1690 yow yaf, as for a remembraunce of me? non other cause, allas, ne hadde ye but for despyt, and eek for that ye mente al-outrely to shewen your entente! `through which i see that clene out of your minde 1695 ye han me cast, and i ne can nor may, for al this world, with-in myn herte finde to unloven yow a quarter of a day! in cursed tyme i born was, weylaway! that ye, that doon me al this wo endure, 1700 yet love i best of any creature. `now god,' quod he, `me sende yet the grace that i may meten with this diomede! and trewely, if i have might and space, yet shal i make, i hope, his sydes blede. 1705 o god,' quod he, `that oughtest taken hede to fortheren trouthe, and wronges to punyce, why niltow doon a vengeaunce of this vyce? `o pandare, that in dremes for to triste me blamed hast, and wont art oft up-breyde, 1710 now maystow see thy-selve, if that thee liste, how trewe is now thy nece, bright criseyde! in sondry formes, god it woot,' he seyde, `the goddes shewen bothe ioye and tene in slepe, and by my dreme it is now sene. 1715 `and certaynly, with-oute more speche, from hennes-forth, as ferforth as i may, myn owene deeth in armes wol i seche; i recche not how sone be the day! but trewely, criseyde, swete may, 1720 whom i have ay with al my might y-served, that ye thus doon, i have it nought deserved.' this pandarus, that alle these thinges herde, and wiste wel he seyde a sooth of this, he nought a word ayein to him answerde; 1725 for sory of his frendes sorwe he is, and shamed, for his nece hath doon a-mis; and stant, astoned of these causes tweye, as stille as stoon; a word ne coude he seye. but at the laste thus he spak, and seyde, 1730 `my brother dere, i may thee do no-more. what shulde i seyn? i hate, y-wis, criseyde! and, god wot, i wol hate hir evermore! and that thou me bisoughtest doon of yore, havinge un-to myn honour ne my reste 1735 right no reward, i dide al that thee leste. `if i dide ought that mighte lyken thee, it is me leef; and of this treson now, god woot, that it a sorwe is un-to me! and dredelees, for hertes ese of yow, 1740 right fayn wolde i amende it, wiste i how. and fro this world, almighty god i preye, delivere hir sone; i can no-more seye.' gret was the sorwe and pleynt of troilus; but forth hir cours fortune ay gan to holde. 1745 criseyde loveth the sone of tydeus, and troilus mot wepe in cares colde. swich is this world; who-so it can biholde, in eche estat is litel hertes reste; god leve us for to take it for the beste! 1750 in many cruel batayle, out of drede, of troilus, this ilke noble knight, as men may in these olde bokes rede, was sene his knighthod and his grete might. and dredelees, his ire, day and night, 1755 ful cruelly the grekes ay aboughte; and alwey most this diomede he soughte. and ofte tyme, i finde that they mette with blody strokes and with wordes grete, assayinge how hir speres weren whette; 1760 and god it woot, with many a cruel hete gan troilus upon his helm to bete. but natheles, fortune it nought ne wolde, of others hond that either deyen sholde. - and if i hadde y-taken for to wryte 1765 the armes of this ilke worthy man, than wolde i of his batailles endyte. but for that i to wryte first bigan of his love, i have seyd as that i can. his worthy dedes, who-so list hem here, 1770 reed dares, he can telle hem alle y-fere. bisechinge every lady bright of hewe, and every gentil womman, what she be, that al be that criseyde was untrewe, that for that gilt she be not wrooth with me. 1775 ye may hir gilt in othere bokes see; and gladlier i wole wryten, if yow leste, penolopees trouthe and good alceste. ne i sey not this al-only for these men, but most for wommen that bitraysed be 1780 through false folk; god yeve hem sorwe, amen! that with hir grete wit and subtiltee bitrayse yow! and this commeveth me to speke, and in effect yow alle i preye, beth war of men, and herkeneth what i seye! - 1785 go, litel book, go litel myn tragedie, ther god thy maker yet, er that he dye, so sende might to make in som comedie! but litel book, no making thou nenvye, but subgit be to alle poesye; 1790 and kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace virgile, ovyde, omer, lucan, and stace. and for ther is so greet diversitee in english and in wryting of our tonge, so preye i god that noon miswryte thee, 1795 ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge. and red wher-so thou be, or elles songe, that thou be understonde i god beseche! but yet to purpos of my rather speche. - the wraththe, as i began yow for to seye, 1800 of troilus, the grekes boughten dere; for thousandes his hondes maden deye, as he that was with-outen any pere, save ector, in his tyme, as i can here. but weylawey, save only goddes wille, 1805 dispitously him slough the fiers achille. and whan that he was slayn in this manere, his lighte goost ful blisfully is went up to the holownesse of the seventh spere, in convers letinge every element; 1810 and ther he saugh, with ful avysement, the erratik sterres, herkeninge armonye with sownes fulle of hevenish melodye. and doun from thennes faste he gan avyse this litel spot of erthe, that with the see 1815 embraced is, and fully gan despyse this wrecched world, and held al vanitee to respect of the pleyn felicitee that is in hevene above; and at the laste, ther he was slayn, his loking doun he caste; 1820 and in him-self he lough right at the wo of hem that wepten for his deeth so faste; and dampned al our werk that folweth so the blinde lust, the which that may not laste, and sholden al our herte on hevene caste. 1825 and forth he wente, shortly for to telle, ther as mercurie sorted him to dwelle. - swich fyn hath, lo, this troilus for love, swich fyn hath al his grete worthinesse; swich fyn hath his estat real above, 1830 swich fyn his lust, swich fyn hath his noblesse; swich fyn hath false worldes brotelnesse. and thus bigan his lovinge of criseyde, as i have told, and in this wyse he deyde. o yonge fresshe folkes, he or she, 1835 in which that love up groweth with your age, repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee, and of your herte up-casteth the visage to thilke god that after his image yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre 1840 this world, that passeth sone as floures fayre. and loveth him, the which that right for love upon a cros, our soules for to beye, first starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove; for he nil falsen no wight, dar i seye, 1845 that wol his herte al hoolly on him leye. and sin he best to love is, and most meke, what nedeth feyned loves for to seke? lo here, of payens corsed olde rytes, lo here, what alle hir goddes may availle; 1850 lo here, these wrecched worldes appetytes; lo here, the fyn and guerdon for travaille of iove, appollo, of mars, of swich rascaille! lo here, the forme of olde clerkes speche in poetrye, if ye hir bokes seche. - 1855 o moral gower, this book i directe to thee, and to the philosophical strode, to vouchen sauf, ther nede is, to corecte, of your benignitees and zeles gode. and to that sothfast crist, that starf on rode, 1860 with al myn herte of mercy ever i preye; and to the lord right thus i speke and seye: thou oon, and two, and three, eterne on-lyve, that regnest ay in three and two and oon, uncircumscript, and al mayst circumscryve, 1865 us from visible and invisible foon defende; and to thy mercy, everichoon, so make us, iesus, for thy grace digne, for love of mayde and moder thyn benigne! amen. explicit liber troili et criseydis. the fall of troy by quintus smyrnaeus ("quintus of smyrna") fl. 4th century a.d. originally written in greek, sometime about the middle of the 4th century a.d. translation by a.s. way, 1913. ***************************************************************** selected bibliography: original text-way, a.s. (ed. & trans.): "quintus smyrnaeus: the fall of troy" (loeb classics #19; harvard university press, cambridge ma, 1913). greek text with side-by-side english translation. other translations-combellack, frederick m. (trans.): "the war at troy: what homer didn't tell" (university of oklahoma press, norman ok, 1968). recommended reading-fitzgerald, robert (trans.): "homer: the iliad" (viking press, new york, 1968). ***************************************************************** introduction homer's "iliad" begins towards the close of the last of the ten years of the trojan war: its incidents extend over some fifty days only, and it ends with the burial of hector. the things which came before and after were told by other bards, who between them narrated the whole "cycle" of the events of the war, and so were called the cyclic poets. of their works none have survived; but the story of what befell between hector's funeral and the taking of troy is told in detail, and well told, in a poem about half as long as the "iliad". some four hundred years after christ there lived at smyrna a poet of whom we know scarce anything, save that his first name was quintus. he had saturated himself with the spirit of homer, he had caught the ring of his music, and he perhaps had before him the works of those cyclic poets whose stars had paled before the sun. we have practically no external evidence as to the date or place of birth of quintus of smyrna, or for the sources whence he drew his materials. his date is approximately settled by two passages in the poem, viz. vi. 531 sqq., in which occurs an illustration drawn from the man-and-beast fights of the amphitheatre, which were suppressed by theodosius i. (379-395 a.d.); and xiii. 335 sqq., which contains a prophecy, the special particularity of which, it is maintained by koechly, limits its applicability to the middle of the fourth century a.d. his place of birth, and the precise locality, is given by himself in xii. 308-313, and confirmatory evidence is afforded by his familiarity, of which he gives numerous instances, with many natural features of the western part of asia minor. with respect to his authorities, and the use he made of their writings, there has been more difference of opinion. since his narrative covers the same ground as the "aethiopis" ("coming of memnon") and the "iliupersis" ("destruction of troy") of arctinus (circ. 776 b.c.), and the "little iliad" of lesches (circ. 700 b.c.), it has been assumed that the work of quintus "is little more than an amplification or remodelling of the works of these two cyclic poets." this, however, must needs be pure conjecture, as the only remains of these poets consist of fragments amounting to no more than a very few lines from each, and of the "summaries of contents" made by the grammarian proclus (circ. 140 a.d.), which, again, we but get at second-hand through the "bibliotheca" of photius (ninth century). now, not merely do the only descriptions of incident that are found in the fragments differ essentially from the corresponding incidents as described by quintus, but even in the summaries, meagre as they are, we find, as german critics have shown by exhaustive investigation, serious discrepancies enough to justify us in the conclusion that, even if quintus had the works of the cyclic poets before him, which is far from certain, his poem was no mere remodelling of theirs, but an independent and practically original work. not that this conclusion disposes by any means of all difficulties. if quintus did not follow the cyclic poets, from what source did he draw his materials? the german critic unhesitatingly answers, "from homer." as regards language, versification, and general spirit, the matter is beyond controversy; but when we come to consider the incidents of the story, we find deviations from homer even more serious than any of those from the cyclic poets. and the strange thing is, that each of these deviations is a manifest detriment to the perfection of his poem; in each of them the writer has missed, or has rejected, a magnificent opportunity. with regard to the slaying of achilles by the hand of apollo only, and not by those of apollo and paris, he might have pleaded that homer himself here speaks with an uncertain voice (cf. "iliad" xv. 416-17, xxii. 355-60, and xxi. 277-78). but, in describing the fight for the body of achilles ("odyssey" xxiv. 36 sqq.), homer makes agamemnon say: "so we grappled the livelong day, and we had not refrained us then, but zeus sent a hurricane, stilling the storm of the battle of men." now, it is just in describing such natural phenomena, and in blending them with the turmoil of battle, that quintus is in his element; yet for such a scene he substitutes what is, by comparison, a lame and impotent conclusion. of that awful cry that rang over the sea heralding the coming of thetis and the nymphs to the death-rites of her son, and the panic with which it filled the host, quintus is silent. again, homer ("odyssey" iv. 274-89) describes how helen came in the night with deiphobus, and stood by the wooden horse, and called to each of the hidden warriors with the voice of his own wife. this thrilling scene quintus omits, and substitutes nothing of his own. later on, he makes menelaus slay deiphobus unresisting, "heavy with wine," whereas homer ("odyssey" viii. 517-20) makes him offer such a magnificent resistance, that odysseus and menelaus together could not kill him without the help of athena. in fact, we may say that, though there are echoes of the "iliad" all through the poem, yet, wherever homer has, in the "odyssey", given the outline-sketch of an effective scene, quintus has uniformly neglected to develop it, has sometimes substituted something much weaker--as though he had not the "odyssey" before him! for this we have no satisfactory explanation to offer. he may have set his own judgment above homer--a most unlikely hypothesis: he may have been consistently following, in the framework of his story, some original now lost to us: there may be more, and longer, lacunae in the text than any editors have ventured to indicate: but, whatever theory we adopt, it must be based on mere conjecture. the greek text here given is that of koechly (1850) with many of zimmermann's emendations, which are acknowledged in the notes. passages enclosed in square brackets are suggestions of koechly for supplying the general sense of lacunae. where he has made no such suggestion, or none that seemed to the editors to be adequate, the lacuna has been indicated by asterisks, though here too a few words have been added in the translation, sufficient to connect the sense. --a. s. way contents book i how died for troy the queen of the amazons, penthesileia. ii how memnon, son of the dawn, for troy's sake fell in the battle. iii how by the shaft of a god laid low was hero achilles. iv how in the funeral games of achilles heroes contended. v how the arms of achilles were cause of madness and death unto aias. vi how came for the helping of troy eurypylus, hercules' grandson. vii how the son of achilles was brought to the war from the isle of scyros. viii how hercules' grandson perished in fight with the son of achilles. ix how from his long lone exile returned to the war philoctetes. x how paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought help of oenone. xi how the sons of troy for the last time fought from her walls and her towers. xii how the wooden horse was fashioned, and brought into troy by her people. xiii how troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire and slaughter. xiv how the conquerors sailed from troy unto judgment of tempest and shipwreck. book i: how died for troy the queen of the amazons, penthesileia. when godlike hector by peleides slain passed, and the pyre had ravined up his flesh, and earth had veiled his bones, the trojans then tarried in priam's city, sore afraid before the might of stout-heart aeacus' son: as kine they were, that midst the copses shrink from faring forth to meet a lion grim, but in dense thickets terror-huddled cower; so in their fortress shivered these to see that mighty man. of those already dead they thought of all whose lives he reft away as by scamander's outfall on he rushed, and all that in mid-flight to that high wall he slew, how he quelled hector, how he haled his corse round troy;--yea, and of all beside laid low by him since that first day whereon o'er restless seas he brought the trojans doom. ay, all these they remembered, while they stayed thus in their town, and o'er them anguished grief hovered dark-winged, as though that very day all troy with shrieks were crumbling down in fire. then from thermodon, from broad-sweeping streams, came, clothed upon with beauty of goddesses, penthesileia--came athirst indeed for groan-resounding battle, but yet more fleeing abhorred reproach and evil fame, lest they of her own folk should rail on her because of her own sister's death, for whom ever her sorrows waxed, hippolyte, whom she had struck dead with her mighty spear, not of her will--'twas at a stag she hurled. so came she to the far-famed land of troy. yea, and her warrior spirit pricked her on, of murder's dread pollution thus to cleanse her soul, and with such sacrifice to appease the awful ones, the erinnyes, who in wrath for her slain sister straightway haunted her unseen: for ever round the sinner's steps they hover; none may 'scape those goddesses. and with her followed twelve beside, each one a princess, hot for war and battle grim, far-famous each, yet handmaids unto her: penthesileia far outshone them all. as when in the broad sky amidst the stars the moon rides over all pre-eminent, when through the thunderclouds the cleaving heavens open, when sleep the fury-breathing winds; so peerless was she mid that charging host. clonie was there, polemusa, derinoe, evandre, and antandre, and bremusa, hippothoe, dark-eyed harmothoe, alcibie, derimacheia, antibrote, and thermodosa glorying with the spear. all these to battle fared with warrior-souled penthesileia: even as when descends dawn from olympus' crest of adamant, dawn, heart-exultant in her radiant steeds amidst the bright-haired hours; and o'er them all, how flawless-fair soever these may be, her splendour of beauty glows pre-eminent; so peerless amid all the amazons unto troy-town penthesileia came. to right, to left, from all sides hurrying thronged the trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw the tireless war-god's child, the mailed maid, like to the blessed gods; for in her face glowed beauty glorious and terrible. her smile was ravishing: beneath her brows her love-enkindling eyes shone like to stars, and with the crimson rose of shamefastness bright were her cheeks, and mantled over them unearthly grace with battle-prowess clad. then joyed troy's folk, despite past agonies, as when, far-gazing from a height, the hinds behold a rainbow spanning the wide sea, when they be yearning for the heaven-sent shower, when the parched fields be craving for the rain; then the great sky at last is overgloomed, and men see that fair sign of coming wind and imminent rain, and seeing, they are glad, who for their corn-fields' plight sore sighed before; even so the sons of troy when they beheld there in their land penthesileia dread afire for battle, were exceeding glad; for when the heart is thrilled with hope of good, all smart of evils past is wiped away: so, after all his sighing and his pain, gladdened a little while was priam's soul. as when a man who hath suffered many a pang from blinded eyes, sore longing to behold the light, and, if he may not, fain would die, then at the last, by a cunning leech's skill, or by a god's grace, sees the dawn-rose flush, sees the mist rolled back from before his eyes,- yea, though clear vision come not as of old, yet, after all his anguish, joys to have some small relief, albeit the stings of pain prick sharply yet beneath his eyelids;--so joyed the old king to see that terrible queen- the shadowy joy of one in anguish whelmed for slain sons. into his halls he led the maid, and with glad welcome honoured her, as one who greets a daughter to her home returned from a far country in the twentieth year; and set a feast before her, sumptuous as battle-glorious kings, who have brought low nations of foes, array in splendour of pomp, with hearts in pride of victory triumphing. and gifts he gave her costly and fair to see, and pledged him to give many more, so she would save the trojans from the imminent doom. and she such deeds she promised as no man had hoped for, even to lay achilles low, to smite the wide host of the argive men, and cast the brands red-flaming on the ships. ah fool!--but little knew she him, the lord of ashen spears, how far achilles' might in warrior-wasting strife o'erpassed her own! but when andromache, the stately child of king eetion, heard the wild queen's vaunt, low to her own soul bitterly murmured she: "ah hapless! why with arrogant heart dost thou speak such great swelling words? no strength is thine to grapple in fight with peleus' aweless son. nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee. alas for thee! what madness thrills thy soul? fate and the end of death stand hard by thee! hector was mightier far to wield the spear than thou, yet was for all his prowess slain, slain for the bitter grief of troy, whose folk the city through looked on him as a god. my glory and his noble parents' glory was he while yet he lived--o that the earth over my dead face had been mounded high, or ever through his throat the breath of life followed the cleaving spear! but now have i looked--woe is me!--on grief unutterable, when round the city those fleet-footed steeds haled him, steeds of achilles, who had made me widowed of mine hero-husband, made my portion bitterness through all my days." so spake eetion's lovely-ankled child low to her own soul, thinking on her lord. so evermore the faithful-hearted wife nurseth for her lost love undying grief. then in swift revolution sweeping round into the ocean's deep stream sank the sun, and daylight died. so when the banqueters ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast, then did the handmaids spread in priam's halls for penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest; and slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths like sweet dew dropping round. from heavens' blue slid down the might of a deceitful dream at pallas' hest, that so the warrior-maid might see it, and become a curse to troy and to herself, when strained her soul to meet; the whirlwind of the battle. in this wise the trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived: stood o'er the maiden's head that baleful dream in likeness of her father, kindling her fearlessly front to front to meet in fight fleetfoot achilles. and she heard the voice, and all her heart exulted, for she weened that she should on that dawning day achieve a mighty deed in battle's deadly toil ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream out of the sunless land, such as beguiles full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men, whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears, and to the battle's travail lured her then! but when the dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose penthesileia. then did she array her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms given her of the war-god. first she laid beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs. her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then about her, and around her shoulders slung, with glory in her heart, the massy brand whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed of ivory and silver. next, her shield unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim swelled like the young moon's arching chariot-rail when high o'er ocean's fathomless-flowing stream she rises, with the space half filled with light betwixt her bowing horns. so did it shine unutterably fair. then on her head she settled the bright helmet overstreamed with a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs. so stood she, lapped about with flaming mail, in semblance like the lightning, which the might, the never-wearied might of zeus, to earth hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop resistless of his shouting host of winds. then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold on a huge halberd, sharp of either blade, which terrible eris gave to ares' child to be her titan weapon in the strife that raveneth souls of men. laughing for glee thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring of towers. her coming kindled all the sons of troy to rush into the battle forth which crowneth men with glory. swiftly all hearkened her gathering-ery, and thronging came, champions, yea, even such as theretofore shrank back from standing in the ranks of war against achilles the all-ravager. but she in pride of triumph on she rode throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift of oreithyia, the wild north-wind's bride, given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time she came to thrace, a steed whose flying feet could match the harpies' wings. riding thereon penthesileia in her goodlihead left the tall palaces of troy behind. and ever were the ghastly-visaged fates thrusting her on into the battle, doomed to be her first against the greeks--and last! to right, to left, with unreturning feet the trojan thousands followed to the fray, the pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid, followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram that by the shepherd's art strides before all. so followed they, with battle-fury filled, strong trojans and wild-hearted amazons. and like tritonis seemed she, as she went to meet the giants, or as flasheth far through war-hosts eris, waker of onset-shouts. so mighty in the trojans' midst she seemed, penthesileia of the flying feet. then unto cronos' son laomedon's child upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands, turning him toward the sky-encountering fane of zeus of ida, who with sleepless eyes looks ever down on ilium; and he prayed: "father, give ear! vouchsafe that on this day achaea's host may fall before the hands of this our warrior-queen, the war-god's child; and do thou bring her back unscathed again unto mine halls: we pray thee by the love thou bear'st to ares of the fiery heart thy son, yea, to her also! is she not most wondrous like the heavenly goddesses? and is she not the child of thine own seed? pity my stricken heart withal! thou know'st all agonies i have suffered in the deaths of dear sons whom the fates have torn from me by argive hands in the devouring fight. compassionate us, while a remnant yet remains of noble dardanus' blood, while yet this city stands unwasted! let us know from ghastly slaughter and strife one breathing-space!" in passionate prayer he spake:--lo, with shrill scream swiftly to left an eagle darted by and in his talons bare a gasping dove. then round the heart of priam all the blood was chilled with fear. low to his soul he said: "ne'er shall i see return alive from war penthesileia!" on that selfsame day the fates prepared his boding to fulfil; and his heart brake with anguish of despair. marvelled the argives, far across the plain seeing the hosts of troy charge down on them, and midst them penthesileia, ares' child. these seemed like ravening beasts that mid the hills bring grimly slaughter to the fleecy flocks; and she, as a rushing blast of flame she seemed that maddeneth through the copses summer-scorched, when the wind drives it on; and in this wise spake one to other in their mustering host: "who shall this be who thus can rouse to war the trojans, now that hector hath been slain- these who, we said, would never more find heart to stand against us? lo now, suddenly forth are they rushing, madly afire for fight! sure, in their midst some great one kindleth them to battle's toil! thou verily wouldst say this were a god, of such great deeds he dreams! go to, with aweless courage let us arm our own breasts: let us summon up our might in battle-fury. we shall lack not help of gods this day to close in fight with troy." so cried they; and their flashing battle-gear cast they about them: forth the ships they poured clad in the rage of fight as with a cloak. then front to front their battles closed, like beasts of ravin, locked in tangle of gory strife. clanged their bright mail together, clashed the spears, the corslets, and the stubborn-welded shields and adamant helms. each stabbed at other's flesh with the fierce brass: was neither ruth nor rest, and all the trojan soil was crimson-red. then first penthesileia smote and slew molion; now persinous falls, and now eilissus; reeled antitheus 'neath her spear the pride of lernus quelled she: down she bore hippalmus 'neath her horse-hoofs; haemon's son died; withered stalwart elasippus' strength. and derinoe laid low laogonus, and clonie menippus, him who sailed long since from phylace, led by his lord protesilaus to the war with troy. then was podarces, son of iphiclus, heart-wrung with ruth and wrath to see him lie dead, of all battle-comrades best-beloved. swiftly at clonie he hurled, the maid fair as a goddess: plunged the unswerving lance 'twixt hip and hip, and rushed the dark blood forth after the spear, and all her bowels gushed out. then wroth was penthesileia; through the brawn of his right arm she drave the long spear's point, she shore atwain the great blood-brimming veins, and through the wide gash of the wound the gore spirted, a crimson fountain. with a groan backward he sprang, his courage wholly quelled by bitter pain; and sorrow and dismay thrilled, as he fled, his men of phylace. a short way from the fight he reeled aside, and in his friends' arms died in little space. then with his lance idomeneus thrust out, and by the right breast stabbed bremusa. stilled for ever was the beating of her heart. she fell, as falls a graceful-shafted pine hewn mid the hills by woodmen: heavily, sighing through all its boughs, it crashes down. so with a wailing shriek she fell, and death unstrung her every limb: her breathing soul mingled with multitudinous-sighing winds. then, as evandre through the murderous fray with thermodosa rushed, stood meriones, a lion in the path, and slew: his spear right to the heart of one he drave, and one stabbed with a lightning sword-thrust 'twixt the hips: leapt through the wounds the life, and fled away. oileus' fiery son smote derinoe 'twixt throat and shoulder with his ruthless spear; and on alcibie tydeus' terrible son swooped, and on derimacheia: head with neck clean from the shoulders of these twain he shore with ruin-wreaking brand. together down fell they, as young calves by the massy axe of brawny flesher felled, that, shearing through the sinews of the neck, lops life away. so, by the hands of tydeus' son laid low upon the trojan plain, far, far away from their own highland-home, they fell. nor these alone died; for the might of sthenelus down on them hurled cabeirus' corse, who came from sestos, keen to fight the argive foe, but never saw his fatherland again. then was the heart of paris filled with wrath for a friend slain. full upon sthenelus aimed he a shaft death-winged, yet touched him not, despite his thirst for vengeance: otherwhere the arrow glanced aside, and carried death whither the stern fates guided its fierce wing, and slew evenor brazen-tasleted, who from dulichium came to war with troy. for his death fury-kindled was the son of haughty phyleus: as a lion leaps upon the flock, so swiftly rushed he: all shrank huddling back before that terrible man. itymoneus he slew, and hippasus' son agelaus: from miletus brought they war against the danaan men by nastes led, the god-like, and amphimachus mighty-souled. on mycale they dwelt; beside their home rose latmus' snowy crests, stretched the long glens of branchus, and panormus' water-meads. maeander's flood deep-rolling swept thereby, which from the phrygian uplands, pastured o'er by myriad flocks, around a thousand forelands curls, swirls, and drives his hurrying ripples on down to the vine-clad land of carian men these mid the storm of battle meges slew, nor these alone, but whomsoe'er his lance black-shafted touched, were dead men; for his breast the glorious trito-born with courage thrilled to bring to all his foes the day of doom. and polypoetes, dear to ares, slew dresaeus, whom the nymph neaera bare to passing-wise theiodamas for these spread was the bed of love beside the foot of sipylus the mountain, where the gods made niobe a stony rock, wherefrom tears ever stream: high up, the rugged crag bows as one weeping, weeping, waterfalls cry from far-echoing hermus, wailing moan of sympathy: the sky-encountering crests of sipylus, where alway floats a mist hated of shepherds, echo back the cry. weird marvel seems that rock of niobe to men that pass with feet fear-goaded: there they see the likeness of a woman bowed, in depths of anguish sobbing, and her tears drop, as she mourns grief-stricken, endlessly. yea, thou wouldst say that verily so it was, viewing it from afar; but when hard by thou standest, all the illusion vanishes; and lo, a steep-browed rock, a fragment rent from sipylus--yet niobe is there, dreeing her weird, the debt of wrath divine, a broken heart in guise of shattered stone. all through the tangle of that desperate fray stalked slaughter and doom. the incarnate onset-shout raved through the rolling battle; at her side paced death the ruthless, and the fearful faces, the fates, beside them strode, and in red hands bare murder and the groans of dying men. that day the beating of full many a heart, trojan and argive, was for ever stilled, while roared the battle round them, while the fury of penthesileia fainted not nor failed; but as amid long ridges of lone hills a lioness, stealing down a deep ravine, springs on the kine with lightning leap, athirst for blood wherein her fierce heart revelleth; so on the danaans leapt that warrior-maid. and they, their souls were cowed: backward they shrank, and fast she followed, as a towering surge chases across the thunder-booming sea a flying bark, whose white sails strain beneath the wind's wild buffering, and all the air maddens with roaring, as the rollers crash on a black foreland looming on the lee where long reefs fringe the surf-tormented shores. so chased she, and so dashed the ranks asunder triumphant-souled, and hurled fierce threats before: "ye dogs, this day for evil outrage done to priam shall ye pay! no man of you shall from mine hands deliver his own life, and win back home, to gladden parents eyes, or comfort wife or children. ye shall lie dead, ravined on by vultures and by wolves, and none shall heap the earth-mound o'er your clay. where skulketh now the strength of tydeus' son, and where the might of aeacus' scion? where is aias' bulk? ye vaunt them mightiest men of all your rabble. ha! they will not dare with me to close in battle, lest i drag forth from their fainting frames their craven souls!" then heart-uplifted leapt she on the foe, resistless as a tigress, crashing through ranks upon ranks of argives, smiting now with that huge halberd massy-headed, now hurling the keen dart, while her battle-horse flashed through the fight, and on his shoulder bare quiver and bow death-speeding, close to her hand, if mid that revel of blood she willed to speed the bitter-biting shaft. behind her swept the charging lines of men fleet-footed, friends and brethren of the man who never flinched from close death-grapple, hector, panting all the hot breath of the war-god from their breasts, all slaying danaans with the ashen spear, who fell as frost-touched leaves in autumn fall one after other, or as drops of rain. and aye went up a moaning from earth's breast all blood-bedrenched, and heaped with corse on corse. horses pierced through with arrows, or impaled on spears, were snorting forth their last of strength with screaming neighings. men, with gnashing teeth biting the dust, lay gasping, while the steeds of trojan charioteers stormed in pursuit, trampling the dying mingled with the dead as oxen trample corn in threshing-floors. then one exulting boasted mid the host of troy, beholding penthesileia rush on through the foes' array, like the black storm that maddens o'er the sea, what time the sun allies his might with winter's goat-horned star; and thus, puffed up with vain hope, shouted he: "o friends, in manifest presence down from heaven one of the deathless gods this day hath come to fight the argives, all of love for us, yea, and with sanction of almighty zeus, he whose compassion now remembereth haply strong-hearted priam, who may boast for his a lineage of immortal blood. for this, i trow, no mortal woman seems, who is so aweless-daring, who is clad in splendour-flashing arms: nay, surely she shall be athene, or the mighty-souled enyo--haply eris, or the child of leto world-renowned. o yea, i look to see her hurl amid yon argive men mad-shrieking slaughter, see her set aflame yon ships wherein they came long years agone bringing us many sorrows, yea, they came bringing us woes of war intolerable. ha! to the home-land hellas ne'er shall these with joy return, since gods on our side fight." in overweening exultation so vaunted a trojan. fool!--he had no vision of ruin onward rushing upon himself and troy, and penthesileia's self withal. for not as yet had any tidings come of that wild fray to aias stormy-souled, nor to achilles, waster of tower and town. but on the grave-mound of menoetius' son they twain were lying, with sad memories of a dear comrade crushed, and echoing each one the other's groaning. one it was of the blest gods who still was holding back these from the battle-tumult far away, till many greeks should fill the measure up of woeful havoc, slain by trojan foes and glorious penthesileia, who pursued with murderous intent their rifled ranks, while ever waxed her valour more and more, and waxed her might within her: never in vain she aimed the unswerving spear-thrust: aye she pierced the backs of them that fled, the breasts of such as charged to meet her. all the long shaft dripped with steaming blood. swift were her feet as wind as down she swooped. her aweless spirit failed for weariness nor fainted, but her might was adamantine. the impending doom, which roused unto the terrible strife not yet achilles, clothed her still with glory; still aloof the dread power stood, and still would shed splendour of triumph o'er the death-ordained but for a little space, ere it should quell that maiden 'neath the hands of aeaeus' son. in darkness ambushed, with invisible hand ever it thrust her on, and drew her feet destruction-ward, and lit her path to death with glory, while she slew foe after foe. as when within a dewy garden-close, longing for its green springtide freshness, leaps a heifer, and there rangeth to and fro, when none is by to stay her, treading down all its green herbs, and all its wealth of bloom, devouring greedily this, and marring that with trampling feet; so ranged she, ares' child, through reeling squadrons of achaea's sons, slew these, and hunted those in panic rout. from troy afar the women marvelling gazed at the maid's battle-prowess. suddenly a fiery passion for the fray hath seized antimachus' daughter, meneptolemus' wife, tisiphone. her heart waxed strong, and filled with lust of fight she cried to her fellows all, with desperate-daring words, to spur them on to woeful war, by recklessness made strong. "friends, let a heart of valour in our breasts awake! let us be like our lords, who fight with foes for fatherland, for babes, for us, and never pause for breath in that stern strife! let us too throne war's spirit in our hearts! let us too face the fight which favoureth none! for we, we women, be not creatures cast in diverse mould from men: to us is given such energy of life as stirs in them. eyes have we like to theirs, and limbs: throughout fashioned we are alike: one common light we look on, and one common air we breathe: with like food are we nourished--nay, wherein have we been dowered of god more niggardly than men? then let us shrink not from the fray see ye not yonder a woman far excelling men in the grapple of fight? yet is her blood nowise akin to ours, nor fighteth she for her own city. for an alien king she warreth of her own heart's prompting, fears the face of no man; for her soul is thrilled with valour and with spirit invincible. but we--to right, to left, lie woes on woes about our feet: this mourns beloved sons, and that a husband who for hearth and home hath died; some wail for fathers now no more; some grieve for brethren and for kinsmen lost. not one but hath some share in sorrow's cup. behind all this a fearful shadow looms, the day of bondage! therefore flinch not ye from war, o sorrow-laden! better far to die in battle now, than afterwards hence to be haled into captivity to alien folk, we and our little ones, in the stern grip of fate leaving behind a burning city, and our husbands' graves." so cried she, and with passion for stern war thrilled all those women; and with eager speed they hasted to go forth without the wall mail-clad, afire to battle for their town and people: all their spirit was aflame. as when within a hive, when winter-tide is over and gone, loud hum the swarming bees what time they make them ready forth to fare to bright flower-pastures, and no more endure to linger therewithin, but each to other crieth the challenge-cry to sally forth; even so bestirred themselves the women of troy, and kindled each her sister to the fray. the weaving-wool, the distaff far they flung, and to grim weapons stretched their eager hands. and now without the city these had died in that wild battle, as their husbands died and the strong amazons died, had not one voice of wisdom cried to stay their maddened feet, when with dissuading words theano spake: "wherefore, ah wherefore for the toil and strain of battle's fearful tumult do ye yearn, infatuate ones? never your limbs have toiled in conflict yet. in utter ignorance panting for labour unendurable, ye rush on all-unthinking; for your strength can never be as that of danaan men, men trained in daily battle. amazons have joyed in ruthless fight, in charging steeds, from the beginning: all the toil of men do they endure; and therefore evermore the spirit of the war-god thrills them through. 'they fall not short of men in anything: their labour-hardened frames make great their hearts for all achievement: never faint their knees nor tremble. rumour speaks their queen to be a daughter of the mighty lord of war. therefore no woman may compare with her in prowess--if she be a woman, not a god come down in answer to our prayers. yea, of one blood be all the race of men, yet unto diverse labours still they turn; and that for each is evermore the best whereto he bringeth skill of use and wont. therefore do ye from tumult of the fray hold you aloof, and in your women's bowers before the loom still pace ye to and fro; and war shall be the business of our lords. lo, of fair issue is there hope: we see the achaeans falling fast: we see the might of our men waxing ever: fear is none of evil issue now: the pitiless foe beleaguer not the town: no desperate need there is that women should go forth to war." so cried she, and they hearkened to the words of her who had garnered wisdom from the years; so from afar they watched the fight. but still penthesileia brake the ranks, and still before her quailed the achaeans: still they found nor screen nor hiding-place from imminent death. as bleating goats are by the blood-stained jaws of a grim panther torn, so slain were they. in each man's heart all lust of battle died, and fear alone lived. this way, that way fled the panic-stricken: some to earth had flung the armour from their shoulders; some in dust grovelled in terror 'neath their shields: the steeds fled through the rout unreined of charioteers. in rapture of triumph charged the amazons, with groan and scream of agony died the greeks. withered their manhood was in that sore strait; brief was the span of all whom that fierce maid mid the grim jaws of battle overtook. as when with mighty roaring bursteth down a storm upon the forest-trees, and some uprendeth by the roots, and on the earth dashes them down, the tail stems blossom-crowned, and snappeth some athwart the trunk, and high whirls them through air, till all confused they lie a ruin of splintered stems and shattered sprays; so the great danaan host lay, dashed to dust by doom of fate, by penthesileia's spear. but when the very ships were now at point to be by hands of trojans set aflame, then battle-bider aias heard afar the panic-cries, and spake to aeacus' son: "achilles, all the air about mine ears is full of multitudinous eries, is full of thunder of battle rolling nearer aye. let us go forth then, ere the trojans win unto the ships, and make great slaughter there of argive men, and set the ships aflame. foulest reproach such thing on thee and me should bring; for it beseems not that the seed of mighty zeus should shame the sacred blood of hero-fathers, who themselves of old with hercules the battle-eager sailed to troy, and smote her even at her height of glory, when laomedon was king. ay, and i ween that our hands even now shall do the like: we too are mighty men." he spake: the aweless strength of aeacus' son hearkened thereto, for also to his ears by this the roar of bitter battle came. then hasted both, and donned their warrior-gear all splendour-gleaming: now, in these arrayed facing that stormy-tossing rout they stand. loud clashed their glorious armour: in their souls a battle-fury like the war-god's wrath maddened; such might was breathed into these twain by atrytone, shaker of the shield, as on they pressed. with joy the argives saw the coming of that mighty twain: they seemed in semblance like aloeus' giant sons who in the old time made that haughty vaunt of piling on olympus' brow the height of ossa steeply-towering, and the crest of sky-encountering pelion, so to rear a mountain-stair for their rebellious rage to scale the highest heaven. huge as these the sons of aeacus seemed, as forth they strode to stem the tide of war. a gladsome sight to friends who have fainted for their coming, now onward they press to crush triumphant foes. many they slew with their resistless spears; as when two herd-destroying lions come on sheep amid the copses feeding, far from help of shepherds, and in heaps on heaps slay them, till they have drunken to the full of blood, and filled their maws insatiate with flesh, so those destroyers twain slew on, spreading wide havoc through the hosts of troy. there deiochus and gallant hyllus fell by alas slain, and fell eurynomus lover of war, and goodly enyeus died. but peleus' son burst on the amazons smiting antandre, polemusa then, antibrote, fierce-souled hippothoe, hurling harmothoe down on sisters slain. then hard on all their-reeling ranks he pressed with telamon's mighty-hearted son; and now before their hands battalions dense and strong crumbled as weakly and as suddenly as when in mountain-folds the forest-brakes shrivel before a tempest-driven fire. when battle-eager penthesileia saw these twain, as through the scourging storm of war like ravening beasts they rushed, to meet them there she sped, as when a leopard grim, whose mood is deadly, leaps from forest-coverts forth, lashing her tail, on hunters closing round, while these, in armour clad, and putting trust in their long spears, await her lightning leap; so did those warriors twain with spears upswung wait penthesileia. clanged the brazen plates about their shoulders as they moved. and first leapt the long-shafted lance sped from the hand of goodly penthesileia. straight it flew to the shield of aeacus' son, but glancing thence this way and that the shivered fragments sprang as from a rock-face: of such temper were the cunning-hearted fire-god's gifts divine. then in her hand the warrior-maid swung up a second javelin fury-winged, against aias, and with fierce words defied the twain: "ha, from mine hand in vain one lance hath leapt! but with this second look i suddenly to quell the strength and courage of two foes,- ay, though ye vaunt you mighty men of war amid your danaans! die ye shall, and so lighter shall be the load of war's affliction that lies upon the trojan chariot-lords. draw nigh, come through the press to grips with me, so shall ye learn what might wells up in breasts of amazons. with my blood is mingled war! no mortal man begat me, but the lord of war, insatiate of the battle-cry. therefore my might is more than any man's." with scornful laughter spake she: then she hurled her second lance; but they in utter scorn laughed now, as swiftly flew the shaft, and smote the silver greave of aias, and was foiled thereby, and all its fury could not scar the flesh within; for fate had ordered not that any blade of foes should taste the blood of aias in the bitter war. but he recked of the amazon naught, but turned him thence to rush upon the trojan host, and left penthesileia unto peleus' son alone, for well he knew his heart within that she, for all her prowess, none the less would cost achilles battle-toil as light, as effortless, as doth the dove the hawk. then groaned she an angry groan that she had sped her shafts in vain; and now with scoffing speech to her in turn the son of peleus spake: "woman, with what vain vauntings triumphing hast thou come forth against us, all athirst to battle with us, who be mightier far than earthborn heroes? we from cronos' son, the thunder-roller, boast our high descent. ay, even hector quailed, the battle-swift, before us, e'en though far away he saw our onrush to grim battle. yea, my spear slew him, for all his might. but thou--thine heart is utterly mad, that thou hast greatly dared to threaten us with death this day! on thee thy latest hour shall swiftly come--is come! thee not thy sire the war-god now shall pluck out of mine hand, but thou the debt shalt pay of a dark doom, as when mid mountain-folds a pricket meets a lion, waster of herds. what, woman, hast thou heard not of the heaps of slain, that into xanthus' rushing stream were thrust by these mine hands?--or hast thou heard in vain, because the blessed ones have stol'n wit and discretion from thee, to the end that doom's relentless gulf might gape for thee?" he spake; he swung up in his mighty hand and sped the long spear warrior-slaying, wrought by chiron, and above the right breast pierced the battle-eager maid. the red blood leapt forth, as a fountain wells, and all at once fainted the strength of penthesileia's limbs; dropped the great battle-axe from her nerveless hand; a mist of darkness overveiled her eyes, and anguish thrilled her soul. yet even so still drew she difficult breath, still dimly saw the hero, even now in act to drag her from the swift steed's back. confusedly she thought: "or shall i draw my mighty sword, and bide achilles' fiery onrush, or hastily cast me from my fleet horse down to earth, and kneel unto this godlike man, and with wild breath promise for ransoming great heaps of brass and gold, which pacify the hearts of victors never so athirst for blood, if haply so the murderous might of aeacus' son may hearken and may spare, or peradventure may compassionate my youth, and so vouchsafe me to behold mine home again?--for o, i long to live!" so surged the wild thoughts in her; but the gods ordained it otherwise. even now rushed on in terrible anger peleus' son: he thrust with sudden spear, and on its shaft impaled the body of her tempest-footed steed, even as a man in haste to sup might pierce flesh with the spit, above the glowing hearth to roast it, or as in a mountain-glade a hunter sends the shaft of death clear through the body of a stag with such winged speed that the fierce dart leaps forth beyond, to plunge into the tall stem of an oak or pine. so that death-ravening spear of peleus' son clear through the goodly steed rushed on, and pierced penthesileia. straightway fell she down into the dust of earth, the arms of death, in grace and comeliness fell, for naught of shame dishonoured her fair form. face down she lay on the long spear outgasping her last breath, stretched upon that fleet horse as on a couch; like some tall pine snapped by the icy mace of boreas, earth's forest-fosterling reared by a spring to stately height, amidst long mountain-glens, a glory of mother earth; so from the once fleet steed low fallen lay penthesileia, all her shattered strength brought down to this, and all her loveliness. now when the trojans saw the warrior-queen struck down in battle, ran through all their lines a shiver of panic. straightway to their walls turned they in flight, heart-agonized with grief. as when on the wide sea, 'neath buffetings of storm-blasts, castaways whose ship is wrecked escape, a remnant of a crew, forspent with desperate conflict with the cruel sea: late and at last appears the land hard by, appears a city: faint and weary-limbed with that grim struggle, through the surf they strain to land, sore grieving for the good ship lost, and shipmates whom the terrible surge dragged down to nether gloom; so, troyward as they fled from battle, all those trojans wept for her, the child of the resistless war-god, wept for friends who died in groan-resounding fight. then over her with scornful laugh the son of peleus vaunted: "in the dust lie there a prey to teeth of dogs, to ravens' beaks, thou wretched thing! who cozened thee to come forth against me? and thoughtest thou to fare home from the war alive, to bear with thee right royal gifts from priam the old king, thy guerdon for slain argives? ha, 'twas not the immortals who inspired thee with this thought, who know that i of heroes mightiest am, the danaans' light of safety, but a woe to trojans and to thee, o evil-starred! nay, but it was the darkness-shrouded fates and thine own folly of soul that pricked thee on to leave the works of women, and to fare to war, from which strong men shrink shuddering back." so spake he, and his ashen spear the son of peleus drew from that swift horse, and from penthesileia in death's agony. then steed and rider gasped their lives away slain by one spear. now from her head he plucked the helmet splendour-flashing like the beams of the great sun, or zeus' own glory-light. then, there as fallen in dust and blood she lay, rose, like the breaking of the dawn, to view 'neath dainty-pencilled brows a lovely face, lovely in death. the argives thronged around, and all they saw and marvelled, for she seemed like an immortal. in her armour there upon the earth she lay, and seemed the child of zeus, the tireless huntress artemis sleeping, what time her feet forwearied are with following lions with her flying shafts over the hills far-stretching. she was made a wonder of beauty even in her death by aphrodite glorious-crowned, the bride of the strong war-god, to the end that he, the son of noble peleus, might be pierced with the sharp arrow of repentant love. the warriors gazed, and in their hearts they prayed that fair and sweet like her their wives might seem, laid on the bed of love, when home they won. yea, and achilles' very heart was wrung with love's remorse to have slain a thing so sweet, who might have borne her home, his queenly bride, to chariot-glorious phthia; for she was flawless, a very daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair. then ares' heart was thrilled with grief and rage for his child slain. straight from olympus down he darted, swift and bright as thunderbolt terribly flashing from the mighty hand of zeus, far leaping o'er the trackless sea, or flaming o'er the land, while shuddereth all wide olympus as it passeth by. so through the quivering air with heart aflame swooped ares armour-clad, soon as he heard the dread doom of his daughter. for the gales, the north-wind's fleet-winged daughters, bare to him, as through the wide halls of the sky he strode, the tidings of the maiden's woeful end. soon as he heard it, like a tempest-blast down to the ridges of ida leapt he: quaked under his feet the long glens and ravines deep-scored, all ida's torrent-beds, and all far-stretching foot-hills. now had ares brought a day of mourning on the myrmidons, but zeus himself from far olympus sent mid shattering thunders terror of levin-bolts which thick and fast leapt through the welkin down before his feet, blazing with fearful flames. and ares saw, and knew the stormy threat of the mighty-thundering father, and he stayed his eager feet, now on the very brink of battle's turmoil. as when some huge crag thrust from a beetling cliff-brow by the winds and torrent rains, or lightning-lance of zeus, leaps like a wild beast, and the mountain-glens fling back their crashing echoes as it rolls in mad speed on, as with resistless swoop of bound on bound it rushes down, until it cometh to the levels of the plain, and there perforce its stormy flight is stayed; so ares, battle-eager son of zeus, was stayed, how loth soe'er; for all the gods to the ruler of the blessed needs must yield, seeing he sits high-throned above them all, clothed in his might unspeakable. yet still many a wild thought surged through ares' soul, urging him now to dread the terrible threat of cronos' wrathful son, and to return heavenward, and now to reck not of his sire, but with achilles' blood to stain those hands, the battle-tireless. at the last his heart remembered how that many and many a son of zeus himself in many a war had died, nor in their fall had zeus availed them aught. therefore he turned him from the argives--else, down smitten by the blasting thunderbolt, with titans in the nether gloom he had lain, who dared defy the eternal will of zeus. then did the warrior sons of argos strip with eager haste from corpses strown all round the blood-stained spoils. but ever peleus' son gazed, wild with all regret, still gazed on her, the strong, the beautiful, laid in the dust; and all his heart was wrung, was broken down with sorrowing love, deep, strong as he had known when that beloved friend patroclus died. loud jeered thersites, mocking to his face: "thou sorry-souled achilles! art not shamed to let some evil power beguile thine heart to pity of a pitiful amazon whose furious spirit purposed naught but ill to us and ours? ha, woman-mad art thou, and thy soul lusts for this thing, as she were some lady wise in household ways, with gifts and pure intent for honoured wedlock wooed! good had it been had her spear reached thine heart, the heart that sighs for woman-creatures still! thou carest not, unmanly-souled, not thou, for valour's glorious path, when once thine eye lights on a woman! sorry wretch, where now is all thy goodly prowess? where thy wit? and where the might that should beseem a king all-stainless? dost not know what misery this self-same woman-madness wrought for troy? nothing there is to men more ruinous than lust for woman's beauty; it maketh fools of wise men. but the toil of war attains renown. to him that is a hero indeed glory of victory and the war-god's works are sweet. 'tis but the battle-blencher craves the beauty and the bed of such as she!" so railed he long and loud: the mighty heart of peleus' son leapt into flame of wrath. a sudden buffet of his resistless hand smote 'neath the railer's ear, and all his teeth were dashed to the earth: he fell upon his face: forth of his lips the blood in torrent gushed: swift from his body fled the dastard soul of that vile niddering. achaea's sons rejoiced thereat, for aye he wont to rail on each and all with venomous gibes, himself a scandal and the shame of all the host. then mid the warrior argives cried a voice: "not good it is for baser men to rail on kings, or secretly or openly; for wrathful retribution swiftly comes. the lady of justice sits on high; and she who heapeth woe on woe on humankind, even ate, punisheth the shameless tongue." so mid the danaans cried a voice: nor yet within the mighty soul of peleus' son lulled was the storm of wrath, but fiercely he spake: "lie there in dust, thy follies all forgot! 'tis not for knaves to beard their betters: once thou didst provoke odysseus' steadfast soul, babbling with venomous tongue a thousand gibes, and didst escape with life; but thou hast found the son of peleus not so patient-souled, who with one only buffet from his hand unkennels thy dog's soul! a bitter doom hath swallowed thee: by thine own rascalry thy life is sped. hence from achaean men, and mouth out thy revilings midst the dead!" so spake the valiant-hearted aweless son of aeacus. but tydeus' son alone of all the argives was with anger stirred against achilles for thersites slain, seeing these twain were of the self-same blood, the one, proud tydeus' battle-eager son, the other, seed of godlike agrius: brother of noble oeneus agrius was; and oeneus in the danaan land begat tydeus the battle-eager, son to whom was stalwart diomedes. therefore wroth was he for slain thersites, yea, had raised against the son of peleus vengeful hands, except the noblest of aehaea's sons had thronged around him, and besought him sore, and held him back therefrom. with peleus' son also they pleaded; else those mighty twain, the mightiest of all argives, were at point to close with clash of swords, so stung were they with bitter wrath; yet hearkened they at last to prayers of comrades, and were reconciled. then of their pity did the atreid kings- for these too at the imperial loveliness of penthesileia marvelled--render up her body to the men of troy, to bear unto the burg of ilus far-renowned with all her armour. for a herald came asking this boon for priam; for the king longed with deep yearning of the heart to lay that battle-eager maiden, with her arms, and with her war-horse, in the great earth-mound of old laomedon. and so he heaped a high broad pyre without the city wall: upon the height thereof that warrior-queen they laid, and costly treasures did they heap around her, all that well beseems to burn around a mighty queen in battle slain. and so the fire-god's swift-upleaping might, the ravening flame, consumed her. all around the people stood on every hand, and quenched the pyre with odorous wine. then gathered they the bones, and poured sweet ointment over them, and laid them in a casket: over all shed they the rich fat of a heifer, chief among the herds that grazed on ida's slope. and, as for a beloved daughter, rang all round the trojan men's heart-stricken wail, as by the stately wall they buried her on an outstanding tower, beside the bones of old laomedon, a queen beside a king. this honour for the war-god's sake they rendered, and for penthesileia's own. and in the plain beside her buried they the amazons, even all that followed her to battle, and by argive spears were slain. for atreus' sons begrudged not these the boon of tear-besprinkled graves, but let their friends, the warrior trojans, draw their corpses forth, yea, and their own slain also, from amidst the swath of darts o'er that grim harvest-field. wrath strikes not at the dead: pitied are foes when life has fled, and left them foes no more. far off across the plain the while uprose smoke from the pyres whereon the argives laid the many heroes overthrown and slain by trojan hands what time the sword devoured; and multitudinous lamentation wailed over the perished. but above the rest mourned they o'er brave podarces, who in fight was no less mighty than his hero-brother protesilaus, he who long ago fell, slain of hector: so podarces now, struck down by penthesileia's spear, hath cast over all argive hearts the pall of grief. wherefore apart from him they laid in clay the common throng of slain; but over him toiling they heaped an earth-mound far-descried in memory of a warrior aweless-souled. and in a several pit withal they thrust the niddering thersites' wretched corse. then to the ships, acclaiming aeacus' son, returned they all. but when the radiant day had plunged beneath the ocean-stream, and night, the holy, overspread the face of earth, then in the rich king agamemnon's tent feasted the might of peleus' son, and there sat at the feast those other mighty ones all through the dark, till rose the dawn divine. book ii how memnon, son of the dawn, for troy's sake fell in the battle. when o'er the crests of the far-echoing hills the splendour of the tireless-racing sun poured o'er the land, still in their tents rejoiced achaea's stalwart sons, and still acclaimed achilles the resistless. but in troy still mourned her people, still from all her towers seaward they strained their gaze; for one great fear gripped all their hearts--to see that terrible man at one bound overleap their high-built wall, then smite with the sword all people therewithin, and burn with fire fanes, palaces, and homes. and old thymoetes spake to the anguished ones: "friends, i have lost hope: mine heart seeth not or help, or bulwark from the storm of war, now that the aweless hector, who was once troy's mighty champion, is in dust laid low. not all his might availed to escape the fates, but overborne he was by achilles' hands, the hands that would, i verily deem, bear down a god, if he defied him to the fight, even as he overthrew this warrior-queen penthesileia battle-revelling, from whom all other argives shrank in fear. ah, she was marvellous! when at the first i looked on her, meseemed a blessed one from heaven had come down hitherward to bring light to our darkness--ah, vain hope, vain dream! go to, let us take counsel, what to do were best for us. or shall we still maintain a hopeless fight against these ruthless foes, or shall we straightway flee a city doomed? ay, doomed!--for never more may we withstand argives in fighting field, when in the front of battle pitiless achilles storms." then spake laomedon's son, the ancient king: "nay, friend, and all ye other sons of troy, and ye our strong war-helpers, flinch we not faint-hearted from defence of fatherland! yet let us go not forth the city-gates to battle with yon foe. nay, from our towers and from our ramparts let us make defence, till our new champion come, the stormy heart of memnon. lo, he cometh, leading on hosts numberless, aethiopia's swarthy sons. by this, i trow, he is nigh unto our gates; for long ago, in sore distress of soul, i sent him urgent summons. yea, and he promised me, gladly promised me, to come to troy, and make all end of all our woes. and now, i trust, he is nigh. let us endure a little longer then; for better far it is like brave men in the fight to die than flee, and live in shame mid alien folk." so spake the old king; but polydamas, the prudent-hearted, thought not good to war thus endlessly, and spake his patriot rede: "if memnon have beyond all shadow of doubt pledged him to thrust dire ruin far from us, then do i gainsay not that we await the coming of that godlike man within our walls--yet, ah, mine heart misgives me, lest, though he with all his warriors come, he come but to his death, and unto thousands more, our people, nought but misery come thereof; for terribly against us leaps the storm of the achaeans' might. but now, go to, let us not flee afar from this our troy to wander to some alien land, and there, in the exile's pitiful helplessness, endure all flouts and outrage; nor in our own land abide we till the storm of argive war o'erwhelm us. nay, even now, late though it be, better it were for us to render back unto the danaans helen and her wealth, even all that glory of women brought with her from sparta, and add other treasure--yea, repay it twofold, so to save our troy and our own souls, while yet the spoiler's hand is laid not on our substance, and while yet troy hath not sunk in gulfs of ravening flame. i pray you, take to heart my counsel! none shall, well i wot, be given to trojan men better than this. ah, would that long ago hector had hearkened to my pleading, when i fain had kept him in the ancient home!" so spake polydamas the noble and strong, and all the listening trojans in their hearts approved; yet none dared utter openly the word, for all with trembling held in awe their prince and helen, though for her sole sake daily they died. but on that noble man turned paris, and reviled him to his face: "thou dastard battle-blencher polydamas! not in thy craven bosom beats a heart that bides the fight, but only fear and panic. yet dost thou vaunt thee--quotha!--still our best in counsel!--no man's soul is base as thine! go to, thyself shrink shivering from the strife! cower, coward, in thine halls! but all the rest, we men, will still go armour-girt, until we wrest from this our truceless war a peace that shall not shame us! 'tis with travail and toil of strenuous war that brave men win renown; but flight?--weak women choose it, and young babes! thy spirit is like to theirs. no whit i trust thee in the day of battle--thee, the man who maketh faint the hearts of all the host!" so fiercely he reviled: polydamas wrathfully answered; for he shrank not, he, from answering to his face. a caitiff hound, a reptile fool, is he who fawns on men before their faces, while his heart is black with malice, and, when they be gone, his tongue backbites them. openly polydamas flung back upon the prince his taunt and scoff: "o thou of living men most mischievous! thy valour--quotha!--brings us misery! thine heart endures, and will endure, that strife should have no limit, save in utter ruin of fatherland and people for thy sake! ne'er may such wantwit valour craze my soul! be mine to cherish wise discretion aye, a warder that shall keep mine house in peace." indignantly he spake, and paris found no word to answer him, for conscience woke remembrance of all woes he had brought on troy, and should bring; for his passion-fevered heart would rather hail quick death than severance from helen the divinely fair, although for her sake was it that the sons of troy even then were gazing from their towers to see the argives and achilles drawing nigh. but no long time thereafter came to them memnon the warrior-king, and brought with him a countless host of swarthy aethiops. from all the streets of troy the trojans flocked glad-eyed to gaze on him, as seafarers, with ruining tempest utterly forspent, see through wide-parting clouds the radiance of the eternal-wheeling northern wain; so joyed the troyfolk as they thronged around, and more than all laomedon's son, for now leapt in his heart a hope, that yet the ships might by those aethiop men be burned with fire; so giantlike their king was, and themselves so huge a host, and so athirst for fight. therefore with all observance welcomed he the strong son of the lady of the dawn with goodly gifts and with abundant cheer. so at the banquet king and hero sat and talked, this telling of the danaan chiefs, and all the woes himself had suffered, that telling of that strange immortality by the dawn-goddess given to his sire, telling of the unending flow and ebb of the sea-mother, of the sacred flood of ocean fathomless-rolling, of the bounds of earth that wearieth never of her travail, of where the sun-steeds leap from orient waves, telling withal of all his wayfaring from ocean's verge to priam's wall, and spurs of ida. yea, he told how his strong hands smote the great army of the solymi who barred his way, whose deed presumptuous brought upon their own heads crushing ruin and woe. so told he all that marvellous tale, and told of countless tribes and nations seen of him. and priam heard, and ever glowed his heart within him; and the old lips answering spake: "memnon, the gods are good, who have vouchsafed to me to look upon thine host, and thee here in mine halls. o that their grace would so crown this their boon, that i might see my foes all thrust to one destruction by thy spears. that well may be, for marvellous-like art thou to some invincible deathless one, yea, more than any earthly hero. wherefore thou, i trust, shalt hurl wild havoc through their host. but now, i pray thee, for this day do thou cheer at my feast thine heart, and with the morn shalt thou go forth to battle worthy of thee." then in his hands a chalice deep and wide he raised, and memnon in all love he pledged in that huge golden cup, a gift of gods; for this the cunning god-smith brought to zeus, his masterpiece, what time the mighty in power to hephaestus gave for bride the cyprian queen; and zeus on dardanus his godlike son bestowed it, he on erichthonius; erichthonius to tros the great of heart gave it, and he with all his treasure-store bequeathed it unto ilus, and he gave that wonder to laomedon, and he to priam, who had thought to leave the same to his own son. fate ordered otherwise. and memnon clasped his hands about that cup so peerless-beautiful, and all his heart marvelled; and thus he spake unto the king: "beseems not with great swelling words to vaunt amidst the feast, and lavish promises, but rather quietly to eat in hall, and to devise deeds worthy. whether i be brave and strong, or whether i be not, battle, wherein a man's true might is seen, shall prove to thee. now would i rest, nor drink the long night through. the battle-eager spirit by measureless wine and lack of sleep is dulled." marvelled at him the old king, and he said: "as seems thee good touching the banquet, do after thy pleasure. i, when thou art loth, will not constrain thee. yea, unmeet it is to hold back him who fain would leave the board, or hurry from one's halls who fain would stay. so is the good old law with all true men." then rose that champion from the board, and passed thence to his sleep--his last! and with him went all others from the banquet to their rest: and gentle sleep slid down upon them soon. but in the halls of zeus, the lightning-lord, feasted the gods the while, and cronos' son, all-father, of his deep foreknowledge spake amidst them of the issue of the strife: "be it known unto you all, to-morn shall bring by yonder war affliction swift and sore; for many mighty horses shall ye see in either host beside their chariots slain, and many heroes perishing. therefore ye remember these my words, howe'er ye grieve for dear ones. let none clasp my knees in prayer, since even to us relentless are the fates." so warned he them, which knew before, that all should from the battle stand aside, howe'er heart-wrung; that none, petitioning for a son or dear one, should to olympus vainly come. so, at that warning of the thunderer, the son of cronos, all they steeled their hearts to bear, and spake no word against their king; for in exceeding awe they stood of him. yet to their several mansions and their rest with sore hearts went they. o'er their deathless eyes the blessing-bringer sleep his light veils spread. when o'er precipitous crests of mountain-walls leapt up broad heaven the bright morning-star who rouseth to their toils from slumber sweet the binders of the sheaf, then his last sleep unclasped the warrior-son of her who brings light to the world, the child of mists of night. now swelled his mighty heart with eagerness to battle with the foe forthright. and dawn with most reluctant feet began to climb heaven's broad highway. then did the trojans gird their battle-harness on; then armed themselves the aethiop men, and all the mingled tribes of those war-helpers that from many lands to priam's aid were gathered. forth the gates swiftly they rushed, like darkly lowering clouds which cronos' son, when storm is rolling up, herdeth together through the welkin wide. swiftly the whole plain filled. onward they streamed like harvest-ravaging locusts drifting on in fashion of heavy-brooding rain-clouds o'er wide plains of earth, an irresistible host bringing wan famine on the sons of men; so in their might and multitude they went. the city streets were all too strait for them marching: upsoared the dust from underfoot. from far the argives gazed, and marvelling saw their onrush, but with speed arrayed their limbs in brass, and in the might of peleus' son put their glad trust. amidst them rode he on like to a giant titan, glorying in steeds and chariot, while his armour flashed splendour around in sudden lightning-gleams. it was as when the sun from utmost bounds of earth-encompassing ocean comes, and brings light to the world, and flings his splendour wide through heaven, and earth and air laugh all around. so glorious, mid the argives peleus' son rode onward. mid the trojans rode the while memnon the hero, even such to see as ares furious-hearted. onward swept the eager host arrayed about their lord. then in the grapple of war on either side closed the long lines, trojan and danaan; but chief in prowess still the aethiops were. crashed they together as when surges meet on the wild sea, when, in a day of storm, from every quarter winds to battle rush. foe hurled at foe the ashen spear, and slew: screams and death-groans went up like roaring fire. as when down-thundering torrents shout and rave on-pouring seaward, when the madding rains stream from god's cisterns, when the huddling clouds are hurled against each other ceaselessly, and leaps their fiery breath in flashes forth; so 'neath the fighters' trampling feet the earth thundered, and leapt the terrible battle-yell through frenzied air, for mad the war-cries were. for firstfruits of death's harvest peleus' son slew thalius and mentes nobly born, men of renown, and many a head beside dashed he to dust. as in its furious swoop a whirlwind shakes dark chasms underground, and earth's foundations crumble and melt away around the deep roots of the shuddering world, so the ranks crumbled in swift doom to the dust before the spear and fury of peleus's son. but on the other side the hero child of the dawn-goddess slew the argive men, like to a baleful doom which bringeth down on men a grim and ghastly pestilence. first slew he pheron; for the bitter spear plunged through his breast, and down on him he hurled goodly ereuthus, battle-revellers both, dwellers in thryus by alpheus' streams, which followed nestor to the god-built burg of ilium. but when he had laid these low, against the son of neleus pressed he on eager to slay. godlike antilochus strode forth to meet him, sped the long spear's flight, yet missed him, for a little he swerved, but slew his aethiop comrade, son of pyrrhasus. wroth for his fall, against antilochus he leapt, as leaps a lion mad of mood upon a boar, the beast that flincheth not from fight with man or brute, whose charge is a flash of lightning; so was his swift leap. his foe antilochus caught a huge stone from the ground, hurled, smote him; but unshaken abode his strength, for the strong helm-crest fenced his head from death; but rang the morion round his brows. his heart kindled with terrible fury at the blow more than before against antilochus. like seething cauldron boiled his maddened might. he stabbed, for all his cunning of fence, the son of nestor above the breast; the crashing spear plunged to the heart, the spot of speediest death. then upon all the danaans at his fall came grief; but anguish-stricken was the heart of nestor most of all, to see his child slain in his sight; for no more bitter pang smiteth the heart of man than when a son perishes, and his father sees him die. therefore, albeit unused to melting mood, his soul was torn with agony for the son by black death slain. a wild cry hastily to thrasymedes did he send afar: "hither to me, thrasymedes war-renowned! help me to thrust back from thy brother's corse, yea, from mine hapless son, his murderer, that so ourselves may render to our dead all dues of mourning. if thou flinch for fear, no son of mine art thou, nor of the line of periclymenus, who dared withstand hercules' self. come, to the battle-toil! for grim necessity oftentimes inspires the very coward with courage of despair." then at his cry that brother's heart was stung with bitter grief. swift for his help drew nigh phereus, on whom for his great prince's fall came anguish. charged these warriors twain to face strong memnon in the gory strife. as when two hunters 'mid a forest's mountain-folds, eager to take the prey, rush on to meet a wild boar or a bear, with hearts afire to slay him, but in furious mood he leaps on them, and holds at bay the might of men; so swelled the heart of memnon. nigh drew they, yet vainly essayed to slay him, as they hurled the long spears, but the lances glanced aside far from his flesh: the dawn-queen turned them thence. yet fell their spears not vainly to the ground: the lance of fiery-hearted phereus, winged with eager speed, dealt death to meges' son, polymnius: laomedon was slain by the wrath of nestor's son for a brother dead, the dear one memnon slew in battle-rout, and whom the slayer's war-unwearied hands now stripped of his all-brazen battle-gear, nought recking, he, of thrasymedes' might, nor of stout phereus, who were unto him but weaklings. a great lion seemed he there standing above a hart, as jackals they, that, howso hungry, dare not come too nigh. but hard thereby the father gazed thereon in agony, and cried the rescue-cry to other his war-comrades for their aid against the foe. himself too burned to fight from his war-car; for yearning for the dead goaded him to the fray beyond his strength. ay, and himself had been on his dear son laid, numbered with the dead, had not the voice of memnon stayed him even in act to rush upon him, for he reverenced in his heart the white hairs of an age-mate of his sire: "ancient," he cried, "it were my shame to fight. with one so much mine elder: i am not blind unto honour. verily i weened that this was some young warrior, when i saw thee facing thus the foe. my bold heart hoped for contest worthy of mine hand and spear. nay, draw thou back afar from battle-toil and bitter death. go, lest, how loth soe'er, i smite thee of sore need. nay, fall not thou beside thy son, against a mightier man fighting, lest men with folly thee should charge, for folly it is that braves o'ermastering might." he spake, and answered him that warrior old: "nay, memnon, vain was that last word of thine. none would name fool the father who essayed, battling with foes for his son's sake, to thrust the ruthless slayer back from that dear corpse, but ah that yet my strength were whole in me, that thou might'st know my spear! now canst thou vaunt proudly enow: a young man's heart is bold and light his wit. uplifted is thy soul and vain thy speech. if in my strength of youth thou hadst met me--ha, thy friends had not rejoiced, for all thy might! but me the grievous weight of age bows down, like an old lion whom a cur may boldly drive back from the fold, for that he cannot, in his wrath's despite, maintain his own cause, being toothless now, and strengthless, and his strong heart tamed by time. so well the springs of olden strength no more now in my breast. yet am i stronger still than many men; my grey hairs yield to few that have within them all the strength of youth." so drew he back a little space, and left lying in dust his son, since now no more lived in the once lithe limbs the olden strength, for the years' weight lay heavy on his head. back leapt thrasymedes likewise, spearman good, and battle-eager phereus, and the rest their comrades; for that slaughter-dealing man pressed hard on them. as when from mountains high a shouting river with wide-echoing din sweeps down its fathomless whirlpools through the gloom, when god with tumult of a mighty storm hath palled the sky in cloud from verge to verge, when thunders crash all round, when thick and fast gleam lightnings from the huddling clouds, when fields are flooded as the hissing rain descends, and all the air is filled with awful roar of torrents pouring down the hill-ravines; so memnon toward the shores of hellespont before him hurled the argives, following hard behind them, slaughtering ever. many a man fell in the dust, and left his life in blood 'neath aethiop hands. stained was the earth with gore as danaans died. exulted memnon's soul as on the ranks of foemen ever he rushed, and heaped with dead was all the plain of troy. and still from fight refrained he not; he hoped to be a light of safety unto troy and bane to danaans. but all the while stood baleful doom beside him, and spurred on to strife, with flattering smile. to right, to left his stalwart helpers wrought in battle-toil, alcyoneus and nychius, and the son of asius furious-souled; meneclus' spear, clydon and alexippus, yea, a host eager to chase the foe, men who in fight quit them like men, exulting in their king. then, as meneclus on the danaans charged, the son of neleus slew him. wroth for his friend, whole throngs of foes fierce-hearted memnon slew. as when a hunter midst the mountains drives swift deer within the dark lines of his toils- the eager ring of beaters closing in presses the huddled throng into the snares of death: the dogs are wild with joy of the chase ceaselessly giving tongue, the while his darts leap winged with death on brocket and on hind; so memnon slew and ever slew: his men rejoiced, the while in panic stricken rout before that glorious man the argives fled. as when from a steep mountain's precipice-brow leaps a huge crag, which all-resistless zeus by stroke of thunderbolt hath hurled from the crest; crash oakwood copses, echo long ravines, shudders the forest to its rattle and roar, and flocks therein and herds and wild things flee scattering, as bounding, whirling, it descends with deadly pitiless onrush; so his foes fled from the lightning-flash of memnon's spear. then to the side of aeacus' mighty son came nestor. anguished for his son he cried: "achilles, thou great bulwark of the greeks, slain is my child! the armour of my dead hath memnon, and i fear me lest his corse be cast a prey to dogs. haste to his help! true friend is he who still remembereth a friend though slain, and grieves for one no more." achilles heard; his heart was thrilled with grief: he glanced across the rolling battle, saw memnon, saw where in throngs the argives fell beneath his spear. forthright he turned away from where the rifted ranks of troy fell fast before his hands, and, thirsting for the fight, wroth for antilochus and the others slain, came face to face with memnon. in his hands that godlike hero caught up from the ground a stone, a boundary-mark 'twixt fields of wheat, and hurled. down on the shield of peleus' son it crashed. but he, the invincible, shrank not before the huge rock-shard, but, thrusting out his long lance, rushed to close with him, afoot, for his steeds stayed behind the battle-rout. on the right shoulder above the shield he smote and staggered him; but he, despite the wound, fought on with heart unquailing. swiftly he thrust and pricked with his strong spear achilles' arm. forth gushed the blood: rejoicing with vain joy to aeacus' son with arrogant words he cried: "now shalt thou in thy death fill up, i trow, thy dark doom, overmastered by mine hands. thou shalt not from this fray escape alive! fool, wherefore hast thou ruthlessly destroyed trojans, and vaunted thee the mightiest man of men, a deathless nereid's son? ha, now thy doom hath found thee! of birth divine am i, the dawn-queen's mighty son, nurtured afar by lily-slender hesperid maids, beside the ocean-river. therefore not from thee nor from grim battle shrink i, knowing well how far my goddess-mother doth transcend a nereid, whose child thou vauntest thee. to gods and men my mother bringeth light; on her depends the issue of all things, works great and glorious in olympus wrought whereof comes blessing unto men. but thine- she sits in barren crypts of brine: she dwells glorying mid dumb sea-monsters and mid fish, deedless, unseen! nothing i reck of her, nor rank her with the immortal heavenly ones." in stern rebuke spake aeacus' aweless son: "memnon, how wast thou so distraught of wit that thou shouldst face me, and to fight defy me, who in might, in blood, in stature far surpass thee? from supremest zeus i trace my glorious birth; and from the strong sea-god nereus, begetter of the maids of the sea, the nereids, honoured of the olympian gods. and chiefest of them all is thetis, wise with wisdom world-renowned; for in her bowers she sheltered dionysus, chased by might of murderous lycurgus from the earth. yea, and the cunning god-smith welcomed she within her mansion, when from heaven he fell. ay, and the lightning-lord she once released from bonds. the all-seeing dwellers in the sky remember all these things, and reverence my mother thetis in divine olympus. ay, that she is a goddess shalt thou know when to thine heart the brazen spear shall pierce sped by my might. patroclus' death i avenged on hector, and antilochus on thee will i avenge. no weakling's friend thou hast slain! but why like witless children stand we here babbling our parents' fame and our own deeds? now is the hour when prowess shall decide." then from the sheath he flashed his long keen sword, and memnon his; and swiftly in fiery fight closed they, and rained the never-ceasing blows upon the bucklers which with craft divine hephaestus' self had fashioned. once and again clashed they together, and their cloudy crests touched, mingling all their tossing storm of hair. and zeus, for that he loved them both, inspired with prowess each, and mightier than their wont he made them, made them tireless, nothing like to men, but gods: and gloated o'er the twain the queen of strife. in eager fury these thrust swiftly out the spear, with fell intent to reach the throat 'twixt buckler-rim and helm, thrust many a time and oft, and now would aim the point beneath the shield, above the greave, now close beneath the corslet curious-wrought that lapped the stalwart frame: hard, fast they lunged, and on their shoulders clashed the arms divine. roared to the very heavens the battle-shout of warring men, of trojans, aethiops, and argives mighty-hearted, while the dust rolled up from 'neath their feet, tossed to the sky in stress of battle-travail great and strong. as when a mist enshrouds the hills, what time roll up the rain-clouds, and the torrent-beds roar as they fill with rushing floods, and howls each gorge with fearful voices; shepherds quake to see the waters' downrush and the mist, screen dear to wolves and all the wild fierce things nursed in the wide arms of the forest; so around the fighters' feet the choking dust hung, hiding the fair splendour of the sun and darkening all the heaven. sore distressed with dust and deadly conflict were the folk. then with a sudden hand some blessed one swept the dust-pall aside; and the gods saw the deadly fates hurling the charging lines together, in the unending wrestle locked of that grim conflict, saw where never ceased ares from hideous slaughter, saw the earth crimsoned all round with rushing streams of blood, saw where dark havoc gloated o'er the scene, saw the wide plain with corpses heaped, even all bounded 'twixt simois and xanthus, where they sweep from ida down to hellespont. but when long lengthened out the conflict was of those two champions, and the might of both in that strong tug and strain was equal-matched, then, gazing from olympus' far-off heights, the gods joyed, some in the invincible son of peleus, others in the goodly child of old tithonus and the queen of dawn. thundered the heavens on high from east to west, and roared the sea from verge to verge, and rocked the dark earth 'neath the heroes' feet, and quaked proud nereus' daughters all round thetis thronged in grievous fear for mighty achilles' sake; and trembled for her son the child of the mist as in her chariot through the sky she rode. marvelled the daughters of the sun, who stood near her, around that wondrous splendour-ring traced for the race-course of the tireless sun by zeus, the limit of all nature's life and death, the dally round that maketh up the eternal circuit of the rolling years. and now amongst the blessed bitter feud had broken out; but by behest of zeus the twin fates suddenly stood beside these twain, one dark--her shadow fell on memnon's heart; one bright--her radiance haloed peleus' son. and with a great cry the immortals saw, and filled with sorrow they of the one part were, they of the other with triumphant joy. still in the midst of blood-stained battle-rout those heroes fought, unknowing of the fates now drawn so nigh, but each at other hurled his whole heart's courage, all his bodily might. thou hadst said that in the strife of that dread day huge tireless giants or strong titans warred, so fiercely blazed the wildfire of their strife, now, when they clashed with swords, now when they leapt hurling huge stones. nor either would give back before the hail of blows, nor quailed. they stood like storm-tormented headlands steadfast, clothed with might past words, unearthly; for the twain alike could boast their lineage of high zeus. therefore 'twixt these enyo lengthened out the even-balanced strife, while ever they in that grim wrestle strained their uttermost, they and their dauntless comrades, round their kings with ceaseless fury toiling, till their spears stood shivered all in shields of warriors slain, and of the fighters woundless none remained; but from all limbs streamed down into the dust the blood and sweat of that unresting strain of fight, and earth was hidden with the dead, as heaven is hidden with clouds when meets the sun the goat-star, and the shipman dreads the deep. as charged the lines, the snorting chariot-steeds trampled the dead, as on the myriad leaves ye trample in the woods at entering-in of winter, when the autumn-tide is past. still mid the corpses and the blood fought on those glorious sons of gods, nor ever ceased from wrath of fight. but eris now inclined the fatal scales of battle, which no more were equal-poised. beneath the breast-bone then of godlike memnon plunged achilles' sword; clear through his body all the dark-blue blade leapt: suddenly snapped the silver cord of life. down in a pool of blood he fell, and clashed his massy armour, and earth rang again. then turned to flight his comrades panic-struck, and of his arms the myrmidons stripped the dead, while fled the trojans, and achilles chased, as whirlwind swift and mighty to destroy. then groaned the dawn, and palled herself in clouds, and earth was darkened. at their mother's hest all the light breathings of the dawn took hands, and slid down one long stream of sighing wind to priam's plain, and floated round the dead, and softly, swiftly caught they up, and bare through silver mists the dawn-queen's son, with hearts sore aching for their brother's fall, while moaned around them all the air. as on they passed, fell many blood-gouts from those pierced limbs down to the earth, and these were made a sign to generations yet to be. the gods gathered them up from many lands, and made thereof a far-resounding river, named of all that dwell beneath long ida's flanks paphlagoneion. as its waters flow 'twixt fertile acres, once a year they turn to blood, when comes the woeful day whereon died memnon. thence a sick and choking reek steams: thou wouldst say that from a wound unhealed corrupting humours breathed an evil stench. ay, so the gods ordained: but now flew on bearing dawn's mighty son the rushing winds skimming earth's face and palled about with night. nor were his aethiopian comrades left to wander of their king forlorn: a god suddenly winged those eager souls with speed such as should soon be theirs for ever, changed to flying fowl, the children of the air. wailing their king in the winds' track they sped. as when a hunter mid the forest-brakes is by a boar or grim-jawed lion slain, and now his sorrowing friends take up the corse, and bear it heavy-hearted; and the hounds follow low-whimpering, pining for their lord in that disastrous hunting lost; so they left far behind that stricken field of blood, and fast they followed after those swift winds with multitudinous moaning, veiled in mist unearthly. trojans over all the plain and danaans marvelled, seeing that great host vanishing with their king. all hearts stood still in dumb amazement. but the tireless winds sighing set hero memnon's giant corpse down by the deep flow of aesopus' stream, where is a fair grove of the bright-haired nymphs, the which round his long barrow afterward aesopus' daughters planted, screening it with many and manifold trees: and long and loud wailed those immortals, chanting his renown, the son of the dawn-goddess splendour-throned. now sank the sun: the lady of the morn wailing her dear child from the heavens came down. twelve maidens shining-tressed attended her, the warders of the high paths of the sun for ever circling, warders of the night and dawn, and each world-ordinance framed of zeus, around whose mansion's everlasting doors from east to west they dance, from west to east, whirling the wheels of harvest-laden years, while rolls the endless round of winter's cold, and flowery spring, and lovely summer-tide, and heavy-clustered autumn. these came down from heaven, for memnon wailing wild and high; and mourned with these the pleiads. echoed round far-stretching mountains, and aesopus' stream. ceaseless uprose the keen, and in their midst, fallen on her son and clasping, wailed the dawn; "dead art thou, dear, dear child, and thou hast clad thy mother with a pall of grief. oh, i, now thou art slain, will not endure to light the immortal heavenly ones! no, i will plunge down to the dread depths of the underworld, where thy lone spirit flitteth to and fro, and will to blind night leave earth, sky, and sea, till chaos and formless darkness brood o'er all, that cronos' son may also learn what means anguish of heart. for not less worship-worthy than nereus' child, by zeus's ordinance, am i, who look on all things, i, who bring all to their consummation. recklessly my light zeus now despiseth! therefore i will pass into the darkness. let him bring up to olympus thetis from the sea to hold for him light forth to gods and men! my sad soul loveth darkness more than day, lest i pour light upon thy slayer's head: thus as she cried, the tears ran down her face immortal, like a river brimming aye: drenched was the dark earth round the corse. the night grieved in her daughter's anguish, and the heaven drew over all his stars a veil of mist and cloud, of love unto the lady of light. meanwhile within their walls the trojan folk for memnon sorrowed sore, with vain regret yearning for that lost king and all his host. nor greatly joyed the argives, where they lay camped in the open plain amidst the dead. there, mingled with achilles' praise, uprose wails for antilochus: joy clasped hands with grief. all night in groans and sighs most pitiful the dawn-queen lay: a sea of darkness moaned around her. of the dayspring nought she recked: she loathed olympus' spaces. at her side fretted and whinnied still her fleetfoot steeds, trampling the strange earth, gazing at their queen grief-stricken, yearning for the fiery course. suddenly crashed the thunder of the wrath of zeus; rocked round her all the shuddering earth, and on immortal eos trembling came. swiftly the dark-skinned aethiops from her sight buried their lord lamenting. as they wailed unceasingly, the dawn-queen lovely-eyed changed them to birds sweeping through air around the barrow of the mighty dead. and these still do the tribes of men "the memnons" call; and still with wailing cries they dart and wheel above their king's tomb, and they scatter dust down on his grave, still shrill the battle-cry, in memory of memnon, each to each. but he in hades' mansions, or perchance amid the blessed on the elysian plain, laugheth. divine dawn comforteth her heart beholding them: but theirs is toil of strife unending, till the weary victors strike the vanquished dead, or one and all fill up the measure of their doom around his grave. so by command of eos, lady of light, the swift birds dree their weird. but dawn divine now heavenward soared with the all-fostering hours, who drew her to zeus' threshold, sorely loth, yet conquered by their gentle pleadings, such as salve the bitterest grief of broken hearts. nor the dawn-queen forgat her daily course, but quailed before the unbending threat of zeus, of whom are all things, even all comprised within the encircling sweep of ocean's stream, earth and the palace-dome of burning stars. before her went her pleiad-harbingers, then she herself flung wide the ethereal gates, and, scattering spray of splendour, flashed there-through. book iii how by the shaft of a god laid low was hero achilles. when shone the light of dawn the splendour-throned, then to the ships the pylian spearmen bore antilochus' corpse, sore sighing for their prince, and by the hellespont they buried him with aching hearts. around him groaning stood the battle-eager sons of argives, all, of love for nestor, shrouded o'er with grief. but that grey hero's heart was nowise crushed by sorrow; for the wise man's soul endures bravely, and cowers not under affliction's stroke. but peleus' son, wroth for antilochus his dear friend, armed for vengeance terrible upon the trojans. yea, and these withal, despite their dread of mighty achilles' spear, poured battle-eager forth their gates, for now the fates with courage filled their breasts, of whom many were doomed to hades to descend, whence there is no return, thrust down by hands of aeacus' son, who also was foredoomed to perish that same day by priam's wall. swift met the fronts of conflict: all the tribes of troy's host, and the battle-biding greeks, afire with that new-kindled fury of war. then through the foe the son of peleus made wide havoc: all around the earth was drenched with gore, and choked with corpses were the streams of simois and xanthus. still he chased, still slaughtered, even to the city's walls; for panic fell on all the host. and now all had he slain, had dashed the gates to earth, rending them from their hinges, or the bolts, hurling himself against them, had he snapped, and for the danaans into priam's burg had made a way, had utterly destroyed that goodly town--but now was phoebus wroth against him with grim fury, when he saw those countless troops of heroes slain of him. down from olympus with a lion-leap he came: his quiver on his shoulders lay, and shafts that deal the wounds incurable. facing achilles stood he; round him clashed quiver and arrows; blazed with quenchless flame his eyes, and shook the earth beneath his feet. then with a terrible shout the great god cried, so to turn back from war achilles awed by the voice divine, and save from death the trojans: "back from the trojans, peleus' son! beseems not that longer thou deal death unto thy foes, lest an olympian god abase thy pride." but nothing quailed the hero at the voice immortal, for that round him even now hovered the unrelenting fates. he recked naught of the god, and shouted his defiance. "phoebus, why dost thou in mine own despite stir me to fight with gods, and wouldst protect the arrogant trojans? heretofore hast thou by thy beguiling turned me from the fray, when from destruction thou at the first didst save hector, whereat the trojans all through troy exulted. nay, thou get thee back: return unto the mansion of the blessed, lest i smite thee--ay, immortal though thou be!" then on the god he turned his back, and sped after the trojans fleeing cityward, and harried still their flight; but wroth at heart thus phoebus spake to his indignant soul: "out on this man! he is sense-bereft! but now not zeus himself nor any other power shall save this madman who defies the gods!" from mortal sight he vanished into cloud, and cloaked with mist a baleful shaft he shot which leapt to achilles' ankle: sudden pangs with mortal sickness made his whole heart faint. he reeled, and like a tower he fell, that falls smit by a whirlwind when an earthquake cleaves a chasm for rushing blasts from underground; so fell the goodly form of aeacus' son. he glared, a murderous glance, to right, to left, [upon the trojans, and a terrible threat] shouted, a threat that could not be fulfilled: "who shot at me a stealthy-smiting shaft? let him but dare to meet me face to face! so shall his blood and all his bowels gush out about my spear, and he be hellward sped! i know that none can meet me man to man and quell in fight--of earth-born heroes none, though such an one should bear within his breast a heart unquailing, and have thews of brass. but dastards still in stealthy ambush lurk for lives of heroes. let him face me then!- ay! though he be a god whose anger burns against the danaans! yea, mine heart forebodes that this my smiter was apollo, cloaked in deadly darkness. so in days gone by my mother told me how that by his shafts i was to die before the scaean gates a piteous death. her words were not vain words." then with unflinching hands from out the wound incurable he drew the deadly shaft in agonized pain. forth gushed the blood; his heart waxed faint beneath the shadow of coming doom. then in indignant wrath he hurled from him the arrow: a sudden gust of wind swept by, and caught it up, and, even as he trod zeus' threshold, to apollo gave it back; for it beseemed not that a shaft divine, sped forth by an immortal, should be lost. he unto high olympus swiftly came, to the great gathering of immortal gods, where all assembled watched the war of men, these longing for the trojans' triumph, those for danaan victory; so with diverse wills watched they the strife, the slayers and the slain. him did the bride of zeus behold, and straight upbraided with exceeding bitter words: "what deed of outrage, phoebus, hast thou done this day, forgetful of that day whereon to godlike peleus' spousals gathered all the immortals? yea, amidst the feasters thou sangest how thetis silver-footed left the sea's abysses to be peleus' bride; and as thou harpedst all earth's children came to hearken, beasts and birds, high craggy hills, rivers, and all deep-shadowed forests came. all this hast thou forgotten, and hast wrought a ruthless deed, hast slain a godlike man, albeit thou with other gods didst pour the nectar, praying that he might be the son by thetis given to peleus. but that prayer hast thou forgotten, favouring the folk of tyrannous laomedon, whose kine thou keptest. he, a mortal, did despite to thee, the deathless! o, thou art wit-bereft! thou favourest troy, thy sufferings all forgot. thou wretch, and doth thy false heart know not this, what man is an offence, and meriteth suffering, and who is honoured of the gods? ever achilles showed us reverence--yea, was of our race. ha, but the punishment of troy, i ween, shall not be lighter, though aeacus' son have fallen; for his son right soon shall come from scyros to the war to help the argive men, no less in might than was his sire, a bane to many a foe. but thou--thou for the trojans dost not care, but for his valour enviedst peleus' son, seeing he was the mightest of all men. thou fool! how wilt thou meet the nereid's eyes, when she shall stand in zeus' hall midst the gods, who praised thee once, and loved as her own son?" so hera spake, in bitterness of soul upbraiding, but he answered her not a word, of reverence for his mighty father's bride; nor could he lift his eyes to meet her eyes, but sat abashed, aloof from all the gods eternal, while in unforgiving wrath scowled on him all the immortals who maintained the danaans' cause; but such as fain would bring triumph to troy, these with exultant hearts extolled him, hiding it from hera's eyes, before whose wrath all heaven-abiders shrank. but peleus' son the while forgat not yet war's fury: still in his invincible limbs the hot blood throbbed, and still he longed for fight. was none of all the trojans dared draw nigh the stricken hero, but at distance stood, as round a wounded lion hunters stand mid forest-brakes afraid, and, though the shaft stands in his heart, yet faileth not in him his royal courage, but with terrible glare roll his fierce eyes, and roar his grimly jaws; so wrath and anguish of his deadly hurt to fury stung peleides' soul; but aye his strength ebbed through the god-envenomed wound. yet leapt he up, and rushed upon the foe, and flashed the lightning of his lance; it slew the goodly orythaon, comrade stout of hector, through his temples crashing clear: his helm stayed not the long lance fury-sped which leapt therethrough, and won within the bones the heart of the brain, and spilt his lusty life. then stabbed he 'neath the brow hipponous even to the eye-roots, that the eyeball fell to earth: his soul to hades flitted forth. then through the jaw he pierced alcathous, and shore away his tongue: in dust he fell gasping his life out, and the spear-head shot out through his ear. these, as they rushed on him, that hero slew; but many a fleer's life he spilt, for in his heart still leapt the blood. but when his limbs grew chill, and ebbed away his spirit, leaning on his spear he stood, while still the trojans fled in huddled rout of panic, and he shouted unto them: "trojan and dardan cravens, ye shall not even in my death, escape my merciless spear, but unto mine avenging spirits ye shall pay--ay, one and all--destruction's debt!" he spake; they heard and quailed: as mid the hills fawns tremble at a lion's deep-mouthed roar, and terror-stricken flee the monster, so the ranks of trojan chariot-lords, the lines of battle-helpers drawn from alien lands, quailed at the last shout of achilles, deemed that he was woundless yet. but 'neath the weight of doom his aweless heart, his mighty limbs, at last were overborne. down midst the dead he fell, as fails a beetling mountain-cliff. earth rang beneath him: clanged with a thundercrash his arms, as peleus' son the princely fell. and still his foes with most exceeding dread stared at him, even as, when some murderous beast lies slain by shepherds, tremble still the sheep eyeing him, as beside the fold he lies, and shrinking, as they pass him, far aloof and, even as he were living, fear him dead; so feared they him, achilles now no more. yet paris strove to kindle those faint hearts; for his own heart exulted, and he hoped, now peleus' son, the danaans' strength, had fallen, wholly to quench the argive battle-fire: "friends, if ye help me truly and loyally, let us this day die, slain by argive men, or live, and hale to troy with hector's steeds in triumph peleus' son thus fallen dead, the steeds that, grieving, yearning for their lord to fight have borne me since my brother died. might we with these but hale achilles slain, glory were this for hector's horses, yea, for hector--if in hades men have sense of righteous retribution. this man aye devised but mischief for the sons of troy; and now troy's daughters with exultant hearts from all the city streets shall gather round, as pantheresses wroth for stolen cubs, or lionesses, might stand around a man whose craft in hunting vexed them while he lived. so round achilles--a dead corpse at last!- in hurrying throngs troy's daughters then shall come in unforgiving, unforgetting hate, for parents wroth, for husbands slain, for sons, for noble kinsmen. most of all shall joy my father, and the ancient men, whose feet unwillingly are chained within the walls by eld, if we shall hale him through our gates, and give our foe to fowls of the air for meat." then they, which feared him theretofore, in haste closed round the corpse of strong-heart aeacus' son, glaucus, aeneas, battle-fain agenor, and other cunning men in deadly fight, eager to hale him thence to ilium the god-built burg. but aias failed him not. swiftly that godlike man bestrode the dead: back from the corpse his long lance thrust them all. yet ceased they not from onslaught; thronging round, still with swift rushes fought they for the prize, one following other, like to long-lipped bees which hover round their hive in swarms on swarms to drive a man thence; but he, recking naught of all their fury, carveth out the combs of nectarous honey: harassed sore are they by smoke-reek and the robber; spite of all ever they dart against him; naught cares he; so naught of all their onsets aias recked; but first he stabbed agelaus in the breast, and slew that son of maion: thestor next: ocythous he smote, agestratus, aganippus, zorus, nessus, erymas the war-renowned, who came from lycia-land with mighty-hearted glaucus, from his home in melanippion on the mountain-ridge, athena's fane, which massikyton fronts anigh chelidonia's headland, dreaded sore of scared seafarers, when its lowering crags must needs be doubled. for his death the blood of famed hippolochus' son was horror-chilled; for this was his dear friend. with one swift thrust he pierced the sevenfold hides of aias' shield, yet touched his flesh not; stayed the spear-head was by those thick hides and by the corset-plate which lapped his battle-tireless limbs. but still from that stern conflict glaucus drew not back, burning to vanquish aias, aeacus' son, and in his folly vaunting threatened him: "aias, men name thee mightiest man of all the argives, hold thee in passing-high esteem even as achilles: therefore thou, i wot, by that dead warrior dead this day shalt lie!" so hurled he forth a vain word, knowing not how far in might above him was the man whom his spear threatened. battle-bider aias darkly and scornfully glaring on him, said "thou craven wretch, and knowest thou not this, how much was hector mightier than thou in war-craft? yet before my might, my spear, he shrank. ay, with his valour was there blent discretion. thou thy thoughts are deathward set, who dar'st defy me to the battle, me, a mightier far than thou! thou canst not say that friendship of our fathers thee shall screen; nor me thy gifts shall wile to let thee pass scatheless from war, as once did tydeus' son. though thou didst 'scape his fury, will not i suffer thee to return alive from war. ha, in thy many helpers dost thou trust who with thee, like so many worthless flies, flit round the noble achilles' corpse? to these death and black doom shall my swift onset deal." then on the trojans this way and that he turned, as mid long forest-glens a lion turns on hounds, and trojans many and lycians slew that came for honour hungry, till he stood mid a wide ring of flinchers; like a shoal of darting fish when sails into their midst dolphin or shark, a huge sea-fosterling; so shrank they from the might of telamon's son, as aye he charged amidst the rout. but still swarmed fighters up, till round achilles' corse to right, to left, lay in the dust the slain countless, as boars around a lion at bay; and evermore the strife waxed deadlier. then too hippolochus' war-wise son was slain by aias of the heart of fire. he fell backward upon achilles, even as falls a sapling on a sturdy mountain-oak; so quelled by the spear on peleus' son he fell. but for his rescue anchises' stalwart son strove hard, with all his comrades battle-fain, and haled the corse forth, and to sorrowing friends gave it, to bear to ilium's hallowed burg. himself to spoil achilles still fought on, till warrior aias pierced him with the spear through the right forearm. swiftly leapt he back from murderous war, and hasted thence to troy. there for his healing cunning leeches wrought, who stanched the blood-rush, and laid on the gash balms, such as salve war-stricken warriors' pangs. but aias still fought on: here, there he slew with thrusts like lightning-flashes. his great heart ached sorely for his mighty cousin slain. and now the warrior-king laertes' son fought at his side: before him blenched the foe, as he smote down peisander's fleetfoot son, the warrior maenalus, who left his home in far-renowned abydos: down on him he hurled atymnius, the goodly son whom pegasis the bright-haired nymph had borne to strong emathion by granicus' stream. dead by his side he laid orestius' son, proteus, who dwelt 'neath lofty ida's folds. ah, never did his mother welcome home that son from war, panaceia beauty-famed! he fell by odysseus' hands, who spilt the lives of many more whom his death-hungering spear reached in that fight around the mighty dead. yet alcon, son of megacles battle-swift, hard by odysseus' right knee drave the spear home, and about the glittering greave the blood dark-crimson welled. he recked not of the wound, but was unto his smiter sudden death; for clear through his shield he stabbed him with his spear amidst his battle-fury: to the earth backward he dashed him by his giant might and strength of hand: clashed round him in the dust his armour, and his corslet was distained with crimson life-blood. forth from flesh and shield the hero plucked the spear of death: the soul followed the lance-head from the body forth, and life forsook its mortal mansion. then rushed on his comrades, in his wound's despite, odysseus, nor from that stern battle-toil refrained him. and by this a mingled host of danaans eager-hearted fought around the mighty dead, and many and many a foe slew they with those smooth-shafted ashen spears. even as the winds strew down upon the ground the flying leaves, when through the forest-glades sweep the wild gusts, as waneth autumn-tide, and the old year is dying; so the spears of dauntless danaans strewed the earth with slain, for loyal to dead achilles were they all, and loyal to hero aias to the death. for like black doom he blasted the ranks of troy. then against aias paris strained his bow; but he was ware thereof, and sped a stone swift to the archer's head: that bolt of death crashed through his crested helm, and darkness closed round him. in dust down fell he: naught availed his shafts their eager lord, this way and that scattered in dust: empty his quiver lay, flew from his hand the bow. in haste his friends upcaught him from the earth, and hector's steeds hurried him thence to troy, scarce drawing breath, and moaning in his pain. nor left his men the weapons of their lord, but gathered up all from the plain, and bare them to the prince; while aias after him sent a wrathful shout: "dog, thou hast 'scaped the heavy hand of death to-day! but swiftly thy last hour shall come by some strong argive's hands, or by mine own, but now have i a nobler task in hand, from murder's grip to rescue achilles' corse." then turned he on the foe, hurling swift doom on such as fought around peleides yet. 'these saw how many yielded up the ghost neath his strong hands, and, with hearts failing them for fear, against him could they stand no more. as rascal vultures were they, which the swoop of an eagle, king of birds, scares far away from carcasses of sheep that wolves have torn; so this way, that way scattered they before the hurtling stones, the sword, the might of aias. in utter panic from the war they fled, in huddled rout, like starlings from the swoop of a death-dealing hawk, when, fleeing bane, one drives against another, as they dart all terror-huddled in tumultuous flight. so from the war to priam's burg they fled wretchedly clad with terror as a cloak, quailing from mighty aias' battle-shout, as with hands dripping blood-gouts he pursued. yea, all, one after other, had he slain, had they not streamed through city-gates flung wide hard-panting, pierced to the very heart with fear. pent therewithin he left them, as a shepherd leaves folded sheep, and strode back o'er the plain; yet never touched he with his feet the ground, but aye he trod on dead men, arms, and blood; for countless corpses lay o'er that wide stretch even from broad-wayed troy to hellespont, bodies of strong men slain, the spoil of doom. as when the dense stalks of sun-ripened corn fall 'neath the reapers' hands, and the long swaths, heavy with full ears, overspread the field, and joys the heart of him who oversees the toil, lord of the harvest; even so, by baleful havoc overmastered, lay all round face-downward men remembering not the death-denouncing war-shout. but the sons of fair achaea left their slaughtered foes in dust and blood unstripped of arms awhile till they should lay upon the pyre the son of peleus, who in battle-shock had been their banner of victory, charging in his might. so the kings drew him from that stricken field straining beneath the weight of giant limbs, and with all loving care they bore him on, and laid him in his tent before the ships. and round him gathered that great host, and wailed heart-anguished him who had been the achaeans' strength, and now, forgotten all the splendour of spears, lay mid the tents by moaning hellespont, in stature more than human, even as lay tityos, who sought to force queen leto, when she fared to pytho: swiftly in his wrath apollo shot, and laid him low, who seemed invincible: in a foul lake of gore there lay he, covering many a rood of ground, on the broad earth, his mother; and she moaned over her son, of blessed gods abhorred; but lady leto laughed. so grand of mould there in the foemen's land lay aeacus' son, for joy to trojans, but for endless grief to achaean men lamenting. moaned the air with sighing from the abysses of the sea; and passing heavy grew the hearts of all, thinking: "now shall we perish by the hands of trojans!" then by those dark ships they thought of white-haired fathers left in halls afar, of wives new-wedded, who by couches cold mourned, waiting, waiting, with their tender babes for husbands unreturning; and they groaned in bitterness of soul. a passion of grief came o'er their hearts; they fell upon their faces on the deep sand flung down, and wept as men all comfortless round peleus' mighty son, and clutched and plucked out by the roots their hair, and east upon their heads defiling sand. their cry was like the cry that goeth up from folk that after battle by their walls are slaughtered, when their maddened foes set fire to a great city, and slay in heaps on heaps her people, and make spoil of all her wealth; so wild and high they wailed beside the sea, because the danaans' champion, aeacus' son, lay, grand in death, by a god's arrow slain, as ares lay, when she of the mighty father with that huge stone down dashed him on troy's plain. ceaselessly wailed the myrmidons achilles, a ring of mourners round the kingly dead, that kind heart, friend alike to each and all, to no man arrogant nor hard of mood, but ever tempering strength with courtesy. then aias first, deep-groaning, uttered forth his yearning o'er his father's brother's son god-stricken--ay, no man had smitten him of all upon the wide-wayed earth that dwell! him glorious aias heavy-hearted mourned, now wandering to the tent of peleus' son, now cast down all his length, a giant form, on the sea-sands; and thus lamented he: "achilles, shield and sword of argive men, thou hast died in troy, from phthia's plains afar, smitten unwares by that accursed shaft, such thing as weakling dastards aim in fight! for none who trusts in wielding the great shield, none who for war can skill to set the helm upon his brows, and sway the spear in grip, and cleave the brass about the breasts of foes, warreth with arrows, shrinking from the fray. not man to man he met thee, whoso smote; else woundless never had he 'scaped thy lance! but haply zeus purposed to ruin all, and maketh all our toil and travail vain- ay, now will grant the trojans victory who from achaea now hath reft her shield! ah me! how shall old peleus in his halls take up the burden of a mighty grief now in his joyless age! his heart shall break at the mere rumour of it. better so, thus in a moment to forget all pain. but if these evil tidings slay him not, ah, laden with sore sorrow eld shall come upon him, eating out his heart with grief by a lone hearth peleus so passing dear once to the blessed! but the gods vouchsafe no perfect happiness to hapless men." so he in grief lamented peleus' son. then ancient phoenix made heart-stricken moan, clasping the noble form of aeacus' seed, and in wild anguish wailed the wise of heart: "thou art reft from me, dear child, and cureless pain hast left to me! oh that upon my face the veiling earth had fallen, ere i saw thy bitter doom! no pang more terrible hath ever stabbed mine heart no, not that hour of exile, when i fled from fatherland and noble parents, fleeing hellas through, till peleus welcomed me with gifts, and lord of his dolopians made me. in his arms thee through his halls one day he bare, and set upon my knees, and bade me foster thee, his babe, with all love, as mine own dear child: i hearkened to him: blithely didst thou cling about mine heart, and, babbling wordless speech, didst call me `father' oft, and didst bedew my breast and tunic with thy baby lips. ofttimes with soul that laughed for glee i held thee in mine arms; for mine heart whispered me `this fosterling through life shall care for thee, staff of thine age shall be.' and that mine hope was for a little while fulfilled; but now thou hast vanished into darkness, and to me is left long heart-ache wild with all regret. ah, might my sorrow slay me, ere the tale to noble peleus come! when on his ears falleth the heavy tidings, he shall weep and wail without surcease. most piteous grief we twain for thy sake shall inherit aye, thy sire and i, who, ere our day of doom, mourning shall go down to the grave for thee- ay, better this than life unholpen of thee!" so moaned his ever-swelling tide of grief. and atreus' son beside him mourned and wept with heart on fire with inly smouldering pain: "thou hast perished, chiefest of the danaan men, hast perished, and hast left the achaean host fenceless! now thou art fallen, are they left an easier prey to foes. thou hast given joy to trojans by thy fall, who dreaded thee as sheep a lion. these with eager hearts even to the ships will bring the battle now. zeus, father, thou too with deceitful words beguilest mortals! thou didst promise me that priam's burg should be destroyed; but now that promise given dost thou not fulfil, but thou didst cheat mine heart: i shall not win the war's goal, now achilles is no more." so did he cry heart-anguished. mourned all round wails multitudinous for peleus' son: the dark ships echoed back the voice of grief, and sighed and sobbed the immeasurable air. and as when long sea-rollers, onward driven by a great wind, heave up far out at sea, and strandward sweep with terrible rush, and aye headland and beach with shattered spray are scourged, and roar unceasing; so a dread sound rose of moaning of the danaans round the corse, ceaselessly wailing peleus' aweless son. and on their mourning soon black night had come, but spake unto atreides neleus' son, nestor, whose own heart bare its load of grief remembering his own son antilochus: "o mighty agamemnon, sceptre-lord of argives, from wide-shrilling lamentation refrain we for this day. none shall withhold hereafter these from all their heart's desire of weeping and lamenting many days. but now go to, from aweless aeacus' son wash we the foul blood-gouts, and lay we him upon a couch: unseemly it is to shame the dead by leaving them untended long." so counselled neleus' son, the passing-wise. then hasted he his men, and bade them set caldrons of cold spring-water o'er the flames, and wash the corse, and clothe in vesture fair, sea-purple, which his mother gave her son at his first sailing against troy. with speed they did their lord's command: with loving care, all service meetly rendered, on a couch laid they the mighty fallen, peleus' son. the trito-born, the passing-wise, beheld and pitied him, and showered upon his head ambrosia, which hath virtue aye to keep taintless, men say, the flesh of warriors slain. like softly-breathing sleeper dewy-fresh she made him: over that dead face she drew a stern frown, even as when he lay, with wrath darkening his grim face, clasping his slain friend patroclus; and she made his frame to be more massive, like a war-god to behold. and wonder seized the argives, as they thronged and saw the image of a living man, where all the stately length of peleus' son lay on the couch, and seemed as though he slept. around him all the woeful captive-maids, whom he had taken for a prey, what time he had ravaged hallowed lemnos, and had scaled the towered crags of thebes, eetion's town, wailed, as they stood and rent their fair young flesh, and smote their breasts, and from their hearts bemoaned that lord of gentleness and courtesy, who honoured even the daughters of his foes. and stricken most of all with heart-sick pain briseis, hero achilles' couchmate, bowed over the dead, and tore her fair young flesh with ruthless fingers, shrieking: her soft breast was ridged with gory weals, so cruelly she smote it thou hadst said that crimson blood had dripped on milk. yet, in her griefs despite, her winsome loveliness shone out, and grace hung like a veil about her, as she wailed: "woe for this grief passing all griefs beside! never on me came anguish like to this not when my brethren died, my fatherland was wasted--like this anguish for thy death! thou wast my day, my sunlight, my sweet life, mine hope of good, my strong defence from harm, dearer than all my beauty--yea, more dear than my lost parents! thou wast all in all to me, thou only, captive though i be. thou tookest from me every bondmaid's task and like a wife didst hold me. ah, but now me shall some new achaean master bear to fertile sparta, or to thirsty argos. the bitter cup of thraldom shall i drain, severed, ah me, from thee! oh that the earth had veiled my dead face ere i saw thy doom!" so for slain peleus' son did she lament with woeful handmaids and heart-anguished greeks, mourning a king, a husband. never dried her tears were: ever to the earth they streamed like sunless water trickling from a rock while rime and snow yet mantle o'er the earth above it; yet the frost melts down before the east-wind and the flame-shafts of the sun. now came the sound of that upringing wail to nereus' daughters, dwellers in the depths unfathomed. with sore anguish all their hearts were smitten: piteously they moaned: their cry shivered along the waves of hellespont. then with dark mantles overpalled they sped swiftly to where the argive men were thronged. as rushed their troop up silver paths of sea, the flood disported round them as they came. with one wild cry they floated up; it rang, a sound as when fleet-flying cranes forebode a great storm. moaned the monsters of the deep plaintively round that train of mourners. fast on sped they to their goal, with awesome cry wailing the while their sister's mighty son. swiftly from helicon the muses came heart-burdened with undying grief, for love and honour to the nereid starry-eyed. then zeus with courage filled the argive men, that-eyes of flesh might undismayed behold that glorious gathering of goddesses. then those divine ones round achilles' corse pealed forth with one voice from immortal lips a lamentation. rang again the shores of hellespont. as rain upon the earth their tears fell round the dead man, aeacus' son; for out of depths of sorrow rose their moan. and all the armour, yea, the tents, the ships of that great sorrowing multitude were wet with tears from ever-welling springs of grief. his mother cast her on him, clasping him, and kissed her son's lips, crying through her tears: "now let the rosy-vestured dawn in heaven exult! now let broad-flowing axius exult, and for asteropaeus dead put by his wrath! let priam's seed be glad but i unto olympus will ascend, and at the feet of everlasting zeus will cast me, bitterly planning that he gave me, an unwilling bride, unto a man- a man whom joyless eld soon overtook, to whom the fates are near, with death for gift. yet not so much for his lot do i grieve as for achilles; for zeus promised me to make him glorious in the aeacid halls, in recompense for the bridal i so loathed that into wild wind now i changed me, now to water, now in fashion as a bird i was, now as the blast of flame; nor might a mortal win me for his bride, who seemed all shapes in turn that earth and heaven contain, until the olympian pledged him to bestow a godlike son on me, a lord of war. yea, in a manner this did he fulfil faithfully; for my son was mightiest of men. but zeus made brief his span of life unto my sorrow. therefore up to heaven will i: to zeus's mansion will i go and wail my son, and will put zeus in mind of all my travail for him and his sons in their sore stress, and sting his soul with shame." so in her wild lament the sea-queen cried. but now to thetis spake calliope, she in whose heart was steadfast wisdom throned: "from lamentation, thetis, now forbear, and do not, in the frenzy of thy grief for thy lost son, provoke to wrath the lord of gods and men. lo, even sons of zeus, the thunder-king, have perished, overborne by evil fate. immortal though i be, mine own son orpheus died, whose magic song drew all the forest-trees to follow him, and every craggy rock and river-stream, and blasts of winds shrill-piping stormy-breathed, and birds that dart through air on rushing wings. yet i endured mine heavy sorrow: gods ought not with anguished grief to vex their souls. therefore make end of sorrow-stricken wail for thy brave child; for to the sons of earth minstrels shall chant his glory and his might, by mine and by my sisters' inspiration, unto the end of time. let not thy soul be crushed by dark grief, nor do thou lament like those frail mortal women. know'st thou not that round all men which dwell upon the earth hovereth irresistible deadly fate, who recks not even of the gods? such power she only hath for heritage. yea, she soon shall destroy gold-wealthy priam's town, and trojans many and argives doom to death, whomso she will. no god can stay her hand." so in her wisdom spake calliope. then plunged the sun down into ocean's stream, and sable-vestured night came floating up o'er the wide firmament, and brought her boon of sleep to sorrowing mortals. on the sands there slept they, all the achaean host, with heads bowed 'neath the burden of calamity. but upon thetis sleep laid not his hand: still with the deathless nereids by the sea she sate; on either side the muses spake one after other comfortable words to make that sorrowing heart forget its pain. but when with a triumphant laugh the dawn soared up the sky, and her most radiant light shed over all the trojans and their king, then, sorrowing sorely for achilles still, the danaans woke to weep. day after day, for many days they wept. around them moaned far-stretching beaches of the sea, and mourned great nereus for his daughter thetis' sake; and mourned with him the other sea-gods all for dead achilles. then the argives gave the corpse of great peleides to the flame. a pyre of countless tree-trunks built they up which, all with one mind toiling, from the heights of ida they brought down; for atreus' sons sped on the work, and charged them to bring thence wood without measure, that consumed with speed might be achilles' body. all around piled they about the pyre much battle-gear of strong men slain; and slew and cast thereon full many goodly sons of trojan men, and snorting steeds, and mighty bulls withal, and sheep and fatling swine thereon they cast. and wailing captive maids from coffers brought mantles untold; all cast they on the pyre: gold heaped they there and amber. all their hair the myrmidons shore, and shrouded with the same the body of their king. briseis laid her own shorn tresses on the corpse, her gift, her last, unto her lord. great jars of oil full many poured they out thereon, with jars of honey and of wine, rich blood of the grape that breathed an odour as of nectar, yea, cast incense-breathing perfumes manifold marvellous sweet, the precious things put forth by earth, and treasures of the sea divine. then, when all things were set in readiness about the pyre, all, footmen, charioteers, compassed that woeful bale, clashing their arms, while, from the viewless heights olympian, zeus rained down ambrosia on dead aeacus' son. for honour to the goddess, nereus' child, he sent to aeolus hermes, bidding him summon the sacred might of his swift winds, for that the corpse of aeacus' son must now be burned. with speed he went, and aeolus refused not: the tempestuous north in haste he summoned, and the wild blast of the west; and to troy sped they on their whirlwind wings. fast in mad onrush, fast across the deep they darted; roared beneath them as they flew the sea, the land; above crashed thunder-voiced clouds headlong hurtling through the firmament. then by decree of zeus down on the pyre of slain achilles, like a charging host swooped they; upleapt the fire-god's madding breath: uprose a long wail from the myrmidons. then, though with whirlwind rushes toiled the winds, all day, all night, they needs must fan the flames ere that death-pyre burned out. up to the heavens vast-volumed rolled the smoke. the huge tree-trunks groaned, writhing, bursting, in the heat, and dropped the dark-grey ash all round. so when the winds had tirelessly fulfilled their mighty task, back to their cave they rode cloud-charioted. then, when the fire had last of all consumed that hero-king, when all the steeds, the men slain round the pyre had first been ravined up, with all the costly offerings laid around the mighty dead by achaia's weeping sons, the glowing embers did the myrmidons quench with wine. then clear to be discerned were seen his bones; for nowise like the rest were they, but like an ancient giant's; none beside with these were blent; for bulls and steeds, and sons of troy, with all that mingled hecatomb, lay in a wide ring round his corse, and he amidst them, flame-devoured, lay there alone. so his companions groaning gathered up his bones, and in a silver casket laid massy and deep, and banded and bestarred with flashing gold; and nereus' daughters shed ambrosia over them, and precious nards for honour to achilles: fat of kine and amber honey poured they over all. a golden vase his mother gave, the gift in old time of the wine-god, glorious work of the craft-master fire-god, in the which they laid the casket that enclosed the bones of mighty-souled achilles. all around the argives heaped a barrow, a giant sign, upon a foreland's uttermost end, beside the hellespont's deep waters, wailing loud farewells unto the myrmidons' hero-king. nor stayed the immortal steeds of aeacus' son tearless beside the ships; they also mourned their slain king: sorely loth were they to abide longer mid mortal men or argive steeds bearing a burden of consuming grief; but fain were they to soar through air, afar from wretched men, over the ocean's streams, over the sea-queen's caverns, unto where divine podarge bare that storm-foot twain begotten of the west-wind clarion-voiced yea, and they had accomplished their desire, but the gods' purpose held them back, until from scyros' isle achilles' fleetfoot son should come. him waited they to welcome, when he came unto the war-host; for the fates, daughters of holy chaos, at their birth had spun the life-threads of those deathless foals, even to serve poseidon first, and next peleus the dauntless king, achilles then the invincible, and, after these, the fourth, the mighty-hearted neoptolemus, whom after death to the elysian plain they were to bear, unto the blessed land, by zeus' decree. for which cause, though their hearts were pierced with bitter anguish, they abode still by the ships, with spirits sorrowing for their old lord, and yearning for the new. then from the surge of heavy-plunging seas rose the earth-shaker. no man saw his feet pace up the strand, but suddenly he stood beside the nereid goddesses, and spake to thetis, yet for achilles bowed with grief: "refrain from endless mourning for thy son. not with the dead shall he abide, but dwell with gods, as doth the might of herakles, and dionysus ever fair. not him dread doom shall prison in darkness evermore, nor hades keep him. to the light of zeus soon shall he rise; and i will give to him a holy island for my gift: it lies within the euxine sea: there evermore a god thy son shall be. the tribes that dwell around shall as mine own self honour him with incense and with steam of sacrifice. hush thy laments, vex not thine heart with grief." then like a wind-breath had he passed away over the sea, when that consoling word was spoken; and a little in her breast revived the spirit of thetis: and the god brought this to pass thereafter. all the host moved moaning thence, and came unto the ships that brought them o'er from hellas. then returned to helicon the muses: 'neath the sea, wailing the dear dead, nereus' daughters sank, book iv how in the funeral games of achilles heroes contended. nor did the hapless trojans leave unwept the warrior-king hippolochus' hero-son, but laid, in front of the dardanian gate, upon the pyre that captain war-renowned. but him apollo's self caught swiftly up out of the blazing fire, and to the winds gave him, to bear away to lycia-land; and fast and far they bare him, 'neath the glens of high telandrus, to a lovely glade; and for a monument above his grave upheaved a granite rock. the nymphs therefrom made gush the hallowed water of a stream for ever flowing, which the tribes of men still call fair-fleeting glaucus. this the gods wrought for an honour to the lycian king. but for achilles still the argives mourned beside the swift ships: heart-sick were they all with dolorous pain and grief. each yearned for him as for a son; no eye in that wide host was tearless. but the trojans with great joy exulted, seeing their sorrow from afar, and the great fire that spake their foe consumed. and thus a vaunting voice amidst them cried: "now hath cronion from his heaven vouchsafed a joy past hope unto our longing eyes, to see achilles fallen before troy. now he is smitten down, the glorious hosts of troy, i trow, shall win a breathing-space from blood of death and from the murderous fray. ever his heart devised the trojans' bane; in his hands maddened aye the spear of doom with gore besprent, and none of us that faced him in the fight beheld another dawn. but now, i wot, achaea's valorous sons shall flee unto their galleys shapely-prowed, since slain achilles lies. ah that the might of hector still were here, that he might slay the argives one and all amidst their tents!" so in unbridled joy a trojan cried; but one more wise and prudent answered him: "thou deemest that yon murderous danaan host will straightway get them to the ships, to flee over the misty sea. nay, still their lust is hot for fight: us will they nowise fear, still are there left strong battle-eager men, as aias, as tydeides, atreus' sons: though dead achilles be, i still fear these. oh that apollo silverbow would end them! then in that day were given to our prayers a breathing-space from war and ghastly death." in heaven was dole among the immortal ones, even all that helped the stalwart danaans' cause. in clouds like mountains piled they veiled their heads for grief of soul. but glad those others were who fain would speed troy to a happy goal. then unto cronos' son great hera spake: "zeus, lightning-father, wherefore helpest thou troy, all forgetful of the fair-haired bride whom once to peleus thou didst give to wife midst pelion's glens? thyself didst bring to pass those spousals of a goddess: on that day all we immortals feasted there, and gave gifts passing-fair. all this dost thou forget, and hast devised for hellas heaviest woe." so spake she; but zeus answered not a word; for pondering there he sat with burdened breast, thinking how soon the argives should destroy the city of priam, thinking how himself would visit on the victors ruin dread in war and on the great sea thunder-voiced. such thoughts were his, ere long to be fulfilled. now sank the sun to ocean's fathomless flood: o'er the dim land the infinite darkness stole, wherein men gain a little rest from toil. then by the ships, despite their sorrow, supped the argives, for ye cannot thrust aside hunger's importunate craving, when it comes upon the breast, but straightway heavy and faint lithe limbs become; nor is there remedy until one satisfy this clamorous guest therefore these ate the meat of eventide in grief for achilles' hard necessity constrained them all. and, when they had broken bread, sweet sleep came on them, loosening from their frames care's heavy chain, and quickening strength anew but when the starry bears had eastward turned their heads, expectant of the uprushing light of helios, and when woke the queen of dawn, then rose from sleep the stalwart argive men purposing for the trojans death and doom. stirred were they like the roughly-ridging sea icarian, or as sudden-rippling corn in harvest field, what time the rushing wings of the cloud-gathering west sweep over it; so upon hellespont's strand the folk were stirred. and to those eager hearts cried tydeus' son: "if we be battle-biders, friends, indeed, more fiercely fight we now the hated foe, lest they take heart because achilles lives no longer. come, with armour, car, and steed let us beset them. glory waits our toil?" but battle-eager aias answering spake "brave be thy words, and nowise idle talk, kindling the dauntless argive men, whose hearts before were battle-eager, to the fight against the trojan men, o tydeus' son. but we must needs abide amidst the ships till goddess thetis come forth of the sea; for that her heart is purposed to set here fair athlete-prizes for the funeral-games. this yesterday she told me, ere she plunged into sea-depths, yea, spake to me apart from other danaans; and, i trow, by this her haste hath brought her nigh. yon trojan men, though peleus' son hath died, shall have small heart for battle, while myself am yet alive, and thou, and noble atreus' son, the king." so spake the mighty son of telamon, but knew not that a dark and bitter doom for him should follow hard upon those games by fate's contrivance. answered tydeus' son "o friend, if thetis comes indeed this day with goodly gifts for her son's funeral-games, then bide we by the ships, and keep we here all others. meet it is to do the will of the immortals: yea, to achilles too, though the immortals willed it not, ourselves must render honour grateful to the dead." so spake the battle-eager tydeus' son. and lo, the bride of peleus gliding came forth of the sea, like the still breath of dawn, and suddenly was with the argive throng where eager-faced they waited, some, that looked soon to contend in that great athlete-strife, and some, to joy in seeing the mighty strive. amidst that gathering thetis sable-stoled set down her prizes, and she summoned forth achaea's champions: at her best they came. but first amidst them all rose neleus' son, not as desiring in the strife of fists to toil, nor strain of wrestling; for his arms and all his sinews were with grievous eld outworn, but still his heart and brain were strong. of all the achaeans none could match himself against him in the folkmote's war of words; yea, even laertes' glorious son to him ever gave place when men for speech were met; nor he alone, but even the kingliest of argives, agamemnon, lord of spears. now in their midst he sang the gracious queen of nereids, sang how she in willsomeness of beauty was of all the sea-maids chief. well-pleased she hearkened. yet again he sang, singing of peleus' bridal of delight, which all the blest immortals brought to pass by pelion's crests; sang of the ambrosial feast when the swift hours brought in immortal hands meats not of earth, and heaped in golden maunds; sang how the silver tables were set forth in haste by themis blithely laughing; sang how breathed hephaestus purest flame of fire; sang how the nymphs in golden chalices mingled ambrosia; sang the ravishing dance twined by the graces' feet; sang of the chant the muses raised, and how its spell enthralled all mountains, rivers, all the forest brood; how raptured was the infinite firmament, cheiron's fair caverns, yea, the very gods. such noble strain did neleus' son pour out into the argives' eager ears; and they hearkened with ravished souls. then in their midst he sang once more the imperishable deeds of princely achilles. all the mighty throng acclaimed him with delight. from that beginning with fitly chosen words did he extol the glorious hero; how he voyaged and smote twelve cities; how he marched o'er leagues on leagues of land, and spoiled eleven; how he slew telephus and eetion's might renowned in thebe; how his spear laid cyenus low, poseidon's son, and godlike polydorus, troilus the goodly, princely asteropaeus; and how he dyed with blood the river-streams of xanthus, and with countless corpses choked his murmuring flow, when from the limbs he tore lycaon's life beside the sounding river; and how he smote down hector; how he slew penthesileia, and the godlike son of splendour-throned dawn;--all this he sang to argives which already knew the tale; sang of his giant mould, how no man's strength in fight could stand against him, nor in games where strong men strive for mastery, where the swift contend with flying feet or hurrying wheels of chariots, nor in combat panoplied; and how in goodlihead he far outshone all danaans, and how his bodily might was measureless in the stormy clash of war. last, he prayed heaven that he might see a son like that great sire from sea-washed scyros come. that noble song acclaiming argives praised; yea, silver-looted thetis smiled, and gave the singer fleetfoot horses, given of old beside caicus' mouth by telephus to achilles, when he healed the torturing wound with that same spear wherewith himself had pierced telephus' thigh, and thrust the point clear through. these nestor neleus' son to his comrades gave, and, glorying in their godlike lord, they led the steeds unto his ships. then thetis set amidst the athlete-ring ten kine, to be her prizes for the footrace, and by each ran a fair suckling calf. these the bold might of peleus' tireless son had driven down from slopes of ida, prizes of his spear. to strive for these rose up two victory-fain, teucer the first, the son of telamon, and aias, of the locrian archers chief. these twain with swift hands girded them about with loin-cloths, reverencing the goddess-bride of peleus, and the sea-maids, who with her came to behold the argives' athlete-sport. and atreus' son, lord of all argive men, showed them the turning-goal of that swift course. then these the queen of rivalry spurred on, as from the starting-line like falcons swift they sped away. long doubtful was the race: now, as the argives gazed, would aias' friends shout, now rang out the answering cheer from friends of teucer. but when in their eager speed close on the end they were, then teucer's feet were trammelled by unearthly powers: some god or demon dashed his foot against the stock of a deep-rooted tamarisk. sorely wrenched was his left ankle: round the joint upswelled the veins high-ridged. a great shout rang from all that watched the contest. aias darted past exultant: ran his locrian folk to hail their lord, with sudden joy in all their souls. then to his ships they drave the kine, and cast fodder before them. eager-helpful friends led teucer halting thence. the leeches drew blood from his foot: then over it they laid soft-shredded linen ointment-smeared, and swathed with smooth bands round, and charmed away the pain. then swiftly rose two mighty-hearted ones eager to match their strength in wrestling strain, the son of tydeus and the giant aias. into the midst they strode, and marvelling gazed the argives on men shapen like to gods. then grappled they, like lions famine-stung fighting amidst the mountains o'er a stag, whose strength is even-balanced; no whit less is one than other in their deadly rage; so these long time in might were even-matched, till aias locked his strong hands round the son of tydeus, straining hard to break his back; but he, with wrestling-craft and strength combined, shifted his hip 'neath telamon's son, and heaved the giant up; with a side-twist wrenched free from aias' ankle-lock his thigh, and so with one huge shoulder-heave to earth he threw that mighty champion, and himself came down astride him: then a mighty shout went up. but battle-stormer aias, chafed in mind, sprang up, hot-eager to essay again that grim encounter. from his terrible hands he dashed the dust, and challenged furiously with a great voice tydeides: not a whit that other quailed, but rushed to close with him. rolled up the dust in clouds from 'neath their feet: hurtling they met like battling mountain-bulls that clash to prove their dauntless strength, and spurn the dust, while with their roaring all the hills re-echo: in their desperate fury these dash their strong heads together, straining long against each other with their massive strength, hard-panting in the fierce rage of their strife, while from their mouths drip foam-flakes to the ground; so strained they twain with grapple of brawny hands. 'neath that hard grip their backs and sinewy necks cracked, even as when in mountain-glades the trees dash storm-tormented boughs together. oft tydeides clutched at aias' brawny thighs, but could not stir his steadfast-rooted feet. oft aias hurled his whole weight on him, bowed his shoulders backward, strove to press him down; and to new grips their hands were shifting aye. all round the gazing people shouted, some cheering on glorious tydeus' son, and some the might of aias. then the giant swung the shoulders of his foe to right, to left; then gripped him 'neath the waist; with one fierce heave and giant effort hurled him like a stone to earth. the floor of troyland rang again as fell tydeides: shouted all the folk. yet leapt he up all eager to contend with giant aias for the third last fall: but nestor rose and spake unto the twain: "from grapple of wrestling, noble sons, forbear; for all we know that ye be mightiest of argives since the great achilles died." then these from toil refrained, and from their brows wiped with their hands the plenteous-streaming sweat: they kissed each other, and forgat their strife. then thetis, queen of goddesses, gave to them four handmaids; and those strong and aweless ones marvelled beholding them, for these surpassed all captive-maids in beauty and household-skill, save only lovely-tressed briseis. these achilles captive brought from lesbos' isle, and in their service joyed. the first was made stewardess of the feast and lady of meats; the second to the feasters poured the wine; the third shed water on their hands thereafter; the fourth bare all away, the banquet done. these tydeus' son and giant aias shared, and, parted two and two, unto their ships sent they those fair and serviceable ones. next, for the play of fists idomeneus rose, for cunning was he in all athlete-lore; but none came forth to meet him, yielding all to him, the elder-born, with reverent awe. so in their midst gave thetis unto him a chariot and fleet steeds, which theretofore mighty patroclus from the ranks of troy drave, when he slew sarpedon, seed of zeus, these to his henchmen gave idomeneus to drive unto the ships: himself remained still sitting in the glorious athlete-ring. then phoenix to the stalwart argives cried: "now to idomeneus the gods have given a fair prize uncontested, free of toil of mighty arms and shoulders, honouring the elder-born with bloodless victory. but lo, ye younger men, another prize awaiteth the swift play of cunning hands. step forth then: gladden great peleides' soul." he spake, they heard; but each on other looked, and, loth to essay the contest, all sat still, till neleus' son rebuked those laggard souls: "friends, it were shame that men should shun the play of clenched hands, who in that noble sport have skill, wherein young men delight, which links glory to toil. ah that my thews were strong as when we held king pelias' funeral-feast, i and acastus, kinsmen joining hands, when i with godlike polydeuces stood in gauntlet-strife, in even-balanced fray, and when ancaeus in the wrestlers' ring mightier than all beside, yet feared and shrank from me, and dared not strive with me that day, for that ere then amidst the epeian men- no battle-blenchers they!--i had vanquished him, for all his might, and dashed him to the dust by dead amaryncus' tomb, and thousands round sat marvelling at my prowess and my strength. therefore against me not a second time raised he his hands, strong wrestler though he were; and so i won an uncontested prize. but now old age is on me, and many griefs. therefore i bid you, whom it well beseems, to win the prize; for glory crowns the youth who bears away the meed of athlete-strife." stirred by his gallant chiding, a brave man rose, son of haughty godlike panopeus, the man who framed the horse, the bane of troy, not long thereafter. none dared meet him now in play of fists, albeit in deadly craft of war, when ares rusheth through the field, he was not cunning. but for strife of hands the fair prize uncontested had been won by stout epeius--yea, he was at point to bear it thence unto the achaean ships; but one strode forth to meet him, theseus' son, the spearman acamas, the mighty of heart, bearing already on his swift hands girt the hard hide-gauntlets, which evenor's son agelaus on his prince's hands had drawn with courage-kindling words. the comrades then of panopeus' princely son for epeius raised a heartening cheer. he like a lion stood forth in the midst, his strong hands gauntleted with bull's hide hard as horn. loud rang the cheers from side to side of that great throng, to fire the courage of the mighty ones to clash hands in the gory play. sooth, little spur needed they for their eagerness for fight. but, ere they closed, they flashed out proving blows to wot if still, as theretofore, their arms were limber and lithe, unclogged by toil of war; then faced each other, and upraised their hands with ever-watching eyes, and short quick steps a-tiptoe, and with ever-shifting feet, each still eluding other's crushing might. then with a rush they closed like thunder-clouds hurled on each other by the tempest-blast, flashing forth lightnings, while the welkin thrills as clash the clouds and hollow roar the winds; so 'neath the hard hide-gauntlets clashed their jaws. down streamed the blood, and from their brows the sweat blood-streaked made on the flushed cheeks crimson bars. fierce without pause they fought, and never flagged epeius, but threw all his stormy strength into his onrush. yet did theseus' son never lose heart, but baffled the straight blows of those strong hands, and by his fighting-craft flinging them right and left, leapt in, brought home a blow to his eyebrow, cutting to the bone. even then with counter-stroke epeius reached acamas' temple, and hurled him to the ground. swift he sprang up, and on his stalwart foe rushed, smote his head: as he rushed in again, the other, slightly swerving, sent his left clean to his brow; his right, with all his might behind it, to his nose. yet acamas still warded and struck with all the manifold shifts of fighting-craft. but now the achaeans all bade stop the fight, though eager still were both to strive for coveted victory. then came their henchmen, and the gory gauntlets loosed in haste from those strong hands. now drew they breath from that great labour, as they bathed their brows with sponges myriad-pored. comrades and friends with pleading words then drew them face to face, and prayed, "in friendship straight forget your wrath." so to their comrades' suasion hearkened they; for wise men ever bear a placable mind. they kissed each other, and their hearts forgat that bitter strife. then thetis sable-stoled gave to their glad hands two great silver bowls the which euneus, jason's warrior son in sea-washed lemnos to achilles gave to ransom strong lycaon from his hands. these had hephaestus fashioned for his gift to glorious dionysus, when he brought his bride divine to olympus, minos' child far-famous, whom in sea-washed dia's isle theseus unwitting left. the wine-god brimmed with nectar these, and gave them to his son; and thoas at his death to hypsipyle with great possessions left them. she bequeathed the bowls to her godlike son, who gave them up unto achilles for lycaon's life. the one the son of lordly theseus took, and goodly epeius sent to his ship with joy the other. then their bruises and their scars did podaleirius tend with loving care. first pressed he out black humours, then his hands deftly knit up the gashes: salves he laid thereover, given him by his sire of old, such as had virtue in one day to heal the deadliest hurts, yea, seeming-cureless wounds. straight was the smart assuaged, and healed the scars upon their brows and 'neath their clustering hair then for the archery-test oileus' son stood forth with teucer, they which in the race erewhile contended. far away from these agamemnon, lord of spears, set up a helm crested with plumes, and spake: "the master-shot is that which shears the hair-crest clean away." then straightway aias shot his arrow first, and smote the helm-ridge: sharply rang the brass. then teucer second with most earnest heed shot: the swift shaft hath shorn the plume away. loud shouted all the people as they gazed, and praised him without stint, for still his foot halted in pain, yet nowise marred his aim when with his hands he sped the flying shaft. then peleus' bride gave unto him the arms of godlike troilus, the goodliest of all fair sons whom hecuba had borne in hallowed troy; yet of his goodlihead no joy she had; the prowess and the spear of fell achilles reft his life from him. as when a gardener with new-whetted scythe mows down, ere it may seed, a blade of corn or poppy, in a garden dewy-fresh and blossom-flushed, which by a water-course crowdeth its blooms--mows it ere it may reach its goal of bringing offspring to the birth, and with his scythe-sweep makes its life-work vain and barren of all issue, nevermore now to be fostered by the dews of spring; so did peleides cut down priam's son the god-like beautiful, the beardless yet and virgin of a bride, almost a child! yet the destroyer fate had lured him on to war, upon the threshold of glad youth, when youth is bold, and the heart feels no void. forthwith a bar of iron massy and long from the swift-speeding hand did many essay to hurl; but not an argive could prevail to cast that ponderous mass. aias alone sped it from his strong hand, as in the time of harvest might a reaper fling from him a dry oak-bough, when all the fields are parched. and all men marvelled to behold how far flew from his hand the bronze which scarce two men hard-straining had uplifted from the ground. even this antaeus' might was wont to hurl erstwhile, ere the strong hands of hercules o'ermastered him. this, with much spoil beside, hercules took, and kept it to make sport for his invincible hand; but afterward gave it to valiant peleus, who with him had smitten fair-towered ilium's burg renowned; and he to achilles gave it, whose swift ships bare it to troy, to put him aye in mind of his own father, as with eager will he fought with stalwart trojans, and to be a worthy test wherewith to prove his strength. even this did aias from his brawny hand fling far. so then the nereid gave to him the glorious arms from godlike memnon stripped. marvelling the argives gazed on them: they were a giant's war-gear. laughing a glad laugh that man renowned received them: he alone could wear them on his brawny limbs; they seemed as they had even been moulded to his frame. the great bar thence he bore withal, to be his joy when he was fain of athlete-toil. still sped the contests on; and many rose now for the leaping. far beyond the marks of all the rest brave agapenor sprang: loud shouted all for that victorious leap; and thetis gave him the fair battle-gear of mighty cycnus, who had smitten first protesilaus, then had reft the life from many more, till peleus' son slew him first of the chiefs of grief-enshrouded troy. next, in the javelin-cast euryalus hurled far beyond all rivals, while the folk shouted aloud: no archer, so they deemed, could speed a winged shaft farther than his cast; therefore the aeacid hero's mother gave to him a deep wide silver oil-flask, ta'en by achilles in possession, when his spear slew mynes, and he spoiled lyrnessus' wealth. then fiery-hearted aias eagerly rose, challenging to strife of hands and feet the mightiest hero there; but marvelling they marked his mighty thews, and no man dared confront him. chilling dread had palsied all their courage: from their hearts they feared him, lest his hands invincible should all to-break his adversary's face, and naught but pain be that man's meed. but at the last all men made signs to battle-bider euryalus, for well they knew him skilled in fighting-craft; but he too feared that giant, and he cried: "friends, any other achaean, whom ye will, blithe will i face; but mighty alas--no! far doth he overmatch me. he will rend mine heart, if in the onset anger rise within him: from his hands invincible, i trow, i should not win to the ships alive." loud laughed they all: but glowed with triumph-joy the heart of aias. gleaming talents twain of silver he from thetis' hands received, his uncontested prize. his stately height called to her mind her dear son, and she sighed. they which had skill in chariot-driving then rose at the contest's summons eagerly: menelaus first, eurypylus bold in fight, eumelus, thoas, godlike polypoetes harnessed their steeds, and led them to the cars all panting for the joy of victory. then rode they in a glittering chariot rank out to one place, to a stretch of sand, and stood ranged at the starting-line. the reins they grasped in strong hands quickly, while the chariot-steeds shoulder to shoulder fretted, all afire to take the lead at starting, pawed the sand, pricked ears, and o'er their frontlets flung the foam. with sudden-stiffened sinews those ear-lords lashed with their whips the tempest-looted steeds; then swift as harpies sprang they forth; they strained furiously at the harness, onward whirling the chariots bounding ever from the earth. thou couldst not see a wheel-track, no, nor print of hoof upon the sand--they verily flew. up from the plain the dust-clouds to the sky soared, like the smoke of burning, or a mist rolled round the mountain-forelands by the might of the dark south-wind or the west, when wakes a tempest, when the hill-sides stream with rain. burst to the front eumelus' steeds: behind close pressed the team of godlike thoas: shouts still answered shouts that cheered each chariot, while onward they swept across the wide-wayed plain. ((lacuna)) "from hallowed elis, when he had achieved a mighty triumph, in that he outstripped the swift ear of oenomaus evil-souled, the ruthless slayer of youths who sought to wed his daughter hippodameia passing-wise. yet even he, for all his chariot-lore, had no such fleetfoot steeds as atreus' son- far slower!--the wind is in the feet of these." so spake he, giving glory to the might of those good steeds, and to atreides' self; and filled with joy was menelaus' soul. straightway his henchmen from the yoke-band loosed the panting team, and all those chariot-lords, who in the race had striven, now unyoked their tempest-footed steeds. podaleirius then hasted to spread salves over all the wounds of thoas and eurypylus, gashes scored upon their frames when from the cars they fell but menelaus with exceeding joy of victory glowed, when thetis lovely-tressed gave him a golden cup, the chief possession once of eetion the godlike; ere achilles spoiled the far-famed burg of thebes. then horsemen riding upon horses came down to the course: they grasped in hand the whip and bounding from the earth bestrode their steeds, the while with foaming mouths the coursers champed the bits, and pawed the ground, and fretted aye to dash into the course. forth from the line swiftly they darted, eager for the strife, wild as the blasts of roaring boreas or shouting notus, when with hurricane-swoop he heaves the wide sea high, when in the east uprises the disastrous altar-star bringing calamity to seafarers; so swift they rushed, spurning with flying feet the deep dust on the plain. the riders cried each to his steed, and ever plied the lash and shook the reins about the clashing bits. on strained the horses: from the people rose a shouting like the roaring of a sea. on, on across the level plain they flew; and now the flashing-footed argive steed by sthenelus bestridden, had won the race, but from the course he swerved, and o'er the plain once and again rushed wide; nor capaneus' son, good horseman though he were, could turn him back by rein or whip, because that steed was strange still to the race-course; yet of lineage noble was he, for in his veins the blood of swift arion ran, the foal begotten by the loud-piping west-wind on a harpy, the fleetest of all earth-born steeds, whose feet could race against his father's swiftest blasts. him did the blessed to adrastus give: and from him sprang the steed of sthenelus, which tydeus' son had given unto his friend in hallowed troyland. filled with confidence in those swift feet his rider led him forth unto the contest of the steeds that day, looking his horsemanship should surely win renown: yet victory gladdened not his heart in that great struggle for achilles' prizes; nay, swift albeit he was, the king of men by skill outraced him. shouted all the folk, "glory to agamemnon!" yet they acclaimed the steed of valiant sthenelus and his lord, for that the fiery flying of his feet still won him second place, albeit oft wide of the course he swerved. then thetis gave to atreus' son, while laughed his lips for joy, god-sprung polydorus' breastplate silver-wrought. to sthenelus asteropaeus' massy helm, two lances, and a taslet strong, she gave. yea, and to all the riders who that day came at achilles' funeral-feast to strive she gave gifts. but the son of the old war-lord, laertes, inly grieved to be withheld from contests of the strong, how fain soe'er, by that sore wound which alcon dealt to him in the grim fight around dead aeacas' son. book v how the arms of achilles were cause of madness and death unto aias. so when all other contests had an end, thetis the goddess laid down in the midst great-souled achilles' arms divinely wrought; and all around flashed out the cunning work wherewith the fire-god overchased the shield fashioned for aeacus' son, the dauntless-souled. inwrought upon that labour of a god were first high heaven and cloudland, and beneath lay earth and sea: the winds, the clouds were there, the moon and sun, each in its several place; there too were all the stars that, fixed in heaven, are borne in its eternal circlings round. above and through all was the infinite air where to and fro flit birds of slender beak: thou hadst said they lived, and floated on the breeze. here tethys' all-embracing arms were wrought, and ocean's fathomless flow. the outrushing flood of rivers crying to the echoing hills all round, to right, to left, rolled o'er the land. round it rose league-long mountain-ridges, haunts of terrible lions and foul jackals: there fierce bears and panthers prowled; with these were seen wild boars that whetted deadly-clashing tusks in grimly-frothing jaws. there hunters sped after the hounds: beaters with stone and dart, to the life portrayed, toiled in the woodland sport. and there were man-devouring wars, and all horrors of fight: slain men were falling down mid horse-hoofs; and the likeness of a plain blood-drenched was on that shield invincible. panic was there, and dread, and ghastly enyo with limbs all gore-bespattered hideously, and deadly strife, and the avenging spirits fierce-hearted--she, still goading warriors on to the onset they, outbreathing breath of fire. around them hovered the relentless fates; beside them battle incarnate onward pressed yelling, and from their limbs streamed blood and sweat. there were the ruthless gorgons: through their hair horribly serpents coiled with flickering tongues. a measureless marvel was that cunning work of things that made men shudder to behold seeming as though they verily lived and moved. and while here all war's marvels were portrayed, yonder were all the works of lovely peace. the myriad tribes of much-enduring men dwelt in fair cities. justice watched o'er all. to diverse toils they set their hands; the fields were harvest-laden; earth her increase bore. most steeply rose on that god-laboured work the rugged flanks of holy honour's mount, and there upon a palm-tree throned she sat exalted, and her hands reached up to heaven. all round her, paths broken by many rocks thwarted the climbers' feet; by those steep tracks daunted ye saw returning many folk: few won by sweat of toil the sacred height. and there were reapers moving down long swaths swinging the whetted sickles: 'neath their hands the hot work sped to its close. hard after these many sheaf-binders followed, and the work grew passing great. with yoke-bands on their necks oxen were there, whereof some drew the wains heaped high with full-eared sheaves, and further on were others ploughing, and the glebe showed black behind them. youths with ever-busy goads followed: a world of toil was there portrayed. and there a banquet was, with pipe and harp, dances of maids, and flashing feet of boys, all in swift movement, like to living souls. hard by the dance and its sweet winsomeness out of the sea was rising lovely-crowned cypris, foam-blossoms still upon her hair; and round her hovered smiling witchingly desire, and danced the graces lovely-tressed. and there were lordly nereus' daughters shown leading their sister up from the wide sea to her espousals with the warrior-king. and round her all the immortals banqueted on pelion's ridge far-stretching. all about lush dewy watermeads there were, bestarred with flowers innumerable, grassy groves, and springs with clear transparent water bright. there ships with sighing sheets swept o'er the sea, some beating up to windward, some that sped before a following wind, and round them heaved the melancholy surge. seared shipmen rushed this way and that, adread for tempest-gusts, hauling the white sails in, to 'scape the death- it all seemed real--some tugging at the oars, while the dark sea on either side the ship grew hoary 'neath the swiftly-plashing blades. and there triumphant the earth-shaker rode amid sea-monsters' stormy-footed steeds drew him, and seemed alive, as o'er the deep they raced, oft smitten by the golden whip. around their path of flight the waves fell smooth, and all before them was unrippled calm. dolphins on either hand about their king swarmed, in wild rapture of homage bowing backs, and seemed like live things o'er the hazy sea swimming, albeit all of silver wrought. marvels of untold craft were imaged there by cunning-souled hephaestus' deathless hands upon the shield. and ocean's fathomless flood clasped like a garland all the outer rim, and compassed all the strong shield's curious work. and therebeside the massy helmet lay. zeus in his wrath was set upon the crest throned on heaven's dome; the immortals all around fierce-battling with the titans fought for zeus. already were their foes enwrapped with flame, for thick and fast as snowflakes poured from heaven the thunderbolts: the might of zeus was roused, and burning giants seemed to breathe out flames. and therebeside the fair strong corslet lay, unpierceable, which clasped peleides once: there were the greaves close-lapping, light alone to achilles; massy of mould and huge they were. and hard by flashed the sword whose edge and point no mail could turn, with golden belt, and sheath of silver, and with haft of ivory: brightest amid those wondrous arms it shone. stretched on the earth thereby was that dread spear, long as the tall-tressed pines of pelion, still breathing out the reek of hector's blood. then mid the argives thetis sable-stoled in her deep sorrow for achilles spake; "now all the athlete-prizes have been won which i set forth in sorrow for my child. now let that mightiest of the argives come who rescued from the foe my dead: to him these glorious and immortal arms i give which even the blessed deathless joyed to see." then rose in rivalry, each claiming them, laertes' seed and godlike telamon's son, aias, the mightiest far of danaan men: he seemed the star that in the glittering sky outshines the host of heaven, hesperus, so splendid by peleides' arms he stood; "and let these judge," he cried, "idomeneus, nestor, and kingly-counselled agamemnon," for these, he weened, would sureliest know the truth of deeds wrought in that glorious battle-toil. "to these i also trust most utterly," odysseus said, "for prudent of their wit be these, and princeliest of all danaan men." but to idomeneus and atreus' son spake nestor apart, and willingly they heard: "friends, a great woe and unendurable this day the careless gods have laid on us, in that into this lamentable strife aias the mighty hath been thrust by them against odysseus passing-wise. for he, to whichsoe'er god gives the victor's glory- o yea, he shall rejoice! but he that loseth- all for the grief in all the danaans' hearts for him! and ours shall be the deepest grief of all; for that man will not in the war stand by us as of old. a sorrowful day it shall be for us, whichsoe'er of these shall break into fierce anger, seeing they are of our heroes chiefest, this in war, and that in counsel. hearken then to me, seeing that i am older far than ye, not by a few years only: with mine age is prudence joined, for i have suffered and wrought much; and in counsel ever the old man, who knoweth much, excelleth younger men. therefore let us ordain to judge this cause 'twixt godlike aias and war-fain odysseus, our trojan captives. they shall say whom most our foes dread, and who saved peleides' corse from that most deadly fight. lo, in our midst be many spear-won trojans, thralls of fate; and these will pass true judgment on these twain, to neither showing favour, since they hate alike all authors of their misery." he spake: replied agamemnon lord of spears: "ancient, there is none other in our midst wiser than thou, of danaans young or old, in that thou say'st that unforgiving wrath will burn in him to whom the gods herein deny the victory; for these which strive are both our chiefest. therefore mine heart too is set on this, that to the thralls of war this judgment we commit: the loser then shall against troy devise his deadly work of vengeance, and shall not be wroth with us." he spake, and these three, being of one mind, in hearing of all men refused to judge judgment so thankless: they would none of it. therefore they set the high-born sons of troy there in the midst, spear-thralls although they were, to give just judgment in the warriors' strife. then in hot anger aias rose, and spake: "odysseus, frantic soul, why hath a god deluded thee, to make thee hold thyself my peer in might invincible? dar'st thou say that thou, when slain achilles lay in dust, when round him swarmed the trojans, didst bear back that furious throng, when i amidst them hurled death, and thou coweredst away? thy dam bare thee a craven and a weakling wretch frail in comparison of me, as is a cur beside a lion thunder-voiced! no battle-biding heart is in thy breast, but wiles and treachery be all thy care. hast thou forgotten how thou didst shrink back from faring with achaea's gathered host to ilium's holy burg, till atreus' sons forced thee, the cowering craven, how loth soe'er, to follow them--would god thou hadst never come! for by thy counsel left we in lemnos' isle groaning in agony poeas' son renowned. and not for him alone was ruin devised of thee; for godlike palamedes too didst thou contrive destruction--ha, he was alike in battle and council better than thou! and now thou dar'st to rise up against me, neither remembering my kindness, nor having respect unto the mightier man who rescued thee erewhile, when thou didst quaff in fight before the onset of thy foes, when thou, forsaken of all greeks beside, midst tumult of the fray, wast fleeing too! oh that in that great fight zeus' self had stayed my dauntless might with thunder from his heaven! then with their two-edged swords the trojan men had hewn thee limb from limb, and to their dogs had cast thy carrion! then thou hadst not presumed to meet me, trusting in thy trickeries! wretch, wherefore, if thou vauntest thee in might beyond all others, hast thou set thy ships in the line's centre, screened from foes, nor dared as i, on the far wing to draw them up? because thou wast afraid! not thou it was who savedst from devouring fire the ships; but i with heart unquailing there stood fast facing the fire and hector ay, even he gave back before me everywhere in fight. thou--thou didst fear him aye with deadly fear! oh, had this our contention been but set amidst that very battle, when the roar of conflict rose around achilles slain! then had thine own eyes seen me bearing forth out from the battle's heart and fury of foes that goodly armour and its hero lord unto the tents. but here thou canst but trust in cunning speech, and covetest a place amongst the mighty! thou--thou hast not strength to wear achilles' arms invincible, nor sway his massy spear in thy weak hands! but i they are verily moulded to my frame: yea, seemly it is i wear those glorious arms, who shall not shame a god's gifts passing fair. but wherefore for achilles' glorious arms with words discourteous wrangling stand we here? come, let us try in strife with brazen spears who of us twain is best in murderous right! for silver-footed thetis set in the midst this prize for prowess, not for pestilent words. in folkmote may men have some use for words: in pride of prowess i know me above thee far, and great achilles' lineage is mine own." he spake: with scornful glance and bitter speech odysseus the resourceful chode with him: "aias, unbridled tongue, why these vain words to me? thou hast called me pestilent, niddering, and weakling: yet i boast me better far than thou in wit and speech, which things increase the strength of men. lo, how the craggy rock, adamantine though it seem, the hewers of stone amid the hills by wisdom undermine full lightly, and by wisdom shipmen cross the thunderous-plunging sea, when mountain-high it surgeth, and by craft do hunters quell strong lions, panthers, boars, yea, all the brood of wild things. furious-hearted bulls are tamed to bear the yoke-bands by device of men. yea, all things are by wit accomplished. still it is the man who knoweth that excels the witless man alike in toils and counsels. for my keen wit did oeneus' valiant son choose me of all men with him to draw nigh to hector's watchmen: yea, and mighty deeds we twain accomplished. i it was who brought to atreus' sons peleides far-renowned, their battle-helper. whensoe'er the host needeth some other champion, not for the sake of thine hands will he come, nor by the rede of other argives: of achaeans i alone will draw him with soft suasive words to where strong men are warring. mighty power the tongue hath over men, when courtesy inspires it. valour is a deedless thing; and bulk and big assemblage of a man cometh to naught, by wisdom unattended. but unto me the immortals gave both strength and wisdom, and unto the argive host made me a blessing. nor, as thou hast said, hast thou in time past saved me when in flight from foes. i never fled, but steadfastly withstood the charge of all the trojan host. furious the enemy came on like a flood but i by might of hands cut short the thread of many lives. herein thou sayest not true me in the fray thou didst not shield nor save, but for thine own life roughtest, lest a spear should pierce thy back if thou shouldst turn to flee from war. my ships? i drew them up mid-line, not dreading the battle-fury of any foe, but to bring healing unto atreus' sons of war's calamities: and thou didst set far from their help thy ships. nay more, i seamed with cruel stripes my body, and entered so the trojans' burg, that i might learn of them all their devisings for this troublous war. nor ever i dreaded hector's spear; myself rose mid the foremost, eager for the fight, when, prowess-confident, he defied us all. yea, in the fight around achilles, i slew foes far more than thou; 'twas i who saved the dead king with this armour. not a whit i dread thy spear now, but my grievous hurt with pain still vexeth me, the wound i gat in fighting for these arms and their slain lord. in me as in achilles is zeus' blood." he spake; strong aias answered him again. "most cunning and most pestilent of men, nor i, nor any other argive, saw thee toiling in that fray, when trojans strove fiercely to hale away achilles slain. my might it was that with the spear unstrung the knees of some in fight, and others thrilled with panic as they pressed on ceaselessly. then fled they in dire straits, as geese or cranes flee from an eagle swooping as they feed along a grassy meadow; so, in dread the trojans shrinking backward from my spear and lightening sword, fled into ilium to 'scape destruction. if thy might came there ever at all, not anywhere nigh me with foes thou foughtest: somewhere far aloot mid other ranks thou toiledst, nowhere nigh achilles, where the one great battle raged." he spake; replied odysseus the shrewd heart: "aias, i hold myself no worse than thou in wit or might, how goodly in outward show thou be soever. nay, i am keener far of wit than thou in all the argives' eyes. in battle-prowess do i equal thee haply surpass; and this the trojans know, who tremble when they see me from afar. aye, thou too know'st, and others know my strength by that hard struggle in the wrestling-match, when peleus' son set glorious prizes forth beside the barrow of patroclus slain." so spake laertes' son the world-renowned. then on that strife disastrous of the strong the sons of troy gave judgment. victory and those immortal arms awarded they with one consent to odysseus mighty in war. greatly his soul rejoiced; but one deep groan brake from the greeks. then aias' noble might stood frozen stiff; and suddenly fell on him dark wilderment; all blood within his frame boiled, and his gall swelled, bursting forth in flood. against his liver heaved his bowels; his heart with anguished pangs was thrilled; fierce stabbing throes shot through the filmy veil 'twixt bone and brain; and darkness and confusion wrapped his mind. with fixed eyes staring on the ground he stood still as a statue. then his sorrowing friends closed round him, led him to the shapely ships, aye murmuring consolations. but his feet trod for the last time, with reluctant steps, that path; and hard behind him followed doom. when to the ships beside the boundless sea the argives, faint for supper and for sleep, had passed, into the great deep thetis plunged, and all the nereids with her. round them swam sea-monsters many, children of the brine. against the wise prometheus bitter-wroth the sea-maids were, remembering how that zeus, moved by his prophecies, unto peleus gave thetis to wife, a most unwilling bride. then cried in wrath to these cymothoe: "o that the pestilent prophet had endured all pangs he merited, when, deep-burrowing, the eagle tare his liver aye renewed!" so to the dark-haired sea-maids cried the nymph. then sank the sun: the onrush of the night shadowed the fields, the heavens were star-bestrewn; and by the long-prowed ships the argives slept by ambrosial sleep o'ermastered, and by wine the which from proud idomeneus' realm of crete: the shipmen bare o'er foaming leagues of sea. but aias, wroth against the argive men, would none of meat or drink, nor clasped him round the arms of sleep. in fury he donned his mail, he clutched his sword, thinking unspeakable thoughts; for now he thought to set the ships aflame, and slaughter all the argives, now, to hew with sudden onslaught of his terrible sword guileful odysseus limb from limb. such things he purposed--nay, had soon accomplished all, had pallas not with madness smitten him; for over odysseus, strong to endure, her heart yearned, as she called to mind the sacrifices offered to her of him continually. therefore she turned aside from argive men the might of aias. as a terrible storm, whose wings are laden with dread hurricane-blasts, cometh with portents of heart-numbing fear to shipmen, when the pleiads, fleeing adread from glorious orion, plunge beneath the stream of tireless ocean, when the air is turmoil, and the sea is mad with storm; so rushed he, whithersoe'er his feet might bear. this way and that he ran, like some fierce beast which darteth down a rock-walled glen's ravines with foaming jaws, and murderous intent against the hounds and huntsmen, who have torn out of the cave her cubs, and slain: she runs this way and that, and roars, if mid the brakes haply she yet may see the dear ones lost; whom if a man meet in that maddened mood, straightway his darkest of all days hath dawned; so ruthless-raving rushed he; blackly boiled his heart, as caldron on the fire-god's hearth maddens with ceaseless hissing o'er the flames from blazing billets coiling round its sides, at bidding of the toiler eager-souled to singe the bristles of a huge-fed boar; so was his great heart boiling in his breast. like a wild sea he raved, like tempest-blast, like the winged might of tireless flame amidst the mountains maddened by a mighty wind, when the wide-blazing forest crumbles down in fervent heat. so aias, his fierce heart with agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved. foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roar howled from his throat. about his shoulders clashed his armour. they which saw him trembled, all cowed by the fearful shout of that one man. from ocean then uprose dawn golden-reined: like a soft wind upfloated sleep to heaven, and there met hera, even then returned to olympus back from tethys, unto whom but yester-morn she went. she clasped him round, and kissed him, who had been her marriage-kin since at her prayer on ida's erest he had lulled to sleep cronion, when his anger burned against the argives. straightway hera passed to zeus's mansion, and sleep swiftly flew to pasithea's couch. from slumber woke all nations of the earth. but aias, like orion the invincible, prowled on, still bearing murderous madness in his heart. he rushed upon the sheep, like lion fierce whose savage heart is stung with hunger-pangs. here, there, he smote them, laid them dead in dust thick as the leaves which the strong north-wind's might strews, when the waning year to winter turns; so on the sheep in fury aias fell, deeming he dealt to danaans evil doom. then to his brother menelaus came, and spake, but not in hearing of the rest: "this day shall surely be a ruinous day for all, since aias thus is sense-distraught. it may be he will set the ships aflame, and slay us all amidst our tents, in wrath for those lost arms. would god that thetis ne'er had set them for the prize of rivalry! would god laertes' son had not presumed in folly of soul to strive with a better man! fools were we all; and some malignant god beguiled us; for the one great war-defence left us, since aeacus' son in battle fell, was aias' mighty strength. and now the gods will to our loss destroy him, bringing bane on thee and me, that all we may fill up the cup of doom, and pass to nothingness." he spake; replied agamemnon, lord of spears: "now nay, menelaus, though thine heart he wrung, be thou not wroth with the resourceful king of cephallenian folk, but with the gods who plot our ruin. blame not him, who oft hath been our blessing and our enemies' curse." so heavy-hearted spake the danaan kings. but by the streams of xanthus far away 'neath tamarisks shepherds cowered to hide from death, as when from a swift eagle cower hares 'neath tangled copses, when with sharp fierce scream this way and that with wings wide-shadowing he wheeleth very nigh; so they here, there, quailed from the presence of that furious man. at last above a slaughtered ram he stood, and with a deadly laugh he cried to it: "lie there in dust; be meat for dogs and kites! achilles' glorious arms have saved not thee, for which thy folly strove with a better man! lie there, thou cur! no wife shall fall on thee, and clasp, and wail thee and her fatherless childs, nor shalt thou greet thy parents' longing eyes, the staff of their old age! far from thy land thy carrion dogs and vultures shall devour!" so cried he, thinking that amidst the slain odysseus lay blood-boltered at his feet. but in that moment from his mind and eyes athena tore away the nightmare-fiend of madness havoc-breathing, and it passed thence swiftly to the rock-walled river styx where dwell the winged erinnyes, they which still visit with torments overweening men. then aias saw those sheep upon the earth gasping in death; and sore amazed he stood, for he divined that by the blessed ones his senses had been cheated. all his limbs failed under him; his soul was anguished-thrilled: he could not in his horror take one step forward nor backward. like some towering rock fast-rooted mid the mountains, there he stood. but when the wild rout of his thoughts had rallied, he groaned in misery, and in anguish wailed: "ah me! why do the gods abhor me so? they have wrecked my mind, have with fell madness filled, making me slaughter all these innocent sheep! would god that on odysseus' pestilent heart mine hands had so avenged me! miscreant, he brought on me a fell curse! o may his soul suffer all torments that the avenging fiends devise for villains! on all other greeks may they bring murderous battle, woeful griefs, and chiefly on agamemnon, atreus' son! not scatheless to the home may he return so long desired! but why should i consort, i, a brave man, with the abominable? perish the argive host, perish my life, now unendurable! the brave no more hath his due guerdon, but the baser sort are honoured most and loved, as this odysseus hath worship mid the greeks: but utterly have they forgotten me and all my deeds, all that i wrought and suffered in their cause." so spake the brave son of strong telamon, then thrust the sword of hector through his throat. forth rushed the blood in torrent: in the dust outstretched he lay, like typhon, when the bolts of zeus had blasted him. around him groaned the dark earth as he fell upon her breast. then thronging came the danaans, when they saw low laid in dust the hero; but ere then none dared draw nigh him, but in deadly fear they watched him from afar. now hasted they and flung themselves upon the dead, outstretched upon their faces: on their heads they cast dust, and their wailing went up to the sky. as when men drive away the tender lambs out of the fleecy flock, to feast thereon, and round the desolate pens the mothers leap ceaselessly bleating, so o'er aias rang that day a very great and bitter cry. wild echoes pealed from ida forest-palled, and from the plain, the ships, the boundless sea. then teucer clasping him was minded too to rush on bitter doom: howbeit the rest held from the sword his hand. anguished he fell upon the dead, outpouring many a tear more comfortlessly than the orphan babe that wails beside the hearth, with ashes strewn on head and shoulders, wails bereavement's day that brings death to the mother who hath nursed the fatherless child; so wailed he, ever wailed his great death-stricken brother, creeping slow around the corpse, and uttering his lament: "o aias, mighty-souled, why was thine heart distraught, that thou shouldst deal unto thyself murder and bale? all, was it that the sons of troy might win a breathing-space from woes, might come and slay the greeks, now thou art not? from these shall all the olden courage fail when fast they fall in fight. their shield from harm is broken now! for me, i have no will to see mine home again, now thou art dead. nay, but i long here also now to die, that so the earth may shroud me--me and thee not for my parents so much do i care, if haply yet they live, if haply yet spared from the grave, in salamis they dwell, as for thee, o my glory and my crown!" so cried he groaning sore; with answering moan queenly tecmessa wailed, the princess-bride of noble aias, captive of his spear, yet ta'en by him to wife, and household-queen o'er all his substance, even all that wives won with a bride-price rule for wedded lords. clasped in his mighty arms, she bare to him a son eurysaces, in all things like unto his father, far as babe might be yet cradled in his tent. with bitter moan fell she on that dear corpse, all her fair form close-shrouded in her veil, and dust-defiled, and from her anguished heart cried piteously: "alas for me, for me now thou art dead, not by the hands of foes in fight struck down, but by thine own! on me is come a grief ever-abiding! never had i looked to see thy woeful death-day here by troy. ah, visions shattered by rude hands of fate! oh that the earth had yawned wide for my grave ere i beheld thy bitter doom! on me no sharper, more heart-piercing pang hath come- no, not when first from fatherland afar and parents thou didst bear me, wailing sore mid other captives, when the day of bondage had come on me, a princess theretofore. not for that dear lost home so much i grieve, nor for my parents dead, as now for thee: for all thine heart was kindness unto me the hapless, and thou madest me thy wife, one soul with thee; yea, and thou promisedst to throne me queen of fair-towered salamis, when home we won from troy. the gods denied accomplishment thereof. and thou hast passed unto the unseen land: thou hast forgot me and thy child, who never shall make glad his father's heart, shall never mount thy throne. but him shall strangers make a wretched thrall: for when the father is no more, the babe is ward of meaner men. a weary life the orphan knows, and suffering cometh in from every side upon him like a flood. to me too thraldom's day shall doubtless come, now thou hast died, who wast my god on earth." then in all kindness agamemnon spake: "princess, no man on earth shall make thee thrall, while teucer liveth yet, while yet i live. thou shalt have worship of us evermore and honour as a goddess, with thy son, as though yet living were that godlike man, aias, who was the achaeans' chiefest strength. ah that he had not laid this load of grief on all, in dying by his own right hand! for all the countless armies of his foes never availed to slay him in fair fight." so spake he, grieved to the inmost heart. the folk woefully wafted all round. o'er hellespont echoes of mourning rolled: the sighing air darkened around, a wide-spread sorrow-pall. yea, grief laid hold on wise odysseus' self for the great dead, and with remorseful soul to anguish-stricken argives thus he spake: "o friends, there is no greater curse to men than wrath, which groweth till its bitter fruit is strife. now wrath hath goaded aias on to this dire issue of the rage that filled his soul against me. would to god that ne'er yon trojans in the strife for achilles' arms had crowned me with that victory, for which strong telamon's brave son, in agony of soul, thus perished by his own right hand! yet blame not me, i pray you, for his wrath: blame the dark dolorous fate that struck him down. for, had mine heart foreboded aught of this, this desperation of a soul distraught, never for victory had i striven with him, nor had i suffered any danaan else, though ne'er so eager, to contend with him. nay, i had taken up those arms divine with mine own hands, and gladly given them to him, ay, though himself desired it not. but for such mighty grief and wrath in him i had not looked, since not for a woman's sake nor for a city, nor possessions wide, i then contended, but for honour's meed, which alway is for all right-hearted men the happy goal of all their rivalry. but that great-hearted man was led astray by fate, the hateful fiend; for surely it is unworthy a man to be made passion's fool. the wise man's part is, steadfast-souled to endure all ills, and not to rage against his lot." so spake laertes' son, the far-renowned. but when they all were weary of grief and groan, then to those sorrowing ones spake neleus' son: "o friends, the pitiless-hearted fates have laid stroke after stroke of sorrow upon us, sorrow for aias dead, for mighty achilles, for many an argive, and for mine own son antilochus. yet all unmeet it is day after day with passion of grief to wail men slain in battle: nay, we must forget laments, and turn us to the better task of rendering dues beseeming to the dead, the dues of pyre, of tomb, of bones inurned. no lamentations will awake the dead; no note thereof he taketh, when the fates, the ruthless ones, have swallowed him in night." so spake he words of cheer: the godlike kings gathered with heavy hearts around the dead, and many hands upheaved the giant corpse, and swiftly bare him to the ships, and there washed they away the blood that clotted lay dust-flecked on mighty limbs and armour: then in linen swathed him round. from ida's heights wood without measure did the young men bring, and piled it round the corpse. billets and logs yet more in a wide circle heaped they round; and sheep they laid thereon, fair-woven vests, and goodly kine, and speed-triumphant steeds, and gleaming gold, and armour without stint, from slain foes by that glorious hero stripped. and lucent amber-drops they laid thereon, years, say they, which the daughters of the sun, the lord of omens, shed for phaethon slain, when by eridanus' flood they mourned for him. these, for undying honour to his son, the god made amber, precious in men's eyes. even this the argives on that broad-based pyre cast freely, honouring the mighty dead. and round him, groaning heavily, they laid silver most fair and precious ivory, and jars of oil, and whatsoe'er beside they have who heap up goodly and glorious wealth. then thrust they in the strength of ravening flame, and from the sea there breathed a wind, sent forth by thetis, to consume the giant frame of aias. all the night and all the morn burned 'neath the urgent stress of that great wind beside the ships that giant form, as when enceladus by zeus' levin was consumed beneath thrinacia, when from all the isle smoke of his burning rose--or like as when hercules, trapped by nessus' deadly guile, gave to devouring fire his living limbs, what time he dared that awful deed, when groaned all oeta as he burned alive, and passed his soul into the air, leaving the man far-famous, to be numbered with the gods, when earth closed o'er his toil-tried mortal part. so huge amid the flames, all-armour clad, lay aias, all the joy of fight forgot, while a great multitude watching thronged the sands. glad were the trojans, but the achaeans grieved. but when that goodly frame by ravening fire was all consumed, they quenched the pyre with wine; they gathered up the bones, and reverently laid in a golden casket. hard beside rhoeteium's headland heaped they up a mound measureless-high. then scattered they amidst the long ships, heavy-hearted for the man whom they had honoured even as achilles. then black night, bearing unto all men sleep, upfloated: so they brake bread, and lay down waiting the child of the mist. short was sleep, broken by fitful staring through the dark, haunted by dread lest in the night the foe should fall on them, now telamon's son was dead. book vi how came for the helping of troy eurypylus, hercules' grandson. rose dawn from ocean and tithonus' bed, and climbed the steeps of heaven, scattering round flushed flakes of splendour; laughed all earth and air. then turned unto their labours, each to each, mortals, frail creatures daily dying. then streamed to a folkmote all the achaean men at menelaus' summons. when the host were gathered all, then in their midst he spake: "hearken my words, ye god-descended kings: mine heart within my breast is burdened sore for men which perish, men that for my sake came to the bitter war, whose home-return parents and home shall welcome nevermore; for fate hath cut off thousands in their prime. oh that the heavy hand of death had fallen on me, ere hitherward i gathered these! but now hath god laid on me cureless pain in seeing all these ills. who could rejoice beholding strivings, struggles of despair? come, let us, which be yet alive, in haste flee in the ships, each to his several land, since aias and achilles both are dead. i look not, now they are slain, that we the rest shall 'scape destruction; nay, but we shall fall before yon terrible trojans for my sake and shameless helen's! think not that i care for her: for you i care, when i behold good men in battle slain. away with her- her and her paltry paramour! the gods stole all discretion out of her false heart when she forsook mine home and marriage-bed. let priam and the trojans cherish her! but let us straight return: 'twere better far to flee from dolorous war than perish all." so spake he but to try the argive men. far other thoughts than these made his heart burn with passionate desire to slay his foes, to break the long walls of their city down from their foundations, and to glut with blood ares, when paris mid the slain should fall. fiercer is naught than passionate desire! thus as he pondered, sitting in his place, uprose tydeides, shaker of the shield, and chode in fiery speech with menelaus: "o coward atreus' son, what craven fear hath gripped thee, that thou speakest so to us as might a weakling child or woman speak? not unto thee achaea's noblest sons will hearken, ere troy's coronal of towers be wholly dashed to the dust: for unto men valour is high renown, and flight is shame! if any man shall hearken to the words of this thy counsel, i will smite from him his head with sharp blue steel, and hurl it down for soaring kites to feast on. up! all ye who care to enkindle men to battle: rouse our warriors all throughout the fleet to whet the spear, to burnish corslet, helm and shield; and cause both man and horse, all which be keen in fight, to break their fast. then in yon plain who is the stronger ares shall decide." so speaking, in his place he sat him down; then rose up thestor's son, and in the midst, where meet it is to speak, stood forth and cried: "hear me, ye sons of battle-biding greeks: ye know i have the spirit of prophecy. erewhile i said that ye in the tenth year should lay waste towered ilium: this the gods are even now fulfilling; victory lies at the argives' very feet. come, let us send tydeides and odysseus battle-staunch with speed to scyros overseas, by prayers hither to bring achilles' hero son: a light of victory shall he be to us." so spake wise thestius' son, and all the folk shouted for joy; for all their hearts and hopes yearned to see calchas' prophecy fulfilled. then to the argives spake laertes' son: "friends, it befits not to say many words this day to you, in sorrow's weariness. i know that wearied men can find no joy in speech or song, though the pierides, the immortal muses, love it. at such time few words do men desire. but now, this thing that pleaseth all the achaean host, will i accomplish, so tydeides fare with me; for, if we twain go, we shall surely bring, won by our words, war-fain achilles' son, yea, though his mother, weeping sore, should strive within her halls to keep him; for mine heart trusts that he is a hero's valorous son." then out spake menelaus earnestly: "odysseus, the strong argives' help at need, if mighty-souled achilles' valiant son from scyros by thy suasion come to aid us who yearn for him, and some heavenly one grant victory to our prayers, and i win home to hellas, i will give to him to wife my noble child hermione, with gifts many and goodly for her marriage-dower with a glad heart. i trow he shall not scorn either his bride or high-born sire-in-law." with a great shout the danaans hailed his words. then was the throng dispersed, and to the ships they scattered hungering for the morning meat which strengtheneth man's heart. so when they ceased from eating, and desire was satisfied, then with the wise odysseus tydeus' son drew down a swift ship to the boundless sea, and victual and all tackling cast therein. then stepped they aboard, and with them twenty men, men skilled to row when winds were contrary, or when the unrippled sea slept 'neath a calm. they smote the brine, and flashed the boiling foam: on leapt the ship; a watery way was cleft about the oars that sweating rowers tugged. as when hard-toiling oxen, 'neath the yoke straining, drag on a massy-timbered wain, while creaks the circling axle 'neath its load, and from their weary necks and shoulders streams down to the ground the sweat abundantly; so at the stiff oars toiled those stalwart men, and fast they laid behind them leagues of sea. gazed after them the achaeans as they went, then turned to whet their deadly darts and spears, the weapons of their warfare. in their town the aweless trojans armed themselves the while war-eager, praying to the gods to grant respite from slaughter, breathing-space from toil. to these, while sorely thus they yearned, the gods brought present help in trouble, even the seed of mighty hercules, eurypylus. a great host followed him, in battle skilled, all that by long caicus' outflow dwelt, full of triumphant trust in their strong spears. round them rejoicing thronged the sons of troy: as when tame geese within a pen gaze up on him who casts them corn, and round his feet throng hissing uncouth love, and his heart warms as he looks down on them; so thronged the sons of troy, as on fierce-heart eurypylus they gazed; and gladdened was his aweless soul to see those throngs: from porchways women looked wide-eyed with wonder on the godlike man. above all men he towered as on he strode, as looks a lion when amid the hills he comes on jackals. paris welcomed him, as hector honouring him, his cousin he, being of one blood with him, who was born of astyoche, king priam's sister fair whom telephus embraced in his strong arms, telephus, whom to aweless hercules auge the bright-haired bare in secret love. that babe, a suckling craving for the breast, a swift hind fostered, giving him the teat as to her own fawn in all love; for zeus so willed it, in whose eyes it was not meet that hercules' child should perish wretchedly. his glorious son with glad heart paris led unto his palace through the wide-wayed burg beside assaracus' tomb and stately halls of hector, and tritonis' holy fane. hard by his mansion stood, and therebeside the stainless altar of home-warder zeus rose. as they went, he lovingly questioned him of brethren, parents, and of marriage-kin; and all he craved to know eurypylus told. so communed they, on-pacing side by side. then came they to a palace great and rich: there goddess-like sat helen, clothed upon with beauty of the graces. maidens four about her plied their tasks: others apart within that goodly bower wrought the works beseeming handmaids. helen marvelling gazed upon eurypylus, on helen he. then these in converse each with other spake in that all-odorous bower. the handmaids brought and set beside their lady high-seats twain; and paris sat him down, and at his side eurypylus. that hero's host encamped without the city, where the trojan guards kept watch. their armour laid they on the earth; their steeds, yet breathing battle, stood thereby, and cribs were heaped with horses' provender. upfloated night, and darkened earth and air; then feasted they before that cliff-like wall, ceteian men and trojans: babel of talk rose from the feasters: all around the glow of blazing campfires lighted up the tents: pealed out the pipe's sweet voice, and hautboys rang with their clear-shrilling reeds; the witching strain of lyres was rippling round. from far away the argives gazed and marvelled, seeing the plain aglare with many fires, and hearing notes of flutes and lyres, neighing of chariot-steeds and pipes, the shepherd's and the banquet's joy. therefore they bade their fellows each in turn keep watch and ward about the tents till dawn, lest those proud trojans feasting by their walls should fall on them, and set the ships aflame. within the halls of paris all this while with kings and princes telephus' hero son feasted; and priam and the sons of troy each after each prayed him to play the man against the argives, and in bitter doom to lay them low; and blithe he promised all. so when they had supped, each hied him to his home; but there eurypylus laid him down to rest full nigh the feast-hall, in the stately bower where paris theretofore himself had slept with helen world-renowned. a bower it was most wondrous fair, the goodliest of them all. there lay he down; but otherwhere their rest took they, till rose the bright-throned queen of morn. up sprang with dawn the son of telephus, and passed to the host with all those other kings in troy abiding. straightway did the folk all battle-eager don their warrior-gear, burning to strike in forefront of the fight. and now eurypylus clad his mighty limbs in armour that like levin-flashes gleamed; upon his shield by cunning hands were wrought all the great labours of strong hercules. thereon were seen two serpents flickering black tongues from grimly jaws: they seemed in act to dart; but hercules' hands to right and left- albeit a babe's hands--now were throttling them; for aweless was his spirit. as zeus' strength from the beginning was his strength. the seed of heaven-abiders never deedless is nor helpless, but hath boundless prowess, yea, even when in the womb unborn it lies. nemea's mighty lion there was seen strangled in the strong arms of hercules, his grim jaws dashed about with bloody foam: he seemed in verity gasping out his life. thereby was wrought the hydra many-necked flickering its dread tongues. of its fearful heads some severed lay on earth, but many more were budding from its necks, while hercules and iolaus, dauntless-hearted twain, toiled hard; the one with lightning sickle-sweeps lopped the fierce heads, his fellow seared each neck with glowing iron; the monster so was slain. thereby was wrought the mighty tameless boar with foaming jaws; real seemed the pictured thing, as by aleides' giant strength the brute was to eurystheus living borne on high. there fashioned was the fleetfoot stag which laid the vineyards waste of hapless husbandmen. the hero's hands held fast its golden horns, the while it snorted breath of ravening fire. thereon were seen the fierce stymphalian birds, some arrow-smitten dying in the dust, some through the grey air darting in swift flight. at this, at that one--hot in haste he seemed- hercules sped the arrows of his wrath. augeias' monstrous stable there was wrought with cunning craft on that invincible targe; and hercules was turning through the same the deep flow of alpheius' stream divine, while wondering nymphs looked down on every hand upon that mighty work. elsewhere portrayed was the fire-breathing bull: the hero's grip on his strong horns wrenched round the massive neck: the straining muscles on his arm stood out: the huge beast seemed to bellow. next thereto wrought on the shield was one in beauty arrayed as of a goddess, even hippolyta. the hero by the hair was dragging her from her swift steed, with fierce resolve to wrest with his strong hands the girdle marvellous from the amazon queen, while quailing shrank away the maids of war. there in the thracian land were diomedes' grim man-eating steeds: these at their gruesome mangers had he slain, and dead they lay with their fiend-hearted lord. there lay the bulk of giant geryon dead mid his kine. his gory heads were cast in dust, dashed down by that resistless club. before him slain lay that most murderous hound orthros, in furious might like cerberus his brother-hound: a herdman lay thereby, eurytion, all bedabbled with his blood. there were the golden apples wrought, that gleamed in the hesperides' garden undefiled: all round the fearful serpent's dead coils lay, and shrank the maids aghast from zeus' bold son. and there, a dread sight even for gods to see, was cerberus, whom the loathly worm had borne to typho in a craggy cavern's gloom close on the borders of eternal night, a hideous monster, warder of the gate of hades, home of wailing, jailer-hound of dead folk in the shadowy gulf of doom. but lightly zeus' son with his crashing blows tamed him, and haled him from the cataract flood of styx, with heavy-drooping head, and dragged the dog sore loth to the strange upper air all dauntlessly. and there, at the world's end, were caucasus' long glens, where hercules, rending prometheus' chains, and hurling them this way and that with fragments of the rock whereinto they were riveted, set free the mighty titan. arrow-smitten lay the eagle of the torment therebeside. there stormed the wild rout of the centaurs round the hall of pholus: goaded on by strife and wine, with hercules the monsters fought. amidst the pine-trunks stricken to death they lay still grasping those strange weapons in dead hands, while some with stems long-shafted still fought on in fury, and refrained not from the strife; and all their heads, gashed in the pitiless fight, were drenched with gore--the whole scene seemed to live- with blood the wine was mingled: meats and bowls and tables in one ruin shattered lay. there by evenus' torrent, in fierce wrath for his sweet bride, he laid with the arrow low nessus in mid-flight. there withal was wrought antaeus' brawny strength, who challenged him to wrestling-strife; he in those sinewy arms raised high above the earth, was crushed to death. there where swift hellespont meets the outer sea, lay the sea-monster slain by his ruthless shafts, while from hesione he rent her chains. of bold alcides many a deed beside shone on the broad shield of eurypylus. he seemed the war-god, as from rank to rank he sped; rejoiced the trojans following him, seeing his arms, and him clothed with the might of gods; and paris hailed him to the fray: "glad am i for thy coming, for mine heart trusts that the argives all shall wretchedly be with their ships destroyed; for such a man mid greeks or trojans never have i seen. now, by the strength and fury of hercules- to whom in stature, might, and goodlihead most like thou art i pray thee, have in mind him, and resolve to match his deeds with thine. be the strong shield of trojans hard-bestead: win us a breathing-space. thou only, i trow, from perishing troy canst thrust the dark doom back." with kindling words he spake. that hero cried: "great-hearted paris, like the blessed ones in goodlihead, this lieth foreordained on the gods' knees, who in the fight shall fall, and who outlive it. i, as honour bids, and as my strength sufficeth, will not flinch from troy's defence. i swear to turn from fight never, except in victory or death." gallantly spake he: with exceeding joy rejoiced the trojans. champions then he chose, alexander and aeneas fiery-souled, polydamas, pammon, and deiphobus, and aethicus, of paphlagonian men the staunchest man to stem the tide of war; these chose he, cunning all in battle-toil, to meet the foe in forefront of the fight. swiftly they strode before that warrior-throng then from the city cheering charged. the host followed them in their thousands, as when bees follow by bands their leaders from the hives, with loud hum on a spring day pouring forth. so to the fight the warriors followed these; and, as they charged, the thunder-tramp of men and steeds, and clang of armour, rang to heaven. as when a rushing mighty wind stirs up the barren sea-plain from its nethermost floor, and darkling to the strand roll roaring waves belching sea-tangle from the bursting surf, and wild sounds rise from beaches harvestless; so, as they charged, the wide earth rang again. now from their rampart forth the argives poured round godlike agamemnon. rang their shouts cheering each other on to face the fight, and not to cower beside the ships in dread of onset-shouts of battle-eager foes. they met those charging hosts with hearts as light as calves bear, when they leap to meet the kine down faring from hill-pastures in the spring unto the steading, when the fields are green with corn-blades, when the earth is glad with flowers, and bowls are brimmed with milk of kine and ewes, and multitudinous lowing far and near uprises as the mothers meet their young, and in their midst the herdman joys; so great was the uproar that rose when met the fronts of battle: dread it rang on either hand. hard-strained was then the fight: incarnate strife stalked through the midst, with slaughter ghastly-faced. crashed bull-hide shields, and spears, and helmet-crests meeting: the brass flashed out like leaping flames. bristled the battle with the lances; earth ran red with blood, as slaughtered heroes fell and horses, mid a tangle of shattered ears, some yet with spear-wounds gasping, while on them others were falling. through the air upshrieked an awful indistinguishable roar; for on both hosts fell iron-hearted strife. here were men hurling cruel jagged stones, there speeding arrows and new-whetted darts, there with the axe or twibill hewing hard, slashing with swords, and thrusting out with spears: their mad hands clutched all manner of tools of death. at first the argives bore the ranks of troy backward a little; but they rallied, charged, leapt on the foe, and drenched the field with blood. like a black hurricane rushed eurypylus cheering his men on, hewing argives down awelessly: measureless might was lent to him by zeus, for a grace to glorious hercules. nireus, a man in beauty like the gods, his spear long-shafted stabbed beneath the ribs, down on the plain he fell, forth streamed the blood drenching his splendid arms, drenching the form glorious of mould, and his thick-clustering hair. there mid the slain in dust and blood he lay, like a young lusty olive-sapling, which a river rushing down in roaring flood, tearing its banks away, and cleaving wide a chasm-channel, hath disrooted; low it lieth heavy-blossomed; so lay then the goodly form, the grace of loveliness of nireus on earth's breast. but o'er the slain loud rang the taunting of eurypylus: "lie there in dust! thy beauty marvellous naught hath availed thee! i have plucked thee away from life, to which thou wast so fain to cling. rash fool, who didst defy a mightier man unknowing! beauty is no match for strength!" he spake, and leapt upon the slain to strip his goodly arms: but now against him came machaon wroth for nireus, by his side doom-overtaken. with his spear he drave at his right shoulder: strong albeit he was, he touched him, and blood spurted from the gash. yet, ere he might leap back from grapple of death, even as a lion or fierce mountain-boar maddens mid thronging huntsmen, furious-fain to rend the man whose hand first wounded him; so fierce eurypylus on machaon rushed. the long lance shot out swiftly, and pierced him through on the right haunch; yet would he not give back, nor flinch from the onset, fast though flowed the blood. in haste he snatched a huge stone from the ground, and dashed it on the head of telephus' son; but his helm warded him from death or harm then waxed eurypylus more hotly wroth with that strong warrior, and in fury of soul clear through machaon's breast he drave his spear, and through the midriff passed the gory point. he fell, as falls beneath a lion's jaws a bull, and round him clashed his glancing arms. swiftly eurypylus plucked the lance of death out of the wound, and vaunting cried aloud: "wretch, wisdom was not bound up in thine heart, that thou, a weakling, didst come forth to fight a mightier. therefore art thou in the toils of doom. much profit shall be thine, when kites devour the flesh of thee in battle slain! ha, dost thou hope still to return, to 'scape mine hands? a leech art thou, and soothing salves thou knowest, and by these didst haply hope to flee the evil day! not thine own sire, on the wind's wings descending from olympus, should save thy life, not though between thy lips he should pour nectar and ambrosia!" faint-breathing answered him the dying man: "eurypylus, thine own weird is to live not long: fate is at point to meet thee here on troy's plain, and to still thine impious tongue." so passed his spirit into hades' halls. then to the dead man spake his conqueror: "now on the earth lie thou. what shall betide hereafter, care i not--yea, though this day death's doom stand by my feet: no man may live for ever: each man's fate is foreordained." stabbing the corpse he spake. then shouted loud teucer, at seeing machaon in the dust. far thence he stood hard-toiling in the fight, for on the centre sore the battle lay: foe after foe pressed on; yet not for this was teucer heedless of the fallen brave, neither of nireus lying hard thereby behind machaon in the dust. he saw, and with a great voice raised the rescue-cry: "charge, argives! flinch not from the charging foe! for shame unspeakable shall cover us if trojan men hale back to ilium noble machaon and nireus godlike-fair. come, with a good heart let us face the foe to rescue these slain friends, or fall ourselves beside them. duty bids that men defend friends, and to aliens leave them not a prey, not without sweat of toil is glory won!" then were the danaans anguish-stung: the earth all round them dyed they red with blood of slain, as foe fought foe in even-balanced fight. by this to podaleirius tidings came how that in dust his brother lay, struck down by woeful death. beside the ships he sat ministering to the hurts of men with spears stricken. in wrath for his brother's sake he rose, he clad him in his armour; in his breast dread battle-prowess swelled. for conflict grim he panted: boiled the mad blood round his heart he leapt amidst the foemen; his swift hands swung the snake-headed javelin up, and hurled, and slew with its winged speed agamestor's son cleitus, a bright-haired nymph had given him birth beside parthenius, whose quiet stream fleets smooth as oil through green lands, till it pours its shining ripples to the euxine sea. then by his warrior-brother laid he low lassus, whom pronoe, fair as a goddess, bare beside nymphaeus' stream, hard by a cave, a wide and wondrous cave: sacred it is men say, unto the nymphs, even all that haunt the long-ridged paphlagonian hills, and all that by full-clustered heracleia dwell. that cave is like the work of gods, of stone in manner marvellous moulded: through it flows cold water crystal-clear: in niches round stand bowls of stone upon the rugged rock, seeming as they were wrought by carvers' hands. statues of wood-gods stand around, fair nymphs, looms, distaffs, all such things as mortal craft fashioneth. wondrous seem they unto men which pass into that hallowed cave. it hath, up-leading and down-leading, doorways twain, facing, the one, the wild north's shrilling blasts, and one the dank rain-burdened south. by this do mortals pass beneath the nymphs' wide cave; but that is the immortals' path: no man may tread it, for a chasm deep and wide down-reaching unto hades, yawns between. this track the blest gods may alone behold. so died a host on either side that warred over machaon and aglaia's son. but at the last through desperate wrestle of fight the danaans rescued them: yet few were they which bare them to the ships: by bitter stress of conflict were the more part compassed round, and needs must still abide the battle's brunt. but when full many had filled the measure up of fate, mid tumult, blood and agony, then to their ships did many argives flee pressed by eurypylus hard, an avalanche of havoc. yet a few abode the strife round aias and the atreidae rallying; and haply these had perished all, beset by throngs on throngs of foes on every hand, had not oileus' son stabbed with his spear 'twixt shoulder and breast war-wise polydamas; forth gushed the blood, and he recoiled a space. then menelaus pierced deiphobus by the right breast, that with swift feet he fled. and many of that slaughter-breathing throng were slain by agamemnon: furiously he rushed on godlike aethicus with the spear; but he shrank from the forefront back mid friends. now when eurypylus the battle-stay marked how the ranks of troy gave back from fight, he turned him from the host that he had chased even to the ships, and rushed with eagle-swoop on atreus' strong sons and oileus' seed stout-hearted, who was passing fleet of foot and in fight peerless. swiftly he charged on these grasping his spear long-shafted: at iris side charged paris, charged aeneas stout of heart, who hurled a stone exceeding huge, that crashed on aias' helmet: dashed to the dust he was, yet gave not up the ghost, whose day of doom was fate-ordained amidst caphaerus' rocks on the home-voyage. now his valiant men out of the foes' hands snatched him, bare him thence, scarce drawing breath, to the achaean ships. and now the atreid kings, the war-renowned, were left alone, and murder-breathing foes encompassed them, and hurled from every side whate'er their hands might find the deadly shaft some showered, some the stone, the javelin some. they in the midst aye turned this way and that, as boars or lions compassed round with pales on that day when kings gather to the sport the people, and have penned the mighty beasts within the toils of death; but these, although with walls ringed round, yet tear with tusk and fang what luckless thrall soever draweth near. so these death-compassed heroes slew their foes ever as they pressed on. yet had their might availed not for defence, for all their will, had teucer and idomeneus strong of heart come not to help, with thoas, meriones, and godlike thrasymedes, they which shrank erewhile before eurypylus yea, had fled unto the ships to 'scape the crushing doom, but that, in fear for atreus' sons, they rallied against eurypylus: deadly waxed the fight. then teucer with a mighty spear-thrust smote aeneas' shield, yet wounded not his flesh, for the great fourfold buckler warded him; yet feared he, and recoiled a little space. leapt meriones upon laophoon the son of paeon, born by axius' flood of bright-haired cleomede. unto troy with noble asteropaeus had he come to aid her folk: him meriones' keen spear stabbed 'neath the navel, and the lance-head tore his bowels forth; swift sped his soul away into the shadow-land. alcimedes, the warrior-friend of aias, oileus' son, shot mid the press of trojans; for he sped with taunting shout a sharp stone from a sling into their battle's heart. they quailed in fear before the hum and onrush of the bolt. fate winged its flight to the bold charioteer of pammon, hippasus' son: his brow it smote while yet he grasped the reins, and flung him stunned down from the chariot-seat before the wheels. the rushing war-wain whirled his wretched form 'twixt tyres and heels of onward-leaping steeds, and awful death in that hour swallowed him when whip and reins had flown from his nerveless hands. then grief thrilled pammon: hard necessity made him both chariot-lord and charioteer. now to his doom and death-day had he bowed, had not a trojan through that gory strife leapt, grasped the reins, and saved the prince, when now his strength failed 'neath the murderous hands of foes. as godlike acamas charged, the stalwart son of nestor thrust the spear above his knee, and with that wound sore anguish came on him: back from the fight he drew; the deadly strife he left unto his comrades: quenched was now his battle-lust. eurypylus' henchman smote echemmon, thoas' friend, amidst the fray beneath the shoulder: nigh his heart the spear passed bitter-biting: o'er his limbs brake out mingled with blood cold sweat of agony. he turned to flee; eurypylus' giant might chased, caught him, shearing his heel-tendons through: there, where the blow fell, his reluctant feet stayed, and the spirit left his mortal frame. thoas pricked paris with quick-thrusting spear on the right thigh: backward a space he ran for his death-speeding bow, which had been left to rearward of the fight. idomeneus upheaved a stone, huge as his hands could swing, and dashed it on eurypylus' arm: to earth fell his death-dealing spear. backward he stepped to grasp another, since from out his hand the first was smitten. so had atreus' sons a moment's breathing-space from stress of war. but swiftly drew eurypylus' henchmen near bearing a stubborn-shafted lance, wherewith he brake the strength of many. in stormy might then charged he on the foe: whomso he met he slew, and spread wide havoc through their ranks. now neither atreus' sons might steadfast stand, nor any valiant danaan beside, for ruinous panic suddenly gripped the hearts of all; for on them all eurypylus rushed flashing death in their faces, chased them, slew, cried to the trojans and to his chariot-lords: "friends, be of good heart! to these danaans let us deal slaughter and doom's darkness now! lo, how like scared sheep back to the ships they flee! forget not your death-dealing battle-lore, o ye that from your youth are men of war!" then charged they on the argives as one man; and these in utter panic turned and fled the bitter battle, those hard after them followed, as white-fanged hounds hold deer in chase up the long forest-glens. full many in dust they dashed down, howsoe'er they longed to escape. the slaughter grim and great of that wild fray. eurypylus hath slain bucolion, nesus, and chromion and antiphus; twain in mycenae dwelt, a goodly land; in lacedaemon twain. men of renown albeit they were, he slew them. then he smote a host unnumbered of the common throng. my strength should not suffice to sing their fate, how fain soever, though within my breast were iron lungs. aeneas slew withal antimachus and pheres, twain which left crete with idomeneus. agenor smote molus the princely,--with king sthenelus he came from argos,--hurled from far behind a dart new-whetted, as he fled from fight, piercing his right leg, and the eager shaft cut sheer through the broad sinew, shattering the bones with anguished pain: and so his doom met him, to die a death of agony. then paris' arrows laid proud phorcys low, and mosynus, brethren both, from salamis who came in aias' ships, and nevermore saw the home-land. cleolaus smote he next, meges' stout henchman; for the arrow struck his left breast: deadly night enwrapped him round, and his soul fleeted forth: his fainting heart still in his breast fluttering convulsively made the winged arrow shiver. yet again did paris shoot at bold eetion. through his jaw leapt the sudden-flashing brass: he groaned, and with his blood were mingled tears. so ever man slew man, till all the space was heaped with argives each on other cast. now had the trojans burnt with fire the ships, had not night, trailing heavy-folded mist, uprisen. so eurypylus drew back, and troy's sons with him, from the ships aloof a little space, by simois' outfall; there camped they exultant. but amidst the ships flung down upon the sands the argives wailed heart-anguished for the slain, so many of whom dark fate had overtaken and laid in dust. book vii how the son of achilles was brought to the war from the isle of scyros. when heaven hid his stars, and dawn awoke outspraying splendour, and night's darkness fled, then undismayed the argives' warrior-sons marched forth without the ships to meet in fight eurypylus, save those that tarried still to render to machaon midst the ships death-dues, with nireus--nireus, who in grace and goodlihead was like the deathless ones, yet was not strong in bodily might: the gods grant not perfection in all things to men; but evil still is blended with the good by some strange fate: to nireus' winsome grace was linked a weakling's prowess. yet the greeks slighted him not, but gave him all death-dues, and mourned above his grave with no less grief than for machaon, whom they honoured aye, for his deep wisdom, as the immortal gods. one mound they swiftly heaped above these twain. then in the plain once more did murderous war madden: the multitudinous clash and cry rose, as the shields were shattered with huge stones, were pierced with lances. so they toiled in fight; but all this while lay podaleirius fasting in dust and groaning, leaving not his brother's tomb; and oft his heart was moved with his own hands to slay himself. and now he clutched his sword, and now amidst his herbs sought for a deadly drug; and still his friends essayed to stay his hand and comfort him with many pleadings. but he would not cease from grieving: yea, his hands had spilt his life there on his noble brother's new-made tomb, but nestor heard thereof, and sorrowed sore in his affliction, and he came on him as now he flung him on that woeful grave, and now was casting dust upon his head, beating his breast, and on his brother's name crying, while thralls and comrades round their lord groaned, and affliction held them one and all. then gently spake he to that stricken one: "refrain from bitter moan and deadly grief, my son. it is not for a wise man's honour to wail, as doth a woman, o'er the fallen. thou shalt not bring him up to light again whose soul hath fleeted vanishing into air, whose body fire hath ravined up, whose bones earth has received. his end was worthy his life. endure thy sore grief, even as i endured, who lost a son, slain by the hands of foes, a son not worse than thy machaon, good with spears in battle, good in counsel. none of all the youths so loved his sire as he loved me. he died for me yea, died to save his father. yet, when he was slain, did i endure to taste food, and to see the light, well knowing that all men must tread one path hades-ward, and before all lies one goal, death's mournful goal. a mortal man must bear all joys, all griefs, that god vouchsafes to send." made answer that heart-stricken one, while still wet were his cheeks with ever-flowing tears: "father, mine heart is bowed 'neath crushing grief for a brother passing wise, who fostered me even as a son. when to the heavens had passed our father, in his arms he cradled me: gladly he taught me all his healing lore; we shared one table; in one bed we lay: we had all things in common these, and love. my grief cannot forget, nor i desire, now he is dead, to see the light of life." then spake the old man to that stricken one: "to all men fate assigns one same sad lot, bereavement: earth shall cover all alike, albeit we tread not the same path of life, and none the path he chooseth; for on high good things and bad lie on the knees of gods unnumbered, indistinguishably blent. these no immortal seeth; they are veiled in mystic cloud-folds. only fate puts forth her hands thereto, nor looks at what she takes, but casts them from olympus down to earth. this way and that they are wafted, as it were by gusts of wind. the good man oft is whelmed in suffering: wealth undeserved is heaped on the vile person. blind is each man's life; therefore he never walketh surely; oft he stumbleth: ever devious is his path, now sloping down to sorrow, mounting now to bliss. all-happy is no living man from the beginning to the end, but still the good and evil clash. our life is short; beseems not then in grief to live. hope on, still hope for better days: chain not to woe thine heart. there is a saying among men that to the heavens unperishing mount the souls of good men, and to nether darkness sink souls of the wicked. both to god and man dear was thy brother, good to brother-men, and son of an immortal. sure am i that to the company of gods shall he ascend, by intercession of thy sire." then raised he that reluctant mourner up with comfortable words. from that dark grave he drew him, backward gazing oft with groans. to the ships they came, where greeks and trojan men had bitter travail of rekindled war. eurypylus there, in dauntless spirit like the war-god, with mad-raging spear and hands resistless, smote down hosts of foes: the earth was clogged with dead men slain on either side. on strode he midst the corpses, awelessly he fought, with blood-bespattered hands and feet; never a moment from grim strife he ceased. peneleos the mighty-hearted came against him in the pitiless fray: he fell before eurypylus' spear: yea, many more fell round him. ceased not those destroying hands, but wrathful on the argives still he pressed, as when of old on pholoe's long-ridged heights upon the centaurs terrible hercules rushed storming in might, and slew them, passing-swift and strong and battle-cunning though they were; so rushed he on, so smote he down the array, one after other, of the danaan spears. heaps upon heaps, here, there, in throngs they fell strewn in the dust. as when a river in flood comes thundering down, banks crumble on either side to drifting sand: on seaward rolls the surge tossing wild crests, while cliffs on every hand ring crashing echoes, as their brows break down beneath long-leaping roaring waterfalls, and dikes are swept away; so fell in dust the war-famed argives by eurypylus slain, such as he overtook in that red rout. some few escaped, whom strength of fleeing feet delivered. yet in that sore strait they drew peneleos from the shrieking tumult forth, and bare to the ships, though with swift feet themselves were fleeing from ghastly death, from pitiless doom. behind the rampart of the ships they fled in huddled rout: they had no heart to stand before eurypylus, for hercules, to crown with glory his son's stalwart son, thrilled them with panic. there behind their wall they cowered, as goats to leeward of a hill shrink from the wild cold rushing of the wind that bringeth snow and heavy sleet and haft. no longing for the pasture tempteth them over the brow to step, and face the blast, but huddling screened by rock-wall and ravine they abide the storm, and crop the scanty grass under dim copses thronging, till the gusts of that ill wind shall lull: so, by their towers screened, did the trembling danaans abide telephus' mighty son. yea, he had burnt the ships, and all that host had he destroyed, had not athena at the last inspired the argive men with courage. ceaselessly from the high rampart hurled they at the foe with bitter-biting darts, and slew them fast; and all the walls were splashed with reeking gore, and aye went up a moan of smitten men. so fought they: nightlong, daylong fought they on, ceteians, trojans, battle-biding greeks, fought, now before the ships, and now again round the steep wall, with fury unutterable. yet even so for two days did they cease from murderous fight; for to eurypylus came a danaan embassage, saying, "from the war forbear we, while we give unto the flames the battle-slain." so hearkened he to them: from ruin-wreaking strife forebore the hosts; and so their dead they buried, who in dust had fallen. chiefly the achaeans mourned peneleos; o'er the mighty dead they heaped a barrow broad and high, a sign for men of days to be. but in a several place the multitude of heroes slain they laid, mourning with stricken hearts. on one great pyre they burnt them all, and buried in one grave. so likewise far from thence the sons of troy buried their slain. yet murderous strife slept not, but roused again eurypylus' dauntless might to meet the foe. he turned not from the ships, but there abode, and fanned the fury of war. meanwhile the black ship on to scyros ran; and those twain found before his palace-gate achilles' son, now hurling dart and lance, now in his chariot driving fleetfoot steeds. glad were they to behold him practising the deeds of war, albeit his heart was sad for his slain sire, of whom had tidings come ere this. with reverent eyes of awe they went to meet him, for that goodly form and face seemed even as very achilles unto them. but he, or ever they had spoken, cried: "all hail, ye strangers, unto this mine home say whence ye are, and who, and what the need that hither brings you over barren seas." so spake he, and odysseus answered him: "friends are we of achilles lord of war, to whom of deidameia thou wast born- yea, when we look on thee we seem to see that hero's self; and like the immortal ones was he. of ithaca am i: this man of argos, nurse of horses--if perchance thou hast heard the name of tydeus' warrior son or of the wise odysseus. lo, i stand before thee, sent by voice of prophecy. i pray thee, pity us: come thou to troy and help us. only so unto the war an end shall be. gifts beyond words to thee the achaean kings shall give: yea, i myself will give to thee thy godlike father's arms, and great shall be thy joy in bearing them; for these be like no mortal's battle-gear, but splendid as the very war-god's arms. over their marvellous blazonry hath gold been lavished; yea, in heaven hephaestus' self rejoiced in fashioning that work divine, the which thine eyes shall marvel to behold; for earth and heaven and sea upon the shield are wrought, and in its wondrous compass are creatures that seem to live and move--a wonder even to the immortals. never man hath seen their like, nor any man hath worn, save thy sire only, whom the achaeans all honoured as zeus himself. i chiefliest from mine heart loved him, and when he was slain, to many a foe i dealt a ruthless doom, and through them all bare back to the ships his corse. therefore his glorious arms did thetis give to me. these, though i prize them well, to thee will i give gladly when thou com'st to troy. yea also, when we have smitten priam's towns and unto hellas in our ships return, shall menelaus give thee, an thou wilt, his princess-child to wife, of love for thee, and with his bright-haired daughter shall bestow rich dower of gold and treasure, even all that meet is to attend a wealthy king." so spake he, and replied achilles' son: "if bidden of oracles the achaean men summon me, let us with to-morrow's dawn fare forth upon the broad depths of the sea, if so to longing danaans i may prove a light of help. now pass we to mine halls, and to such guest-fare as befits to set before the stranger. for my marriage-day- to this the gods in time to come shall see." then hall-ward led he them, and with glad hearts they followed. to the forecourt when they came of that great mansion, found they there the queen deidameia in her sorrow of soul grief-wasted, as when snow from mountain-sides before the sun and east-wind wastes away; so pined she for that princely hero slain. then came to her amidst her grief the kings, and greeted her in courteous wise. her son drew near and told their lineage and their names; but that for which they came he left untold until the morrow, lest unto her woe there should be added grief and floods of tears, and lest her prayers should hold him from the path whereon his heart was set. straight feasted these, and comforted their hearts with sleep, even all which dwelt in sea-ringed scyros, nightlong lulled by long low thunder of the girdling deep, of waves aegean breaking on her shores. but not on deidameia fell the hands of kindly sleep. she bore in mind the names of crafty odysseus and of diomede the godlike, how these twain had widowed her of battle-fain achilles, how their words had won his aweless heart to fare with them to meet the war-cry where stern fate met him, shattered his hope of home-return, and laid measureless grief on peleus and on her. therefore an awful dread oppressed her soul lest her son too to tumult of the war should speed, and grief be added to her grief. dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they rose from their beds. then deidameia knew; and on her son's broad breast she cast herself, and bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, as when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills seeks through the glens her calf, and all around echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; so on all sides from dim recesses rang the hall; and in her misery she cried: "child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing to follow strangers unto ilium the fount of tears, where perish many in fight, yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? and thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt the ways of war, which save men in the day of peril. hearken thou to me, abide here in thine home, lest evil tidings come from troy unto my ears, that thou in fight hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. not even thy sire escaped the doom of death- he, mightier than thou, mightier than all heroes on earth, yea, and a goddess' son- but was in battle slain, all through the wiles and crafty counsels of these very men who now to woeful war be kindling thee. therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, for never heavier blow on woman falls than when her lord hath perished, and her sons die also, and her house is left to her desolate. straightway evil men remove her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, setting the right at naught. there is no lot more woeful and more helpless than is hers who is left a widow in a desolate home." loud-wailing spake she; but her son replied: "be of good cheer, my mother; put from thee evil foreboding. no man is in war beyond his destiny slain. if my weird be to die in my country's cause, then let me die when i have done deeds worthy of my sire." then to his side old lycomedes came, and to his battle-eager grandson spake: "o valiant-hearted son, so like thy sire, i know thee strong and valorous; yet, o yet for thee i fear the bitter war; i fear the terrible sea-surge. shipmen evermore hang on destruction's brink. beware, my child, perils of waters when thou sailest back from troy or other shores, such as beset full oftentimes the voyagers that ride the long sea-ridges, when the sun hath left the archer-star, and meets the misty goat, when the wild blasts drive on the lowering storm, or when orion to the darkling west slopes, into ocean's river sinking slow. beware the time of equal days and nights, when blasts that o'er the sea's abysses rush, none knoweth whence in fury of battle clash. beware the pleiads' setting, when the sea maddens beneath their power nor these alone, but other stars, terrors of hapless men, as o'er the wide sea-gulf they set or rise." then kissed he him, nor sought to stay the feet of him who panted for the clamour of war, who smiled for pleasure and for eagerness to haste to the ship. yet were his hurrying feet stayed by his mother's pleading and her tears still in those halls awhile. as some swift horse is reined in by his rider, when he strains unto the race-course, and he neighs, and champs the curbing bit, dashing his chest with foam, and his feet eager for the course are still never, his restless hooves are clattering aye; his mane is a stormy cloud, he tosses high his head with snortings, and his lord is glad; so reined his mother back the glorious son of battle-stay achilles, so his feet were restless, so the mother's loving pride joyed in her son, despite her heart-sick pain. a thousand times he kissed her, then at last left her alone with her own grief and moan there in her father's halls. as o'er her nest a swallow in her anguish cries aloud for her lost nestlings which, mid piteous shrieks, a fearful serpent hath devoured, and wrung the loving mother's heart; and now above that empty cradle spreads her wings, and now flies round its porchway fashioned cunningly lamenting piteously her little ones: so for her child deidameia mourned. now on her son's bed did she cast herself, crying aloud, against his door-post now she leaned, and wept: now laid she in her lap those childhood's toys yet treasured in her bower, wherein his babe-heart joyed long years agone. she saw a dart there left behind of him, and kissed it o'er and o'er yea, whatso else her weeping eyes beheld that was her son's. naught heard he of her moans unutterable, but was afar, fast striding to the ship. he seemed, as his feet swiftly bare him on, like some all-radiant star; and at his side with tydeus' son war-wise odysseus went, and with them twenty gallant-hearted men, whom deidameia chose as trustiest of all her household, and unto her son gave them for henchmen swift to do his will. and these attended achilles' valiant son, as through the city to the ship he sped. on, with glad laughter, in their midst he strode; and thetis and the nereids joyed thereat. yea, glad was even the raven-haired, the lord of all the sea, beholding that brave son of princely achilles, marking how he longed for battle. beardless boy albeit he was, his prowess and his might were inward spurs to him. he hasted forth his fatherland like to the war-god, when to gory strife he speedeth, wroth with foes, when maddeneth his heart, and grim his frown is, and his eyes flash levin-flame around him, and his face is clothed with glory of beauty terror-blent, as on he rusheth: quail the very gods. so seemed achilles' goodly son; and prayers went up through all the city unto heaven to bring their noble prince safe back from war; and the gods hearkened to them. high he towered above all stateliest men which followed him. so came they to the heavy-plunging sea, and found the rowers in the smooth-wrought ship handling the tackle, fixing mast and sail. straightway they went aboard: the shipmen cast the hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones, the strength and stay of ships in time of need. then did the sea-queen's lord grant voyage fair to these with gracious mind; for his heart yearned o'er the achaeans, by the trojan men and mighty-souled eurypylus hard-bestead. on either side of neoptolemus sat those heroes, gladdening his soul with tales of his sire's mighty deeds--of all he wrought in sea-raids, and in valiant telephus' land, and how he smote round priam's burg the men of troy, for glory unto atreus' sons. his heart glowed, fain to grasp his heritage, his aweless father's honour and renown. in her bower, sorrowing for her son the while, deidameia poured forth sighs and tears. with agony of soul her very heart melted in her, as over coals doth lead or wax, and never did her moaning cease, as o'er the wide sea her gaze followed him. ay, for her son a mother fretteth still, though it be to a feast that he hath gone, by a friend bidden forth. but soon the sail of that good ship far-fleeting o'er the blue grew faint and fainter--melted in sea-haze. but still she sighed, still daylong made her moan. on ran the ship before a following wind, seeming to skim the myriad-surging sea, and crashed the dark wave either side the prow: swiftly across the abyss unplumbed she sped. night's darkness fell about her, but the breeze held, and the steersman's hand was sure. o'er gulfs of brine she flew, till dawn divine rose up to climb the sky. then sighted they the peaks of ida, chrysa next, and smintheus' fane, then the sigean strand, and then the tomb of aeacus' son. yet would laertes' seed, the man discreet of soul, not point it out to neoptolemus, lest the tide of grief too high should swell within his breast. they passed calydnae's isles, left tenedos behind; and now was seen the fane of eleus, where stands protesilaus' tomb, beneath the shade of towery elms; when, soaring high above the plain, their topmost boughs discern troy, straightway wither all their highest sprays. nigh ilium now the ship by wind and oar was brought: they saw the long strand fringed with keels of argives, who endured sore travail of war even then about the wall, the which themselves had reared to screen the ships and men in stress of battle. even now eurypylus' hands to earth were like to dash it and destroy; but the quick eyes of tydeus' strong son marked how rained the darts and stones on that long wall. forth of the ship he sprang, and shouted loud with all the strength of his undaunted breast: "friends, on the argive men is heaped this day sore travail! let us don our flashing arms with speed, and to yon battle-turmoil haste. for now upon our towers the warrior sons of troy press hard--yea, haply will they tear the long walls down, and burn the ships with fire, and so the souls that long for home-return shall win it never; nay, ourselves shall fall before our due time, and shall lie in graves in troyland, far from children and from wives." all as one man down from the ship they leapt; for trembling seized on all for that grim sight- on all save aweless neoptolemus whose might was like his father's: lust of war swept o'er him. to odysseus' tent in haste they sped, for close it lay to where the ship touched land. about its walls was hung great store of change of armour, of wise odysseus some, and rescued some from gallant comrades slain. then did the brave man put on goodly arms; but they in whose breasts faintlier beat their hearts must don the worser. odysseus stood arrayed in those which came with him from ithaca: to diomede he gave fair battle-gear stripped in time past from mighty socus slain. but in his father's arms achilles' son clad him and lo, he seemed achilles' self! light on his limbs and lapping close they lay- so cunning was hephaestus' workmanship- which for another had been a giant's arms. the massive helmet cumbered not his brows; yea, the great pelian spear-shaft burdened not his hand, but lightly swung he up on high the heavy and tall lance thirsting still for blood. of many argives which beheld him then might none draw nigh to him, how fain soe'er, so fast were they in that grim grapple locked of the wild war that raged all down the wall. but as when shipmen, under a desolate isle mid the wide sea by stress of weather bound, chafe, while afar from men the adverse blasts prison them many a day; they pace the deck with sinking hearts, while scantier grows their store of food; they weary till a fair wind sings; so joyed the achaean host, which theretofore were heavy of heart, when neoptolemus came, joyed in the hope of breathing-space from toil. then like the aweless lion's flashed his eyes, which mid the mountains leaps in furious mood to meet the hunters that draw nigh his cave, thinking to steal his cubs, there left alone in a dark-shadowed glen but from a height the beast hath spied, and on the spoilers leaps with grim jaws terribly roaring; even so that glorious child of aeacus' aweless son against the trojan warriors burned in wrath. thither his eagle-swoop descended first where loudest from the plain uproared the fight, there weakest, he divined, must be the wall, the battlements lowest, since the surge of foes brake heaviest there. charged at his side the rest breathing the battle-spirit. there they found eurypylus mighty of heart and all his men scaling a tower, exultant in the hope of tearing down the walls, of slaughtering the argives in one holocaust. no mind the gods had to accomplish their desire! but now odysseus, diomede the strong, leonteus, and neoptolemus, as a god in strength and beauty, hailed their javelins down, and thrust them from the wall. as dogs and shepherds by shouting and hard fighting drive away strong lions from a steading, rushing forth from all sides, and the brutes with glaring eyes pace to and fro; with savage lust for blood of calves and kine their jaws are slavering; yet must their onrush give back from the hounds and fearless onset of the shepherd folk; [so from these new defenders shrank the foe] a little, far as one may hurl a stone exceeding great; for still eurypylus suffered them not to flee far from the ships, but cheered them on to bide the brunt, until the ships be won, and all the argives slain; for zeus with measureless might thrilled all his frame. then seized he a rugged stone and huge, and leapt and hurled it full against the high-built wall. it crashed, and terribly boomed that rampart steep to its foundations. terror gripped the greeks, as though that wall had crumbled down in dust; yet from the deadly conflict flinched they not, but stood fast, like to jackals or to wolves bold robbers of the sheep--when mid the hills hunter and hound would drive them forth their caves, being grimly purposed there to slay their whelps. yet these, albeit tormented by the darts, flee not, but for their cubs' sake bide and fight; so for the ships' sake they abode and fought, and for their own lives. but eurypylus afront of all the ships stood, taunting them: "coward and dastard souls! no darts of yours had given me pause, nor thrust back from your ships, had not your rampart stayed mine onset-rush. ye are like to dogs, that in a forest flinch before a lion! skulking therewithin ye are fighting--nay, are shrinking back from death! but if ye dare come forth on trojan ground, as once when ye were eager for the fray, none shall from ghastly death deliver you: slain by mine hand ye all shall lie in dust!" so did he shout a prophecy unfulfilled, nor heard doom's chariot-wheels fast rolling near bearing swift death at neoptolemus' hands, nor saw death gleaming from his glittering spear. ay, and that hero paused not now from fight, but from the ramparts smote the trojans aye. from that death leaping from above they quailed in tumult round eurypylus: deadly fear gripped all their hearts. as little children cower about a father's knees when thunder of zeus crashes from cloud to cloud, when all the air shudders and groans, so did the sons of troy, with those ceteians round their great king, cower ever as prince neoptolemus hurled; for death rode upon all he cast, and bare his wrath straight rushing down upon the heads of foes. now in their hearts those wildered trojans said that once more they beheld achilles' self gigantic in his armour. yet they hid that horror in their breasts, lest panic fear should pass from them to the ceteian host and king eurypylus; so on every side they wavered 'twixt the stress of their hard strait and that blood-curdling dread, 'twixt shame and fear. as when men treading a precipitous path look up, and see adown the mountain-slope a torrent rushing on them, thundering down the rocks, and dare not meet its clamorous flood, but hurry shuddering on, with death in sight holding as naught the perils of the path; so stayed the trojans, spite of their desire [to flee the imminent death that waited them] beneath the wall. godlike eurypylus aye cheered them on to fight. he trusted still that this new mighty foe would weary at last with toil of slaughter; but he wearied not. that desperate battle-travail pallas saw, and left the halls of heaven incense-sweet, and flew o'er mountain-crests: her hurrying feet touched not the earth, borne by the air divine in form of cloud-wreaths, swifter than the wind. she came to troy, she stayed her feet upon sigeum's windy ness, she looked forth thence over the ringing battle of dauntless men, and gave the achaeans glory. achilles' son beyond the rest was filled with valour and strength which win renown for men in whom they meet. peerless was he in both: the blood of zeus gave strength; to his father's valour was he heir; so by those towers he smote down many a foe. and as a fisher on the darkling sea, to lure the fish to their destruction, takes within his boat the strength of fire; his breath kindles it to a flame, till round the boat glareth its splendour, and from the black sea dart up the fish all eager to behold the radiance--for the last time; for the barbs of his three-pointed spear, as up they leap, slay them; his heart rejoices o'er the prey. so that war-king achilles' glorious son slew hosts of onward-rushing foes around that wall of stone. well fought the achaeans all, here, there, adown the ramparts: rang again the wide strand and the ships: the battered walls groaned ever. men with weary ache of toil fainted on either side; sinews and might of strong men were unstrung. but o'er the son of battle-stay achilles weariness crept not: his battle-eager spirit aye was tireless; never touched by palsying fear he fought on, as with the triumphant strength of an ever-flowing river: though it roll 'twixt blazing forests, though the madding blast roll stormy seas of flame, it feareth not, for at its brink faint grows the fervent heat, the strong flood turns its might to impotence; so weariness nor fear could bow the knees of hero achilles' gallant-hearted son, still as he fought, still cheered his comrades on. of myriad shafts sped at him none might touch his flesh, but even as snowflakes on a rock fell vainly ever: wholly screened was he by broad shield and strong helmet, gifts of a god. in these exulting did the aeacid's son stride all along the wall, with ringing shouts cheering the dauntless argives to the fray, being their mightiest far, bearing a soul insatiate of the awful onset-cry, burning with one strong purpose, to avenge his father's death: the myrmidons in their king exulted. roared the battle round the wall. two sons he slew of meges rich in gold, scion of dymas--sons of high renown, cunning to hurl the dart, to drive the steed in war, and deftly cast the lance afar, born at one birth beside sangarius' banks of periboea to him, celtus one, and eubius the other. but not long his boundless wealth enjoyed they, for the fates span them a thread of life exceeding brief. as on one day they saw the light, they died on one day by the same hand. to the heart of one neoptolemus sped a javelin; one he smote down with a massy stone that crashed through his strong helmet, shattered all its ridge, and dashed his brains to earth. around them fell foes many, a host untold. the war-god's work waxed ever mightier till the eventide, till failed the light celestial; then the host of brave eurypylus from the ships drew back a little: they that held those leaguered towers had a short breathing-space; the sons of troy had respite from the deadly-echoing strife, from that hard rampart-battle. verily all the argives had beside their ships been slain, had not achilles' strong son on that day withstood the host of foes and their great chief eurypylus. came to that young hero's side phoenix the old, and marvelling gazed on one the image of peleides. tides of joy and grief swept o'er him--grief, for memories of that swift-footed father--joy, for sight of such a son. he for sheer gladness wept; for never without tears the tribes of men live--nay, not mid the transports of delight. he clasped him round as father claspeth son whom, after long and troublous wanderings, the gods bring home to gladden a father's heart. so kissed he neoptolemus' head and breast, clasping him round, and cried in rapture of joy: "hail, goodly son of that achilles whom i nursed a little one in mine own arms with a glad heart. by heaven's high providence like a strong sapling waxed he in stature fast, and daily i rejoiced to see his form and prowess, my life's blessing, honouring him as though he were the son of mine old age; for like a father did he honour me. i was indeed his father, he my son in spirit: thou hadst deemed us of one blood who were in heart one: but of nobler mould was he by far, in form and strength a god. thou art wholly like him--yea, i seem to see alive amid the argives him for whom sharp anguish shrouds me ever. i waste away in sorrowful age--oh that the grave had closed on me while yet he lived! how blest to be by loving hands of kinsmen laid to rest! ah child, my sorrowing heart will nevermore forget him! chide me not for this my grief. but now, help thou the myrmidons and greeks in their sore strait: wreak on the foe thy wrath for thy brave sire. it shall be thy renown to slay this war-insatiate telephus' son; for mightier art thou, and shalt prove, than he, as was thy father than his wretched sire." made answer golden-haired achilles' son: "ancient, our battle-prowess mighty fate and the o'ermastering war-god shall decide." but, as he spake, he had fain on that same day forth of the gates have rushed in his sire's arms; but night, which bringeth men release from toil, rose from the ocean veiled in sable pall. with honour as of mighty achilles' self him mid the ships the glad greeks hailed, who had won courage from that his eager rush to war. with princely presents did they honour him, with priceless gifts, whereby is wealth increased; for some gave gold and silver, handmaids some, brass without weight gave these, and iron those; others in deep jars brought the ruddy wine: yea, fleetfoot steeds they gave, and battle-gear, and raiment woven fair by women's hands. glowed neoptolemus' heart for joy of these. a feast they made for him amidst the tents, and there extolled achilles' godlike son with praise as of the immortal heavenly ones; and joyful-voiced agamemnon spake to him: "thou verily art the brave-souled aeacid's son, his very image thou in stalwart might, in beauty, stature, courage, and in soul. mine heart burns in me seeing thee. i trust thine hands and spear shall smite yon hosts of foes, shall smite the city of priam world-renowned- so like thy sire thou art! methinks i see himself beside the ships, as when his shout of wrath for dead patroclus shook the ranks of troy. but he is with the immortal ones, yet, bending from that heaven, sends thee to-day to save the argives on destruction's brink." answered achilles' battle-eager son: "would i might meet him living yet, o king, that so himself might see the son of his love not shaming his great father's name. i trust so shall it be, if the gods grant me life." so spake he in wisdom and in modesty; and all there marvelled at the godlike man. but when with meat and wine their hearts were filled, then rose achilles' battle-eager son, and from the feast passed forth unto the tent that was his sire's. much armour of heroes slain lay there; and here and there were captive maids arraying that tent widowed of its lord, as though its king lived. when that son beheld those trojan arms and handmaid-thralls, he groaned, by passionate longing for his father seized. as when through dense oak-groves and tangled glens comes to the shadowed cave a lion's whelp whose grim sire by the hunters hath been slain, and looketh all around that empty den, and seeth heaps of bones of steeds and kine slain theretofore, and grieveth for his sire; even so the heart of brave peleides' son with grief was numbed. the handmaids marvelling gazed; and fair briseis' self, when she beheld achilles' son, was now right glad at heart, and sorrowed now with memories of the dead. her soul was wildered all, as though indeed there stood the aweless aeacid living yet. meanwhile exultant trojans camped aloof extolled eurypylus the fierce and strong, as erst they had praised hector, when he smote their foes, defending troy and all her wealth. but when sweet sleep stole over mortal men, then sons of troy and battle-biding greeks all slumber-heavy slept unsentinelled. book viii how hercules' grandson perished in fight with the son of achilles. when from the far sea-line, where is the cave of dawn, rose up the sun, and scattered light over the earth, then did the eager sons of troy and of achaea arm themselves athirst for battle: these achilles' son cheered on to face the trojans awelessly; and those the giant strength of telephus' seed kindled. he trusted to dash down the wall to earth, and utterly destroy the ships with ravening fire, and slay the argive host. ah, but his hope was as the morning breeze delusive: hard beside him stood the fates laughing to scorn his vain imaginings. then to the myrmidons spake achilles' son, the aweless, to the fight enkindling them: "hear me, mine henchmen: take ye to your hearts the spirit of war, that we may heal the wounds of argos, and be ruin to her foes. let no man fear, for mighty prowess is the child of courage; but fear slayeth strength and spirit. gird yourselves with strength for war; give foes no breathing-space, that they may say that mid our ranks achilles liveth yet." then clad he with his father's flashing arms his shoulders. then exulted thetis' heart when from the sea she saw the mighty strength of her son's son. then forth with eagle-speed afront of that high wall he rushed, his ear drawn by the immortal horses of his sire. as from the ocean-verge upsprings the sun in glory, flashing fire far over earth- fire, when beside his radiant chariot-team races the red star sirius, scatterer of woefullest diseases over men; so flashed upon the eyes of ilium's host that battle-eager hero, achilles' son. onward they whirled him, those immortal steeds, the which, when now he longed to chase the foe back from the ships, automedon, who wont to rein them for his father, brought to him. with joy that pair bore battleward their lord, so like to aeacus' son, their deathless hearts held him no worser than achilles' self. laughing for glee the argives gathered round the might resistless of neoptolemus, eager for fight as wasps [whose woodland bower the axe] hath shaken, who dart swarming forth furious to sting the woodman: round their nest long eddying, they torment all passers by; so streamed they forth from galley and from wall burning for fight, and that wide space was thronged, and all the plain far blazed with armour-sheen, as shone from heaven's vault the sun thereon. as flees the cloud-rack through the welkin wide scourged onward by the north-wind's titan blasts, when winter-tide and snow are hard at hand, and darkness overpalls the firmament; so with their thronging squadrons was the earth covered before the ships. to heaven uprolled, dust hung on hovering wings' men's armour clashed; rattled a thousand chariots; horses neighed on-rushing to the fray. each warrior's prowess kindled him with its trumpet-call to war. as leap the long sea-rollers, onward hurled by two winds terribly o'er th' broad sea-flood roaring from viewless bournes, with whirlwind blasts crashing together, when a ruining storm maddens along the wide gulfs of the deep, and moans the sea-queen with her anguished waves which sweep from every hand, uptowering like precipiced mountains, while the bitter squall, ceaselessly veering, shrieks across the sea; so clashed in strife those hosts from either hand with mad rage. strife incarnate spurred them on, and their own prowess. crashed together these like thunderclouds outlightening, thrilling the air. with shattering trumpet-challenge, when the blasts are locked in frenzied wrestle, with mad breath rending the clouds, when zeus is wroth with men who travail with iniquity, and flout his law. so grappled they, as spear with spear clashed, shield with shield, and man on man was hurled. and first achilles' war-impetuous son struck down stout melaneus and alcidamas, sons of the war-lord alexinomus, who dwelt in caunus mountain-cradled, nigh the clear lake shining at tarbelus' feet 'neath snow-capt imbrus. menes, fleetfoot son of king cassandrus, slew he, born to him by fair creusa, where the lovely streams of lindus meet the sea, beside the marches of battle-biding carians, and the heights of lycia the renowned. he slew withal morys the spearman, who from phrygia came; polybus and hippomedon by his side he laid, this stabbed to the heart, that pierced between shoulder and neck: man after man he slew. earth groaned 'neath trojan corpses; rank on rank crumbled before him, even as parched brakes sink down before the blast of ravening fire when the north wind of latter summer blows; so ruining squadrons fell before his charge. meanwhile aeneas slew aristolochus, crashing a great stone down on his head: it brake helmet and skull together, and fled his life. fleetfoot eumaeus diomede slew; he dwelt in craggy dardanus, where the bride-bed is whereon anchises clasped the queen of love. agamemnon smote down stratus: unto thrace returned he not from war, but died far off from his dear fatherland. and meriones struck chlemus down, peisenor's son, the friend of god-like glaucus, and his comrade leal, who by limurus' outfall dwelt: the folk honoured him as their king, when reigned no more glaucus, in battle slain,--all who abode around phoenice's towers, and by the crest of massicytus, and chimaera's glen. so man slew man in fight; but more than all eurypylus hurled doom on many a foe. first slew he battle-bider eurytus, menoetius of the glancing taslet next, elephenor's godlike comrades. fell with these harpalus, wise odysseus' warrior-friend; but in the fight afar that hero toiled, and might not aid his fallen henchman: yet fierce antiphus for that slain man was wroth, and hurled his spear against eurypylus, yet touched him not; the strong shaft glanced aside, and pierced meilanion battle-staunch, the son of cleite lovely-faced, erylaus' bride, who bare him where caicus meets the sea. wroth for his comrade slain, eurypylus rushed upon antiphus, but terror-winged he plunged amid his comrades; so the spear of the avenger slew him not, whose doom was one day wretchedly to be devoured by the manslaying cyclops: so it pleased stern fate, i know not why. elsewhither sped eurypylus; and aye as he rushed on fell 'neath his spear a multitude untold. as tall trees, smitten by the strength of steel in mountain-forest, fill the dark ravines, heaped on the earth confusedly, so fell the achaeans 'neath eurypylus' flying spears- till heart-uplifted met him face to face achilles' son. the long spears in their hands they twain swung up, each hot to smite his foe. but first eurypylus cried the challenge-cry; "who art thou? whence hast come to brave me here? to hades merciless fate is bearing thee; for in grim fight hath none escaped mine hands; but whoso, eager for the fray, have come hither, on all have i hurled anguished death. by xanthus' streams have dogs devoured their flesh and gnawed their bones. answer me, who art thou? whose be the steeds that bear thee exultant on?" answered achilles' battle-eager son: "wherefore, when i am hurrying to the fray, dost thou, a foe, put question thus to me, as might a friend, touching my lineage, which many know? achilles' son am i, son of the man whose long spear smote thy sire, and made him flee--yea, and the ruthless fates of death had seized him, but my father's self healed him upon the brink of woeful death. the steeds which bear me were my godlike sire's; these the west-wind begat, the harpy bare: over the barren sea their feet can race skimming its crests: in speed they match the winds. since then thou know'st the lineage of my steeds and mine, now put thou to the test the might of my strong spear, born on steep pelion's crest, who hath left his father-stock and forest there." he spake; and from the chariot sprang to earth that glorious man: he swung the long spear up. but in his brawny hand his foe hath seized a monstrous stone: full at the golden shield of neoptolemus he sped its flight; but, no whir staggered by its whirlwind rush, he like a giant mountain-foreland stood which all the banded fury of river-floods can stir not, rooted in the eternal hills; so stood unshaken still achilles' son. yet not for this eurypylus' dauntless might shrank from achilles' son invincible, on-spurred by his own hardihood and by fate. their hearts like caldrons seethed o'er fires of wrath, their glancing armour flashed about their limbs. like terrible lions each on other rushed, which fight amid the mountains famine-stung, writhing and leaping in the strain of strife for a slain ox or stag, while all the glens ring with their conflict; so they grappled, so clashed they in pitiless strife. on either hand long lines of warriors greek and trojan toiled in combat: round them roared up flames of war. like mighty rushing winds they hurled together with eager spears for blood of life athirst. hard by them stood enyo, spurred them on ceaselessly: never paused they from the strife. now hewed they each the other's shield, and now thrust at the greaves, now at the crested helms. reckless of wounds, in that grim toil pressed on those aweless heroes: strife incarnate watched and gloated o'er them. ran the sweat in streams from either: straining hard they stood their ground, for both were of the seed of blessed ones. from heaven, with hearts at variance, gods looked down; for some gave glory to achilles' son, some to eurypylus the godlike. still they fought on, giving ground no more than rock. of granite mountains. rang from side to side spear-smitten shields. at last the pelian lance, sped onward by a mighty thrust, hath passed clear through eurypylus' throat. forth poured the blood torrent-like; through the portal of the wound the soul from the body flew: darkness of death dropped o'er his eyes. to earth in clanging arms he fell, like stately pine or silver fir uprooted by the fury of boreas; such space of earth eurypylus' giant frame covered in falling: rang again the floor and plain of troyland. grey death-pallor swept over the corpse, and all the flush of life faded away. with a triumphant laugh shouted the mighty hero over him: "eurypylus, thou saidst thou wouldst destroy the danaan ships and men, wouldst slay us all wretchedly--but the gods would not fulfil thy wish. for all thy might invincible, my father's massy spear hath now subdued thee under me, that spear no man shall 'scape, though he be brass all through, who faceth me." he spake, and tore the long lance from the corse, while shrank the trojans back in dread, at sight of that strong-hearted man. straightway he stripped the armour from the dead, for friends to bear fast to the ships achaean. but himself to the swift chariot and the tireless steeds sprang, and sped onward like a thunderbolt that lightning-girdled leaps through the wide air from zeus's hands unconquerable--the bolt before whose downrush all the immortals quail save only zeus. it rusheth down to earth, it rendeth trees and rugged mountain-crags; so rushed he on the trojans, flashing doom before their eyes; dashed to the earth they fell before the charge of those immortal steeds: the earth was heaped with slain, was dyed with gore. as when in mountain-glens the unnumbered leaves down-streaming thick and fast hide all the ground, so hosts of troy untold on earth were strewn by neoptolemus and fierce-hearted greeks, shed by whose hands the blood in torrents ran 'neath feet of men and horses. chariot-rails were dashed with blood-spray whirled up from the tyres. now had the trojans fled within their gates as calves that flee a lion, or as swine flee from a storm--but murderous ares came, unmarked of other gods, down from the heavens, eager to help the warrior sons of troy. red-fire and flame, tumult and panic-fear, his car-steeds, bare him down into the fight, the coursers which to roaring boreas grim-eyed erinnys bare, coursers that breathed life-blasting flame: groaned all the shivering air, as battleward they sped. swiftly he came to troy: loud rang the earth beneath the feet of that wild team. into the battle's heart tossing his massy spear, he came; with a shout he cheered the trojans on to face the foe. they heard, and marvelled at that wondrous cry, not seeing the god's immortal form, nor steeds, veiled in dense mist. but the wise prophet-soul of helenus knew the voice divine that leapt unto the trojans' ears, they knew not whence, and with glad heart to the fleeing host he cried: "o cravens, wherefore fear achilles' son, though ne'er so brave? he is mortal even as we; his strength is not as ares' strength, who is come a very present help in our sore need. that was his shout far-pealing, bidding us fight on against the argives. let your hearts be strong, o friends: let courage fill your breasts. no mightier battle-helper can draw nigh to troy than he. who is of more avail for war than ares, when he aideth men hard-fighting? lo, to our help he cometh now! on to the fight! cast to the winds your fears!" they fled no more, they faced the argive men, as hounds, that mid the copses fled at first, turn them about to face and fight the wolf, spurred by the chiding of their shepherd-lord; so turned the sons of troy again to war, casting away their fear. man leapt on man valiantly fighting; loud their armour clashed smitten with swords, with lances, and with darts. spears plunged into men's flesh: dread ares drank his fill of blood: struck down fell man on man, as greek and trojan fought. in level poise the battle-balance hung. as when young men in hot haste prune a vineyard with the steel, and each keeps pace with each in rivalry, since all in strength and age be equal-matched; so did the awful scales of battle hang level: all trojan hearts beat high, and firm stood they in trust on aweless ares' might, while the greeks trusted in achilles' son. ever they slew and slew: stalked through the midst deadly enyo, her shoulders and her hands blood-splashed, while fearful sweat streamed from her limbs. revelling in equal fight, she aided none, lest thetis' or the war-god's wrath be stirred. then neoptolemus slew one far-renowned, perimedes, who had dwelt by smintheus' grove; next cestrus died, phalerus battle-staunch, perilaus the strong, menalcas lord of spears, whom iphianassa bare by the haunted foot of cilla to the cunning craftsman medon. in the home-land afar the sire abode, and never kissed his son's returning head: for that fair home and all his cunning works did far-off kinsmen wrangle o'er his grave. deiphobus slew lycon battle-staunch: the lance-head pierced him close above the groin, and round the long spear all his bowels gushed out. aeneas smote down dymas, who erewhile in aulis dwelt, and followed unto troy arcesilaus, and saw never more the dear home-land. euryalus hurled a dart, and through astraeus' breast the death-winged point flew, shearing through the breathways of man's life; and all that lay within was drenched with blood. and hard thereby great-souled agenor slew hippomenes, hero teucer's comrade staunch, with one swift thrust 'twixt shoulder and neck: his soul rushed forth in blood; death's night swept over him. grief for his comrade slain on teucer fell; he strained his bow, a swift-winged shaft he sped, but smote him not, for slightly agenor swerved. yet nigh him deiophontes stood; the shaft into his left eye plunged, passed through the ball, and out through his right ear, because the fates whither they willed thrust on the bitter barbs. even as in agony he leapt full height, yet once again the archer's arrow hissed: it pierced his throat, through the neck-sinews cleft unswerving, and his hard doom came on him. so man to man dealt death; and joyed the fates and doom, and fell strife in her maddened glee shouted aloud, and ares terribly shouted in answer, and with courage thrilled the trojans, and with panic fear the greeks, and shook their reeling squadrons. but one man he scared not, even achilles' son; he abode, and fought undaunted, slaying foes on foes. as when a young lad sweeps his hand around flies swarming over milk, and nigh the bowl here, there they lie, struck dead by that light touch, and gleefully the child still plies the work; so stern achilles' glorious scion joyed over the slain, and recked not of the god who spurred the trojans on: man after man tasted his vengeance of their charging host. even as a giant mountain-peak withstands on-rushing hurricane-blasts, so he abode unquailing. ares at his eager mood grew wroth, and would have cast his veil of cloud away, and met him face to face in fight, but now athena from olympus swooped to forest-mantled ida. quaked the earth and xanthus' murmuring streams; so mightily she shook them: terror-stricken were the souls of all the nymphs, adread for priam's town. from her immortal armour flashed around the hovering lightnings; fearful serpents breathed fire from her shield invincible; the crest of her great helmet swept the clouds. and now she was at point to close in sudden fight with ares; but the mighty will of zeus daunted them both, from high heaven thundering his terrors. ares drew back from the war, for manifest to him was zeus's wrath. to wintry thrace he passed; his haughty heart reeked no more of the trojans. in the plain of troy no more stayed pallas; she was gone to hallowed athens. but the armies still strove in the deadly fray; and fainted now the trojans' prowess; but all battle-fain the argives pressed on these as they gave ground. as winds chase ships that fly with straining sails on to the outsea--as on forest-brakes leapeth the fury of flame--as swift hounds drive deer through the mountains, eager for the prey, so did the argives chase them: achilles' son still cheered them on, still slew with that great spear whomso he overtook. on, on they fled till into stately-gated troy they poured. then had the argives a short breathing-space from war, when they had penned the hosts of troy in priam's burg, as shepherds pen up lambs upon a lonely steading. and, as when after hard strain, a breathing-space is given to oxen that, quick-panting 'neath the yoke, up a steep hill have dragged a load, so breathed awhile the achaeans after toil in arms. then once more hot for the fray did they beset the city-towers. but now with gates fast barred the trojans from the walls withstood the assault. as when within their steading shepherd-folk abide the lowering tempest, when a day of storm hath dawned, with fury of lightnings, rain and heavy-drifting snow, and dare not haste forth to the pasture, howsoever fain, till the great storm abate, and rivers, wide with rushing floods, again be passable; so trembling on their walls they abode the rage of foes against their ramparts surging fast. and as when daws or starlings drop in clouds down on an orchard-close, full fain to feast upon its pleasant fruits, and take no heed of men that shout to scare them thence away, until the reckless hunger be appeased that makes them bold; so poured round priam's burg the furious danaans. against the gates they hurled themselves, they strove to batter down the mighty-souled earth-shaker's work divine. yet did tim troyfolk not, despite their fear, flinch from the fight: they manned their towers, they toiled unresting: ever from the fair-built walls leapt arrows, stones, and fleet-winged javelins down amidst the thronging foes; for phoebus thrilled their souls with steadfast hardihood. fain was he to save them still, though hector was no more. then meriones shot forth a deadly shaft, and smote phylodamas, polites' friend, beneath the jaw; the arrow pierced his throat. down fell he like a vulture, from a rock by fowler's barbed arrow shot and slain; so from the high tower swiftly down he fell: his life fled; clanged his armour o'er the corpse. with laughter of triumph stalwart molus' son a second arrow sped, with strong desire to smite polites, ill-starred priam's son: but with a swift side-swerve did he escape the death, nor did the arrow touch his flesh. as when a shipman, as his bark flies on o'er sea-gulfs, spies amid the rushing tide a rock, and to escape it swiftly puts the helm about, and turns aside the ship even as he listeth, that a little strength averts a great disaster; so did he foresee and shun the deadly shaft of doom. ever they fought on; walls, towers, battlements were blood-besprent, wherever trojans fell slain by the arrows of the stalwart greeks. yet these escaped not scatheless; many of them dyed the earth red: aye waxed the havoc of death as friends and foes were stricken. o'er the strife shouted for glee enyo, sister of war. now had the argives burst the gates, had breached the walls of troy, for boundless was their might; but ganymedes saw from heaven, and cried, anguished with fear for his own fatherland: "o father zeus, if of thy seed i am, if at thine best i left far-famous troy for immortality with deathless gods, o hear me now, whose soul is anguish-thrilled! i cannot bear to see my fathers' town in flames, my kindred in disastrous strife perishing: bitterer sorrow is there none! oh, if thine heart is fixed to do this thing, let me be far hence! less shall be my grief if i behold it not with these mine eyes. that is the depth of horror and of shame to see one's country wrecked by hands of foes." with groans and tears so pleaded ganymede. then zeus himself with one vast pall of cloud veiled all the city of priam world-renowned; and all the murderous fight was drowned in mist, and like a vanished phantom was the wall in vapours heavy-hung no eye could pierce; and all around crashed thunders, lightnings flamed from heaven. the danaans heard zeus' clarion peal awe-struck; and neleus' son cried unto them: "far-famous lords of argives, all our strength palsied shall be, while zeus protecteth thus our foes. a great tide of calamity on us is rolling; haste we then to the ships; cease we awhile from bitter toil of strife, lest the fire of his wrath consume us all. submit we to his portents; needs must all obey him ever, who is mightier far than all strong gods, all weakling sons of men. on the presumptuous titans once in wrath he poured down fire from heaven: then burned all earth beneath, and ocean's world-engirdling flood boiled from its depths, yea, to its utmost bounds: far-flowing mighty rivers were dried up: perished all broods of life-sustaining earth, all fosterlings of the boundless sea, and all dwellers in rivers: smoke and ashes veiled the air: earth fainted in the fervent heat. therefore this day i dread the might of zeus. now, pass we to the ships, since for to-day he helpeth troy. to us too shall he grant glory hereafter; for the dawn on men, though whiles it frown, anon shall smile. not yet, but soon, shall fate lead us to smite yon town, if true indeed was calchas' prophecy spoken aforetime to the assembled greeks, that in the tenth year priam's burg should fall." then left they that far-famous town, and turned from war, in awe of zeus's threatenings, hearkening to one with ancient wisdom wise. yet they forgat not friends in battle slain, but bare them from the field and buried them. these the mist hid not, but the town alone and its unscaleable wall, around which fell trojans and argives many in battle slain. so came they to the ships, and put from them their battle-gear, and strode into the waves of hellespont fair-flowing, and washed away all stain of dust and sweat and clotted gore. the sun drave down his never-wearying steeds into the dark west: night streamed o'er the earth, bidding men cease from toil. the argives then acclaimed achilles' valiant son with praise high as his father's. mid triumphant mirth he feasted in kings' tents: no battle-toil had wearied him; for thetis from his limbs had charmed all ache of travail, making him as one whom labour had no power to tire. when his strong heart was satisfied with meat, he passed to his father's tent, and over him sleep's dews were poured. the greeks slept in the plain before the ships, by ever-changing guards watched; for they dreaded lest the host of troy, or of her staunch allies, should kindle flame upon the ships, and from them all cut off their home-return. in priam's burg the while by gate and wall men watched and slept in turn, adread to hear the argives' onset-shout. book ix how from his long lone exile returned to the war philoctetes. when ended was night's darkness, and the dawn rose from the world's verge, and the wide air glowed with splendour, then did argos' warrior-sons gaze o'er the plain; and lo, all cloudless-clear stood ilium's towers. the marvel of yesterday seemed a strange dream. no thought the trojans had of standing forth to fight without the wall. a great fear held them thralls, the awful thought that yet alive was peleus' glorious son. but to the king of heaven antenor cried: "zeus, lord of ida and the starry sky, hearken my prayer! oh turn back from our town that battle-eager murderous-hearted man, be he achilles who hath not passed down to hades, or some other like to him. for now in heaven-descended priam's burg by thousands are her people perishing: no respite cometh from calamity: murder and havoc evermore increase. o father zeus, thou carest not though we be slaughtered of our foes: thou helpest them, forgetting thy son, godlike dardanus! but, if this be the purpose of thine heart that argives shall destroy us wretchedly, now do it: draw not out our agony!" in passionate prayer he cried; and zeus from heaven hearkened, and hasted on the end of all, which else he had delayed. he granted him this awful boon, that myriads of troy's sons should with their children perish: but that prayer he granted not, to turn achilles' son back from the wide-wayed town; nay, all the more he enkindled him to war, for he would now give grace and glory to the nereid queen. so purposed he, of all gods mightiest. but now between the city and hellespont were greeks and trojans burning men and steeds in battle slain, while paused the murderous strife. for priam sent his herald menoetes forth to agamemnon and the achaean chiefs, asking a truce wherein to burn the dead; and they, of reverence for the slain, gave ear; for wrath pursueth not the dead. and when they had lain their slain on those close-thronging pyres, then did the argives to their tents return, and unto priam's gold-abounding halls the trojans, for eurypylus sorrowing sore: for even as priam's sons they honoured him. therefore apart from all the other slain, before the gate dardanian--where the streams of eddying xanthus down from ida flow fed by the rains of heavens--they buried him. aweless achilles' son the while went forth to his sire's huge tomb. outpouring tears, he kissed the tall memorial pillar of the dead, and groaning clasped it round, and thus he cried: "hail, father! though beneath the earth thou lie in hades' halls, i shall forget thee not. oh to have met thee living mid the host! then of each other had our souls had joy, then of her wealth had we spoiled ilium. but now, thou hast not seen thy child, nor i seen thee, who yearned to look on thee in life. yet, though thou be afar amidst the dead, thy spear, thy son, have made thy foes to quail; and danaans with exceeding joy behold one like to thee in stature, fame and deeds." he spake, and wiped the hot tears from his face; and to his father's ships passed swiftly thence: with him went myrmidon warriors two and ten, and white-haired phoenix followed on with these woefully sighing for the glorious dead. night rose o'er earth, the stars flashed out in heaven; so these brake bread, and slept till woke the dawn. then the greeks donned their armour: flashed afar its splendour up to the very firmament. forth of their gates in one great throng they poured, like snowflakes thick and fast, which drift adown heavily from the clouds in winter's cold; so streamed they forth before the wall, and rose their dread shout: groaned the deep earth 'neath their tramp. the trojans heard that shout, and saw that host, and marvelled. crushed with fear were all their hearts foreboding doom; for like a huge cloud seemed that throng of foes: with clashing arms they came: volumed and vast the dust rose 'neath their feet. then either did some god with hardihood thrill deiphobus' heart, and made it void of fear, or his own spirit spurred him on to fight, to drive by thrust of spear that terrible host of foemen from the city of his birth. so there in troy he cried with heartening speech: "o friends, be stout of heart to play the men! remember all the agonies that war brings in the end to them that yield to foes. ye wrestle not for alexander alone, nor helen, but for home, for your own lives, for wives, for little ones, for parents grey, for all the grace of life, for all ye have, for this dear land--oh may she shroud me o'er slain in the battle, ere i see her lie 'neath foemen's spears--my country! i know not a bitterer pang than this for hapless men! o be ye strong for battle! forth to the fight with me, and thrust this horror far away! think not achilles liveth still to war against us: him the ravening fire consumed. some other achaean was it who so late enkindled them to war. oh, shame it were if men who fight for fatherland should fear achilles' self, or any greek beside! let us not flinch from war-toil! have we not endured much battle-travail heretofore? what, know ye not that to men sorely tried prosperity and joyance follow toil? so after scourging winds and ruining storms zeus brings to men a morn of balmy air; after disease new strength comes, after war peace: all things know time's changeless law of change." then eager all for war they armed themselves in haste. all through the town rang clangour of arms as for grim fight strong men arrayed their limbs. here stood a wife, shuddering with dread of war, yet piling, as she wept, her husband's arms before his feet. there little children brought to a father his war-gear with eager haste; and now his heart was wrung to hear their sobs, and now he smiled on those small ministers, and stronger waxed his heart's resolve to fight to the last gasp for these, the near and dear. yonder again, with hands that had not lost old cunning, a grey father for the fray girded a son, and murmured once and again: "dear boy, yield thou to no man in the war!" and showed his son the old scars on his breast, proud memories of fights fought long ago. so when they all stood mailed in battle-gear, forth of the gates they poured all eager-souled for war. against the chariots of the greeks their chariots charged; their ranks of footmen pressed to meet the footmen of the foe. the earth rang to the tramp of onset; pealed the cheer from man to man; swift closed the fronts of war. loud clashed their arms all round; from either side war-cries were mingled in one awful roar swift-winged full many a dart and arrow flew from host to host; loud clanged the smitten shields 'neath thrusting spears, 'neath javelin-point and sword: men hewed with battle-axes lightening down; crimson the armour ran with blood of men. and all this while troy's wives and daughters watched from high walls that grim battle of the strong. all trembled as they prayed for husbands, sons, and brothers: white-haired sires amidst them sat, and gazed, while anguished fear for sons devoured their hearts. but helen in her bower abode amidst her maids, there held by utter shame. so without pause before the wall they fought, while death exulted o'er them; deadly strife shrieked out a long wild cry from host to host. with blood of slain men dust became red mire: here, there, fast fell the warriors mid the fray. then slew deiphobus the charioteer of nestor, hippasus' son: from that high car down fell he 'midst the dead; fear seized his lord lest, while his hands were cumbered with the reins, he too by priam's strong son might be slain. melanthius marked his plight: swiftly he sprang upon the car; he urged the horses on, shaking the reins, goading them with his spear, seeing the scourge was lost. but priam's son left these, and plunged amid a throng of foes. there upon many he brought the day of doom; for like a ruining tempest on he stormed through reeling ranks. his mighty hand struck down foes numberless: the plain was heaped with dead. as when a woodman on the long-ridged hills plunges amid the forest-depths, and hews with might and main, and fells sap-laden trees to make him store of charcoal from the heaps of billets overturfed and set afire: the trunks on all sides fallen strew the slopes, while o'er his work the man exulteth; so before deiphobus' swift death-dealing hands in heaps the achaeans each on other fell. the charging lines of troy swept over some; some fled to xanthus' stream: deiphobus chased into the flood yet more, and slew and slew. as when on fish-abounding hellespont's strand the fishermen hard-straining drag a net forth of the depths to land; but, while it trails yet through the sea, one leaps amid the waves grasping in hand a sinuous-headed spear to deal the sword-fish death, and here and there, fast as he meets them, slays them, and with blood the waves are reddened; so were xanthus' streams impurpled by his hands, and choked with dead. yet not without sore loss the trojans fought; for all this while peleides' fierce-heart son of other ranks made havoc. thetis gazed rejoicing in her son's son, with a joy as great as was her grief for achilles slain. for a great host beneath his spear were hurled down to the dust, steeds, warriors slaughter-blent. and still he chased, and still he slew: he smote amides war-renowned, who on his steed bore down on him, but of his horsemanship small profit won. the bright spear pierced him through from navel unto spine, and all his bowels gushed out, and deadly doom laid hold on him even as he fell beside his horse's feet. ascanius and oenops next he slew; under the fifth rib of the one he drave his spear, the other stabbed he 'neath the throat where a wound bringeth surest doom to man. whomso he met besides he slew--the names what man could tell of all that by the hands of neoptolemus died? never his limbs waxed weary. as some brawny labourer, with strong hands toiling in a fruitful field the livelong day, rains down to earth the fruit of olives, swiftly beating with his pole, and with the downfall covers all the ground, so fast fell 'neath his hands the thronging foe. elsewhere did agamemnon, tydeus' son, and other chieftains of the danaans toil with fury in the fight. yet never quailed the mighty men of troy: with heart and soul they also fought, and ever stayed from flight such as gave back. yet many heeded not their chiefs, but fled, cowed by the achaeans' might. now at the last achilles' strong son marked how fast beside scamander's outfall greeks were perishing. those troyward-fleeing foes whom he had followed slaying, left he now, and bade automedon thither drive, where hosts were falling of the achaeans. straightway he hearkened, and scourged the steeds immortal on to that wild fray: bearing their lord they flew swiftly o'er battle-highways paved with death. as ares chariot-borne to murderous war fares forth, and round his onrush quakes the ground, while on the god's breast clash celestial arms outflashing fire, so charged achilles' son against deiphobus. clouds of dust upsoared about his horses' feet. automedon marked the trojan chief, and knew him. to his lord straightway he named that hero war-renowned: "my king, this is deiphobus' array- the man who from thy father fled in fear. some god or fiend with courage fills him now." naught answered neoptolemus, save to bid drive on the steeds yet faster, that with speed he might avert grim death from perishing friends. but when to each other now full nigh they drew, deiphobus, despite his battle-lust, stayed, as a ravening fire stays when it meets water. he marvelled, seeing achilles' steeds and that gigantic son, huge as his sire; and his heart wavered, choosing now to flee, and now to face that hero, man to man as when a mountain boar from his young brood chases the jackals--then a lion leaps from hidden ambush into view: the boar halts in his furious onset, loth to advance, loth to retreat, while foam his jaws about his whetted tusks; so halted priam's son car-steeds and car, perplexed, while quivered his hands about the lance. shouted achilles' son: "ho, priam's son, why thus so mad to smite those weaker argives, who have feared thy wrath and fled thine onset? so thou deem'st thyself far mightiest! if thine heart be brave indeed, of my spear now make trial in the strife." on rushed he, as a lion against a stag, borne by the steeds and chariot of his sire. and now full soon his lance had slain his foe, him and his charioteer--but phoebus poured a dense cloud round him from the viewless heights of heaven, and snatched him from the deadly fray, and set him down in troy, amid the rout of fleeing trojans: so did peleus' son stab but the empty air; and loud he cried: "dog, thou hast 'scaped my wrath! no might of thine saved thee, though ne'er so fain! some god hath cast night's veil o'er thee, and snatched thee from thy death." then cronos' son dispersed that dense dark cloud: mist-like it thinned and vanished into air: straightway the plain and all the land were seen. then far away about the scaean gate he saw the trojans: seeming like his sire, he sped against them; they at his coming quailed. as shipmen tremble when a wild wave bears down on their bark, wind-heaved until it swings broad, mountain-high above them, when the sea is mad with tempest; so, as on he came, terror clad all those trojans as a cloak, the while he shouted, cheering on his men: "hear, friends!--fill full your hearts with dauntless strength, the strength that well beseemeth mighty men who thirst to win them glorious victory, to win renown from battle's tumult! come, brave hearts, now strive we even beyond our strength till we smite troy's proud city, till we win our hearts' desire! foul shame it were to abide long deedless here and strengthless, womanlike! ere i be called war-blencher, let me die!" then unto ares' work their spirits flamed. down on the trojans charged they: yea, and these fought with high courage, round their city now, and now from wall and gate-towers. never lulled the rage of war, while trojan hearts were hot to hurl the foemen back, and the strong greeks to smite the town: grim havoc compassed all. then, eager for the trojans' help, swooped down out of olympus, cloaked about with clouds, the son of leto. mighty rushing winds bare him in golden armour clad; and gleamed with lightning-splendour of his descent the long highways of air. his quiver clashed; loud rang the welkin; earth re-echoed, as he set his tireless feet by xanthus. pealed his shout dreadly, with courage filling them of troy, scaring their foes from biding the red fray. but of all this the mighty shaker of earth was ware: he breathed into the fainting greeks fierce valour, and the fight waxed murderous through those immortals' clashing wills. then died hosts numberless on either side. in wrath apollo thought to smite achilles' son in the same place where erst he smote his sire; but birds of boding screamed to left, to stay his mood, and other signs from heaven were sent; yet was his wrath not minded to obey those portents. swiftly drew earth-shaker nigh in mist celestial cloaked: about his feet quaked the dark earth as came the sea-king on. then, to stay phoebus' hand, he cried to him: "refrain thy wrath: achilles' giant son slay not! olympus' lord himself shall be wroth for his death, and bitter grief shall light on me and all the sea-gods, as erstwhile for achilles' sake. nay, get thee back to heights celestial, lest thou kindle me to wrath, and so i cleave a sudden chasm in earth, and ilium and all her walls go down to darkness. thine own soul were vexed thereat." then, overawed by the brother of his sire, and fearing for troy's fate and for her folk, to heaven went back apollo, to the sea poseidon. but the sons of men fought on, and slew; and strife incarnate gloating watched. at last by calchas' counsel achaea's sons drew back to the ships, and put from them the thought of battle, seeing it was not foreordained that ilium should fall until the might of war-wise philoctetes came to aid the achaean host. this had the prophet learnt. from birds of prosperous omen, or had read in hearts of victims. wise in prophecy-lore was he, and like a god knew things to be. trusting in him, the sons of atreus stayed awhile the war, and unto lemnos, land of stately mansions, sent they tydeus' son and battle-staunch odysseus oversea. fast by the fire-god's city sped they on over the broad flood of the aegean sea to vine-clad lemnos, where in far-off days the wives wreaked murderous vengeance on their lords, in fierce wrath that they gave them not their due, but couched beside the handmaid-thralls of thrace, the captives of their spears when they laid waste the land of warrior thracians. then these wives, their hearts with fiery jealousy's fever filled, murdered in every home with merciless hands their husbands: no compassion would they show to their own wedded lords--such madness shakes the heart of man or woman, when it burns with jealousy's fever, stung by torturing pangs. so with souls filled with desperate hardihood in one night did they slaughter all their lords; and on a widowed nation rose the sun. to hallowed lemnos came those heroes twain; they marked the rocky cave where lay the son of princely poeas. horror came on them when they beheld the hero of their quest groaning with bitter pangs, on the hard earth lying, with many feathers round him strewn, and others round his body, rudely sewn into a cloak, a screen from winter's cold. for, oft as famine stung him, would he shoot the shaft that missed no fowl his aim had doomed. their flesh he ate, their feathers vestured him. and there lay herbs and healing leaves, the which, spread on his deadly wound, assuaged its pangs. wild tangled elf-locks hung about his head. he seemed a wild beast, that hath set its foot, prowling by night, upon a hidden trap, and so hath been constrained in agony to bite with fierce teeth through the prisoned limb ere it could win back to its cave, and there in hunger and torturing pains it languisheth. so in that wide cave suffering crushed the man; and all his frame was wasted: naught but skin covered his bones. unwashen there he crouched with famine-haggard cheeks, with sunken eyes glaring his misery 'neath cavernous brows. never his groaning ceased, for evermore the ulcerous black wound, eating to the bone, festered with thrills of agonizing pain. as when a beetling cliff, by seething seas aye buffeted, is carved and underscooped, for all its stubborn strength, by tireless waves, till, scourged by winds and lashed by tempest-flails, the sea into deep caves hath gnawed its base; so greater 'neath his foot grew evermore the festering wound, dealt when the envenomed fangs tare him of that fell water-snake, which men say dealeth ghastly wounds incurable, when the hot sun hath parched it as it crawls over the sands; and so that mightiest man lay faint and wasted with his cureless pain; and from the ulcerous wound aye streamed to earth fetid corruption fouling all the floor of that wide cave, a marvel to be heard of men unborn. beside his stony bed lay a long quiver full of arrows, some for hunting, some to smite his foes withal; with deadly venom of that fell water-snake were these besmeared. before it, nigh to his hand, lay the great bow, with curving tips of horn, wrought by the mighty hands of hercules. now when that solitary spied these twain draw nigh his cave, he sprang to his bow, he laid the deadly arrow on the string; for now fierce memory of his wrongs awoke against these, who had left him years agone, in pain groaning upon the desolate sea-shore. yea, and his heart's stem will he had swiftly wrought, but, even as upon that godlike twain he gazed, athena caused his bitter wrath to melt away. then drew they nigh to him with looks of sad compassion, and sat down on either hand beside him in the cave, and of his deadly wound and grievous pangs asked; and he told them all his sufferings. and they spake hope and comfort; and they said: "thy woeful wound, thine anguish, shall be healed, if thou but come with us to achaea's host- the host that now is sorrowing after thee with all its kings. and no man of them all was cause of thine affliction, but the fates, the cruel ones, whom none that walk the earth escape, but aye they visit hapless men unseen; and day by day with pitiless hearts now they afflict men, now again exalt to honour--none knows why; for all the woes and all the joys of men do these devise after their pleasure." hearkening he sat to odysseus and to godlike diomede; and all the hoarded wrath for olden wrongs and all the torturing rage, melted away. straight to the strand dull-thundering and the ship, laughing for joy, they bare him with his bow. there washed they all his body and that foul wound with sponges, and with plenteous water bathed: so was his soul refreshed. then hasted they and made meat ready for the famished man, and in the galley supped with him. then came the balmy night, and sleep slid down on them. till rose the dawn they tarried by the strand of sea-girt lemnos, but with dayspring cast the hawsers loose, and heaved the anchor-stones out of the deep. athena sent a breeze blowing behind the galley taper-prowed. they strained the sail with either stern-sheet taut; seaward they pointed the stout-girdered ship; o'er the broad flood she leapt before the wind; broken to right and left the dark wave sighed, and seething all around was hoary foam, while thronging dolphins raced on either hand flashing along the paths of silver sea. full soon to fish-fraught hellespont they came and the far-stretching ships. glad were the greeks to see the longed-for faces. forth the ship with joy they stepped; and poeas' valiant son on those two heroes leaned thin wasted hands, who bare him painfully halting to the shore staying his weight upon their brawny arms. as seems mid mountain-brakes an oak or pine by strength of the woodcutter half hewn through, which for a little stands on what was left of the smooth trunk by him who hewed thereat hard by the roots, that its slow-smouldering wood might yield him pitch--now like to one in pain it groans, in weakness borne down by the wind, yet is upstayed upon its leafy boughs which from the earth bear up its helpless weight; so by pain unendurable bowed down leaned he on those brave heroes, and was borne unto the war-host. men beheld, and all compassionated that great archer, crushed by anguish of his hurt. but one drew near, podaleirius, godlike in his power to heal. swifter than thought he made him whole and sound; for deftly on the wound he spread his salves, calling on his physician-father's name; and soon the achaeans shouted all for joy, all praising with one voice asclepius' son. lovingly then they bathed him, and with oil anointed. all his heaviness of cheer and misery vanished by the immortals' will; and glad at heart were all that looked on him; and from affliction he awoke to joy. over the bloodless face the flush of health glowed, and for wretched weakness mighty strength thrilled through him: goodly and great waxed all his limbs. as when a field of corn revives again which erst had drooped, by rains of ruining storm down beaten flat, but by warm summer winds requickened, o'er the laboured land it smiles, so philoctetes' erstwhile wasted frame was all requickened:--in the galley's hold he seemed to have left all cares that crushed his soul. and atreus' sons beheld him marvelling as one re-risen from the dead: it seemed the work of hands immortal. and indeed so was it verily, as their hearts divined; for 'twas the glorious trito-born that shed stature and grace upon him. suddenly he seemed as when of old mid argive men he stood, before calamity struck him down. then unto wealthy agamemnon's tent did all their mightiest men bring poeas' son, and set him chief in honour at the feast, extolling him. when all with meat and drink were filled, spake agamemnon lord of spears: "dear friend, since by the will of heaven our souls were once perverted, that in sea-girt lemnos we left thee, harbour not thine heart within fierce wrath for this: by the blest gods constrained we did it; and, i trow, the immortals willed to bring much evil on us, bereft of thee, who art of all men skilfullest to quell with shafts of death all foes that face thee in fight. for all the tangled paths of human life, by land and sea, are by the will of fate hid from our eyes, in many and devious tracks are cleft apart, in wandering mazes lost. along them men by fortune's dooming drift like unto leaves that drive before the wind. oft on an evil path the good man's feet stumble, the brave finds not a prosperous path; and none of earth-born men can shun the fates, and of his own will none can choose his way. so then doth it behove the wise of heart though on a troublous track the winds of fate sweep him away to suffer and be strong. since we were blinded then, and erred herein, with rich gifts will we make amends to thee hereafter, when we take the stately towers of troy: but now receive thou handmaids seven, fleet steeds two-score, victors in chariot-race, and tripods twelve, wherein thine heart may joy through all thy days; and always in my tent shall royal honour at the feast be thine." he spake, and gave the hero those fair gifts. then answered poeas' mighty-hearted son; "friend, i forgive thee freely, and all beside whoso against me haply hath trangressed. i know how good men's minds sometimes be warped: nor meet it is that one be obdurate ever, and nurse mean rancours: sternest wrath must yield anon unto the melting mood. now pass we to our rest; for better is sleep than feasting late, for him who longs to fight." he spake, and rose, and came to his comrades' tent; then swiftly for their war-fain king they dight the couch, while laughed their hearts for very joy. gladly he laid him down to sleep till dawn. so passed the night divine, till flushed the hills in the sun's light, and men awoke to toil. then all athirst for war the argive men 'gan whet the spear smooth-shafted, or the dart, or javelin, and they brake the bread of dawn, and foddered all their horses. then to these spake poeas' son with battle-kindling speech: "up! let us make us ready for the war! let no man linger mid the galleys, ere the glorious walls of ilium stately-towered be shattered, and her palaces be burned!" then at his words each heart and spirit glowed: they donned their armour, and they grasped their shields. forth of the ships in one huge mass they poured arrayed with bull-hide bucklers, ashen spears, and gallant-crested helms. through all their ranks shoulder to shoulder marched they: thou hadst seen no gap 'twixt man and man as on they charged; so close they thronged, so dense was their array. book x how paris was stricken to death, and in vain sought help of oenone. now were the trojans all without the town of priam, armour-clad, with battle-cars and chariot-steeds; for still they burnt their dead, and still they feared lest the achaean men should fall on them. they looked, and saw them come with furious speed against the walls. in haste they cast a hurried earth-mound o'er the slain, for greatly trembled they to see their foes. then in their sore disquiet spake to them polydamas, a wise and prudent chief: "friends, unendurably against us now maddens the war. go to, let us devise how we may find deliverance from our strait. still bide the danaans here, still gather strength: now therefore let us man our stately towers, and thence withstand them, fighting night and day, until yon danaans weary, and return to sparta, or, renownless lingering here beside the wall, lose heart. no strength of theirs shall breach the long walls, howsoe'er they strive, for in the imperishable work of gods weakness is none. food, drink, we shall not lack, for in king priam's gold-abounding halls is stored abundant food, that shall suffice for many more than we, through many years, though thrice so great a host at our desire should gather, eager to maintain our cause." then chode with him anchises' valiant son: "polydamas, wherefore do they call thee wise, who biddest suffer endless tribulations cooped within walls? never, how long soe'er the achaeans tarry here, will they lose heart; but when they see us skulking from the field, more fiercely will press on. so ours shall be the sufferance, perishing in our native home, if for long season they beleaguer us. no food, if we be pent within our walls, shall thebe send us, nor maeonia wine, but wretchedly by famine shall we die, though the great wall stand firm. nay, though our lot should be to escape that evil death and doom, and not by famine miserably to die; yet rather let us fight in armour clad for children and grey fathers! haply zeus will help us yet; of his high blood are we. nay, even though we be abhorred of him, better straightway to perish gloriously fighting unto the last for fatherland, than die a death of lingering agony!" shouted they all who heard that gallant rede. swiftly with helms and shields and spears they stood in close array. the eyes of mighty zeus from heaven beheld the trojans armed for fight against the danaans: then did he awake courage in these and those, that there might be strain of unflinching fight 'twixt host and host. that day was paris doomed, for helen's sake fighting, by philoctetes' hands to die. to one place strife incarnate drew them all, the fearful battle-queen, beheld of none, but cloaked in clouds blood-raining: on she stalked swelling the mighty roar of battle, now rushed through troy's squadrons, through achaea's now; panic and fear still waited on her steps to make their father's sister glorious. from small to huge that fury's stature grew; her arms of adamant were blood-besprent, the deadly lance she brandished reached the sky. earth quaked beneath her feet: dread blasts of fire flamed from her mouth: her voice pealed thunder-like kindling strong men. swift closed the fronts of fight drawn by a dread power to the mighty work. loud as the shriek of winds that madly blow in early spring, when the tall woodland trees put forth their leaves--loud as the roar of fire blazing through sun-scorched brakes--loud as the voice of many waters, when the wide sea raves beneath the howling blast, with thunderous crash of waves, when shake the fearful shipman's knees; so thundered earth beneath their charging feet. strife swooped on them: foe hurled himself on foe. first did aeneas of the danaans slay harpalion, arizelus' scion, born in far boeotia of amphinome, who came to troy to help the argive men with godlike prothoenor. 'neath his waist aeneas stabbed, and reft sweet life from him. dead upon him he cast thersander's son, for the barbed javelin pierced through hyllus' throat whom arethusa by lethaeus bare in crete: sore grieved idomeneus for his fall. by this peleides' son had swiftly slain twelve trojan warriors with his father's spear. first cebrus fell, harmon, pasitheus then, hysminus, schedius, and imbrasius, phleges, mnesaeus, ennomus, amphinous, phasis, galenus last, who had his home by gargarus' steep--a mighty warrior he among troy's mighties: with a countless host to troy he came: for priam dardanus' son promised him many gifts and passing fair. ah fool! his own doom never he foresaw, whose weird was suddenly to fall in fight ere he bore home king priam's glorious gifts. doom the destroyer against the argives sped valiant aeneas' friend, eurymenes. wild courage spurred him on, that he might slay many--and then fill death's cup for himself. man after man he slew like some fierce beast, and foes shrank from the terrible rage that burned on his life's verge, nor reeked of imminent doom. yea, peerless deeds in that fight had he done, had not his hands grown weary, his spear-head bent utterly: his sword availed him not, snapped at the hilt by fate. then meges' dart smote 'neath his ribs; blood spurted from his mouth, and in death's agony doom stood at his side. even as he fell, epeius' henchmen twain, deileon and amphion, rushed to strip his armour; but aeneas brave and strong chilled their hot hearts in death beside the dead. as one in latter summer 'mid his vines kills wasps that dart about his ripening grapes, and so, ere they may taste the fruit, they die; so smote he them, ere they could seize the arms. menon and amphinous tydeides slew, both goodly men. paris slew hippasus' son demoleon, who in laconia's land beside the outfall of eurotas dwelt, the stream deep-flowing, and to troy he came with menelaus. under his right breast the shaft of paris smote him unto death, driving his soul forth like a scattering breath. teucer slew zechis, medon's war-famed son, who dwelt in phrygia, land of myriad flocks, below that haunted cave of fair-haired nymphs where, as endymion slept beside his kine, divine selene watched him from on high, and slid from heaven to earth; for passionate love drew down the immortal stainless queen of night. and a memorial of her couch abides still 'neath the oaks; for mid the copses round was poured out milk of kine; and still do men marvelling behold its whiteness. thou wouldst say far off that this was milk indeed, which is a well-spring of white water: if thou draw a little nigher, lo, the stream is fringed as though with ice, for white stone rims it round. rushed on alcaeus meges, phyleus' son, and drave his spear beneath his fluttering heart. loosed were the cords of sweet life suddenly, and his sad parents longed in vain to greet that son returning from the woeful war to margasus and phyllis lovely-girt, dwellers by lucent streams of harpasus, who pours the full blood of his clamorous flow into maeander madly rushing aye. with glaucus' warrior-comrade scylaceus odeus' son closed in the fight, and stabbed over the shield-rim, and the cruel spear passed through his shoulder, and drenched his shield with blood. howbeit he slew him not, whose day of doom awaited him afar beside the wall of his own city; for when illium's towers were brought low by that swift avenging host fleeing the war to lycia then he came alone; and when he drew nigh to the town, the thronging women met and questioned him touching their sons and husbands; and he told how all were dead. they compassed him about, and stoned the man with great stones, that he died. so had he no joy of his winning home, but the stones muffled up his dying groans, and of the same his ghastly tomb was reared beside bellerophon's grave and holy place in tlos, nigh that far-famed chimaera's crag. yet, though he thus fulfilled his day of doom, as a god afterward men worshipped him by phoebus' hest, and never his honour fades. now poeas' son the while slew deioneus and acamas, antenor's warrior son: yea, a great host of strong men laid he low. on, like the war-god, through his foes he rushed, or as a river roaring in full flood breaks down long dykes, when, maddening round its rocks, down from the mountains swelled by rain it pours an ever-flowing mightily-rushing stream whose foaming crests over its forelands sweep; so none who saw him even from afar dared meet renowned poeas' valiant son, whose breast with battle-fury was fulfilled, whose limbs were clad in mighty hercules' arms of cunning workmanship; for on the belt gleamed bears most grim and savage, jackals fell, and panthers, in whose eyes there seems to lurk a deadly smile. there were fierce-hearted wolves, and boars with flashing tusks, and mighty lions all seeming strangely alive; and, there portrayed through all its breadth, were battles murder-rife. with all these marvels covered was the belt; and with yet more the quiver was adorned. there hermes was, storm-footed son of zeus, slaying huge argus nigh to inachus' streams, argus, whose sentinel eyes in turn took sleep. and there was phaethon from the sun-car hurled into eridanus. earth verily seemed ablaze, and black smoke hovered on the air. there perseus slew medusa gorgon-eyed by the stars' baths and utmost bounds of earth and fountains of deep-flowing ocean, where night in the far west meets the setting sun. there was the titan iapetus' great son hung from the beetling crag of caucasus in bonds of adamant, and the eagle tare his liver unconsumed--he seemed to groan! all these hephaestus' cunning hands had wrought for hercules; and these to poeas' son, most near of friends and dear, he gave to bear. so glorying in those arms he smote the foe. but paris at the last to meet him sprang fearlessly, bearing in his hands his bow and deadly arrows--but his latest day now met himself. a flying shaft he sped forth from the string, which sang as leapt the dart, which flew not vainly: yet the very mark it missed, for philoctetes swerved aside a hair-breadth, and it smote above the breast cleodorus war-renowned, and cleft a path clear through his shoulder; for he had not now the buckler broad which wont to fence from death its bearer, but was falling back from fight, being shieldless; for polydamas' massy lance had cleft the shoulder-belt whereby his targe hung, and he gave back therefore, fighting still with stubborn spear. but now the arrow of death fell on him, as from ambush leaping forth. for so fate willed, i trow, to bring dread doom on noble-hearted lernus' scion, born of amphiale, in rhodes the fertile land. but soon as poeas' battle-eager son marked him by paris' deadly arrow slain, swiftly he strained his bow, shouting aloud: "dog! i will give thee death, will speed thee down to the unseen land, who darest to brave me! and so shall they have rest, who travail now for thy vile sake. destruction shall have end when thou art dead, the author of our bane." then to his breast he drew the plaited cord. the great bow arched, the merciless shaft was aimed straight, and the terrible point a little peered above the bow, in that constraining grip. loud sang the string, as the death-hissing shaft leapt, and missed not: yet was not paris' heart stilled, but his spirit yet was strong in him; for that first arrow was not winged with death: it did but graze the fair flesh by his wrist. then once again the avenger drew the bow, and the barbed shaft of poeas' son had plunged, ere he could swerve, 'twixt flank and groin. no more he abode the fight, but swiftly hasted back as hastes a dog which on a lion rushed at first, then fleeth terror-stricken back. so he, his very heart with agony thrilled, fled from the war. still clashed the grappling hosts, man slaying man: aye bloodier waxed the fray as rained the blows: corpse upon corpse was flung confusedly, like thunder-drops, or flakes of snow, or hailstones, by the wintry blast at zeus' behest strewn over the long hills and forest-boughs; so by a pitiless doom slain, friends with foes in heaps on heaps were strown. sorely groaned paris; with the torturing wound fainted his spirit. leeches sought to allay his frenzy of pain. but now drew back to troy the trojans, and the danaans to their ships swiftly returned, for dark night put an end to strife, and stole from men's limbs weariness, pouring upon their eyes pain-healing sleep. but through the livelong night no sleep laid hold on paris: for his help no leech availed, though ne'er so willing, with his salves. his weird was only by oenone's hands to escape death's doom, if so she willed. now he obeyed the prophecy, and he went--exceeding loth, but grim necessity forced him thence, to face the wife forsaken. evil-boding fowl shrieked o'er his head, or darted past to left, still as he went. now, as he looked at them, his heart sank; now hope whispered, "haply vain their bodings are!" but on their wings were borne visions of doom that blended with his pain. into oenone's presence thus he came. amazed her thronging handmaids looked on him as at the nymph's feet that pale suppliant fell faint with the anguish of his wound, whose pangs stabbed him through brain and heart, yea, quivered through his very bones, for that fierce venom crawled through all his inwards with corrupting fangs; and his life fainted in him agony-thrilled. as one with sickness and tormenting thirst consumed, lies parched, with heart quick-shuddering, with liver seething as in flame, the soul, scarce conscious, fluttering at his burning lips, longing for life, for water longing sore; so was his breast one fire of torturing pain. then in exceeding feebleness he spake: "o reverenced wife, turn not from me in hate for that i left thee widowed long ago! not of my will i did it: the strong fates dragged me to helen--oh that i had died ere i embraced her--in thine arms had died! all, by the gods i pray, the lords of heaven, by all the memories of our wedded love, be merciful! banish my bitter pain: lay on my deadly wound those healing salves which only can, by fate's decree, remove this torment, if thou wilt. thine heart must speak my sentence, to be saved from death or no. pity me--oh, make haste to pity me! this venom's might is swiftly bringing death! heal me, while life yet lingers in my limbs! remember not those pangs of jealousy, nor leave me by a cruel doom to die low fallen at thy feet! this should offend the prayers, the daughters of the thunderer zeus, whose anger followeth unrelenting pride with vengeance, and the erinnys executes their wrath. my queen, i sinned, in folly sinned; yet from death save me--oh, make haste to save!" so prayed he; but her darkly-brooding heart was steeled, and her words mocked his agony: "thou comest unto me!--thou, who didst leave erewhile a wailing wife in a desolate home!- didst leave her for thy tyndarid darling! go, lie laughing in her arms for bliss! she is better than thy true wife--is, rumour saith, immortal! make haste to kneel to her but not to me! weep not to me, nor whimper pitiful prayers! oh that mine heart beat with a tigress' strength, that i might tear thy flesh and lap thy blood for all the pain thy folly brought on me! vile wretch! where now is love's queen glory-crowned? hath zeus forgotten his daughter's paramour? have them for thy deliverers! get thee hence far from my dwelling, curse of gods and men! yea, for through thee, thou miscreant, sorrow came on deathless gods, for sons and sons' sons slain. hence from my threshold!--to thine helen go! agonize day and night beside her bed: there whimper, pierced to the heart with cruel pangs, until she heal thee of thy grievous pain." so from her doors she drave that groaning man- ah fool! not knowing her own doom, whose weird was straightway after him to tread the path of death! so fate had spun her destiny-thread. then, as he stumbled down through ida's brakes, where doom on his death-path was leading him painfully halting, racked with heart-sick pain, hera beheld him, with rejoicing soul throned in the olympian palace-court of zeus. and seated at her side were handmaids four whom radiant-faced selene bare to the sun to be unwearying ministers in heaven, in form and office diverse each from each; for of these seasons one was summer's queen, and one of winter and his stormy star, of spring the third, of autumn-tide the fourth. so in four portions parted is man's year ruled by these queens in turn--but of all this be zeus himself the overseer in heaven. and of those issues now these spake with her which baleful fate in her all-ruining heart was shaping to the birth the new espousals of helen, fatal to deiphobus- the wrath of helenus, who hoped in vain for that fair bride, and how, when he had fled, wroth with the trojans, to the mountain-height, achaea's sons would seize him and would hale unto their ships--how, by his counselling strong tydeus' son should with odysseus scale the great wall, and should slay alcathous the temple-warder, and should bear away pallas the gracious, with her free consent, whose image was the sure defence of troy;- yea, for not even a god, how wroth soe'er, had power to lay the city of priam waste while that immortal shape stood warder there. no man had carven that celestial form, but cronos' son himself had cast it down from heaven to priam's gold-abounding burg. of these things with her handmaids did the queen of heaven hold converse, and of many such, but paris, while they talked, gave up the ghost on ida: never helen saw him more. loud wailed the nymphs around him; for they still remembered how their nursling wont to lisp his childish prattle, compassed with their smiles. and with them mourned the neatherds light of foot, sorrowful-hearted; moaned the mountain-glens. then unto travail-burdened priam's queen a herdman told the dread doom of her son. wildly her trembling heart leapt when she heard; with failing limbs she sank to earth and wailed: "dead! thou dead, o dear child! grief heaped on grief hast thou bequeathed me, grief eternal! best of all my sons, save hector alone, wast thou! while beats my heart, my grief shall weep for thee. the hand of heaven is in our sufferings: some fate devised our ruin--oh that i had lived not to endure it, but had died in days of wealthy peace! but now i see woes upon woes, and ever look to see worse things--my children slain, my city sacked and burned with fire by stony-hearted foes, daughters, sons' wives, all trojan women, haled into captivity with our little ones!" so wailed she; but the king heard naught thereof, but weeping ever sat by hector's grave, for most of all his sons he honoured him, his mightiest, the defender of his land. nothing of paris knew that pierced heart; but long and loud lamented helen; yet those wails were but for trojan ears; her soul with other thoughts was busy, as she cried: "husband, to me, to troy, and to thyself a bitter blow is this thy woeful death! in misery hast thou left me, and i look to see calamities more deadly yet. oh that the spirits of the storm had snatched me from the earth when first i fared with thee drawn by a baleful fate! it might not be; the gods have meted ruin to thee and me. with shuddering horror all men look on me, all hate me! place of refuge is there none for me; for if to the danaan host i fly, with torments will they greet me. if i stay, troy's sons and daughters here will compass me and rend me. earth shall cover not my corpse, but dogs and fowl of ravin shall devour. oh had fate slain me ere i saw these woes!" so cried she: but for him far less she mourned than for herself, remembering her own sin. yea, and troy's daughters but in semblance wailed for him: of other woes their hearts were full. some thought on parents, some on husbands slain, these on their sons, on honoured kinsmen those. one only heart was pierced with grief unfeigned, oenone. not with them of troy she wailed, but far away within that desolate home moaning she lay on her lost husband's bed. as when the copses on high mountains stand white-veiled with frozen snow, which o'er the glens the west-wind blasts have strown, but now the sun and east-wind melt it fast, and the long heights with water-courses stream, and down the glades slide, as they thaw, the heavy sheets, to swell the rushing waters of an ice-cold spring, so melted she in tears of anguished pain, and for her own, her husband, agonised, and cried to her heart with miserable moans: "woe for my wickedness! o hateful life! i loved mine hapless husband--dreamed with him to pace to eld's bright threshold hand in hand, and heart in heart! the gods ordained not so. oh had the black fates snatched me from the earth ere i from paris turned away in hate! my living love hath left me!--yet will i dare to die with him, for i loathe the light." so cried she, weeping, weeping piteously, remembering him whom death had swallowed up, wasting, as melteth wax before the flame yet secretly, being fearful lest her sire should mark it, or her handmaids till the night rose from broad ocean, flooding all the earth with darkness bringing men release from toil. then, while her father and her maidens slept, she slid the bolts back of the outer doors, and rushed forth like a storm-blast. fast she ran, as when a heifer 'mid the mountains speeds, her heart with passion stung, to meet her mate, and madly races on with flying feet, and fears not, in her frenzy of desire, the herdman, as her wild rush bears her on, so she but find her mate amid the woods; so down the long tracks flew oenone's feet; seeking the awful pyre, to leap thereon. no weariness she knew: as upon wings her feet flew faster ever, onward spurred by fell fate, and the cyprian queen. she feared no shaggy beast that met her in the dark who erst had feared them sorely--rugged rock and precipice of tangled mountain-slope, she trod them all unstumbling; torrent-beds she leapt. the white moon-goddess from on high looked on her, and remembered her own love, princely endymion, and she pitied her in that wild race, and, shining overhead in her full brightness, made the long tracks plain. through mountain-gorges so she won to where wailed other nymphs round alexander's corpse. roared up about him a great wall of fire; for from the mountains far and near had come shepherds, and heaped the death-bale broad and high for love's and sorrow's latest service done to one of old their comrade and their king. sore weeping stood they round. she raised no wail, the broken-hearted, when she saw him there, but, in her mantle muffling up her face, leapt on the pyre: loud wailed that multitude. there burned she, clasping paris. all the nymphs marvelled, beholding her beside her lord flung down, and heart to heart spake whispering: "verily evil-hearted paris was, who left a leal true wife, and took for bride a wanton, to himself and troy a curse. ah fool, who recked not of the broken heart of a most virtuous wife, who more than life loved him who turned from her and loved her not!" so in their hearts the nymphs spake: but they twain burned on the pyre, never to hail again the dayspring. wondering herdmen stood around, as once the thronging argives marvelling saw evadne clasping mid the fire her lord capaneus, slain by zeus' dread thunderbolt. but when the blast of the devouring fire had made twain one, oenone and paris, now one little heap of ashes, then with wine quenched they the embers, and they laid their bones in a wide golden vase, and round them piled the earth-mound; and they set two pillars there that each from other ever turn away; for the old jealousy in the marble lives. book xi how the sons of troy for the last time fought from her walls and her towers. troy's daughters mourned within her walls; might none go forth to paris' tomb, for far away from high-built troy it lay. but the young men without the city toiled unceasingly in fight wherein from slaughter rest was none, though dead was paris; for the achaeans pressed hard on the trojans even unto troy. yet these charged forth--they could not choose but so, for strife and deadly enyo in their midst stalked, like the fell erinyes to behold, breathing destruction from their lips like flame. beside them raged the ruthless-hearted fates fiercely: here panic-fear and ares there stirred up the hosts: hard after followed dread with slaughter's gore besprent, that in one host might men see, and be strong, in the other fear; and all around were javelins, spears, and darts murder-athirst from this side, that side, showered. aye, as they hurled together, armour clashed, as foe with foe grappled in murderous fight. there neoptolemus slew laodamas, whom lycia nurtured by fair xanthus' stream, the stream revealed to men by leto, bride of thunderer zeus, when lycia's stony plain was by her hands uptorn mid agonies of travail-throes wherein she brought to light mid bitter pangs those babes of birth divine. nirus upon him laid he dead; the spear crashed through his jaw, and clear through mouth and tongue passed: on the lance's irresistible point shrieking was he impaled: flooded with gore his mouth was as he cried. the cruel shaft, sped on by that strong hand, dashed him to earth in throes of death. evenor next he smote above the flank, and onward drave the spear into his liver: swiftly anguished death came upon him. iphition next he slew: he quelled hippomedon, hippasus' bold son, whom ocyone the nymph had borne beside sangarius' river-flow. ne'er welcomed she her son's returning face, but ruthless fate with anguish thrilled her of her child bereaved. bremon aeneas slew, and andromachus, of cnossus this, of hallowed lyctus that: on one spot both from their swift chariots fell; this gasped for breath, his throat by the long spear transfixed; that other, by a massy stone, sped from a strong hand, on the temple struck, breathed out his life, and black doom shrouded him. the startled steeds, bereft of charioteers, fleeing, mid all those corpses were confused, and princely aeneas' henchmen seized on them with hearts exulting in the goodly spoil. there philoctetes with his deadly shaft smote peirasus in act to flee the war: the tendons twain behind the knee it snapped, and palsied all his speed. a danaan marked, and leapt on that maimed man with sweep of sword shearing his neck through. on the breast of earth the headless body fell: the head far flung went rolling with lips parted as to shriek; and swiftly fleeted thence the homeless soul. polydamas struck down eurymachus and cleon with his spear. from syme came with nireus' following these: cunning were both in craft of fisher-folk to east the hook baited with guile, to drop into the sea the net, from the boat's prow with deftest hands swiftly and straight to plunge the three-forked spear. but not from bane their sea-craft saved them now. eurypylus battle-staunch laid hellus low, whom cleito bare beside gygaea's mere, cleito the fair-cheeked. face-down in the dust outstretched he lay: shorn by the cruel sword from his strong shoulder fell the arm that held his long spear. still its muscles twitched, as though fain to uplift the lance for fight in vain; for the man's will no longer stirred therein, but aimlessly it quivered, even as leaps the severed tail of a snake malignant-eyed, which cannot chase the man who dealt the wound; so the right hand of that strong-hearted man with impotent grip still clutched the spear for fight. aenus and polydorus odysseus slew, ceteians both; this perished by his spear, that by his sword death-dealing. sthenelus smote godlike abas with a javelin-cast: on through his throat and shuddering nape it rushed: stopped were his heart-beats, all his limbs collapsed. tydeides slew laodocus; melius fell by agamemnon's hand; deiphobus smote alcimus and dryas: hippasus, how war-renowned soe'er, agenor slew far from peneius' river. crushed by fate, love's nursing-debt to parents ne'er he paid. lamus and stalwart lyncus thoas smote, and meriones slew lycon; menelaus laid low archelochus. upon his home looked down corycia's ridge, and that great rock of the wise fire-god, marvellous in men's eyes; for thereon, nightlong, daylong, unto him fire blazes, tireless and unquenchable. laden with fruit around it palm-trees grow, while mid the stones fire plays about their roots. gods' work is this, a wonder to all time. by teucer princely hippomedon's son was slain, menoetes: as the archer drew on him, rushed he to smite him; but already hand and eye, and bow-craft keen were aiming straight on the arching horn the shaft. swiftly released it leapt on the hapless man, while sang the string. stricken full front he heaved one choking gasp, because the fates on the arrow riding flew right to his heart, the throne of thought and strength for men, whence short the path is unto death. far from his brawny hand euryalus hurled a massy stone, and shook the ranks of troy. as when in anger against long-screaming cranes a watcher of the field leaps from the ground, in swift hand whirling round his head the sling, and speeds the stone against them, scattering before its hum their ranks far down the wind outspread, and they in huddled panic dart with wild cries this way and that, who theretofore swept on in ordered lines; so shrank the foe to right and left from that dread bolt of doom hurled of euryalus. not in vain it flew fate-winged; it shattered meles' helm and head down to the eyes: so met him ghastly death. still man slew man, while earth groaned all around, as when a mighty wind scourges the land, and this way, that way, under its shrieking blasts through the wide woodland bow from the roots and fall great trees, while all the earth is thundering round; so fell they in the dust, so clanged their arms, so crashed the earth around. still hot were they for fell fight, still dealt bane unto their foes. nigh to aeneas then apollo came, and to eurymachus, brave antenor's son; for these against the mighty achaeans fought shoulder to shoulder, as two strong oxen, matched in age, yoked to a wain; nor ever ceased from battling. suddenly spake the god to these in polymestor's shape, the seer his mother by xanthus bare to the far-darter's priest: "eurymachus, aeneas, seed of gods, 'twere shame if ye should flinch from argives! nay, not ares' self should joy to encounter you, an ye would face him in the fray; for fate hath spun long destiny-threads for thee and thee." he spake, and vanished, mingling with the winds. but their hearts felt the god's power: suddenly flooded with boundless courage were their frames, maddened their spirits: on the foe they leapt like furious wasps that in a storm of rage swoop upon bees, beholding them draw nigh in latter-summer to the mellowing grapes, or from their hives forth-streaming thitherward; so fiercely leapt these sons of troy to meet war-hardened greeks. the black fates joyed to see their conflict, ares laughed, enyo yelled horribly. loud their glancing armour clanged: they stabbed, they hewed down hosts of foes untold with irresistible hands. the reeling ranks fell, as the swath falls in the harvest heat, when the swift-handed reapers, ranged adown the field's long furrows, ply the sickle fast; so fell before their hands ranks numberless: with corpses earth was heaped, with torrent blood was streaming: strife incarnate o'er the slain gloated. they paused not from the awful toil, but aye pressed on, like lions chasing sheep. then turned the greeks to craven flight; all feet unmaimed as yet fled from the murderous war. aye followed on anchises' warrior son, smiting foes' backs with his avenging spear: on pressed eurymachus, while glowed the heart of healer apollo watching from on high. as when a man descries a herd of swine draw nigh his ripening corn, before the sheaves fall neath the reapers' hands, and harketh on against them his strong dogs; as down they rush, the spoilers see and quake; no more think they of feasting, but they turn in panic flight huddling: fast follow at their heels the hounds biting remorselessly, while long and loud squealing they flee, and joys the harvest's lord; so rejoiced phoebus, seeing from the war fleeing the mighty argive host. no more cared they for deeds of men, but cried to the gods for swift feet, in whose feet alone was hope to escape eurymachus' and aeneas' spears which lightened ever all along their rear. but one greek, over-trusting in his strength, or by fate's malice to destruction drawn, curbed in mid flight from war's turmoil his steed, and strove to wheel him round into the fight to face the foe. but fierce agenor thrust ere he was ware; his two-edged partizan shore though his shoulder; yea, the very bone of that gashed arm was cloven by the steel; the tendons parted, the veins spirted blood: down by his horse's neck he slid, and straight fell mid the dead. but still the strong arm hung with rigid fingers locked about the reins like a live man's. weird marvel was that sight, the bloody hand down hanging from the rein, scaring the foes yet more, by ares' will. thou hadst said, "it craveth still for horsemanship!" so bare the steed that sign of his slain lord. aeneas hurled his spear; it found the waist of anthalus' son, it pierced the navel through, dragging the inwards with it. stretched in dust, clutching with agonized hands at steel and bowels, horribly shrieked he, tore with his teeth the earth groaning, till life and pain forsook the man. scared were the argives, like a startled team of oxen 'neath the yoke-band straining hard, what time the sharp-fanged gadfly stings their flanks athirst for blood, and they in frenzy of pain start from the furrow, and sore disquieted the hind is for marred work, and for their sake, lest haply the recoiling ploughshare light on their leg-sinews, and hamstring his team; so were the danaans scared, so feared for them achilles' son, and shouted thunder-voiced: "cravens, why flee, like starlings nothing-worth scared by a hawk that swoopeth down on them? come, play the men! better it is by far to die in war than choose unmanly flight!" then to his cry they hearkened, and straightway were of good heart. mighty of mood he leapt upon the trojans, swinging in his hand the lightening spear: swept after him his host of myrmidons with hearts swelled with the strength resistless of a tempest; so the greeks won breathing-space. with fury like his sire's one after other slew he of the foe. recoiling back they fell, as waves on-rolled by boreas foaming from the deep to the strand, are caught by another blast that whirlwind-like leaps, in a short lull of the north-wind, forth, smites them full-face, and hurls them back from the shore; so them that erewhile on the danaans pressed godlike achilles' son now backward hurled a short space only brave aeneas' spirit let him not flee, but made him bide the fight fearlessly; and enyo level held the battle's scales. yet not against aeneas achilles' son upraised his father's spear, but elsewhither turned his fury: in reverence for aphrodite, thetis splendour-veiled turned from that man her mighty son's son's rage and giant strength on other hosts of foes. there slew he many a trojan, while the ranks of greeks were ravaged by aeneas' hand. over the battle-slain the vultures joyed, hungry to rend the hearts and flesh of men. but all the nymphs were wailing, daughters born of xanthus and fair-flowing simois. so toiled they in the fight: the wind's breath rolled huge dust-clouds up; the illimitable air was one thick haze, as with a sudden mist: earth disappeared, faces were blotted out; yet still they fought on; each man, whomso he met, ruthlessly slew him, though his very friend it might be--in that turmoil none could tell who met him, friend or foe: blind wilderment enmeshed the hosts. and now had all been blent confusedly, had perished miserably, all falling by their fellows' murderous swords, had not cronion from olympus helped their sore strait, and he swept aside the dust of conflict, and he calmed those deadly winds. yet still the hosts fought on; but lighter far their battle-travail was, who now discerned whom in the fray to smite, and whom to spare. the danaans now forced back the trojan host, the trojans now the danaan ranks, as swayed the dread fight to and fro. from either side darts leapt and fell like snowflakes. far away shepherds from ida trembling watched the strife, and to the heaven-abiders lifted hands of supplication, praying that all their foes might perish, and that from the woeful war troy might win breathing-space, and see at last the day of freedom: the gods hearkened not. far other issues fate devised, nor recked of zeus the almighty, nor of none beside of the immortals. her unpitying soul cares naught what doom she spinneth with her thread inevitable, be it for men new-born or cities: all things wax and wane through her. so by her hest the battle-travail swelled 'twixt trojan chariot-lords and greeks that closed in grapple of fight--they dealt each other death ruthlessly: no man quailed, but stout of heart fought on; for courage thrusts men into war. but now when many had perished in the dust, then did the argive might prevail at last by stern decree of pallas; for she came into the heart of battle, hot to help the greeks to lay waste priam's glorious town. then aphrodite, who lamented sore for paris slain, snatched suddenly away renowned aeneas from the deadly strife, and poured thick mist about him. fate forbade that hero any longer to contend with argive foes without the high-built wall. yea, and his mother sorely feared the wrath of pallas passing-wise, whose heart was keen to help the danaans now--yea, feared lest she might slay him even beyond his doom, who spared not ares' self, a mightier far than he. no more the trojans now abode the edge of fight, but all disheartened backward drew. for like fierce ravening beasts the argive men leapt on them, mad with murderous rage of war. choked with their slain the river-channels were, heaped was the field; in red dust thousands fell, horses and men; and chariots overturned were strewn there: blood was streaming all around like rain, for deadly doom raged through the fray. men stabbed with swords, and men impaled on spears lay all confusedly, like scattered beams, when on the strand of the low-thundering sea men from great girders of a tall ship's hull strike out the bolts and clamps, and scatter wide long planks and timbers, till the whole broad beach is paved with beams o'erplashed by darkling surge; so lay in dust and blood those slaughtered men, rapture and pain of fight forgotten now. a remnant from the pitiless strife escaped entered their stronghold, scarce eluding doom. children and wives from their limbs blood-besprent received their arms bedabbled with foul gore; and baths for all were heated. leeches ran through all the town in hot haste to the homes of wounded men to minister to their hurts. here wives and daughters moaned round men come back from war, there cried on many who came not here, men stung to the soul by bitter pangs groaned upon beds of pain; there, toil-spent men turned them to supper. whinnied the swift steeds and neighed o'er mangers heaped. by tent and ship far off the greeks did even as they of troy. when o'er the streams of ocean dawn drove up her splendour-flashing steeds, and earth's tribes waked, then the strong argives' battle-eager sons marched against priam's city lofty-towered, save some that mid the tents by wounded men tarried, lest haply raiders on the ships might fall, to help the trojans, while these fought the foe from towers, while rose the flame of war. before the scaean gate fought capaneus' son and godlike diomedes. high above deiphobus battle-staunch and strong polites with many comrades, stoutly held them back with arrows and huge stones. clanged evermore the smitten helms and shields that fenced strong men from bitter doom and unrelenting fate, before the gate idaean achilles' son set in array the fight: around him toiled his host of battle-cunning myrmidons. helenus and agenor gallant-souled, down-hailing darts, against them held the wall, aye cheering on their men. no spurring these needed to fight hard for their country's walls. odysseus and eurypylus made assault unresting on the gates that fated the plain and looked to the swift ships. from wall and tower with huge stones brave aeneas made defence. in battle-stress by simons teucer toiled. each endured hardness at his several post. then round war-wise odysseus men renowned, by that great captain's battle cunning ruled, locked shields together, raised them o'er their heads ranged side by side, that many were made one. thou hadst said it was a great hall's solid roof, which no tempestuous wind-blast misty wet can pierce, nor rain from heaven in torrents poured. so fenced about with shields firm stood the ranks of argives, one in heart for fight, and one in that array close-welded. from above the trojans hailed great stones; as from a rock rolled these to earth. full many a spear and dart and galling javelin in the pierced shields stood; some in the earth stood; many glanced away with bent points falling baffled from the shields battered on all sides. but that clangorous din none feared; none flinched; as pattering drops of rain they heard it. up to the rampart's foot they marched: none hung back; shoulder to shoulder on they came like a long lurid cloud that o'er the sky cronion trails in wild midwinter-tide. on that battalion moved, with thunderous tread of tramping feet: a little above the earth rose up the dust; the breeze swept it aside drifting away behind the men. there went a sound confused of voices with them, like the hum of bees that murmur round the hives, and multitudinous panting, and the gasp of men hard-breathing. exceeding glad the sons of atreus, glorying in them, saw that wall unwavering of doom-denouncing war. in one dense mass against the city-gate they hurled themselves, with twibills strove to breach the long walls, from their hinges to upheave the gates, and dash to earth. the pulse of hope beat strong in those proud hearts. but naught availed targes nor levers, when aeneas' might swung in his hands a stone like a thunderbolt, hurled it with uttermost strength, and dashed to death all whom it caught beneath the shields, as when a mountain's precipice-edge breaks off and falls on pasturing goats, and all that graze thereby tremble; so were those danaans dazed with dread. stone after stone he hurled on the reeling ranks, as when amid the hills olympian zeus with thunderbolts and blazing lightnings rends from their foundations crags that rim a peak, and this way, that way, sends them hurtling down; then the flocks tremble, scattering in wild flight; so quailed the achaeans, when aeneas dashed to sudden fragments all that battle-wall moulded of adamant shields, because a god gave more than human strength. no man of them could lift his eyes unto him in that fight, because the arms that lapped his sinewy limbs flashed like the heaven-born lightnings. at his side stood, all his form divine in darkness cloaked, ares the terrible, and winged the flight of what bare down to the argives doom or dread. he fought as when olympian zeus himself from heaven in wrath smote down the insolent bands of giants grim, and shook the boundless earth, and sea, and ocean, and the heavens, when reeled the knees of atlas neath the rush of zeus. so crumbled down beneath aeneas' bolts the argive squadrons. all along the wall wroth with the foeman rushed he: from his hands whatso he lighted on in onslaught-haste hurled he; for many a battle-staying bolt lay on the walls of those staunch dardan men. with such aeneas stormed in giant might, with such drave back the thronging foes. all round the trojans played the men. sore travail and pain had all folk round the city: many fell, argives and trojans. rang the battle-cries: aeneas cheered the war-fain trojans on to fight for home, for wives, and their own souls with a good heart: war-staunch achilles' son shouted: "flinch not, ye argives, from the walls, till troy be taken, and sink down in flames!" and round these twain an awful measureless roar rang, daylong as they fought: no breathing-space came from the war to them whose spirits burned, these, to smite ilium, those, to guard her safe. but from aeneas valiant-souled afar fought aias, speeding midst the men of troy winged death; for now his arrow straight through air flew, now his deadly dart, and smote them down one after one: yet others cowered away before his peerless prowess, and abode the fight no more, but fenceless left the wall then one, of all the locrians mightiest, fierce-souled alcimedon, trusting in his prince and his own might and valour of his youth, all battle-eager on a ladder set swift feet, to pave for friends a death-strewn path into the town. above his head he raised the screening shield; up that dread path he went hardening his heart from trembling, in his hand now shook the threatening spear, now upward climbed fast high in air he trod the perilous way. now on the trojans had disaster come, but, even as above the parapet his head rose, and for the first time and the last from her high rampart he looked down on troy, aeneas, who had marked, albeit afar, that bold assault, rushed on him, dashed on his head so huge a stone that the hero's mighty strength shattered the ladder. down from on high he rushed as arrow from the string: death followed him as whirling round he fell; with air was blent his lost life, ere he crashed to the stony ground. strong spear, broad shield, in mid fall flew from his hands, and from his head the helm: his corslet came alone with him to earth. the locrian men groaned, seeing their champion quelled by evil doom; for all his hair and all the stones around were brain-bespattered: all his bones were crushed, and his once active limbs besprent with gore. then godlike poeas' war-triumphant son marked where aeneas stormed along the wall in lion-like strength, and straightway shot a shaft aimed at that glorious hero, neither missed the man: yet not through his unyielding targe to the fair flesh it won, being turned aside by cytherea and the shield, but grazed the buckler lightly: yet not all in vain fell earthward, but between the targe and helm smote medon: from the tower he fell, as falls a wild goat from a crag, the hunter's shaft deep in its heart: so nerveless-flung he fell, and fled away from him the precious life. wroth for his friend, a stone aeneas hurled, and philoctetes' stalwart comrade slew, toxaechmes; for he shattered his head and crushed helmet and skull-bones; and his noble heart was stilled. loud shouted princely poeas' son: "aeneas, thou, forsooth, dost deem thyself a mighty champion, fighting from a tower whence craven women war with foes! now if thou be a man, come forth without the wall in battle-harness, and so learn to know in spear-craft and in bow-craft poeas' son!" so cried he; but anchises' valiant seed, how fain soe'er, naught answered, for the stress of desperate conflict round that wall and burg ceaselessly raging: pause from fight was none: yea, for long time no respite had there been for the war-weary from that endless toil. book xii how the wooden horse was fashioned, and brought into troy by her people. when round the walls of troy the danaan host had borne much travail, and yet the end was not, by calchas then assembled were the chiefs; for his heart was instructed by the hests of phoebus, by the flights of birds, the stars, and all the signs that speak to men the will of heaven; so he to that assembly cried: "no longer toil in leaguer of yon walls; some other counsel let your hearts devise, some stratagem to help the host and us. for here but yesterday i saw a sign: a falcon chased a dove, and she, hard pressed, entered a cleft of the rock; and chafing he tarried long time hard by that rift, but she abode in covert. nursing still his wrath, he hid him in a bush. forth darted she, in folly deeming him afar: he swooped, and to the hapless dove dealt wretched death. therefore by force essay we not to smite troy, but let cunning stratagem avail." he spake; but no man's wit might find a way to escape their grievous travail, as they sought to find a remedy, till laertes' son discerned it of his wisdom, and he spake: "friend, in high honour held of the heavenly ones, if doomed it be indeed that priam's burg by guile must fall before the war-worn greeks, a great horse let us fashion, in the which our mightiest shall take ambush. let the host burn all their tents, and sail from hence away to tenedos; so the trojans, from their towers gazing, shall stream forth fearless to the plain. let some brave man, unknown of any in troy, with a stout heart abide without the horse, crouching beneath its shadow, who shall say: "`achaea's lords of might, exceeding fain safe to win home, made this their offering for safe return, an image to appease the wrath of pallas for her image stolen from troy.' and to this story shall he stand, how long soe'er they question him, until, though never so relentless, they believe, and drag it, their own doom, within the town. then shall war's signal unto us be given- to them at sea, by sudden flash of torch, to the ambush, by the cry, `come forth the horse!' when unsuspecting sleep the sons of troy." he spake, and all men praised him: most of all extolled him calchas, that such marvellous guile he put into the achaeans' hearts, to be for them assurance of triumph, but for troy ruin; and to those battle-lords he cried: "let your hearts seek none other stratagem, friends; to war-strong odysseus' rede give ear. his wise thought shall not miss accomplishment. yea, our desire even now the gods fulfil. hark! for new tokens come from the unseen! lo, there on high crash through the firmament zeus' thunder and lightning! see, where birds to right dart past, and scream with long-resounding cry! go to, no more in endless leaguer of troy linger we. hard necessity fills the foe with desperate courage that makes cowards brave; for then are men most dangerous, when they stake their lives in utter recklessness of death, as battle now the aweless sons of troy all round their burg, mad with the lust of fight." but cried achilles' battle-eager son: "calchas, brave men meet face to face their foes! who skulk behind their walls, and fight from towers, are nidderings, hearts palsied with base fear. hence with all thought of wile and stratagem! the great war-travail of the spear beseems true heroes. best in battle are the brave." but answer made to him laertes' seed: "bold-hearted child of aweless aeacus' son, this as beseems a hero princely and brave, dauntlessly trusting in thy strength, thou say'st. yet thine invincible sire's unquailing might availed not to smite priam's wealthy burg, nor we, for all our travail. nay, with speed, as counselleth calchas, go we to the ships, and fashion we the horse by epeius' hands, who in the woodwright's craft is chiefest far of argives, for athena taught his lore." then all their mightiest men gave ear to him save twain, fierce-hearted neoptolemus and philoctetes mighty-souled; for these still were insatiate for the bitter fray, still longed for turmoil of the fight. they bade their own folk bear against that giant wall what things soe'er for war's assaults avail, in hope to lay that stately fortress low, seeing heaven's decrees had brought them both to war. yea, they had haply accomplished all their will, but from the sky zeus showed his wrath; he shook the earth beneath their feet, and all the air shuddered, as down before those heroes twain he hurled his thunderbolt: wide echoes crashed through all dardania. unto fear straightway turned were their bold hearts: they forgat their might, and calchas' counsels grudgingly obeyed. so with the argives came they to the ships in reverence for the seer who spake from zeus or phoebus, and they obeyed him utterly. what time round splendour-kindled heavens the stars from east to west far-flashing wheel, and when man doth forget his toil, in that still hour athena left the high mansions of the blest, clothed her in shape of a maiden tender-fleshed, and came to ships and host. over the head of brave epeius stood she in his dream, and bade him build a horse of tree: herself would labour in his labour, and herself stand by his side, to the work enkindling him. hearing the goddess' word, with a glad laugh leapt he from careless sleep: right well he knew the immortal one celestial. now his heart could hold no thought beside; his mind was fixed upon the wondrous work, and through his soul marched marshalled each device of craftsmanship. when rose the dawn, and thrust back kindly night to erebus, and through the firmament streamed glad glory, then epeius told his dream to eager argives--all he saw and heard; and hearkening joyed they with exceeding joy. straightway to tall-tressed ida's leafy glades the sons of atreus sent swift messengers. these laid the axe unto the forest-pines, and hewed the great trees: to their smiting rang the echoing glens. on those far-stretching hills all bare of undergrowth the high peaks rose: open their glades were, not, as in time past, haunted of beasts: there dry the tree-trunks rose wooing the winds. even these the achaeans hewed with axes, and in haste they bare them down from those shagged mountain heights to hellespont's shores. strained with a strenuous spirit at the work young men and mules; and all the people toiled each at his task obeying epeius's hest. for with the keen steel some were hewing beams, some measuring planks, and some with axes lopped branches away from trunks as yet unsawn: each wrought his several work. epeius first fashioned the feet of that great horse of wood: the belly next he shaped, and over this moulded the back and the great loins behind, the throat in front, and ridged the towering neck with waving mane: the crested head he wrought, the streaming tail, the ears, the lucent eyes- all that of lifelike horses have. so grew like a live thing that more than human work, for a god gave to a man that wondrous craft. and in three days, by pallas's decree, finished was all. rejoiced thereat the host of argos, marvelling how the wood expressed mettle, and speed of foot--yea, seemed to neigh. godlike epeius then uplifted hands to pallas, and for that huge horse he prayed: "hear, great-souled goddess: bless thine horse and me!" he spake: athena rich in counsel heard, and made his work a marvel to all men which saw, or heard its fame in days to be. but while the danaans o'er epeius' work joyed, and their routed foes within the walls tarried, and shrank from death and pitiless doom, then, when imperious zeus far from the gods had gone to ocean's streams and tethys' caves, strife rose between the immortals: heart with heart was set at variance. riding on the blasts of winds, from heaven to earth they swooped: the air crashed round them. lighting down by xanthus' stream arrayed they stood against each other, these for the achaeans, for the trojans those; and all their souls were thrilled with lust of war: there gathered too the lords of the wide sea. these in their wrath were eager to destroy the horse of guile and all the ships, and those fair ilium. but all-contriving fate held them therefrom, and turned their hearts to strife against each other. ares to the fray rose first, and on athena rushed. thereat fell each on other: clashed around their limbs the golden arms celestial as they charged. round them the wide sea thundered, the dark earth quaked 'neath immortal feet. rang from them all far-pealing battle-shouts; that awful cry rolled up to the broad-arching heaven, and down even to hades' fathomless abyss: trembled the titans there in depths of gloom. ida's long ridges sighed, sobbed clamorous streams of ever-flowing rivers, groaned ravines far-furrowed, argive ships, and priam's towers. yet men feared not, for naught they knew of all that strife, by heaven's decree. then her high peaks the gods' hands wrenched from ida's crest, and hurled against each other: but like crumbling sands shivered they fell round those invincible limbs, shattered to small dust. but the mind of zeus, at the utmost verge of earth, was ware of all: straight left he ocean's stream, and to wide heaven ascended, charioted upon the winds, the east, the north, the west-wind, and the south: for iris rainbow-plumed led 'neath the yoke of his eternal ear that stormy team, the ear which time the immortal framed for him of adamant with never-wearying hands. so came he to olympus' giant ridge. his wrath shook all the firmament, as crashed from east to west his thunders; lightnings gleamed, as thick and fast his thunderbolts poured to earth, and flamed the limitless welkin. terror fell upon the hearts of those immortals: quaked the limbs of all--ay, deathless though they were! then themis, trembling for them, swift as thought leapt down through clouds, and came with speed to them- for in the strife she only had no part and stood between the fighters, and she cried: "forbear the conflict! o, when zeus is wroth, it ill beseems that everlasting gods should fight for men's sake, creatures of a day: else shall ye be all suddenly destroyed; for zeus will tear up all the hills, and hurl upon you: sons nor daughters will he spare, but bury 'neath one ruin of shattered earth all. no escape shall ye find thence to light, in horror of darkness prisoned evermore." dreading zeus' menace gave they heed to her, from strife refrained, and cast away their wrath, and were made one in peace and amity. some heavenward soared, some plunged into the sea, on earth stayed some. amid the achaean host spake in his subtlety laertes' son: "o valorous-hearted lords of the argive host, now prove in time of need what men ye be, how passing-strong, how flawless-brave! the hour is this for desperate emprise: now, with hearts heroic, enter ye yon carven horse, so to attain the goal of this stern war. for better it is by stratagem and craft now to destroy this city, for whose sake hither we came, and still are suffering many afflictions far from our own land. come then, and let your hearts be stout and strong for he who in stress of fight hath turned to bay and snatched a desperate courage from despair, oft, though the weaker, slays a mightier foe. for courage, which is all men's glory, makes the heart great. come then, set the ambush, ye which be our mightiest, and the rest shall go to tenedos' hallowed burg, and there abide until our foes have haled within their walls us with the horse, as deeming that they bring a gift unto tritonis. some brave man, one whom the trojans know not, yet we lack, to harden his heart as steel, and to abide near by the horse. let that man bear in mind heedfully whatsoe'er i said erewhile. and let none other thought be in his heart, lest to the foe our counsel be revealed." then, when all others feared, a man far-famed made answer, sinon, marked of destiny to bring the great work to accomplishment. therefore with worship all men looked on him, the loyal of heart, as in the midst he spake: "odysseus, and all ye achaean chiefs, this work for which ye crave will i perform- yea, though they torture me, though into fire living they thrust me; for mine heart is fixed not to escape, but die by hands of foes, except i crown with glory your desire." stoutly he spake: right glad the argives were; and one said: "how the gods have given to-day high courage to this man! he hath not been heretofore valiant. heaven is kindling him to be the trojans' ruin, but to us salvation. now full soon, i trow, we reach the goal of grievous war, so long unseen." so a voice murmured mid the achaean host. then, to stir up the heroes, nestor cried: "now is the time, dear sons, for courage and strength: now do the gods bring nigh the end of toil: now give they victory to our longing hands. come, bravely enter ye this cavernous horse. for high renown attendeth courage high. oh that my limbs were mighty as of old, when aeson's son for heroes called, to man swift argo, when of the heroes foremost i would gladly have entered her, but pelias the king withheld me in my own despite. ah me, but now the burden of years--o nay, as i were young, into the horse will i fearlessly! glory and strength shall courage give." answered him golden-haired achilles' son: "nestor, in wisdom art thou chief of men; but cruel age hath caught thee in his grip: no more thy strength may match thy gallant will; therefore thou needs must unto tenedos' strand. we will take ambush, we the youths, of strife insatiate still, as thou, old sire, dost bid." then strode the son of neleus to his side, and kissed his hands, and kissed the head of him who offered thus himself the first of all to enter that huge horse, being peril-fain, and bade the elder of days abide without. then to the battle-eager spake the old: "thy father's son art thou! achilles' might and chivalrous speech be here! o, sure am i that by thine hands the argives shall destroy the stately city of priam. at the last, after long travail, glory shall be ours, ours, after toil and tribulation of war; the gods have laid tribulation at men's feet but happiness far off, and toil between: therefore for men full easy is the path to ruin, and the path to fame is hard, where feet must press right on through painful toil." he spake: replied achilles' glorious son: "old sire, as thine heart trusteth, be it vouchsafed in answer to our prayers; for best were this: but if the gods will otherwise, be it so. ay, gladlier would i fall with glory in fight than flee from troy, bowed 'neath a load of shame." then in his sire's celestial arms he arrayed his shoulders; and with speed in harness sheathed stood the most mighty heroes, in whose healers was dauntless spirit. tell, ye queens of song, now man by man the names of all that passed into the cavernous horse; for ye inspired my soul with all my song, long ere my cheek grew dark with manhood's beard, what time i fed my goodly sheep on smyrna's pasture-lea, from hermus thrice so far as one may hear a man's shout, by the fane of artemis, in the deliverer's grove, upon a hill neither exceeding low nor passing high. into that cavernous horse achilles' son first entered, strong menelaus followed then, odysseus, sthenelus, godlike diomede, philoctetes and menestheus, anticlus, thoas and polypoetes golden-haired, aias, eurypylus, godlike thrasymede, idomeneus, meriones, far-famous twain, podaleirius of spears, eurymachus, teucer the godlike, fierce ialmenus, thalpius, antimachus, leonteus staunch, eumelus, and euryalus fair as a god, amphimachus, demophoon, agapenor, akamas, meges stalwart phyleus' son- yea, more, even all their chiefest, entered in, so many as that carven horse could hold. godlike epeius last of all passed in, the fashioner of the horse; in his breast lay the secret of the opening of its doors and of their closing: therefore last of all he entered, and he drew the ladders up whereby they clomb: then made he all secure, and set himself beside the bolt. so all in silence sat 'twixt victory and death. but the rest fired the tents, wherein erewhile they slept, and sailed the wide sea in their ships. two mighty-hearted captains ordered these, nestor and agamemnon lord of spears. fain had they also entered that great horse, but all the host withheld them, bidding stay with them a-shipboard, ordering their array: for men far better work the works of war when their kings oversee them; therefore these abode without, albeit mighty men. so came they swiftly unto tenedos' shore, and dropped the anchor-stones, then leapt in haste forth of the ships, and silent waited there keen-watching till the signal-torch should flash. but nigh the foe were they in the horse, and now looked they for death, and now to smite the town; and on their hopes and fears uprose the dawn. then marked the trojans upon hellespont's strand the smoke upleaping yet through air: no more saw they the ships which brought to them from greece destruction dire. with joy to the shore they ran, but armed them first, for fear still haunted them then marked they that fair-carven horse, and stood marvelling round, for a mighty work was there. a hapless-seeming man thereby they spied, sinon; and this one, that one questioned him touching the danaans, as in a great ring they compassed him, and with unangry words first questioned, then with terrible threatenings. then tortured they that man of guileful soul long time unceasing. firm as a rock abode the unquivering limbs, the unconquerable will. his ears, his nose, at last they shore away in every wise tormenting him, until he should declare the truth, whither were gone the danaans in their ships, what thing the horse concealed within it. he had armed his mind with resolution, and of outrage foul recked not; his soul endured their cruel stripes, yea, and the bitter torment of the fire; for strong endurance into him hera breathed; and still he told them the same guileful tale: "the argives in their ships flee oversea weary of tribulation of endless war. this horse by calchas' counsel fashioned they for wise athena, to propitiate her stern wrath for that guardian image stol'n from troy. and by odysseus' prompting i was marked for slaughter, to be sacrificed to the sea-powers, beside the moaning waves, to win them safe return. but their intent i marked; and ere they spilt the drops of wine, and sprinkled hallowed meal upon mine head, swiftly i fled, and, by the help of heaven, i flung me down, clasping the horse's feet; and they, sore loth, perforce must leave me there dreading great zeus's daughter mighty-souled." in subtlety so he spake, his soul untamed by pain; for a brave man's part is to endure to the uttermost. and of the trojans some believed him, others for a wily knave held him, of whose mind was laocoon. wisely he spake: "a deadly fraud is this," he said, "devised by the achaean chiefs!" and cried to all straightway to burn the horse, and know if aught within its timbers lurked. yea, and they had obeyed him, and had 'scaped destruction; but athena, fiercely wroth with him, the trojans, and their city, shook earth's deep foundations 'neath laocoon's feet. straight terror fell on him, and trembling bowed the knees of the presumptuous: round his head horror of darkness poured; a sharp pang thrilled his eyelids; swam his eyes beneath his brows; his eyeballs, stabbed with bitter anguish, throbbed even from the roots, and rolled in frenzy of pain. clear through his brain the bitter torment pierced even to the filmy inner veil thereof; now bloodshot were his eyes, now ghastly green; anon with rheum they ran, as pours a stream down from a rugged crag, with thawing snow made turbid. as a man distraught he seemed: all things he saw showed double, and he groaned fearfully; yet he ceased not to exhort the men of troy, and recked not of his pain. then did the goddess strike him utterly blind. stared his fixed eyeballs white from pits of blood; and all folk groaned for pity of their friend, and dread of the prey-giver, lest he had sinned in folly against her, and his mind was thus warped to destruction yea, lest on themselves like judgment should be visited, to avenge the outrage done to hapless sinon's flesh, whereby they hoped to wring the truth from him. so led they him in friendly wise to troy, pitying him at the last. then gathered all, and o'er that huge horse hastily cast a rope, and made it fast above; for under its feet smooth wooden rollers had epeius laid, that, dragged by trojan hands, it might glide on into their fortress. one and all they haled with multitudinous tug and strain, as when down to the sea young men sore-labouring drag a ship; hard-crushed the stubborn rollers groan, as, sliding with weird shrieks, the keel descends into the sea-surge; so that host with toil dragged up unto their city their own doom, epeius' work. with great festoons of flowers they hung it, and their own heads did they wreathe, while answering each other pealed the flutes. grimly enyo laughed, seeing the end of that dire war; hera rejoiced on high; glad was athena. when the trojans came unto their city, brake they down the walls, their city's coronal, that the horse of death might be led in. troy's daughters greeted it with shouts of salutation; marvelling all gazed at the mighty work where lurked their doom. but still laocoon ceased not to exhort his countrymen to burn the horse with fire: they would not hear, for dread of the gods' wrath. but then a yet more hideous punishment athena visited on his hapless sons. a cave there was, beneath a rugged cliff exceeding high, unscalable, wherein dwelt fearful monsters of the deadly brood of typhon, in the rock-clefts of the isle calydna that looks troyward from the sea. thence stirred she up the strength of serpents twain, and summoned them to troy. by her uproused they shook the island as with earthquake: roared the sea; the waves disparted as they came. onward they swept with fearful-flickering tongues: shuddered the very monsters of the deep: xanthus' and simois' daughters moaned aloud, the river-nymphs: the cyprian queen looked down in anguish from olympus. swiftly they came whither the goddess sped them: with grim jaws whetting their deadly fangs, on his hapless sons sprang they. all trojans panic-stricken fled, seeing those fearsome dragons in their town. no man, though ne'er so dauntless theretofore, dared tarry; ghastly dread laid hold on all shrinking in horror from the monsters. screamed the women; yea, the mother forgat her child, fear-frenzied as she fled: all troy became one shriek of fleers, one huddle of jostling limbs: the streets were choked with cowering fugitives. alone was left laocoon with his sons, for death's doom and the goddess chained their feet. then, even as from destruction shrank the lads, those deadly fangs had seized and ravined up the twain, outstretching to their sightless sire agonized hands: no power to help had he. trojans far off looked on from every side weeping, all dazed. and, having now fulfilled upon the trojans pallas' awful hest, those monsters vanished 'neath the earth; and still stands their memorial, where into the fane they entered of apollo in pergamus the hallowed. therebefore the sons of troy gathered, and reared a cenotaph for those who miserably had perished. over it their father from his blind eyes rained the tears: over the empty tomb their mother shrieked, boding the while yet worse things, wailing o'er the ruin wrought by folly of her lord, dreading the anger of the blessed ones. as when around her void nest in a brake in sorest anguish moans the nightingale whose fledglings, ere they learned her plaintive song, a hideous serpent's fangs have done to death, and left the mother anguish, endless woe, and bootless crying round her desolate home; so groaned she for her children's wretched death, so moaned she o'er the void tomb; and her pangs were sharpened by her lord's plight stricken blind. while she for children and for husband moaned- these slain, he of the sun's light portionless- the trojans to the immortals sacrificed, pouring the wine. their hearts beat high with hope to escape the weary stress of woeful war. howbeit the victims burned not, and the flames died out, as though 'neath heavy-hissing rain; and writhed the smoke-wreaths blood-red, and the thighs quivering from crumbling altars fell to earth. drink-offerings turned to blood, gods' statues wept, and temple-walls dripped gore: along them rolled echoes of groaning out of depths unseen; and all the long walls shuddered: from the towers came quick sharp sounds like cries of men in pain; and, weirdly shrieking, of themselves slid back the gate-bolts. screaming "desolation!" wailed the birds of night. above that god-built burg a mist palled every star; and yet no cloud was in the flashing heavens. by phoebus' fane withered the bays that erst were lush and green. wolves and foul-feeding jackals came and howled within the gates. ay, other signs untold appeared, portending woe to dardanus' sons and troy: yet no fear touched the trojans' hearts who saw all through the town those portents dire: fate crazed them all, that midst their revelling slain by their foes they might fill up their doom. one heart was steadfast, and one soul clear-eyed, cassandra. never her words were unfulfilled; yet was their utter truth, by fate's decree, ever as idle wind in the hearers' ears, that no bar to troy's ruin might be set. she saw those evil portents all through troy conspiring to one end; loud rang her cry, as roars a lioness that mid the brakes a hunter has stabbed or shot, whereat her heart maddens, and down the long hills rolls her roar, and her might waxes tenfold; so with heart aflame with prophecy came she forth her bower. over her snowy shoulders tossed her hair streaming far down, and wildly blazed her eyes. her neck writhed, like a sapling in the wind shaken, as moaned and shrieked that noble maid: "o wretches! into the land of darkness now we are passing; for all round us full of fire and blood and dismal moan the city is. everywhere portents of calamity gods show: destruction yawns before your feet. fools! ye know not your doom: still ye rejoice with one consent in madness, who to troy have brought the argive horse where ruin lurks! oh, ye believe not me, though ne'er so loud i cry! the erinyes and the ruthless fates, for helen's spousals madly wroth, through troy dart on wild wings. and ye, ye are banqueting there in your last feast, on meats befouled with gore, when now your feet are on the path of ghosts!" then cried a scoffing voice an ominous word: "why doth a raving tongue of evil speech, daughter of priam, make thy lips to cry words empty as wind? no maiden modesty with purity veils thee: thou art compassed round with ruinous madness; therefore all men scorn thee, babbler! hence, thine evil bodings speak to the argives and thyself! for thee doth wait anguish and shame yet bitterer than befell presumptuous laocoon. shame it were in folly to destroy the immortals' gift." so scoffed a trojan: others in like sort cried shame on her, and said she spake but lies, saying that ruin and fate's heavy stroke were hard at hand. they knew not their own doom, and mocked, and thrust her back from that huge horse for fain she was to smite its beams apart, or burn with ravening fire. she snatched a brand of blazing pine-wood from the hearth and ran in fury: in the other hand she bare a two-edged halberd: on that horse of doom she rushed, to cause the trojans to behold with their own eyes the ambush hidden there. but straightway from her hands they plucked and flung afar the fire and steel, and careless turned to the feast; for darkened o'er them their last night. within the horse the argives joyed to hear the uproar of troy's feasters setting at naught cassandra, but they marvelled that she knew so well the achaeans' purpose and device. as mid the hills a furious pantheress, which from the steading hounds and shepherd-folk drive with fierce rush, with savage heart turns back even in departing, galled albeit by darts: so from the great horse fled she, anguish-racked for troy, for all the ruin she foreknew. book xiii how troy in the night was taken and sacked with fire and slaughter. so feasted they through troy, and in their midst loud pealed the flutes and pipes: on every hand were song and dance, laughter and cries confused of banqueters beside the meats and wine. they, lifting in their hands the beakers brimmed, recklessly drank, till heavy of brain they grew, till rolled their fluctuant eyes. now and again some mouth would babble the drunkard's broken words. the household gear, the very roof and walls seemed as they rocked: all things they looked on seemed whirled in wild dance. about their eyes a veil of mist dropped, for the drunkard's sight is dimmed, and the wit dulled, when rise the fumes to the brain: and thus a heavy-headed feaster cried: "for naught the danaans mustered that great host hither! fools, they have wrought not their intent, but with hopes unaccomplished from our town like silly boys or women have they fled." so cried a trojan wit-befogged with wine, fool, nor discerned destruction at the doors. when sleep had locked his fetters everywhere through troy on folk fulfilled of wine and meat, then sinon lifted high a blazing torch to show the argive men the splendour of fire. but fearfully the while his heart beat, lest the men of troy might see it, and the plot be suddenly revealed. but on their beds sleeping their last sleep lay they, heavy with wine. the host saw, and from tenedos set sail. then nigh the horse drew sinon: softly he called, full softly, that no man of troy might hear, but only achaea's chiefs, far from whose eyes sleep hovered, so athirst were they for fight. they heard, and to odysseus all inclined their ears: he bade them urgently go forth softly and fearlessly; and they obeyed that battle-summons, pressing in hot haste to leap to earth: but in his subtlety he stayed them from all thrusting eagerly forth. but first himself with swift unfaltering hands, helped of epeius, here and there unbarred the ribs of the horse of beams: above the planks a little he raised his head, and gazed around on all sides, if he haply might descry one trojan waking yet. as when a wolf, with hunger stung to the heart, comes from the hills, and ravenous for flesh draws nigh the flock penned in the wide fold, slinking past the men and dogs that watch, all keen to ward the sheep, then o'er the fold-wall leaps with soundless feet; so stole odysseus down from the horse: with him followed the war-fain lords of hellas' league, orderly stepping down the ladders, which epeius framed for paths of mighty men, for entering and for passing forth the horse, who down them now on this side, that side, streamed as fearless wasps startled by stroke of axe in angry mood pour all together forth from the tree-bole, at sound of woodman's blow; so battle-kindled forth the horse they poured into the midst of that strong city of troy with hearts that leapt expectant. [with swift hands snatched they the brands from dying hearths, and fired temple and palace. onward then to the gates sped they,] and swiftly slew the slumbering guards, [then held the gate-towers till their friends should come.] fast rowed the host the while; on swept the ships over the great flood: thetis made their paths straight, and behind them sent a driving wind speeding them, and the hearts achaean glowed. swiftly to hellespont's shore they came, and there beached they the keels again, and deftly dealt with whatso tackling appertains to ships. then leapt they aland, and hasted on to troy silent as sheep that hurry to the fold from woodland pasture on an autumn eve; so without sound of voices marched they on unto the trojans' fortress, eager all to help those mighty chiefs with foes begirt. now these--as famished wolves fierce-glaring round fall on a fold mid the long forest-hills, while sleeps the toil-worn watchman, and they rend the sheep on every hand within the wall in darkness, and all round [are heaped the slain; so these within the city smote and slew, as swarmed the awakened foe around them; yet, fast as they slew, aye faster closed on them those thousands, mad to thrust them from the gates.] slipping in blood and stumbling o'er the dead [their line reeled,] and destruction loomed o'er them, though danaan thousands near and nearer drew. but when the whole host reached the walls of troy, into the city of priam, breathing rage of fight, with reckless battle-lust they poured; and all that fortress found they full of war and slaughter, palaces, temples, horribly blazing on all sides; glowed their hearts with joy. in deadly mood then charged they on the foe. ares and fell enyo maddened there: blood ran in torrents, drenched was all the earth, as trojans and their alien helpers died. here were men lying quelled by bitter death all up and down the city in their blood; others on them were falling, gasping forth their life's strength; others, clutching in their hands their bowels that looked through hideous gashes forth, wandered in wretched plight around their homes: others, whose feet, while yet asleep they lay, had been hewn off, with groans unutterable crawled mid the corpses. some, who had rushed to fight, lay now in dust, with hands and heads hewn off. some were there, through whose backs, even as they fled, the spear had passed, clear through to the breast, and some whose waists the lance had pierced, impaling them where sharpest stings the anguish-laden steel. and all about the city dolorous howls of dogs uprose, and miserable moans of strong men stricken to death; and every home with awful cries was echoing. rang the shrieks of women, like to screams of cranes, which see an eagle stooping on them from the sky, which have no courage to resist, but scream long terror-shrieks in dread of zeus's bird; so here, so there the trojan women wailed, some starting from their sleep, some to the ground leaping: they thought not in that agony of robe and zone; in naught but tunics clad distraught they wandered: others found nor veil nor cloak to cast about them, but, as came onward their foes, they stood with beating hearts trembling, as lettered by despair, essaying, all-hapless, with their hands alone to hide their nakedness. and some in frenzy of woe: their tresses tore, and beat their breasts, and screamed. others against that stormy torrent of foes recklessly rushed, insensible of fear, through mad desire to aid the perishing, husbands or children; for despair had given high courage. shrieks had startled from their sleep soft little babes whose hearts had never known trouble--and there one with another lay gasping their lives out! some there were whose dreams changed to a sudden vision of doom. all round the fell fates gloated horribly o'er the slain. and even as swine be slaughtered in the court of a rich king who makes his folk a feast, so without number were they slain. the wine left in the mixing-bowls was blent with blood gruesomely. no man bare a sword unstained with murder of defenceless folk of troy, though he were but a weakling in fair fight. and as by wolves or jackals sheep are torn, what time the furnace-breath of midnoon-heat darts down, and all the flock beneath the shade are crowded, and the shepherd is not there, but to the homestead bears afar their milk; and the fierce brutes leap on them, tear their throats, gorge to the full their ravenous maws, and then lap the dark blood, and linger still to slay all in mere lust of slaughter, and provide an evil banquet for that shepherd-lord; so through the city of priam danaans slew one after other in that last fight of all. no trojan there was woundless, all men's limbs with blood in torrents spilt were darkly dashed. nor seetheless were the danaans in the fray: with beakers some were smitten, with tables some, thrust in the eyes of some were burning brands snatched from the hearth; some died transfixed with spits yet left within the hot flesh of the swine whereon the red breath of the fire-god beat; others struck down by bills and axes keen gasped in their blood: from some men's hands were shorn the fingers, who, in wild hope to escape the imminent death, had clutched the blades of swords. and here in that dark tumult one had hurled a stone, and crushed the crown of a friend's head. like wild beasts trapped and stabbed within a fold on a lone steading, frenziedly they fought, mad with despair-enkindled rage, beneath that night of horror. hot with battle-lust here, there, the fighters rushed and hurried through the palace of priam. many an argive fell spear-slain; for whatso trojan in his halls might seize a sword, might lift a spear in hand, slew foes--ay, heavy though he were with wine. upflashed a glare unearthly through the town, for many an argive bare in hand a torch to know in that dim battle friends from foes. then tydeus' son amid the war-storm met spearman coroebus, lordly mygdon's son, and 'neath the left ribs pierced him with the lance where run the life-ways of man's meat and drink; so met him black death borne upon the spear: down in dark blood he fell mid hosts of slain. ah fool! the bride he won not, priam's child cassandra, yea, his loveliest, for whose sake to priam's burg but yesterday he came, and vaunted he would thrust the argives back from ilium. never did the gods fulfil his hope: the fates hurled doom upon his head. with him the slayer laid eurydamas low, antenor's gallant son-in-law, who most for prudence was pre-eminent in troy. then met he ilioneus the elder of days, and flashed his terrible sword forth. all the limbs of that grey sire were palsied with his fear: he put forth trembling hands, with one he caught the swift avenging sword, with one he clasped the hero's knees. despite his fury of war, a moment paused his wrath, or haply a god held back the sword a space, that that old man might speak to his fierce foe one word of prayer. piteously cried he, terror-overwhelmed: "i kneel before thee, whosoe'er thou be of mighty argives. oh compassionate my suppliant hands! abate thy wrath! to slay the young and valiant is a glorious thing; but if thou smite an old man, small renown waits on thy prowess. therefore turn from me thine hands against young men, if thou dost hope ever to come to grey hairs such as mine." so spake he; but replied strong tydeus' son: "old man, i look to attain to honoured age; but while my strength yet waxeth, will not i spare any foe, but hurl to hades all. the brave man makes an end of every foe." then through his throat that terrible warrior drave the deadly blade, and thrust it straight to where the paths of man's life lead by swiftest way blood-paved to doom: death palsied his poor strength by diomedes' hands. thence rushed he on slaying the trojans, storming in his might all through their fortress: pierced by his long spear eurycoon fell, perimnestor's son renowned. amphimedon aias slew: agamemnon smote damastor's son: idomeneus struck down mimas: by meges deiopites died. achilles' son with his resistless lance smote godlike pammon; then his javelin pierced polites in mid-rush: antiphonus dead upon these he laid, all priam's sons. agenor faced him in the fight, and fell: hero on hero slew he; everywhere stalked at his side death's black doom manifest: clad in his sire's might, whomso he met he slew. last, on troy's king in murderous mood he came. by zeus the hearth-lord's altar. seeing him, old priam knew him and quaked not; for he longed himself to lay his life down midst his sons; and craving death to achilles' seed he spake: "fierce-hearted son of achilles strong in war, slay me, and pity not my misery. i have no will to see the sun's light more, who have suffered woes so many and so dread. with my sons would i die, and so forget anguish and horror of war. oh that thy sire had slain me, ere mine eyes beheld aflame illium, had slain me when i brought to him ransom for hector, whom thy father slew. he spared me--so the fates had spun my thread of destiny. but thou, glut with my blood thy fierce heart, and let me forget my pain." answered achilles' battle-eager son: "fain am i, yea, in haste to grant thy prayer. a foe like thee will i not leave alive; for naught is dearer unto men than life." with one stroke swept he off that hoary head lightly as when a reaper lops an ear in a parched cornfield at the harvest-tide. with lips yet murmuring low it rolled afar from where with quivering limbs the body lay amidst dark-purple blood and slaughtered men. so lay he, chiefest once of all the world in lineage, wealth, in many and goodly sons. ah me, not long abides the honour of man, but shame from unseen ambush leaps on him so clutched him doom, so he forgat his woes. yea, also did those danaan car-lords hurl from a high tower the babe astyanax, dashing him out of life. they tore the child out of his mother's arms, in wrathful hate of hector, who in life had dealt to them such havoc; therefore hated they his seed, and down from that high rampart flung his child- a wordless babe that nothing knew of war! as when amid the mountains hungry wolves chase from the mother's side a suckling calf, and with malignant cunning drive it o'er an echoing cliffs edge, while runs to and fro its dam with long moans mourning her dear child, and a new evil followeth hard on her, for suddenly lions seize her for a prey; so, as she agonized for her son, the foe to bondage haled with other captive thralls that shrieking daughter of king eetion. then, as on those three fearful deaths she thought of husband, child, and father, andromaehe longed sore to die. yea, for the royally-born better it is to die in war, than do the service of the thrall to baser folk. all piteously the broken-hearted cried: "oh hurl my body also from the wall, or down the cliff, or cast me midst the fire, ye argives! woes are mine unutterable! for peleus' son smote down my noble father in thebe, and in troy mine husband slew, who unto me was all mine heart's desire, who left me in mine halls one little child, my darling and my pride--of all mine hopes in him fell merciless fate hath cheated me! oh therefore thrust this broken-hearted one now out of life! hale me not overseas mingled with spear-thralls; for my soul henceforth hath no more pleasure in life, since god hath slain my nearest and my dearest! for me waits trouble and anguish and lone homelessness!" so cried she, longing for the grave; for vile is life to them whose glory is swallowed up of shame: a horror is the scorn of men. but, spite her prayers, to thraldom dragged they her. in all the homes of troy lay dying men, and rose from all a lamentable cry, save only antenor's halls; for unto him the argives rendered hospitality's debt, for that in time past had his roof received and sheltered godlike menelaus, when he with odysseus came to claim his own. therefore the mighty sons of achaea showed grace to him, as to a friend, and spared his life and substance, fearing themis who seeth all. then also princely anchises' noble son- hard had he fought through priam's burg that night with spear and valour, and many had he slain- when now he saw the city set aflame by hands of foes, saw her folk perishing in multitudes, her treasures spoiled, her wives and children dragged to thraldom from their homes, no more he hoped to see the stately walls of his birth-city, but bethought him now how from that mighty ruin to escape. and as the helmsman of a ship, who toils on the deep sea, and matches all his craft against the winds and waves from every side rushing against him in the stormy time, forspent at last, both hand and heart, when now the ship is foundering in the surge, forsakes the helm, to launch forth in a little boat, and heeds no longer ship and lading; so anchises' gallant son forsook the town and left her to her foes, a sea of fire. his son and father alone he snatched from death; the old man broken down with years he set on his broad shoulders with his own strong hands, and led the young child by his small soft hand, whose little footsteps lightly touched the ground; and, as he quaked to see that work of deaths his father led him through the roar of fight, and clinging hung on him the tender child, tears down his soft cheeks streaming. but the man o'er many a body sprang with hurrying feet, and in the darkness in his own despite trampled on many. cypris guided them, earnest to save from that wild ruin her son, his father, and his child. as on he pressed, the flames gave back before him everywhere: the blast of the fire-god's breath to right and left was cloven asunder. spears and javelins hurled against him by the achaeans harmless fell. also, to stay them, calchas cried aloud: "forbear against aeneas' noble head to hurl the bitter dart, the deadly spear! fated he is by the high gods' decree to pass from xanthus, and by tiber's flood to found a city holy and glorious through all time, and to rule o'er tribes of men far-sundered. of his seed shall lords of earth rule from the rising to the setting sun. yea, with the immortals ever shall he dwell, who is son of aphrodite lovely-tressed. from him too is it meet we hold our hands because he hath preferred his father and son to gold, to all things that might profit a man who fleeth exiled to an alien land. this one night hath revealed to us a man faithful to death to his father and his child." then hearkened they, and as a god did all look on him. forth the city hasted he whither his feet should bear him, while the foe made havoc still of goodly-builded troy. then also menelaus in helen's bower found, heavy with wine, ill-starred deiphobus, and slew him with the sword: but she had fled and hidden her in the palace. o'er the blood of that slain man exulted he, and cried: "dog! i, even i have dealt thee unwelcome death this day! no dawn divine shall meet thee again alive in troy--ay, though thou vaunt thyself spouse of the child of zeus the thunder-voiced! black death hath trapped thee slain in my wife's bower! would i had met alexander too in fight ere this, and plucked his heart out! so my grief had been a lighter load. but he hath paid already justice' debt, hath passed beneath death's cold dark shadow. ha, small joy to thee my wife was doomed to bring! ay, wicked men never elude pure themis: night and day her eyes are on them, and the wide world through above the tribes of men she floats in air, holpen of zeus, for punishment of sin." on passed he, dealing merciless death to foes, for maddened was his soul with jealousy. against the trojans was his bold heart full of thoughts of vengeance, which were now fulfilled by the dread goddess justice, for that theirs was that first outrage touching helen, theirs that profanation of the oaths, and theirs that trampling on the blood of sacrifice when their presumptuous souls forgat the gods. therefore the vengeance-friends brought woes on them thereafter, and some died in fighting field, some now in troy by board and bridal bower. menelaus mid the inner chambers found at last his wife, there cowering from the wrath of her bold-hearted lord. he glared on her, hungering to slay her in his jealous rage. but winsome aphrodite curbed him, struck out of his hand the sword, his onrush reined, jealousy's dark cloud swept she away, and stirred love's deep sweet well-springs in his heart and eyes. swept o'er him strange amazement: powerless all was he to lift the sword against her neck, seeing her splendour of beauty. like a stock of dead wood in a mountain forest, which no swiftly-rushing blasts of north-winds shake, nor fury of south-winds ever, so he stood, so dazed abode long time. all his great strength was broken, as he looked upon his wife. and suddenly had he forgotten all yea, all her sins against her spousal-troth; for aphrodite made all fade away, she who subdueth all immortal hearts and mortal. yet even so he lifted up from earth his sword, and made as he would rush upon his wife but other was his intent, even as he sprang: he did but feign, to cheat achaean eyes. then did his brother stay his fury, and spake with pacifying words, fearing lest all they had toiled for should be lost: "forbear wrath, menelaus, now: 'twere shame to slay thy wedded wife, for whose sake we have suffered much affliction, while we sought vengeance on priam. not, as thou dost deem, was helen's the sin, but his who set at naught the guest-lord, and thine hospitable board; so with death-pangs hath god requited him." then hearkened menelaus to his rede. but the gods, palled in dark clouds, mourned for troy, a ruined glory save fair-tressed tritonis and hera: their hearts triumphed, when they saw the burg of god-descended priam destroyed. yet not the wise heart trito-born herself was wholly tearless; for within her fane outraged cassandra was of oileus son lust-maddened. but grim vengeance upon him ere long the goddess wreaked, repaying insult with mortal sufferance. yea, she would not look upon the infamy, but clad herself with shame and wrath as with a cloak: she turned her stern eyes to the temple-roof, and groaned the holy image, and the hallowed floor quaked mightily. yet did he not forbear his mad sin, for his soul was lust-distraught. here, there, on all sides crumbled flaming homes in ruin down: scorched dust with smoke was blent: trembled the streets to the awful thunderous crash. here burned aeneas' palace, yonder flamed antimachus' halls: one furnace was the height of fair-built pergamus; flames were roaring round apollo's temple, round athena's fane, and round the hearth-lord's altar: flames licked up fair chambers of the sons' sons of a king; and all the city sank down into hell. of trojans some by argos' sons were slain, some by their own roofs crashing down in fire, giving at once in death and tomb to them: some in their own throats plunged the steel, when foes and fire were in the porch together seen: some slew their wives and children, and flung themselves dead on them, when despair had done its work of horror. one, who deemed the foe afar, caught up a vase, and, fain to quench the flame, hasted for water. leapt unmarked on him an argive, and his spirit, heavy with wine, was thrust forth from the body by the spear. clashed the void vase above him, as he fell backward within the house. as through his hall another fled, the burning roof-beam crashed down on his head, and swift death came with it. and many women, as in frenzied flight they rushed forth, suddenly remembered babes left in their beds beneath those burning roofs: with wild feet sped they back--the house fell in upon them, and they perished, mother and child. horses and dogs in panic through the town fled from the flames, trampling beneath their feet the dead, and dashing into living men to their sore hurt. shrieks rang through all the town. in through his blazing porchway rushed a man to rescue wife and child. through smoke and flame blindly he groped, and perished while he cried their names, and pitiless doom slew those within. the fire-glow upward mounted to the sky, the red glare o'er the firmament spread its wings, and all the tribes of folk that dwelt around beheld it, far as ida's mountain-crests, and sea-girt tenedos, and thracian samos. and men that voyaged on the deep sea cried: "the argives have achieved their mighty task after long toil for star-eyed helen's sake. all troy, the once queen-city, burns in fire: for all their prayers, no god defends them now; for strong fate oversees all works of men, and the renownless and obscure to fame she raises, and brings low the exalted ones. oft out of good is evil brought, and good from evil, mid the travail and change of life." so spake they, who from far beheld the glare of troy's great burning. compassed were her folk with wailing misery: through her streets the foe exulted, as when madding blasts turmoil the boundless sea, what time the altar ascends to heaven's star-pavement, turned to the misty south overagainst arcturus tempest-breathed, and with its rising leap the wild winds forth, and ships full many are whelmed 'neath ravening seas; wild as those stormy winds achaea's sons ravaged steep ilium while she burned in flame. as when a mountain clothed with shaggy woods burns swiftly in a fire-blast winged with winds, and from her tall peaks goeth up a roar, and all the forest-children this way and that rush through the wood, tormented by the flame; so were the trojans perishing: there was none to save, of all the gods. round these were staked the nets of fate, which no man can escape. then were demophoon and acamas by mighty theseus' mother aethra met. yearning to see them was she guided on to meet them by some blessed one, the while 'wildered from war and fire she fled. they saw in that red glare a woman royal-tall, imperial-moulded, and they weened that this was priam's queen, and with swift eagerness laid hands on her, to lead her captive thence to the danaans; but piteously she moaned: "ah, do not, noble sons of warrior greeks, to your ships hale me, as i were a foe! i am not of trojan birth: of danaans came my princely blood renowned. in troezen's halls pittheus begat me, aegeus wedded me, and of my womb sprang theseus glory-crowned. for great zeus' sake, for your dear parents' sake, i pray you, if the seed of theseus came hither with atreus' sons, o bring ye me unto their yearning eyes. i trow they be young men like you. my soul shall be refreshed if living i behold those chieftains twain." hearkening to her they called their sire to mind, his deeds for helen's sake, and how the sons of zeus the thunderer in the old time smote aphidnae, when, because these were but babes, their nurses hid them far from peril of fight; and aethra they remembered--all she endured through wars, as mother-in-law at first, and thrall thereafter of helen. dumb for joy were they, till spake demophoon to that wistful one: "even now the gods fulfil thine heart's desire: we whom thou seest are the sons of him, thy noble son: thee shall our loving hands bear to the ships: with joy to hellas' soil thee will we bring, where once thou wast a queen." then his great father's mother clasped him round with clinging arms: she kissed his shoulders broad, his head, his breast, his bearded lips she kissed, and acamas kissed withal, the while she shed glad tears on these who could not choose but weep. as when one tarries long mid alien men, and folk report him dead, but suddenly he cometh home: his children see his face, and break into glad weeping; yea, and he, his arms around them, and their little heads upon his shoulders, sobs: echoes the home with happy mourning's music-beating wings; so wept they with sweet sighs and sorrowless moans. then, too, affliction-burdened priam's child, laodice, say they, stretched her hands to heaven, praying the mighty gods that earth might gape to swallow her, ere she defiled her hand with thralls' work; and a god gave ear, and rent deep earth beneath her: so by heaven's decree did earth's abysmal chasm receive the maid in troy's last hour. electra's self withal, the star-queen lovely-robed, shrouded her form in mist and cloud, and left the pleiad-band, her sisters, as the olden legend tells. still riseth up in sight of toil-worn men their bright troop in the skies; but she alone hides viewless ever, since the hallowed town of her son dardanus in ruin fell, when zeus most high from heaven could help her not, because to fate the might of zeus must bow; and by the immortals' purpose all these things had come to pass, or by fate's ordinance. still on troy's folk the argives wreaked their wrath, and battle's issues strife incarnate held. book xiv. how the conquerors sailed from troy unto judgment of tempest and shipwreck. then rose from ocean dawn the golden-throned up to the heavens; night into chaos sank. and now the argives spoiled fair-fenced troy, and took her boundless treasures for a prey. like river-torrents seemed they, that sweep down, by rain, floods swelled, in thunder from the hills, and seaward hurl tall trees and whatsoe'er grows on the mountains, mingled with the wreck of shattered cliff and crag; so the long lines of danaans who had wasted troy with fire seemed, streaming with her plunder to the ships. troy's daughters therewithal in scattered bands they haled down seaward--virgins yet unwed, and new-made brides, and matrons silver-haired, and mothers from whose bosoms foes had torn babes for the last time closing lips on breasts. amidst of these menelaus led his wife forth of the burning city, having wrought a mighty triumph--joy and shame were his. cassandra heavenly-fair was haled the prize of agamemnon: to achilles' son andromache had fallen: hecuba odysseus dragged unto his ship. the tears poured from her eyes as water from a spring; trembled her limbs, fear-frenzied was her heart; rent were her hoary tresses and besprent with ashes of the hearth, cast by her hands when she saw priam slain and troy aflame. and aye she deeply groaned for thraldom's day that trapped her vainly loth. each hero led a wailing trojan woman to his ship. here, there, uprose from these the wild lament, the woeful-mingling cries of mother and babe. as when with white-tusked swine the herdmen drive their younglings from the hill-pens to the plain as winter closeth in, and evermore each answereth each with mingled plaintive cries; so moaned troy's daughters by their foes enslaved, handmaid and queen made one in thraldom's lot. but helen raised no lamentation: shame sat on her dark-blue eyes, and cast its flush over her lovely cheeks. her heart beat hard with sore misgiving, lest, as to the ships she passed, the achaeans might mishandle her. therefore with fluttering soul she trembled sore; and, her head darkly mantled in her veil, close-following trod she in her husband's steps, with cheek shame-crimsoned, like the queen of love, what time the heaven-abiders saw her clasped in ares' arms, shaming in sight of all the marriage-bed, trapped in the myriad-meshed toils of hephaestus: tangled there she lay in agony of shame, while thronged around the blessed, and there stood hephaestus' self: for fearful it is for wives to be beheld by husbands' eyes doing the deed of shame. lovely as she in form and roseate blush passed helen mid the trojan captives on to the argive ships. but the folk all around marvelled to see the glory of loveliness of that all-flawless woman. no man dared or secretly or openly to cast reproach on her. as on a goddess all gazed on her with adoring wistful eyes. as when to wanderers on a stormy sea, after long time and passion of prayer, the sight of fatherland is given; from deadly deeps escaped, they stretch hands to her joyful-souled; so joyed the danaans all, no man of them remembered any more war's travail and pain. such thoughts cytherea stirred in them, for grace to helen starry-eyed, and zeus her sire. then, when he saw that burg beloved destroyed, xanthus, scarce drawing breath from bloody war, mourned with his nymphs for ruin fallen on troy, mourned for the city of priam blotted out. as when hail lashes a field of ripened wheat, and beats it small, and smites off all the ears with merciless scourge, and levelled with the ground are stalks, and on the earth is all the grain woefully wasted, and the harvest's lord is stricken with deadly grief; so xanthus' soul was utterly whelmed in grief for ilium made a desolation; grief undying was his, immortal though he was. mourned simois and long-ridged ida: all who on ida dwelt wailed from afar the ruin of priam's town. but with loud laughter of glee the argives sought their galleys, chanting the triumphant might of victory, chanting now the blessed gods, now their own valour, and epeius' work ever renowned. their song soared up to heaven, like multitudinous cries of daws, when breaks a day of sunny calm and windless air after a ruining storm: from their glad hearts so rose the joyful clamour, till the gods heard and rejoiced in heaven, all who had helped with willing hands the war-fain argive men. but chafed those others which had aided troy, beholding priam's city wrapped in flame, yet powerless for her help to override fate; for not cronos' son can stay the hand of destiny, whose might transcendeth all the immortals, and zeus sanctioneth all her deeds. the argives on the flaming altar-wood laid many thighs of oxen, and made haste to spill sweet wine on their burnt offerings, thanking the gods for that great work achieved. and loudly at the feast they sang the praise of all the mailed men whom the horse of tree had ambushed. far-famed sinon they extolled for that dire torment he endured of foes; yea, song and honour-guerdons without end all rendered him: and that resolved soul glad-hearted joyed for the argives victory, and for his own misfeaturing sorrowed not. for to the wise and prudent man renown is better far than gold, than goodlihead, than all good things men have or hope to win. so, feasting by the ships all void of fear, cried one to another ever and anon: "we have touched the goal of this long war, have won glory, have smitten our foes and their great town! now grant, o zeus, to our prayers safe home-return!" but not to all the sire vouchsafed return. then rose a cunning harper in their midst. and sang the song of triumph and of peace re-won, and with glad hearts untouched by care they heard; for no more fear of war had they, but of sweet toil of law-abiding days and blissful, fleeting hours henceforth they dreamed. all the war's story in their eager ears he sang--how leagued peoples gathering met at hallowed aulis--how the invincible strength of peleus' son smote fenced cities twelve in sea-raids, how he marched o'er leagues on leagues of land, and spoiled eleven--all he wrought in fight with telephus and eetion- how he slew giant cycnus--all the toil of war that through achilles' wrath befell the achaeans--how he dragged dead hector round his own troy's wall, and how he slew in fight penthesileia and tithonus' son:- how aias laid low glaucus, lord of spears, then sang he how the child of aeacus' son struck down eurypylus, and how the shafts of philoctetes dealt to paris death. then the song named all heroes who passed in to ambush in the horse of guile, and hymned the fall of god-descended priam's burg; the feast he sang last, and peace after war; then many another, as they listed, sang. but when above those feasters midnight's stars hung, ceased the danaans from the feast and wine, and turned to sleep's forgetfulness of care, for that with yesterday's war-travail all were wearied; wherefore they, who fain all night had revelled, needs must cease: how loth soe'er, sleep drew them thence; here, there, soft slumbered they. but in his tent menelaus lovingly with bright-haired helen spake; for on their eyes sleep had not fallen yet. the cyprian queen brooded above their souls, that olden love might be renewed, and heart-ache chased away. helen first brake the silence, and she said: "o menelaus, be not wroth with me! not of my will i left thy roof, thy bed, but alexander and the sons of troy came upon me, and snatched away, when thou wast far thence. oftentimes did i essay by the death-noose to perish wretchedly, or by the bitter sword; but still they stayed mine hand, and still spake comfortable words to salve my grief for thee and my sweet child. for her sake, for the sake of olden love, and for thine own sake, i beseech thee now, forget thy stern displeasure against thy wife." answered her menelaus wise of wit: "no more remember past griefs: seal them up hid in thine heart. let all be locked within the dim dark mansion of forgetfulness. what profits it to call ill deeds to mind?" glad was she then: fear flitted from her heart, and came sweet hope that her lord's wrath was dead. she cast her arms around him, and their eyes with tears were brimming as they made sweet moan; and side by side they laid them, and their hearts thrilled with remembrance of old spousal joy. and as a vine and ivy entwine their stems each around other, that no might of wind avails to sever them, so clung these twain twined in the passionate embrace of love. when came on these too sorrow-drowning sleep, even then above his son's head rose and stood godlike achilles' mighty shade, in form as when he lived, the trojans' bane, the joy of greeks, and kissed his neck and flashing eyes lovingly, and spake comfortable words: "all hail, my son! vex not thine heart with grief for thy dead sire; for with the blessed gods now at the feast i sit. refrain thy soul from sorrow, and plant my strength within thy mind. be foremost of the argives ever; yield to none in valour, but in council bow before thine elders: so shall all acclaim thy courtesy. honour princely men and wise; for the true man is still the true man's friend, even as the vile man cleaveth to the knave. if good thy thought be, good shall be thy deeds: but no man shall attain to honour's height, except his heart be right within: her stem is hard to climb, and high in heaven spread her branches: only they whom strength and toil attend, strain up to pluck her blissful fruit, climbing the tree of honour glow-crowned. thou therefore follow fame, and let thy soul be not in sorrow afflicted overmuch, nor in prosperity over-glad. to friends, to comrades, child and wife, be kindly of heart, remembering still that near to all men stand the gates of doom, the mansions of the dead: for humankind are like the flower of grass, the blossom of spring; these fade the while those bloom: therefore be ever kindly with thy kind. now to the argives say--to atreus' son agamemnon chiefly--if my battle-toil round priam's walls, and those sea-raids i led or ever i set foot on trojan land, be in their hearts remembered, to my tomb be priam's daughter polyxeina led- whom as my portion of the spoil i claim- and sacrificed thereon: else shall my wrath against them more than for briseis burn. the waves of the great deep will i turmoil to bar their way, upstirring storm on storm, that through their own mad folly pining away here they may linger long, until to me they pour drink-offerings, yearning sore for home. but, when they have slain the maiden, i grudge not that whoso will may bury her far from me." then as a wind-breath swift he fleeted thence, and came to the elysian plain, whereto a path to heaven reacheth, for the feet ascending and descending of the blest. then the son started up from sleep, and called his sire to mind, and glowed the heart in him. when to wide heaven the child of mist uprose, scattering night, unveiling earth and air, then from their rest upsprang achaea's sons yearning for home. with laughter 'gan they hale down to the sea the keels: but lo, their haste was reined in by achilles' mighty son: he assembled them, and told his sire's behest: "hearken, dear sons of argives battle-staunch, to this my glorious father's hest, to me spoken in darkness slumbering on my bed: he saith, he dwells with the immortal gods: he biddeth you and atreus' son the king to bring, as his war-guerdon passing-fair, to his dim dark tomb polyxeina queenly-robed, to slay her there, but far thence bury her. but if ye slight him, and essay to sail the sea, he threateneth to stir up the waves to bar your path upon the deep, and here storm-bound long time to hold you, ships and men." then hearkened they, and as to a god they prayed; for even now a storm-blast on the sea upheaved the waves, broad-backed and thronging fast more than before beneath the madding wind. tossed the great deep, smit by poseidon's hands for a grace to strong achilles. all the winds swooped on the waters. prayed the dardans all to achilles, and a man to his fellow cried: "great zeus's seed achilles verily was; therefore is he a god, who in days past dwelt among us; for lapse of dateless time makes not the sons of heaven to fade away." then to achilles' tomb the host returned, and led the maid, as calf by herdmen dragged for sacrifice, from woodland pastures torn from its mother's side, and lowing long and loud it moans with anguished heart; so priam's child wailed in the hands of foes. down streamed her tears as when beneath the heavy sacks of sand olives clear-skinned, ne'er blotched by drops of storm, pour out their oil, when the long levers creak as strong men strain the cords; so poured the tears of travail-burdened priam's daughter, haled to stern achilles' tomb, tears blent with moans. drenched were her bosom-folds, glistened the drops on flesh clear-white as costly ivory. then, to crown all her griefs, yet sharper pain fell on the heart of hapless hecuba. then did her soul recall that awful dream, the vision of sleep of that night overpast: herseemed that on achilles' tomb she stood moaning, her hair down-streaming to the ground, and from her breasts blood dripped to earth the while, and drenched the tomb. fear-haunted touching this, foreboding all calamity, she wailed piteously; far rang her wild lament. as a dog moaning at her master's door, utters long howls, her teats with milk distent, whose whelps, ere their eyes opened to the light, her lords afar have flung, a prey to kites; and now with short sharp cries she plains, and now long howling: the weird outcry thrills the air; so wailed and shrieked for her child hecuba: "ah me! what sorrows first or last shall i lament heart-anguished, who am full of woes? those unimagined ills my sons, my king have suffered? or my city, or daughters shamed? or my despair, my day of slavery? oh, the grim fates have caught me in a net of manifold ills! o child, they have spun for thee dread weird of unimagined misery! they have thrust thee away, when near was hymen's hymn, from thine espousals, marked thee for destruction dark, unendurable, unspeakable! for lo, a dead man's heart, achilles' heart, is by our blood made warm with life to-day! o child, dear child, that i might die with thee, that earth might swallow me, ere i see thy doom!" so cried she, weeping never-ceasing tears, for grief on bitter grief encompassed her. but when these reached divine achilles' tomb, then did his son unsheathe the whetted sword, his left hand grasped the maid, and his right hand was laid upon the tomb, and thus he cried: "hear, father, thy son's prayer, hear all the prayers of argives, and be no more wroth with us! lo, unto thee now all thine heart's desire will we fulfil. be gracious to us thou, and to our praying grant sweet home-return." into the maid's throat then he plunged the blade of death: the dear life straightway sobbed she forth, with the last piteous moan of parting breath. face-downward to the earth she fell: all round her flesh was crimsoned from her neck, as snow stained on a mountain-side with scarlet blood rushing, from javelin-smitten boar or bear. the maiden's corpse then gave they, to be borne unto the city, to antenor's home, for that, when troy yet stood, he nurtured her in his fair halls, a bride for his own son eurymachus. the old man buried her, king priam's princess-child, nigh his own house, by ganymedes' shrine, and overagainst the temple of pallas the unwearied one. then were the waves stilled, and the blast was hushed to sleep, and all the sea-flood lulled to calm. swift with glad laughter hied they to the ships, hymning achilles and the blessed ones. a feast they made, first severing thighs of kine for the immortals. gladsome sacrifice steamed on all sides: in cups of silver and gold they drank sweet wine: their hearts leaped up with hope of winning to their fatherland again. but when with meats and wine all these were filled, then in their eager ears spake neleus' son: "hear, friends, who have 'scaped the long turmoil of war, that i may say to you one welcome word: now is the hour of heart's delight, the hour of home-return. away! achilles soul hath ceased from ruinous wrath; earth-shaker stills the stormy wave, and gentle breezes blow; no more the waves toss high. haste, hale the ships down to the sea. now, ho for home-return!" eager they heard, and ready made the ships. then was a marvellous portent seen of men; for all-unhappy priam's queen was changed from woman's form into a pitiful hound; and all men gathered round in wondering awe. then all her body a god transformed to stone- a mighty marvel for men yet unborn! at calchas' bidding this the achaeans bore in a swift ship to hellespont's far side. then down to the sea in haste they ran the keels: their wealth they laid aboard, even all the spoil taken, or ever unto troy they came, from conquered neighbour peoples; therewithal whatso they took from ilium, wherein most they joyed, for untold was the sum thereof. and followed with them many a captive maid with anguished heart: so went they aboard the ships. but calchas would not with that eager host launch forth; yea, he had fain withheld therefrom all the achaeans, for his prophet-soul foreboded dread destruction looming o'er the argives by the rocks capherean. but naught they heeded him; malignant fate deluded men's souls: only amphilochus the wise in prophet-lore, the gallant son of princely amphiaraus, stayed with him. fated were these twain, far from their own land, to reach pamphylian and cilician burgs; and this the gods thereafter brought to pass. but now the achaeans cast the hawsers loose from shore: in haste they heaved the anchor-stones. roared hellespont beneath swift-flashing oars; crashed the prows through the sea. about the bows much armour of slain foes was lying heaped: along the bulwarks victory-trophies hung countless. with garlands wreathed they all the ships, their heads, the spears, the shields wherewith they had fought against their foes. the chiefs stood on the prows, and poured into the dark sea once and again wine to the gods, to grant them safe return. but with the winds their prayers mixed; far away vainly they floated blent with cloud and air. with anguished hearts the captive maids looked back on ilium, and with sobs and moans they wailed, striving to hide their grief from argive eyes. clasping their knees some sat; in misery some veiled with their hands their faces; others nursed young children in their arms: those innocents not yet bewailed their day of bondage, nor their country's ruin; all their thoughts were set on comfort of the breast, for the babe's heart hath none affinity with sorrow. all sat with unbraided hair and pitiful breasts scored with their fingers. on their cheeks there lay stains of dried tears, and streamed thereover now fresh tears full fast, as still they gazed aback on the lost hapless home, wherefrom yet rose the flames, and o'er it writhed the rolling smoke. now on cassandra marvelling they gazed, calling to mind her prophecy of doom; but at their tears she laughed in bitter scorn, in anguish for the ruin of her land. such trojans as had scaped from pitiless war gathered to render now the burial-dues unto their city's slain. antenor led to that sad work: one pyre for all they raised. but laughed with triumphing hearts the argive men, as now with oars they swept o'er dark sea-ways, now hastily hoised the sails high o'er the ships, and fleeted fast astern dardania-land, and hero achilles' tomb. but now their hearts, how blithe soe'er, remembered comrades slain, and sorely grieved, and wistfully they looked back to the alien's land; it seemed to them aye sliding farther from their ships. full soon by tenedos' beaches slipt they: now they ran by chrysa, sminthian phoebus' holy place, and hallowed cilla. far away were glimpsed the windy heights of lesbos. rounded now was lecton's foreland, where is the last peak of ida. in the sails loud hummed the wind, crashed round the prows the dark surge: the long waves showed shadowy hollows, far the white wake gleamed. now had the argives all to the hallowed soil of hellas won, by perils of the deep unscathed, but for athena daughter of zeus the thunderer, and her indignation's wrath. when nigh euboea's windy heights they drew, she rose, in anger unappeasable against the locrian king, devising doom crushing and pitiless, and drew nigh to zeus lord of the gods, and spake to him apart in wrath that in her breast would not be pent: "zeus, father, unendurable of gods is men's presumption! they reck not of thee, of none of the blessed reck they, forasmuch as vengeance followeth after sin no more; and ofttimes more afflicted are good men than evil, and their misery hath no end. therefore no man regardeth justice: shame lives not with men! and i, i will not dwell hereafter in olympus, not be named thy daughter, if i may not be avenged on the achaeans' reckless sin! behold, within my very temple oileus' son hath wrought iniquity, hath pitied not cassandra stretching unregarded hands once and again to me; nor did he dread my might, nor reverenced in his wicked heart the immortal, but a deed intolerable he did. therefore let not thy spirit divine begrudge mine heart's desire, that so all men may quake before the manifest wrath of gods." answered the sire with heart-assuaging words: "child, not for the argives' sake withstand i thee; but all mine armoury which the cyclops' might to win my favour wrought with tireless hands, to thy desire i give. o strong heart, hurl a ruining storm thyself on the argive fleet." then down before the aweless maid he cast swift lightning, thunder, and deadly thunderbolt; and her heart leapt, and gladdened was her soul. she donned the stormy aegis flashing far, adamantine, massy, a marvel to the gods, whereon was wrought medusa's ghastly head, fearful: strong serpents breathing forth the blast of ravening fire were on the face thereof. crashed on the queen's breast all the aegis-links, as after lightning crashes the firmament. then grasped she her father's weapons, which no god save zeus can lift, and wide olympus shook. then swept she clouds and mist together on high; night over earth was poured, haze o'er the sea. zeus watched, and was right glad as broad heaven's floor rocked 'neath the goddess's feet, and crashed the sky, as though invincible zeus rushed forth to war. then sped she iris unto acolus, from heaven far-flying over misty seas, to bid him send forth all his buffering winds o'er iron-bound caphereus' cliffs to sweep ceaselessly, and with ruin of madding blasts to upheave the sea. and iris heard, and swift she darted, through cloud-billows plunging down- thou hadst said: "lo, in the sky dark water and fire!" and to aeolia came she, isle of caves, of echoing dungeons of mad-raging winds with rugged ribs of mountain overarched, whereby the mansion stands of aeolus hippotas' son. him found she therewithin with wife and twelve sons; and she told to him athena's purpose toward the homeward-bound achaeans. he denied her not, but passed forth of his halls, and in resistless hands upswung his trident, smiting the mountain-side within whose chasm-cell the wild winds dwelt tempestuously shrieking. ever pealed weird roarings of their voices round its vaults. cleft by his might was the hill-side; forth they poured. he bade them on their wings bear blackest storm to upheave the sea, and shroud caphereus' heights. swiftly upsprang they, ere their king's command was fully spoken. mightily moaned the sea as they rushed o'er it; waves like mountain-cliffs from all sides were uprolled. the achaeans' hearts were terror-palsied, as the uptowering surge now swung the ships up high through palling mist, now hurled them rolled as down a precipice to dark abysses. up through yawning deeps some power resistless belched the boiling sand from the sea's floor. tossed in despair, fear-dazed, men could not grasp the oar, nor reef the sail about the yard-arm, howsoever fain, ere the winds rent it, could not with the sheets trim the torn canvas, buffeted so were they by ruining blasts. the helmsman had no power to guide the rudder with his practised hands, for those ill winds hurled all confusedly. no hope of life was left them: blackest night, fury of tempest, wrath of deathless gods, raged round them. still poseidon heaved and swung the merciless sea, to work the heart's desire of his brother's glorious child; and she on high stormed with her lightnings, ruthless in her rage. thundered from heaven zeus, in purpose fixed to glorify his daughter. all the isles and mainlands round were lashed by leaping seas nigh to euboea, where the power divine scourged most with unrelenting stroke on stroke the argives. groan and shriek of perishing men rang through the ships; started great beams and snapped with ominous sound, for ever ship on ship with shivering timbers crashed. with hopeless toil men strained with oars to thrust back hulls that reeled down on their own, but with the shattered planks were hurled into the abyss, to perish there by pitiless doom; for beams of foundering ships from this, from that side battered out their lives, and crushed were all their bodies wretchedly. some in the ships fell down, and like dead men lay there; some, in the grip of destiny, clinging to oars smooth-shaven, tried to swim; some upon planks were tossing. roared the surge from fathomless depths: it seemed as though sea, sky, and land were blended all confusedly. still from olympus thundering atrytone wielded her father's power unshamed, and still the welkin shrieked around. her ruin of wrath now upon aias hurled she: on his ship dashed she a thunderbolt, and shivered it wide in a moment into fragments small, while earth and air yelled o'er the wreck, and whirled and plunged and fell the whole sea down thereon. they in the ship were all together flung forth: all about them swept the giant waves, round them leapt lightnings flaming through the dark. choked with the strangling surf of hissing brine, gasping out life, they drifted o'er the sea. but even in death those captive maids rejoiced, as some ill-starred ones, clasping to their breasts their babes, sank in the sea; some flung their arms round danaans' horror-stricken heads, and dragged these down with them, so rendering to their foes requital for foul outrage down to them. and from on high the haughty trito-born looked down on all this, and her heart was glad. but aias floated now on a galley's plank, now through the brine with strong hands oared his path, like some old titan in his tireless might. cleft was the salt sea-surge by the sinewy hands of that undaunted man: the gods beheld and marvelled at his courage and his strength. but now the billows swung him up on high through misty air, as though to a mountain's peak, now whelmed him down, as they would bury him in ravening whirlpits: yet his stubborn hands toiled on unwearied. aye to right and left flashed lightnings down, and quenched them in the sea; for not yet was the child of thunderer zeus purposed to smite him dead, despite her wrath, ere he had drained the cup of travail and pain down to the dregs; so in the deep long time affliction wore him down, tormented sore on every side. grim fates stood round the man unnumbered; yet despair still kindled strength. he cried: "though all the olympians banded come in wrath, and rouse against me all the sea, i will escape them!" but no whit did he elude the gods' wrath; for the shaker of earth in fierceness of his indignation marked where his hands clung to the gyraean rock, and in stern anger with an earthquake shook both sea and land. around on all sides crashed caphereus' cliffs: beneath the sea-king's wrath the surf-tormented beaches shrieked and roared. the broad crag rifted reeled into the sea, the rock whereto his desperate hands had clung; yet did he writhe up round its jutting spurs, while flayed his hands were, and from 'neath his nails the blood ran. wrestling with him roared the waves, and the foam whitened all his hair and beard. yet had he 'scaped perchance his evil doom, had not poseidon, wroth with his hardihood, cleaving the earth, hurled down the chasm the rock, as in the old time pallas heaved on high sicily, and on huge enceladus dashed down the isle, which burns with the burning yet of that immortal giant, as he breathes fire underground; so did the mountain-crag, hurled from on high, bury the locrian king, pinning the strong man down, a wretch crushed flat. and so on him death's black destruction came whom land and sea alike were leagued to slay. still over the great deep were swept the rest of those achaeans, crouching terror-dazed down in the ships, save those that mid the waves had fallen. misery encompassed all; for some with heavily-plunging prows drave on, with keels upturned some drifted. here were masts snapped from the hull by rushing gusts, and there were tempest-rifted wrecks of scattered beams; and some had sunk, whelmed in the mighty deep, swamped by the torrent downpour from the clouds: for these endured not madness of wind-tossed sea leagued with heaven's waterspout; for streamed the sky ceaselessly like a river, while the deep raved round them. and one cried: "such floods on men fell only when deucalion's deluge came, when earth was drowned, and all was fathomless sea!" so cried a danaan, seeing soul-appalled that wild storm. thousands perished; corpses thronged the great sea-highways: all the beaches were too strait for them: the surf belched multitudes forth on the land. the heavy-booming sea with weltering beams of ships was wholly paved, and here and there the grey waves gleamed between. so found they each his several evil fate, some whelmed beneath broad-rushing billows, some wretchedly perishing with their shattered ships by nauplius' devising on the rocks. wroth for that son whom they had done to death, he; when the storm rose and the argives died, rejoiced amid his sorrow, seeing a god gave to his hands revenge, which now he wreaked upon the host he hated, as o'er the deep they tossed sore-harassed. to his sea-god sire he prayed that all might perish, ships and men whelmed in the deep. poseidon heard his prayer, and on the dark surge swept them nigh his land. he, like a harbour-warder, lifted high a blazing torch, and so by guile he trapped the achaean men, who deemed that they had won a sheltering haven: but sharp reefs and crags gave awful welcome unto ships and men, who, dashed to pieces on the cruel rocks in the black night, crowned ills with direr ills. some few escaped, by a god or power unseen plucked from death's hand. athena now rejoiced her heart within, and now was racked with fears for prudent-souled odysseus; for his weird was through poseidon's wrath to suffer woes full many. but earth-shaker's jealousy now burned against those long walls and towers uppiled by the strong argives for a fence against the trojans' battle-onset. swiftly then he swelled to overbrimming all the sea that rolls from euxine down to hellespont, and hurled it on the shore of troy: and zeus, for a grace unto the glorious shaker of earth, poured rain from heaven: withal far-darter bare in that great work his part; from ida's heights into one channel led he all her streams, and flooded the achaeans' work. the sea dashed o'er it, and the roaring torrents still rushed on it, swollen by the rains of zeus; and the dark surge of the wide-moaning sea still hurled them back from mingling with the deep, till all the danaan walls were blotted out beneath their desolating flood. then earth was by poseidon chasm-cleft: up rushed deluge of water, slime and sand, while quaked sigeum with the mighty shock, and roared the beach and the foundations of the land dardanian. so vanished, whelmed from sight, that mighty rampart. earth asunder yawned, and all sank down, and only sand was seen, when back the sea rolled, o'er the beach outspread far down the heavy-booming shore. all this the immortals' anger wrought. but in their ships the argives storm-dispersed went sailing on. so came they home, as heaven guided each, even all that 'scaped the fell sea-tempest blasts. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see 32326-h.htm or 32326-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32326/32326-h/32326-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32326/32326-h.zip) tales of troy and greece [illustration: the stealing of helen.] [_see_ p. 15.] tales of troy and greece by andrew lang illustrated by h. j. ford dover publications, inc. mineola, new york bibliographical note this dover edition, first published in 2006, is an unabridged republication of the 1941 printing of the work originally published by longmans, green and co., london and new york, in 1907. we have slightly repositioned a few of the illustrations. manufactured in the united states of america dover publications, inc., 31 east 2nd street, mineola, n.y. 11501 to h. rider haggard contents _ulysses the sacker of cities_ page i. the boyhood and parents of ulysses 1 ii. how people lived in the time of ulysses 5 iii. the wooing of helen of the fair hands 9 iv. the stealing of helen 13 v. trojan victories 30 vi. battle at the ships 38 vii. the slaying and avenging of patroclus 45 viii. the cruelty of achilles, and the ransoming of hector 53 ix. how ulysses stole the luck of troy 56 x. the battles with the amazons and memnon--the death of achilles 66 xi. ulysses sails to seek the son of achilles--the valour of eurypylus 79 xii. the slaying of paris 87 xiii. how ulysses invented the device of the horse of tree 92 xiv. the end of troy and the saving of helen 96 _the wanderings of ulysses_ i. the slaying of agamemnon and the sorrows of ulysses 101 ii. the enchantress circe, the land of the dead, the sirens 110 iii. the whirlpool, the sea monster, and the cattle of the sun 118 iv. how telemachus went to seek his father 122 v. how ulysses escaped from the island of calypso 128 vi. how ulysses was wrecked, yet reached phaeacia 133 vii. how ulysses came to his own country, and for safety disguised himself as an old beggar man 145 viii. ulysses comes disguised as a beggar to his own palace 153 ix. the slaying of the wooers 163 x. the end 168 _the fleece of gold_ i. the children of the cloud. 172 ii. the search for the fleece 180 iii. the winning of the fleece 191 _theseus_ i. the wedding of aethra 201 ii. the boyhood of theseus 205 iii. adventures of theseus 211 iv. theseus finds his father 226 v. heralds come for tribute 233 vi. theseus in crete 239 vii. the slaying of the minotaur 247 _perseus_ i. the prison of danae 254 ii. the vow of perseus 261 iii. perseus and andromeda 279 iv. how perseus avenged danae 284 illustrations the stealing of helen _frontispiece_ map of greece _facing p. 1_ ulysses, when a youth, fights the wild boar and gets his wound in his thigh " 4 helen points out the chief heroes in the greek host to priam " 28 achilles pities penthesilea after slaying her " 70 paris comes back to oenone " 90 menelaus refrains from killing helen at the intercession of ulysses " 100 circe sends the swine (the companions of ulysses) to the styes " 112 the adventure with scylla " 120 calypso takes pity on ulysses " 130 how ulysses met nausicaa " 136 ulysses shoots the first arrow at the wooers " 164 king athamas steals nephele's clothes so that she cannot float away with her sisters " 174 how the serpent that guarded the golden fleece was slain " 198 theseus tries to lift the stone " 208 how theseus slew the minotaur " 248 perseus in the garden of the hesperides " 272 the rescue of andromeda " 282 tales of troy and greece [illustration: greece] tales of troy ulysses the sacker of cities i the boyhood and parents of ulysses long ago, in a little island called ithaca, on the west coast of greece, there lived a king named laertes. his kingdom was small and mountainous. people used to say that ithaca 'lay like a shield upon the sea,' which sounds as if it were a flat country. but in those times shields were very large, and rose at the middle into two peaks with a hollow between them, so that ithaca, seen far off in the sea, with her two chief mountain peaks, and a cloven valley between them, looked exactly like a shield. the country was so rough that men kept no horses, for, at that time, people drove, standing up in little light chariots with two horses; they never rode, and there was no cavalry in battle: men fought from chariots. when ulysses, the son of laertes, king of ithaca grew up, he never fought from a chariot, for he had none, but always on foot. if there were no horses in ithaca, there was plenty of cattle. the father of ulysses had flocks of sheep, and herds of swine, and wild goats, deer, and hares lived in the hills and in the plains. the sea was full of fish of many sorts, which men caught with nets, and with rod and line and hook. thus ithaca was a good island to live in. the summer was long, and there was hardly any winter; only a few cold weeks, and then the swallows came back, and the plains were like a garden, all covered with wild flowers--violets, lilies, narcissus, and roses. with the blue sky and the blue sea, the island was beautiful. white temples stood on the shores; and the nymphs, a sort of fairies, had their little shrines built of stone, with wild rose-bushes hanging over them. other islands lay within sight, crowned with mountains, stretching away, one behind the other, into the sunset. ulysses in the course of his life saw many rich countries, and great cities of men, but, wherever he was, his heart was always in the little isle of ithaca, where he had learned how to row, and how to sail a boat, and how to shoot with bow and arrow, and to hunt boars and stags, and manage his hounds. the mother of ulysses was called anticleia: she was the daughter of king autolycus, who lived near parnassus, a mountain on the mainland. this king autolycus was the most cunning of men. he was a master thief, and could steal a man's pillow from under his head, but he does not seem to have been thought worse of for this. the greeks had a god of thieves, named hermes, whom autolycus worshipped, and people thought more good of his cunning tricks than harm of his dishonesty. perhaps these tricks of his were only practised for amusement; however that may be, ulysses became as artful as his grandfather; he was both the bravest and the most cunning of men, but ulysses never stole things, except once, as we shall hear, from the enemy in time of war. he showed his cunning in stratagems of war, and in many strange escapes from giants and man-eaters. soon after ulysses was born, his grandfather came to see his mother and father in ithaca. he was sitting at supper when the nurse of ulysses, whose name was eurycleia, brought in the baby, and set him on the knees of autolycus, saying, 'find a name for your grandson, for he is a child of many prayers.' 'i am very angry with many men and women in the world,' said autolycus, 'so let the child's name be _a man of wrath_,' which, in greek, was odysseus. so the child was called odysseus by his own people, but the name was changed into ulysses, and we shall call him ulysses. we do not know much about ulysses when he was a little boy, except that he used to run about the garden with his father, asking questions, and begging that he might have fruit trees 'for his very own.' he was a great pet, for his parents had no other son, so his father gave him thirteen pear trees, and forty fig trees, and promised him fifty rows of vines, all covered with grapes, which he could eat when he liked, without asking leave of the gardener. so he was not tempted to steal fruit, like his grandfather. when autolycus gave ulysses his name, he said that he must come to stay with him, when he was a big boy, and he would get splendid presents. ulysses was told about this, so, when he was a tall lad, he crossed the sea and drove in his chariot to the old man's house on mount parnassus. everybody welcomed him, and next day his uncles and cousins and he went out to hunt a fierce wild boar, early in the morning. probably ulysses took his own dog, named argos, the best of hounds, of which we shall hear again, long afterwards, for the dog lived to be very old. soon the hounds came on the scent of a wild boar, and after them the men went, with spears in their hands, and ulysses ran foremost, for he was already the swiftest runner in greece. he came on a great boar lying in a tangled thicket of boughs and bracken, a dark place where the sun never shone, nor could the rain pierce through. then the noise of the men's shouts and the barking of the dogs awakened the boar, and up he sprang, bristling all over his back, and with fire shining from his eyes. in rushed ulysses first of all, with his spear raised to strike, but the boar was too quick for him, and ran in, and drove his sharp tusk sideways, ripping up the thigh of ulysses. but the boar's tusk missed the bone, and ulysses sent his sharp spear into the beast's right shoulder, and the spear went clean through, and the boar fell dead, with a loud cry. the uncles of ulysses bound up his wound carefully, and sang a magical song over it, as the french soldiers wanted to do to joan of arc when the arrow pierced her shoulder at the siege of orleans. then the blood ceased to flow, and soon ulysses was quite healed of his wound. they thought that he would be a good warrior, and gave him splendid presents, and when he went home again he told all that had happened to his father and mother, and his nurse, eurycleia. but there was always a long white mark or scar above his left knee, and about that scar we shall hear again, many years afterwards. [illustration: ulysses, when a youth, fights the wild boar and gets his wound in his thigh.] ii how people lived in the time of ulysses when ulysses was a young man he wished to marry a princess of his own rank. now there were at that time many kings in greece, and you must be told how they lived. each king had his own little kingdom, with his chief town, walled with huge walls of enormous stone. many of these walls are still standing, though the grass has grown over the ruins of most of them, and in later years, men believed that those walls must have been built by giants, the stones are so enormous. each king had nobles under him, rich men, and all had their palaces, each with its courtyard, and its long hall, where the fire burned in the midst, and the king and queen sat beside it on high thrones, between the four chief carved pillars that held up the roof. the thrones were made of cedar wood and ivory, inlaid with gold, and there were many other chairs and small tables for guests, and the walls and doors were covered with bronze plates, and gold and silver, and sheets of blue glass. sometimes they were painted with pictures of bull hunts, and a few of these pictures may still be seen. at night torches were lit, and placed in the hands of golden figures of boys, but all the smoke of fire and torches escaped by a hole in the roof, and made the ceiling black. on the walls hung swords and spears and helmets and shields, which needed to be often cleaned from the stains of the smoke. the minstrel or poet sat beside the king and queen, and, after supper he struck his harp, and sang stories of old wars. at night the king and queen slept in their own place, and the women in their own rooms; the princesses had their chambers upstairs, and the young princes had each his room built separate in the courtyard. there were bath rooms with polished baths, where guests were taken when they arrived dirty from a journey. the guests lay at night on beds in the portico, for the climate was warm. there were plenty of servants, who were usually slaves taken in war, but they were very kindly treated, and were friendly with their masters. no coined money was used; people paid for things in cattle, or in weighed pieces of gold. rich men had plenty of gold cups, and gold-hilted swords, and bracelets, and brooches. the kings were the leaders in war and judges in peace, and did sacrifices to the gods, killing cattle and swine and sheep, on which they afterwards dined. they dressed in a simple way, in a long smock of linen or silk, which fell almost to the feet, but was tucked up into a belt round the waist, and worn longer or shorter, as they happened to choose. where it needed fastening at the throat, golden brooches were used, beautifully made, with safety pins. this garment was much like the plaid that the highlanders used to wear, with its belt and brooches. over it the greeks wore great cloaks of woollen cloth when the weather was cold, but these they did not use in battle. they fastened their breastplates, in war, over their smocks, and had other armour covering the lower parts of the body, and leg armour called 'greaves'; while the great shield which guarded the whole body from throat to ankles was carried by a broad belt slung round the neck. the sword was worn in another belt, crossing the shield belt. they had light shoes in peace, and higher and heavier boots in war, or for walking across country. the women wore the smock, with more brooches and jewels than the men; and had head coverings, with veils, and mantles over all, and necklaces of gold and amber, earrings, and bracelets of gold or of bronze. the colours of their dresses were various, chiefly white and purple; and, when in mourning, they wore very dark blue, not black. all the armour, and the sword blades and spearheads were made, not of steel or iron, but of bronze, a mixture of copper and tin. the shields were made of several thicknesses of leather, with a plating of bronze above; tools, such as axes and ploughshares, were either of iron or bronze; and so were the blades of knives and daggers. to us the houses and way of living would have seemed very splendid, and also, in some ways, rather rough. the palace floors, at least in the house of ulysses, were littered with bones and feet of the oxen slain for food, but this happened when ulysses had been long from home. the floor of the hall in the house of ulysses was not boarded with planks, or paved with stone: it was made of clay; for he was a poor king of small islands. the cooking was coarse: a pig or sheep was killed, roasted and eaten immediately. we never hear of boiling meat, and though people probably ate fish, we do not hear of their doing so, except when no meat could be procured. still some people must have liked them; for in the pictures that were painted or cut in precious stones in these times we see the half-naked fisherman walking home, carrying large fish. the people were wonderful workers of gold and bronze. hundreds of their golden jewels have been found in their graves, but probably these were made and buried two or three centuries before the time of ulysses. the dagger blades had pictures of fights with lions, and of flowers, inlaid on them, in gold of various colours, and in silver; nothing so beautiful is made now. there are figures of men hunting bulls on some of the gold cups, and these are wonderfully life-like. the vases and pots of earthenware were painted in charming patterns: in short, it was a splendid world to live in. the people believed in many gods, male and female, under the chief god, zeus. the gods were thought to be taller than men, and immortal, and to live in much the same way as men did, eating, drinking, and sleeping in glorious palaces. though they were supposed to reward good men, and to punish people who broke their oaths and were unkind to strangers, there were many stories told in which the gods were fickle, cruel, selfish, and set very bad examples to men. how far these stories were believed is not sure; it is certain that 'all men felt a need of the gods,' and thought that they were pleased by good actions and displeased by evil. yet, when a man felt that his behaviour had been bad, he often threw the blame on the gods, and said that they had misled him, which really meant no more than that 'he could not help it.' there was a curious custom by which the princes bought wives from the fathers of the princesses, giving cattle and gold, and bronze and iron, but sometimes a prince got a wife as the reward for some very brave action. a man would not give his daughter to a wooer whom she did not love, even if he offered the highest price, at least this must have been the general rule, for husbands and wives were very fond of each other, and of their children, and husbands always allowed their wives to rule the house, and give their advice on everything. it was thought a very wicked thing for a woman to like another man better than her husband, and there were few such wives, but among them was the most beautiful woman who ever lived. iii the wooing of helen of the fair hands this was the way in which people lived when ulysses was young, and wished to be married. the worst thing in the way of life was that the greatest and most beautiful princesses might be taken prisoners, and carried off as slaves to the towns of the men who had killed their fathers and husbands. now at that time one lady was far the fairest in the world: namely, helen, daughter of king tyndarus. every young prince heard of her and desired to marry her; so her father invited them all to his palace, and entertained them, and found out what they would give. among the rest ulysses went, but his father had a little kingdom, a rough island, with others near it, and ulysses had not a good chance. he was not tall; though very strong and active, he was a short man with broad shoulders, but his face was handsome, and, like all the princes, he wore long yellow hair, clustering like a hyacinth flower. his manner was rather hesitating, and he seemed to speak very slowly at first, though afterwards his words came freely. he was good at everything a man can do; he could plough, and build houses, and make ships, and he was the best archer in greece, except one, and could bend the great bow of a dead king, eurytus, which no other man could string. but he had no horses, and had no great train of followers; and, in short, neither helen nor her father thought of choosing ulysses for her husband out of so many tall, handsome young princes, glittering with gold ornaments. still, helen was very kind to ulysses, and there was great friendship between them, which was fortunate for her in the end. tyndarus first made all the princes take an oath that they would stand by the prince whom he chose, and would fight for him in all his quarrels. then he named for her husband menelaus, king of lacedaemon. he was a very brave man, but not one of the strongest; he was not such a fighter as the gigantic aias, the tallest and strongest of men; or as diomede, the friend of ulysses; or as his own brother, agamemnon, the king of the rich city of mycenae, who was chief over all other princes, and general of the whole army in war. the great lions carved in stone that seemed to guard his city are still standing above the gate through which agamemnon used to drive his chariot. the man who proved to be the best fighter of all, achilles, was not among the lovers of helen, for he was still a boy, and his mother, thetis of the silver feet, a goddess of the sea, had sent him to be brought up as a girl, among the daughters of lycomedes of scyros, in an island far away. thetis did this because achilles was her only child, and there was a prophecy that, if he went to the wars, he would win the greatest glory, but die very young, and never see his mother again. she thought that if war broke out he would not be found hiding in girl's dress, among girls, far away. so at last, after thinking over the matter for long, tyndarus gave fair helen to menelaus, the rich king of lacedaemon; and her twin sister clytaemnestra, who was also very beautiful, was given to king agamemnon, the chief over all the princes. they all lived very happily together at first, but not for long. in the meantime king tyndarus spoke to his brother icarius, who had a daughter named penelope. she also was very pretty, but not nearly so beautiful as her cousin, fair helen, and we know that penelope was not very fond of her cousin. icarius, admiring the strength and wisdom of ulysses, gave him his daughter penelope to be his wife, and ulysses loved her very dearly, no man and wife were ever dearer to each other. they went away together to rocky ithaca, and perhaps penelope was not sorry that a wide sea lay between her home and that of helen; for helen was not only the fairest woman that ever lived in the world, but she was so kind and gracious and charming that no man could see her without loving her. when she was only a child, the famous prince theseus, whose story is to be told later, carried her away to his own city of athens, meaning to marry her when she grew up, and, even at that time, there was a war for her sake, for her brothers followed theseus with an army, and fought him, and brought her home. she had fairy gifts: for instance, she had a great red jewel, called 'the star,' and when she wore it red drops seemed to fall from it and vanished before they touched and stained her white breast--so white that people called her 'the daughter of the swan.' she could speak in the very voice of any man or woman, so folk also named her echo, and it was believed that she could neither grow old nor die, but would at last pass away to the elysian plain and the world's end, where life is easiest for men. no snow comes thither, nor great storm, nor any rain; but always the river of ocean that rings round the whole earth sends forth the west wind to blow cool on the people of king rhadamanthus of the fair hair. these were some of the stories that men told of fair helen, but ulysses was never sorry that he had not the fortune to marry her, so fond he was of her cousin, his wife, penelope, who was very wise and good. when ulysses brought his wife home they lived, as the custom was, in the palace of his father, king laertes, but ulysses, with his own hands, built a chamber for penelope and himself. there grew a great olive tree in the inner court of the palace, and its stem was as large as one of the tall carved pillars of the hall. round about this tree ulysses built the chamber, and finished it with close-set stones, and roofed it over, and made close-fastening doors. then he cut off all the branches of the olive tree, and smoothed the trunk, and shaped it into the bed-post, and made the bedstead beautiful with inlaid work of gold and silver and ivory. there was no such bed in greece, and no man could move it from its place, and this bed comes again into the story, at the very end. now time went by, and ulysses and penelope had one son called telemachus; and eurycleia, who had been his father's nurse, took care of him. they were all very happy, and lived in peace in rocky ithaca, and ulysses looked after his lands, and flocks, and herds, and went hunting with his dog argos, the swiftest of hounds. iv the stealing of helen this happy time did not last long, and telemachus was still a baby, when war arose, so great and mighty and marvellous as had never been known in the world. far across the sea that lies on the east of greece, there dwelt the rich king priam. his town was called troy, or ilios, and it stood on a hill near the seashore, where are the straits of hellespont, between europe and asia; it was a great city surrounded by strong walls, and its ruins are still standing. the kings could make merchants who passed through the straits pay toll to them, and they had allies in thrace, a part of europe opposite troy, and priam was chief of all princes on his side of the sea, as agamemnon was chief king in greece. priam had many beautiful things; he had a vine made of gold, with golden leaves and clusters, and he had the swiftest horses, and many strong and brave sons; the strongest and bravest was named hector, and the youngest and most beautiful was named paris. there was a prophecy that priam's wife would give birth to a burning torch, so, when paris was born, priam sent a servant to carry the baby into a wild wood on mount ida, and leave him to die or be eaten by wolves and wild cats. the servant left the child, but a shepherd found him, and brought him up as his own son. the boy became as beautiful, for a boy, as helen was for a girl, and was the best runner, and hunter, and archer among the country people. he was loved by the beautiful oenone, a nymph--that is, a kind of fairy--who dwelt in a cave among the woods of ida. the greeks and trojans believed in these days that such fair nymphs haunted all beautiful woodland places, and the mountains, and wells, and had crystal palaces, like mermaids, beneath the waves of the sea. these fairies were not mischievous, but gentle and kind. sometimes they married mortal men, and oenone was the bride of paris, and hoped to keep him for her own all the days of his life. it was believed that she had the magical power of healing wounded men, however sorely they were hurt. paris and oenone lived most happily together in the forest; but one day, when the servants of priam had driven off a beautiful bull that was in the herd of paris, he left the hills to seek it, and came into the town of troy. his mother, hecuba, saw him, and looking at him closely, perceived that he wore a ring which she had tied round her baby's neck when he was taken away from her soon after his birth. then hecuba, beholding him so beautiful, and knowing him to be her son, wept for joy, and they all forgot the prophecy that he would be a burning torch of fire, and priam gave him a house like those of his brothers, the trojan princes. the fame of beautiful helen reached troy, and paris quite forgot unhappy oenone, and must needs go to see helen for himself. perhaps he meant to try to win her for his wife, before her marriage. but sailing was little understood in these times, and the water was wide, and men were often driven for years out of their course, to egypt, and africa, and far away into the unknown seas, where fairies lived in enchanted islands, and cannibals dwelt in caves of the hills. paris came much too late to have a chance of marrying helen; however, he was determined to see her, and he made his way to her palace beneath the mountain taygetus, beside the clear swift river eurotas. the servants came out of the hall when they heard the sound of wheels and horses' feet, and some of them took the horses to the stables, and tilted the chariots against the gateway, while others led paris into the hall, which shone like the sun with gold and silver. then paris and his companions were led to the baths, where they were bathed, and clad in new clothes, mantles of white, and robes of purple, and next they were brought before king menelaus, and he welcomed them kindly, and meat was set before them, and wine in cups of gold. while they were talking, helen came forth from her fragrant chamber, like a goddess, her maidens following her, and carrying for her an ivory distaff with violet-coloured wool, which she span as she sat, and heard paris tell how far he had travelled to see her who was so famous for her beauty even in countries far away. then paris knew that he had never seen, and never could see, a lady so lovely and gracious as helen as she sat and span, while the red drops fell and vanished from the ruby called the star; and helen knew that among all the princes in the world there was none so beautiful as paris. now some say that paris, by art magic, put on the appearance of menelaus, and asked helen to come sailing with him, and that she, thinking he was her husband, followed him, and he carried her across the wide waters of troy, away from her lord and her one beautiful little daughter, the child hermione. and others say that the gods carried helen herself off to egypt, and that they made in her likeness a beautiful ghost, out of flowers and sunset clouds, whom paris bore to troy, and this they did to cause war between greeks and trojans. another story is that helen and her bower maiden and her jewels were seized by force, when menelaus was out hunting. it is only certain that paris and helen did cross the seas together, and that menelaus and little hermione were left alone in the melancholy palace beside the eurotas. penelope, we know for certain, made no excuses for her beautiful cousin, but hated her as the cause of her own sorrows and of the deaths of thousands of men in war, for all the greek princes were bound by their oath to fight for menelaus against any one who injured him and stole his wife away. but helen was very unhappy in troy, and blamed herself as bitterly as all the other women blamed her, and most of all oenone, who had been the love of paris. the men were much more kind to helen, and were determined to fight to the death rather than lose the sight of her beauty among them. the news of the dishonour done to menelaus and to all the princes of greece ran through the country like fire through a forest. east and west and south and north went the news: to kings in their castles on the hills, and beside the rivers and on cliffs above the sea. the cry came to ancient nestor of the white beard at pylos, nestor who had reigned over two generations of men, who had fought against the wild folk of the hills, and remembered the strong heracles, and eurytus of the black bow that sang before the day of battle. the cry came to black-bearded agamemnon, in his strong town called 'golden mycenae,' because it was so rich; it came to the people in thisbe, where the wild doves haunt; and it came to rocky pytho, where is the sacred temple of apollo and the maid who prophesies. it came to aias, the tallest and strongest of men, in his little isle of salamis; and to diomede of the loud war-cry, the bravest of warriors, who held argos and tiryns of the black walls of huge stones, that are still standing. the summons came to the western islands and to ulysses in ithaca, and even far south to the great island of crete of the hundred cities, where idomeneus ruled in cnossos; idomeneus, whose ruined palace may still be seen with the throne of the king, and pictures painted on the walls, and the king's own draught-board of gold and silver, and hundreds of tablets of clay, on which are written the lists of royal treasures. far north went the news to pelasgian argos, and hellas, where the people of peleus dwelt, the myrmidons; but peleus was too old to fight, and his boy, achilles, dwelt far away, in the island of scyros, dressed as a girl, among the daughters of king lycomedes. to many another town and to a hundred islands went the bitter news of approaching war, for all princes knew that their honour and their oaths compelled them to gather their spearmen, and bowmen, and slingers from the fields and the fishing, and to make ready their ships, and meet king agamemnon in the harbour of aulis, and cross the wide sea to besiege troy town. now the story is told that ulysses was very unwilling to leave his island and his wife penelope, and little telemachus; while penelope had no wish that he should pass into danger, and into the sight of helen of the fair hands. so it is said that when two of the princes came to summon ulysses, he pretended to be mad, and went ploughing the sea sand with oxen, and sowing the sand with salt. then the prince palamedes took the baby telemachus from the arms of his nurse, eurycleia, and laid him in the line of the furrow, where the ploughshare would strike him and kill him. but ulysses turned the plough aside, and they cried that he was not mad, but sane, and he must keep his oath, and join the fleet at aulis, a long voyage for him to sail, round the stormy southern cape of maleia. whether this tale be true or not, ulysses did go, leading twelve black ships, with high beaks painted red at prow and stern. the ships had oars, and the warriors manned the oars, to row when there was no wind. there was a small raised deck at each end of the ships; on these decks men stood to fight with sword and spear when there was a battle at sea. each ship had but one mast, with a broad lugger sail, and for anchors they had only heavy stones attached to cables. they generally landed at night, and slept on the shore of one of the many islands, when they could, for they greatly feared to sail out of sight of land. the fleet consisted of more than a thousand ships, each with fifty warriors, so the army was of more than fifty thousand men. agamemnon had a hundred ships, diomede had eighty, nestor had ninety, the cretans with idomeneus, had eighty, menelaus had sixty; but aias and ulysses, who lived in small islands, had only twelve ships apiece. yet aias was so brave and strong, and ulysses so brave and wise, that they were ranked among the greatest chiefs and advisers of agamemnon, with menelaus, diomede, idomeneus, nestor, menestheus of athens, and two or three others. these chiefs were called the council, and gave advice to agamemnon, who was commander-in-chief. he was a brave fighter, but so anxious and fearful of losing the lives of his soldiers that ulysses and diomede were often obliged to speak to him very severely. agamemnon was also very insolent and greedy, though, when anybody stood up to him, he was ready to apologise, for fear the injured chief should renounce his service and take away his soldiers. nestor was much respected because he remained brave, though he was too old to be very useful in battle. he generally tried to make peace when the princes quarrelled with agamemnon. he loved to tell long stories about his great deeds when he was young, and he wished the chiefs to fight in old-fashioned ways. for instance, in his time the greeks had fought in clan regiments, and the princely men had never dismounted in battle, but had fought in squadrons of chariots, but now the owners of chariots fought on foot, each man for himself, while his squire kept the chariot near him to escape on if he had to retreat. nestor wished to go back to the good old way of chariot charges against the crowds of foot soldiers of the enemy. in short, he was a fine example of the old-fashioned soldier. aias, though so very tall, strong, and brave, was rather stupid. he seldom spoke, but he was always ready to fight, and the last to retreat. menelaus was weak of body, but as brave as the best, or more brave, for he had a keen sense of honour, and would attempt what he had not the strength to do. diomede and ulysses were great friends, and always fought side by side, when they could, and helped each other in the most dangerous adventures. these were the chiefs who led the great greek armada from the harbour of aulis. a long time had passed, after the flight of helen, before the large fleet could be collected, and more time went by in the attempt to cross the sea to troy. there were tempests that scattered the ships, so they were driven back to aulis to refit; and they fought, as they went out again, with the peoples of unfriendly islands, and besieged their towns. what they wanted most of all was to have achilles with them, for he was the leader of fifty ships and 2,500 men, and he had magical armour made, men said, for his father, by hephaestus, the god of armour-making and smithy work. at last the fleet came to the isle of scyros, where they suspected that achilles was concealed. king lycomedes received the chiefs kindly, and they saw all his beautiful daughters dancing and playing at ball, but achilles was still so young and slim and so beautiful that they did not know him among the others. there was a prophecy that they could not take troy without him, and yet they could not find him out. then ulysses had a plan. he blackened his eyebrows and beard and put on the dress of a phoenician merchant. the phoenicians were a people who lived near the jews, and were of the same race, and spoke much the same language, but, unlike the jews, who, at that time were farmers in palestine, tilling the ground, and keeping flocks and herds, the phoenicians were the greatest of traders and sailors, and stealers of slaves. they carried cargoes of beautiful cloths, and embroideries, and jewels of gold, and necklaces of amber, and sold these everywhere about the shores of greece and the islands. ulysses then dressed himself like a phoenician pedlar, with his pack on his back: he only took a stick in his hand, his long hair was turned up, and hidden under a red sailor's cap, and in this figure he came, stooping beneath his pack, into the courtyard of king lycomedes. the girls heard that a pedlar had come, and out they all ran, achilles with the rest, to watch the pedlar undo his pack. each chose what she liked best: one took a wreath of gold; another a necklace of gold and amber; another earrings; a fourth a set of brooches, another a dress of embroidered scarlet cloth; another a veil; another a pair of bracelets; but at the bottom of the pack lay a great sword of bronze, the hilt studded with golden nails. achilles seized the sword. 'this is for me!' he said, and drew the sword from the gilded sheath, and made it whistle round his head. 'you are achilles, peleus' son!' said ulysses; 'and you are to be the chief warrior of the achaeans,' for the greeks then called themselves achaeans. achilles was only too glad to hear these words, for he was quite tired of living among maidens. ulysses led him into the hall where the chiefs were sitting at their wine, and achilles was blushing like any girl. 'here is the queen of the amazons,' said ulysses--for the amazons were a race of warlike maidens--'or rather here is achilles, peleus' son, with sword in hand.' then they all took his hand, and welcomed him, and he was clothed in man's dress, with the sword by his side, and presently they sent him back with ten ships to his home. there his mother, thetis, of the silver feet, the goddess of the sea, wept over him, saying, 'my child, thou hast the choice of a long and happy and peaceful life here with me, or of a brief time of war and undying renown. never shall i see thee again in argos if thy choice is for war.' but achilles chose to die young, and to be famous as long as the world stands. so his father gave him fifty ships, with patroclus, who was older than he, to be his friend, and with an old man, phoenix, to advise him; and his mother gave him the glorious armour that the god had made for his father, and the heavy ashen spear that none but he could wield, and he sailed to join the host of the achaeans, who all praised and thanked ulysses that had found for them such a prince. for achilles was the fiercest fighter of them all, and the swiftest-footed man, and the most courteous prince, and the gentlest with women and children, but he was proud and high of heart, and when he was angered his anger was terrible. the trojans would have had no chance against the greeks if only the men of the city of troy had fought to keep helen of the fair hands. but they had allies, who spoke different languages, and came to fight for them both from europe and from asia. on the trojan as well as on the greek side were people called pelasgians, who seem to have lived on both shores of the sea. there were thracians, too, who dwelt much further north than achilles, in europe and beside the strait of hellespont, where the narrow sea runs like a river. there were warriors of lycia, led by sarpedon and glaucus; there were carians, who spoke in a strange tongue; there were mysians and men from alybe, which was called 'the birthplace of silver,' and many other peoples sent their armies, so that the war was between eastern europe, on one side, and western asia minor on the other. the people of egypt took no part in the war: the greeks and islesmen used to come down in their ships and attack the egyptians as the danes used to invade england. you may see the warriors from the islands, with their horned helmets, in old egyptian pictures. the commander-in-chief, as we say now, of the trojans was hector, the son of priam. he was thought a match for any one of the greeks, and was brave and good. his brothers also were leaders, but paris preferred to fight from a distance with bow and arrows. he and pandarus, who dwelt on the slopes of mount ida, were the best archers in the trojan army. the princes usually fought with heavy spears, which they threw at each other, and with swords, leaving archery to the common soldiers who had no armour of bronze. but teucer, meriones, and ulysses were the best archers of the achaeans. people called dardanians were led by aeneas, who was said to be the son of the most beautiful of the goddesses. these, with sarpedon and glaucus, were the most famous of the men who fought for troy. troy was a strong town on a hill: mount ida lay behind it, and in front was a plain sloping to the sea shore. through this plain ran two beautiful clear rivers, and there were scattered here and there what you would have taken for steep knolls, but they were really mounds piled up over the ashes of warriors who had died long ago. on these mounds sentinels used to stand and look across the water to give warning if the greek fleet drew near, for the trojans had heard that it was on its way. at last the fleet came in view, and the sea was black with ships, the oarsmen pulling with all their might for the honour of being the first to land. the race was won by the ship of the prince protesilaus, who was first of all to leap on shore, but as he leaped he was struck to the heart by an arrow from the bow of paris. this must have seemed a good omen to the trojans, and to the greeks evil, but we do not hear that the landing was resisted in great force, any more than that of norman william was, when he invaded england. the greeks drew up all their ships on shore, and the men camped in huts built in front of the ships. there was thus a long row of huts with the ships behind them, and in these huts the greeks lived all through the ten years that the siege of troy lasted. in these days they do not seem to have understood how to conduct a siege. you would have expected the greeks to build towers and dig trenches all round troy, and from the towers watch the roads, so that provisions might not be brought in from the country. this is called 'investing' a town, but the greeks never invested troy. perhaps they had not men enough; at all events the place remained open, and cattle could always be driven in to feed the warriors and the women and children. moreover, the greeks for long never seem to have tried to break down one of the gates, nor to scale the walls, which were very high, with ladders. on the other hand, the trojans and allies never ventured to drive the greeks into the sea; they commonly remained within the walls or skirmished just beneath them. the older men insisted on this way of fighting, in spite of hector, who always wished to attack and storm the camp of the greeks. neither side had machines for throwing heavy stones, such as the romans used later, and the most that the greeks did was to follow achilles and capture small neighbouring cities, and take the women for slaves, and drive the cattle. they got provisions and wine from the phoenicians, who came in ships, and made much profit out of the war. it was not till the tenth year that the war began in real earnest, and scarcely any of the chief leaders had fallen. fever came upon the greeks, and all day the camp was black with smoke, and all night shone with fire from the great piles of burning wood, on which the greeks burned their dead, whose bones they then buried under hillocks of earth. many of these hillocks are still standing on the plain of troy. when the plague had raged for ten days, achilles called an assembly of the whole army, to try to find out why the gods were angry. they thought that the beautiful god apollo (who took the trojan side) was shooting invisible arrows at them from his silver bow, though fevers in armies are usually caused by dirt and drinking bad water. the great heat of the sun, too, may have helped to cause the disease; but we must tell the story as the greeks told it themselves. so achilles spoke in the assembly, and proposed to ask some prophet why apollo was angry. the chief prophet was calchas. he rose and said that he would declare the truth if achilles would promise to protect him from the anger of any prince whom the truth might offend. achilles knew well whom calchas meant. ten days before, a priest of apollo had come to the camp and offered ransom for his daughter chryseis, a beautiful girl, whom achilles had taken prisoner, with many others, when he captured a small town. chryseis had been given as a slave to agamemnon, who always got the best of the plunder because he was chief king, whether he had taken part in the fighting or not. as a rule he did not. to achilles had been given another girl, briseis, of whom he was very fond. now when achilles had promised to protect calchas, the prophet spoke out, and boldly said, what all men knew already, that apollo caused the plague because agamemnon would not return chryseis, and had insulted her father, the priest of the god. on hearing this, agamemnon was very angry. he said that he would send chryseis home, but that he would take briseis away from achilles. then achilles was drawing his great sword from the sheath to kill agamemnon, but even in his anger he knew that this was wrong, so he merely called agamemnon a greedy coward, 'with face of dog and heart of deer,' and he swore that he and his men would fight no more against the trojans. old nestor tried to make peace, and swords were not drawn, but briseis was taken away from achilles, and ulysses put chryseis on board of his ship and sailed away with her to her father's town, and gave her up to her father. then her father prayed to apollo that the plague might cease, and it did cease--when the greeks had cleansed their camp, and purified themselves and cast their filth into the sea. we know how fierce and brave achilles was, and we may wonder that he did not challenge agamemnon to fight a duel. but the greeks never fought duels, and agamemnon was believed to be chief king by right divine. achilles went alone to the sea shore when his dear briseis was led away, and he wept, and called to his mother, the silver-footed lady of the waters. then she arose from the grey sea, like a mist, and sat down beside her son, and stroked his hair with her hand, and he told her all his sorrows. so she said that she would go up to the dwelling of the gods, and pray zeus, the chief of them all, to make the trojans win a great battle, so that agamemnon should feel his need of achilles, and make amends for his insolence, and do him honour. thetis kept her promise, and zeus gave his word that the trojans should defeat the greeks. that night zeus sent a deceitful dream to agamemnon. the dream took the shape of old nestor, and said that zeus would give him victory that day. while he was still asleep, agamemnon was full of hope that he would instantly take troy, but, when he woke, he seems not to have been nearly so confident, for in place of putting on his armour, and bidding the greeks arm themselves, he merely dressed in his robe and mantle, took his sceptre, and went and told the chiefs about his dream. they did not feel much encouraged, so he said that he would try the temper of the army. he would call them together, and propose to return to greece; but, if the soldiers took him at his word, the other chiefs were to stop them. this was a foolish plan, for the soldiers were wearying for beautiful greece, and their homes, and wives and children. therefore, when agamemnon did as he had said, the whole army rose, like the sea under the west wind, and, with a shout, they rushed to the ships, while the dust blew in clouds from under their feet. then they began to launch their ships, and it seems that the princes were carried away in the rush, and were as eager as the rest to go home. but ulysses only stood in sorrow and anger beside his ship, and never put hand to it, for he felt how disgraceful it was to run away. at last he threw down his mantle, which his herald eurybates of ithaca, a round-shouldered, brown, curly-haired man, picked up, and he ran to find agamemnon, and took his sceptre, a gold-studded staff, like a marshal's baton, and he gently told the chiefs whom he met that they were doing a shameful thing; but he drove the common soldiers back to the place of meeting with the sceptre. they all returned, puzzled and chattering, but one lame, bandy-legged, bald, round-shouldered, impudent fellow, named thersites, jumped up and made an insolent speech, insulting the princes, and advising the army to run away. then ulysses took him and beat him till the blood came, and he sat down, wiping away his tears, and looking so foolish that the whole army laughed at him, and cheered ulysses when he and nestor bade them arm and fight. agamemnon still believed a good deal in his dream, and prayed that he might take troy that very day, and kill hector. thus ulysses alone saved the army from a cowardly retreat; but for him the ships would have been launched in an hour. but the greeks armed and advanced in full force, all except achilles and his friend patroclus with their two or three thousand men. the trojans also took heart, knowing that achilles would not fight, and the armies approached each other. paris himself, with two spears and a bow, and without armour, walked into the space between the hosts, and challenged any greek prince to single combat. menelaus, whose wife paris had carried away, was as glad as a hungry lion when he finds a stag or a goat, and leaped in armour from his chariot, but paris turned and slunk away, like a man when he meets a great serpent on a narrow path in the hills. then hector rebuked paris for his cowardice, and paris was ashamed and offered to end the war by fighting menelaus. if he himself fell, the trojans must give up helen and all her jewels; if menelaus fell, the greeks were to return without fair helen. the greeks accepted this plan, and both sides disarmed themselves to look on at the fight in comfort, and they meant to take the most solemn oaths to keep peace till the combat was lost and won, and the quarrel settled. hector sent into troy for two lambs, which were to be sacrificed when the oaths were taken. in the meantime helen of the fair hands was at home working at a great purple tapestry on which she embroidered the battles of the greeks and trojans. it was just like the tapestry at bayeux on which norman ladies embroidered the battles in the norman conquest of england. helen was very fond of embroidering, like poor mary, queen of scots, when a prisoner in loch leven castle. probably the work kept both helen and mary from thinking of their past lives and their sorrows. [illustration: helen points out the chief heroes in the greek host to priam.] when helen heard that her husband was to fight paris, she wept, and threw a shining veil over her head, and with her two bower maidens went to the roof of the gate tower, where king priam was sitting with the old trojan chiefs. they saw her and said that it was small blame to fight for so beautiful a lady, and priam called her 'dear child,' and said, 'i do not blame you, i blame the gods who brought about this war.' but helen said that she wished she had died before she left her little daughter and her husband, and her home: 'alas! shameless me!' then she told priam the names of the chief greek warriors, and of ulysses, who was shorter by a head than agamemnon but broader in chest and shoulders. she wondered that she could not see her own two brothers, castor and polydeuces, and thought that they kept aloof in shame for her sin; but the green grass covered their graves, for they had both died in battle, far away in lacedaemon, their own country. then the lambs were sacrificed, and the oaths were taken, and paris put on his brother's armour: helmet, breastplate, shield, and leg-armour. lots were drawn to decide whether paris or menelaus should throw his spear first, and, as paris won, he threw his spear, but the point was blunted against the shield of menelaus. but when menelaus threw his spear it went clean through the shield of paris, and through the side of his breastplate, but only grazed his robe. menelaus drew his sword, and rushed in, and smote at the crest of the helmet of paris, but his bronze blade broke into four pieces. menelaus caught paris by the horsehair crest of his helmet, and dragged him towards the greeks, but the chin-strap broke, and menelaus turning round threw the helmet into the ranks of the greeks. but when menelaus looked again for paris, with a spear in his hand, he could see him nowhere! the greeks believed that the beautiful goddess aphrodite, whom the romans called venus, hid him in a thick cloud of darkness and carried him to his own house, where helen of the fair hands found him and said to him, 'would that thou hadst perished, conquered by that great warrior who was my lord! go forth again and challenge him to fight thee face to face.' but paris had no more desire to fight, and the goddess threatened helen, and compelled her to remain with him in troy, coward as he had proved himself. yet on other days paris fought well; it seems that he was afraid of menelaus because, in his heart, he was ashamed of himself. meanwhile menelaus was seeking for paris everywhere, and the trojans, who hated him, would have shown his hiding place. but they knew not where he was, and the greeks claimed the victory, and thought that, as paris had the worst of the fight, helen would be restored to them, and they would all sail home. v trojan victories the war might now have ended, but an evil and foolish thought came to pandarus, a prince of ida, who fought for the trojans. he chose to shoot an arrow at menelaus, contrary to the sworn vows of peace, and the arrow pierced the breastplate of menelaus through the place where the clasped plates meet, and drew his blood. then agamemnon, who loved his brother dearly, began to lament, saying that, if he died, the army would all go home and trojans would dance on the grave of menelaus. 'do not alarm all our army,' said menelaus, 'the arrow has done me little harm;' and so it proved, for the surgeon easily drew the arrow out of the wound. then agamemnon hastened here and there, bidding the greeks arm and attack the trojans, who would certainly be defeated, for they had broken the oaths of peace. but with his usual insolence he chose to accuse ulysses and diomede of cowardice, though diomede was as brave as any man, and ulysses had just prevented the whole army from launching their ships and going home. ulysses answered him with spirit, but diomede said nothing at the moment; later he spoke his mind. he leaped from his chariot, and all the chiefs leaped down and advanced in line, the chariots following them, while the spearmen and bowmen followed the chariots. the trojan army advanced, all shouting in their different languages, but the greeks came on silently. then the two front lines clashed, shield against shield, and the noise was like the roaring of many flooded torrents among the hills. when a man fell he who had slain him tried to strip off his armour, and his friends fought over his body to save the dead from this dishonour. ulysses fought above a wounded friend, and drove his spear through head and helmet of a trojan prince, and everywhere men were falling beneath spears and arrows and heavy stones which the warriors threw. here menelaus speared the man who built the ships with which paris had sailed to greece; and the dust rose like a cloud, and a mist went up from the fighting men, while diomede stormed across the plain like a river in flood, leaving dead bodies behind him as the river leaves boughs of trees and grass to mark its course. pandarus wounded diomede with an arrow, but diomede slew him, and the trojans were being driven in flight, when sarpedon and hector turned and hurled themselves on the greeks; and even diomede shuddered when hector came on, and charged at ulysses, who was slaying trojans as he went, and the battle swayed this way and that, and the arrows fell like rain. but hector was sent into the city to bid the women pray to the goddess athãªnãª for help, and he went to the house of paris, whom helen was imploring to go and fight like a man, saying: 'would that the winds had wafted me away, and the tides drowned me, shameless that i am, before these things came to pass!' then hector went to see his dear wife, andromache, whose father had been slain by achilles early in the siege, and he found her and her nurse carrying her little boy, hector's son, and like a star upon her bosom lay his beautiful and shining golden head. now, while helen urged paris to go into the fight, andromache prayed hector to stay with her in the town, and fight no more lest he should be slain and leave her a widow, and the boy an orphan, with none to protect him. the army, she said, should come back within the walls, where they had so long been safe, not fight in the open plain. but hector answered that he would never shrink from battle, 'yet i know this in my heart, the day shall come for holy troy to be laid low, and priam and the people of priam. but this and my own death do not trouble me so much as the thought of you, when you shall be carried as a slave to greece, to spin at another woman's bidding, and bear water from a grecian well. may the heaped up earth of my tomb cover me ere i hear thy cries and the tale of thy captivity.' then hector stretched out his hands to his little boy, but the child was afraid when he saw the great glittering helmet of his father and the nodding horsehair crest. so hector laid his helmet on the ground and dandled the child in his arms, and tried to comfort his wife, and said good-bye for the last time, for he never came back to troy alive. he went on his way back to the battle, and paris went with him, in glorious armour, and soon they were slaying the princes of the greeks. the battle raged till nightfall, and in the night the greeks and trojans burned their dead; and the greeks made a trench and wall round their camp, which they needed for safety now that the trojans came from their town and fought in the open plain. next day the trojans were so successful that they did not retreat behind their walls at night, but lit great fires on the plain: a thousand fires, with fifty men taking supper round each of them, and drinking their wine to the music of flutes. but the greeks were much discouraged, and agamemnon called the whole army together, and proposed that they should launch their ships in the night and sail away home. then diomede stood up, and said: 'you called me a coward lately. you are the coward! sail away if you are afraid to remain here, but all the rest of us will fight till we take troy town.' then all shouted in praise of diomede, and nestor advised them to send five hundred young men, under his own son, thrasymedes, to watch the trojans, and guard the new wall and the ditch, in case the trojans attacked them in the darkness. next nestor counselled agamemnon to send ulysses and aias to achilles, and promise to give back briseis, and rich presents of gold, and beg pardon for his insolence. if achilles would be friends again with agamemnon, and fight as he used to fight, the trojans would soon be driven back into the town. agamemnon was very ready to beg pardon, for he feared that the whole army would be defeated, and cut off from their ships, and killed or kept as slaves. so ulysses and aias and the old tutor of achilles, phoenix, went to achilles and argued with him, praying him to accept the rich presents, and help the greeks. but achilles answered that he did not believe a word that agamemnon said; agamemnon had always hated him, and always would hate him. no; he would not cease to be angry, he would sail away next day with all his men, and he advised the rest to come with him. 'why be so fierce?' said tall aias, who seldom spoke. 'why make so much trouble about one girl? we offer you seven girls, and plenty of other gifts.' then achilles said that he would not sail away next day, but he would not fight till the trojans tried to burn his own ships, and there he thought that hector would find work enough to do. this was the most that achilles would promise, and all the greeks were silent when ulysses delivered his message. but diomede arose and said that, with or without achilles, fight they must; and all men, heavy at heart, went to sleep in their huts or in the open air at their doors. agamemnon was much too anxious to sleep. he saw the glow of the thousand fires of the trojans in the dark, and heard their merry flutes, and he groaned and pulled out his long hair by handfuls. when he was tired of crying and groaning and tearing his hair, he thought that he would go for advice to old nestor. he threw a lion skin, the coverlet of his bed, over his shoulder, took his spear, went out and met menelaus--for he, too, could not sleep--and menelaus proposed to send a spy among the trojans, if any man were brave enough to go, for the trojan camp was all alight with fires, and the adventure was dangerous. therefore the two wakened nestor and the other chiefs, who came just as they were, wrapped in the fur coverlets of their beds, without any armour. first they visited the five hundred young men set to watch the wall, and then they crossed the ditch and sat down outside and considered what might be done. 'will nobody go as a spy among the trojans?' said nestor; he meant would none of the young men go. diomede said that he would take the risk if any other man would share it with him, and, if he might choose a companion, he would take ulysses. 'come, then, let us be going,' said ulysses, 'for the night is late, and the dawn is near.' as these two chiefs had no armour on, they borrowed shields and leather caps from the young men of the guard, for leather would not shine as bronze helmets shine in the firelight. the cap lent to ulysses was strengthened outside with rows of boars' tusks. many of these tusks, shaped for this purpose, have been found, with swords and armour, in a tomb in mycenae, the town of agamemnon. this cap which was lent to ulysses had once been stolen by his grandfather, autolycus, who was a master thief, and he gave it as a present to a friend, and so, through several hands, it had come to young meriones of crete, one of the five hundred guards, who now lent it to ulysses. so the two princes set forth in the dark, so dark it was that though they heard a heron cry, they could not see it as it flew away. while ulysses and diomede stole through the night silently, like two wolves among the bodies of dead men, the trojan leaders met and considered what they ought to do. they did not know whether the greeks had set sentinels and outposts, as usual, to give warning if the enemy were approaching; or whether they were too weary to keep a good watch; or whether perhaps they were getting ready their ships to sail homewards in the dawn. so hector offered a reward to any man who would creep through the night and spy on the greeks; he said he would give the spy the two best horses in the greek camp. now among the trojans there was a young man named dolon, the son of a rich father, and he was the only boy in a family of five sisters. he was ugly, but a very swift runner, and he cared for horses more than for anything else in the world. dolon arose and said, 'if you will swear to give me the horses and chariot of achilles, son of peleus, i will steal to the hut of agamemnon and listen and find out whether the greeks mean to fight or flee.' hector swore to give these horses, which were the best in the world, to dolon, so he took his bow and threw a grey wolf's hide over his shoulders, and ran towards the ships of the greeks. now ulysses saw dolon as he came, and said to diomede, 'let us suffer him to pass us, and then do you keep driving him with your spear towards the ships, and away from troy.' so ulysses and diomede lay down among the dead men who had fallen in the battle, and dolon ran on past them towards the greeks. then they rose and chased him as two greyhounds course a hare, and, when dolon was near the sentinels, diomede cried 'stand, or i will slay you with my spear!' and he threw his spear just over dolon's shoulder. so dolon stood still, green with fear, and with his teeth chattering. when the two came up, he cried, and said that his father was a rich man, who would pay much gold, and bronze, and iron for his ransom. ulysses said, 'take heart, and put death out of your mind, and tell us what you are doing here.' dolon said that hector had promised him the horses of achilles if he would go and spy on the greeks. 'you set your hopes high,' said ulysses, 'for the horses of achilles are not earthly steeds, but divine; a gift of the gods, and achilles alone can drive them. but, tell me, do the trojans keep good watch, and where is hector with his horses?' for ulysses thought that it would be a great adventure to drive away the horses of hector. 'hector is with the chiefs, holding council at the tomb of ilus,' said dolon; 'but no regular guard is set. the people of troy, indeed, are round their watch fires, for they have to think of the safety of their wives and children; but the allies from far lands keep no watch, for their wives and children are safe at home.' then he told where all the different peoples who fought for priam had their stations; but, said he, 'if you want to steal horses, the best are those of rhesus, king of the thracians, who has only joined us to-night. he and his men are asleep at the furthest end of the line, and his horses are the best and greatest that ever i saw: tall, white as snow, and swift as the wind, and his chariot is adorned with gold and silver, and golden is his armour. now take me prisoner to the ships, or bind me and leave me here while you go and try whether i have told you truth or lies.' 'no,' said diomede, 'if i spare your life you may come spying again,' and he drew his sword and smote off the head of dolon. they hid his cap and bow and spear where they could find them easily, and marked the spot, and went through the night to the dark camp of king rhesus, who had no watch-fire and no guards. then diomede silently stabbed each sleeping man to the heart, and ulysses seized the dead by the feet and threw them aside lest they should frighten the horses, which had never been in battle, and would shy if they were led over the bodies of dead men. last of all diomede killed king rhesus, and ulysses led forth his horses, beating them with his bow, for he had forgotten to take the whip from the chariot. then ulysses and diomede leaped on the backs of the horses, as they had not time to bring away the chariot, and they galloped to the ships, stopping to pick up the spear, and bow, and cap of dolon. they rode to the princes, who welcomed them, and all laughed for glee when they saw the white horses and heard that king rhesus was dead, for they guessed that all his army would now go home to thrace. this they must have done, for we never hear of them in the battles that followed, so ulysses and diomede deprived the trojans of thousands of men. the other princes went to bed in good spirits, but ulysses and diomede took a swim in the sea, and then went into hot baths, and so to breakfast, for rosy-fingered dawn was coming up the sky. vi battle at the ships with dawn agamemnon awoke, and fear had gone out of his heart. he put on his armour, and arrayed the chiefs on foot in front of their chariots, and behind them came the spearmen, with the bowmen and slingers on the wings of the army. then a great black cloud spread over the sky, and red was the rain that fell from it. the trojans gathered on a height in the plain, and hector, shining in armour, went here and there, in front and rear, like a star that now gleams forth and now is hidden in a cloud. the armies rushed on each other and hewed each other down, as reapers cut their way through a field of tall corn. neither side gave ground, though the helmets of the bravest trojans might be seen deep in the ranks of the greeks; and the swords of the bravest greeks rose and fell in the ranks of the trojans, and all the while the arrows showered like rain. but at noon-day, when the weary woodman rests from cutting trees, and takes his dinner in the quiet hills, the greeks of the first line made a charge, agamemnon running in front of them, and he speared two trojans, and took their breastplates, which he laid in his chariot, and then he speared one brother of hector and struck another down with his sword, and killed two more who vainly asked to be made prisoners of war. footmen slew footmen, and chariot men slew chariot men, and they broke into the trojan line as fire falls on a forest in a windy day, leaping and roaring and racing through the trees. many an empty chariot did the horses hurry madly through the field, for the charioteers were lying dead, with the greedy vultures hovering above them, flapping their wide wings. still agamemnon followed and slew the hindmost trojans, but the rest fled till they came to the gates, and the oak tree that grew outside the gates, and there they stopped. but hector held his hands from fighting, for in the meantime he was making his men face the enemy and form up in line and take breath, and was encouraging them, for they had retreated from the wall of the greeks across the whole plain, past the hill that was the tomb of ilus, a king of old, and past the place of the wild fig-tree. much ado had hector to rally the trojans, but he knew that when men do turn again they are hard to beat. so it proved, for when the trojans had rallied and formed in line, agamemnon slew a thracian chief who had come to fight for troy before king rhesus came. but the eldest brother of the slain man smote agamemnon through the arm with his spear, and, though agamemnon slew him in turn, his wound bled much and he was in great pain, so he leaped into his chariot and was driven back to the ships. then hector gave the word to charge, as a huntsman cries on his hounds against a lion, and he rushed forward at the head of the trojan line, slaying as he went. nine chiefs of the greeks he slew, and fell upon the spearmen and scattered them, as the spray of the waves is scattered by the wandering wind. now the ranks of the greeks were broken, and they would have been driven among their ships and killed without mercy, had not ulysses and diomede stood firm in the centre, and slain four trojan leaders. the greeks began to come back and face their enemies in line of battle again, though hector, who had been fighting on the trojan right, rushed against them. but diomede took good aim with his spear at the helmet of hector, and struck it fairly. the spear-point did not go through the helmet, but hector was stunned and fell; and, when he came to himself, he leaped into his chariot, and his squire drove him against the pylians and cretans, under nestor and idomeneus, who were on the left wing of the greek army. then diomede fought on till paris, who stood beside the pillar on the hillock that was the tomb of old king ilus, sent an arrow clean through his foot. ulysses went and stood in front of diomede, who sat down, and ulysses drew the arrow from his foot, and diomede stepped into his chariot and was driven back to the ships. ulysses was now the only greek chief that still fought in the centre. the greeks all fled, and he was alone in the crowd of trojans, who rushed on him as hounds and hunters press round a wild boar that stands at bay in a wood. 'they are cowards that flee from the fight,' said ulysses to himself; 'but i will stand here, one man against a multitude.' he covered the front of his body with his great shield, that hung by a belt round his neck, and he smote four trojans and wounded a fifth. but the brother of the wounded man drove a spear through the shield and breastplate of ulysses, and tore clean through his side. then ulysses turned on this trojan, and he fled, and ulysses sent a spear through his shoulder and out at his breast, and he died. ulysses dragged from his own side the spear that had wounded him, and called thrice with a great voice to the other greeks, and menelaus and aias rushed to rescue him, for many trojans were round him, like jackals round a wounded stag that a man has struck with an arrow. but aias ran and covered the wounded ulysses with his huge shield till he could climb into the chariot of menelaus, who drove him back to the ships. meanwhile, hector was slaying the greeks on the left of their battle, and paris struck the greek surgeon, machaon, with an arrow; and idomeneus bade nestor put machaon in his chariot and drive him to nestor's hut, where his wound might be tended. meanwhile, hector sped to the centre of the line, where aias was slaying the trojans; but eurypylus, a greek chief, was wounded by an arrow from the bow of paris, and his friends guarded him with their shields and spears. thus the best of the greeks were wounded and out of the battle, save aias, and the spearmen were in flight. meanwhile achilles was standing by the stern of his ship watching the defeat of the greeks, but when he saw machaon being carried past, sorely wounded, in the chariot of nestor, he bade his friend patroclus, whom he loved better than all the rest, to go and ask how machaon did. he was sitting drinking wine with nestor when patroclus came, and nestor told patroclus how many of the chiefs were wounded, and though patroclus was in a hurry nestor began a very long story about his own great deeds of war, done when he was a young man. at last he bade patroclus tell achilles that, if he would not fight himself, he should at least send out his men under patroclus, who should wear the splendid armour of achilles. then the trojans would think that achilles himself had returned to the battle, and they would be afraid, for none of them dared to meet achilles hand to hand. so patroclus ran off to achilles; but, on his way, he met the wounded eurypylus, and he took him to his hut and cut the arrow out of his thigh with a knife, and washed the wound with warm water, and rubbed over it a bitter root to take the pain away. thus he waited for some time with eurypylus, but the advice of nestor was in the end to cause the death of patroclus. the battle now raged more fiercely, while agamemnon and diomede and ulysses could only limp about leaning on their spears; and again agamemnon wished to moor the ships near shore, and embark in the night and run away. but ulysses was very angry with him, and said: 'you should lead some other inglorious army, not us, who will fight on till every soul of us perish, rather than flee like cowards! be silent, lest the soldiers hear you speaking of flight, such words as no man should utter. i wholly scorn your counsel, for the greeks will lose heart if, in the midst of battle, you bid them launch the ships.' agamemnon was ashamed, and, by diomede's advice, the wounded kings went down to the verge of the war to encourage the others, though they were themselves unable to fight. they rallied the greeks, and aias led them and struck hector full in the breast with a great rock, so that his friends carried him out of the battle to the river side, where they poured water over him, but he lay fainting on the ground, the black blood gushing up from his mouth. while hector lay there, and all men thought that he would die, aias and idomeneus were driving back the trojans, and it seemed that, even without achilles and his men, the greeks were able to hold their own against the trojans. but the battle was never lost while hector lived. people in those days believed in 'omens:' they thought that the appearance of birds on the right or left hand meant good or bad luck. once during the battle a trojan showed hector an unlucky bird, and wanted him to retreat into the town. but hector said, 'one omen is the best: to fight for our own country.' while hector lay between death and life the greeks were winning, for the trojans had no other great chief to lead them. but hector awoke from his faint, and leaped to his feet and ran here and there, encouraging the men of troy. then the most of the greeks fled when they saw him; but aias and idomeneus, and the rest of the bravest, formed in a square between the trojans and the ships, and down on them came hector and aeneas and paris, throwing their spears, and slaying on every hand. the greeks turned and ran, and the trojans would have stopped to strip the armour from the slain men, but hector cried: 'haste to the ships and leave the spoils of war. i will slay any man who lags behind!' on this, all the trojans drove their chariots down into the ditch that guarded the ships of the greeks, as when a great wave sweeps at sea over the side of a vessel; and the greeks were on the ship decks, thrusting with very long spears, used in sea fights, and the trojans were boarding the ships, and striking with swords and axes. hector had a lighted torch and tried to set fire to the ship of aias; but aias kept him back with the long spear, and slew a trojan, whose lighted torch fell from his hand. and aias kept shouting: 'come on, and drive away hector; it is not to a dance that he is calling his men, but to battle.' the dead fell in heaps, and the living ran over them to mount the heaps of slain and climb the ships. hector rushed forward like a sea wave against a great steep rock, but like the rock stood the greeks; still the trojans charged past the beaks of the foremost ships, while aias, thrusting with a spear more than twenty feet long, leaped from deck to deck like a man that drives four horses abreast, and leaps from the back of one to the back of another. hector seized with his hand the stern of the ship of protesilaus, the prince whom paris shot when he leaped ashore on the day when the greeks first landed; and hector kept calling: 'bring fire!' and even aias, in this strange sea fight on land, left the decks and went below, thrusting with his spear through the portholes. twelve men lay dead who had brought fire against the ship which aias guarded. vii the slaying and avenging of patroclus at this moment, when torches were blazing round the ships, and all seemed lost, patroclus came out of the hut of eurypylus, whose wound he had been tending, and he saw that the greeks were in great danger, and ran weeping to achilles. 'why do you weep,' said achilles, 'like a little girl that runs by her mother's side, and plucks at her gown and looks at her with tears in her eyes, till her mother takes her up in her arms? is there bad news from home that your father is dead, or mine; or are you sorry that the greeks are getting what they deserve for their folly?' then patroclus told achilles how ulysses and many other princes were wounded and could not fight, and begged to be allowed to put on achilles' armour and lead his men, who were all fresh and unwearied, into the battle, for a charge of two thousand fresh warriors might turn the fortune of the day. then achilles was sorry that he had sworn not to fight himself till hector brought fire to his own ships. he would lend patroclus his armour, and his horses, and his men; but patroclus must only drive the trojans from the ships, and not pursue them. at this moment aias was weary, so many spears smote his armour, and he could hardly hold up his great shield, and hector cut off his spearhead with the sword; the bronze head fell ringing on the ground, and aias brandished only the pointless shaft. so he shrank back and fire blazed all over his ship; and achilles saw it, and smote his thigh, and bade patroclus make haste. patroclus armed himself in the shining armour of achilles, which all trojans feared, and leaped into the chariot where automedon, the squire, had harnessed xanthus and balius, two horses that were the children, men said, of the west wind, and a led horse was harnessed beside them in the side traces. meanwhile the two thousand men of achilles, who were called myrmidons, had met in armour, five companies of four hundred apiece, under five chiefs of noble names. forth they came, as eager as a pack of wolves that have eaten a great red deer and run to slake their thirst with the dark water of a well in the hills. so all in close array, helmet touching helmet and shield touching shield, like a moving wall of shining bronze, the men of achilles charged, and patroclus in the chariot led the way. down they came at full speed on the flank of the trojans, who saw the leader, and knew the bright armour and the horses of the terrible achilles, and thought that he had returned to the war. then each trojan looked round to see by what way he could escape, and when men do that in battle they soon run by the way they have chosen. patroclus rushed to the ship of protesilaus, and slew the leader of the trojans there, and drove them out, and quenched the fire; while they of troy drew back from the ships, and aias and the other unwounded greek princes leaped among them, smiting with sword and spear. well did hector know that the break in the battle had come again; but even so he stood, and did what he might, while the trojans were driven back in disorder across the ditch, where the poles of many chariots were broken and the horses fled loose across the plain. the horses of achilles cleared the ditch, and patroclus drove them between the trojans and the wall of their own town, slaying many men, and, chief of all, sarpedon, king of the lycians; and round the body of sarpedon the trojans rallied under hector, and the fight swayed this way and that, and there was such a noise of spears and swords smiting shields and helmets as when many woodcutters fell trees in a glen of the hills. at last the trojans gave way, and the greeks stripped the armour from the body of brave sarpedon; but men say that sleep and death, like two winged angels, bore his body away to his own country. now patroclus forgot how achilles had told him not to pursue the trojans across the plain, but to return when he had driven them from the ships. on he raced, slaying as he went, even till he reached the foot of the wall of troy. thrice he tried to climb it, but thrice he fell back. hector was in his chariot in the gateway, and he bade his squire lash his horses into the war, and struck at no other man, great or small, but drove straight against patroclus, who stood and threw a heavy stone at hector; which missed him, but killed his charioteer. then patroclus leaped on the charioteer to strip his armour, but hector stood over the body, grasping it by the head, while patroclus dragged at the feet, and spears and arrows flew in clouds around the fallen man. at last, towards sunset, the greeks drew him out of the war, and patroclus thrice charged into the thick of the trojans. but the helmet of achilles was loosened in the fight, and fell from the head of patroclus, and he was wounded from behind, and hector, in front, drove his spear clean through his body. with his last breath patroclus prophesied: 'death stands near thee, hector, at the hands of noble achilles.' but automedon was driving back the swift horses, carrying to achilles the news that his dearest friend was slain. after ulysses was wounded, early in this great battle, he was not able to fight for several days, and, as the story is about ulysses, we must tell quite shortly how achilles returned to the war to take vengeance for patroclus, and how he slew hector. when patroclus fell, hector seized the armour which the gods had given to peleus, and peleus to his son achilles, while achilles had lent it to patroclus that he might terrify the trojans. retiring out of reach of spears, hector took off his own armour and put on that of achilles, and greeks and trojans fought for the dead body of patroclus. then zeus, the chief of the gods, looked down and said that hector should never come home out of the battle to his wife, andromache. but hector returned into the fight around the dead patroclus, and here all the best men fought, and even automedon, who had been driving the chariot of patroclus. now when the trojans seemed to have the better of the fight, the greeks sent antilochus, a son of old nestor, to tell achilles that his friend was slain, and antilochus ran, and aias and his brother protected the greeks who were trying to carry the body of patroclus back to the ships. swiftly antilochus came running to achilles, saying: 'fallen is patroclus, and they are fighting round his naked body, for hector has his armour.' then achilles said never a word, but fell on the floor of his hut, and threw black ashes on his yellow hair, till antilochus seized his hands, fearing that he would cut his own throat with his dagger, for very sorrow. his mother, thetis, arose from the sea to comfort him, but he said that he desired to die if he could not slay hector, who had slain his friend. then thetis told him that he could not fight without armour, and now he had none; but she would go to the god of armour-making and bring from him such a shield and helmet and breastplate as had never been seen by men. meanwhile the fight raged round the dead body of patroclus, which was defiled with blood and dust, near the ships, and was being dragged this way and that, and torn and wounded. achilles could not bear this sight, yet his mother had warned him not to enter without armour the battle where stones and arrows and spears were flying like hail; and he was so tall and broad that he could put on the arms of no other man. so he went down to the ditch as he was, unarmed, and as he stood high above it, against the red sunset, fire seemed to flow from his golden hair like the beacon blaze that soars into the dark sky when an island town is attacked at night, and men light beacons that their neighbours may see them and come to their help from other isles. there achilles stood in a splendour of fire, and he shouted aloud, as clear as a clarion rings when men fall on to attack a besieged city wall. thrice achilles shouted mightily, and thrice the horses of the trojans shuddered for fear and turned back from the onslaught, and thrice the men of troy were confounded and shaken with terror. then the greeks drew the body of patroclus out of the dust and the arrows, and laid him on a bier, and achilles followed, weeping, for he had sent his friend with chariot and horses to the war; but home again he welcomed him never more. then the sun set and it was night. now one of the trojans wished hector to retire within the walls of troy, for certainly achilles would to-morrow be foremost in the war. but hector said, 'have ye not had your fill of being shut up behind walls? let achilles fight; i will meet him in the open field.' the trojans cheered, and they camped in the plain, while in the hut of achilles women washed the dead body of patroclus, and achilles swore that he would slay hector. in the dawn came thetis, bearing to achilles the new splendid armour that the god had made for him. then achilles put on that armour, and roused his men; but ulysses, who knew all the rules of honour, would not let him fight till peace had been made, with a sacrifice and other ceremonies, between him and agamemnon, and till agamemnon had given him all the presents which achilles had before refused. achilles did not want them; he wanted only to fight, but ulysses made him obey, and do what was usual. then the gifts were brought, and agamemnon stood up, and said that he was sorry for his insolence, and the men took breakfast, but achilles would neither eat nor drink. he mounted his chariot, but the horse xanthus bowed his head till his long mane touched the ground, and, being a fairy horse, the child of the west wind, he spoke (or so men said), and these were his words: 'we shall bear thee swiftly and speedily, but thou shalt be slain in fight, and thy dying day is near at hand.' 'well i know it,' said achilles, 'but i will not cease from fighting till i have given the trojans their fill of war.' so all that day he chased and slew the trojans. he drove them into the river, and, though the river came down in a red flood, he crossed, and slew them on the plain. the plain caught fire, the bushes and long dry grass blazed round him, but he fought his way through the fire, and drove the trojans to their walls. the gates were thrown open, and the trojans rushed through like frightened fawns, and then they climbed to the battlements, and looked down in safety, while the whole greek army advanced in line under their shields. but hector stood still, alone, in front of the gate, and old priam, who saw achilles rushing on, shining like a star in his new armour, called with tears to hector, 'come within the gate! this man has slain many of my sons, and if he slays thee whom have i to help me in my old age?' his mother also called to hector, but he stood firm, waiting for achilles. now the story says that he was afraid, and ran thrice in full armour round troy, with achilles in pursuit. but this cannot be true, for no mortal men could run thrice, in heavy armour, with great shields that clanked against their ankles, round the town of troy: moreover hector was the bravest of men, and all the trojan women were looking down at him from the walls. we cannot believe that he ran away, and the story goes on to tell that he asked achilles to make an agreement with him. the conqueror in the fight should give back the body of the fallen to be buried by his friends, but should keep his armour. but achilles said that he could make no agreement with hector, and threw his spear, which flew over hector's shoulder. then hector threw his spear, but it could not pierce the shield which the god had made for achilles. hector had no other spear, and achilles had one, so hector cried, 'let me not die without honour!' and drew his sword, and rushed at achilles, who sprang to meet him, but before hector could come within a sword-stroke achilles had sent his spear clean through the neck of hector. he fell in the dust and achilles said, 'dogs and birds shall tear your flesh unburied.' with his dying breath hector prayed him to take gold from priam, and give back his body to be burned in troy. but achilles said, 'hound! would that i could bring myself to carve and eat thy raw flesh, but dogs shall devour it, even if thy father offered me thy weight in gold.' with his last words hector prophesied and said, 'remember me in the day when paris shall slay thee in the scaean gate.' then his brave soul went to the land of the dead, which the greeks called hades. to that land ulysses sailed while he was still a living man, as the story tells later. then achilles did a dreadful deed; he slit the feet of dead hector from heel to ankle, and thrust thongs through, and bound him by the thongs to his chariot and trailed the body in the dust. all the women of troy who were on the walls raised a shriek, and hector's wife, andromache, heard the sound. she had been in an inner room of her house, weaving a purple web, and embroidering flowers on it, and she was calling her bower maidens to make ready a bath for hector when he should come back tired from battle. but when she heard the cry from the wall she trembled, and the shuttle with which she was weaving fell from her hands. 'surely i heard the cry of my husband's mother,' she said, and she bade two of her maidens come with her to see why the people lamented. she ran swiftly, and reached the battlements, and thence she saw her dear husband's body being whirled through the dust towards the ships, behind the chariot of achilles. then night came over her eyes and she fainted. but when she returned to herself she cried out that now none would defend her little boy, and other children would push him away from feasts, saying, 'out with you; no father of thine is at our table,' and his father, hector, would lie naked at the ships, unclad, unburned, unlamented. to be unburned and unburied was thought the greatest of misfortunes, because the dead man unburned could not go into the house of hades, god of the dead, but must always wander, alone and comfortless, in the dark borderland between the dead and the living. viii the cruelty of achilles, and the ransoming of hector when achilles was asleep that night the ghost of patroclus came, saying, 'why dost thou not burn and bury me? for the other shadows of dead men suffer me not to come near them, and lonely i wander along the dark dwelling of hades.' then achilles awoke, and he sent men to cut down trees, and make a huge pile of fagots and logs. on this they laid patroclus, covered with white linen, and then they slew many cattle, and achilles cut the throats of twelve trojan prisoners of war, meaning to burn them with patroclus to do him honour. this was a deed of shame, for achilles was mad with sorrow and anger for the death of his friend. then they drenched with wine the great pile of wood, which was thirty yards long and broad, and set fire to it, and the fire blazed all through the night and died down in the morning. they put the white bones of patroclus in a golden casket, and laid it in the hut of achilles, who said that, when he died, they must burn his body, and mix the ashes with the ashes of his friend, and build over it a chamber of stone, and cover the chamber with a great hill of earth, and set a pillar of stone above it. this is one of the hills on the plain of troy, but the pillar has fallen from the tomb, long ago. then, as the custom was, achilles held games--chariot races, foot races, boxing, wrestling, and archery--in honour of patroclus. ulysses won the prize for the foot race, and for the wrestling, so now his wound must have been healed. but achilles still kept trailing hector's dead body each day round the hill that had been raised for the tomb of patroclus, till the gods in heaven were angry, and bade thetis tell her son that he must give back the dead body to priam, and take ransom for it, and they sent a messenger to priam to bid him redeem the body of his son. it was terrible for priam to have to go and humble himself before achilles, whose hands had been red with the blood of his sons, but he did not disobey the gods. he opened his chests, and took out twenty-four beautiful embroidered changes of raiment; and he weighed out ten heavy bars, or talents, of gold, and chose a beautiful golden cup, and he called nine of his sons, paris, and helenus, and deiphobus, and the rest, saying, 'go, ye bad sons, my shame; would that hector lived and all of you were dead!' for sorrow made him angry; 'go, and get ready for me a wain, and lay on it these treasures.' so they harnessed mules to the wain, and placed in it the treasures, and, after praying, priam drove through the night to the hut of achilles. in he went, when no man looked for him, and kneeled to achilles, and kissed his terrible death-dealing hands. 'have pity on me, and fear the gods, and give me back my dead son,' he said, 'and remember thine own father. have pity on me, who have endured to do what no man born has ever done before, to kiss the hands that slew my sons.' then achilles remembered his own father, far away, who now was old and weak: and he wept, and priam wept with him, and then achilles raised priam from his knees and spoke kindly to him, admiring how beautiful he still was in his old age, and priam himself wondered at the beauty of achilles. and achilles thought how priam had long been rich and happy, like his own father, peleus, and now old age and weakness and sorrow were laid upon both of them, for achilles knew that his own day of death was at hand, even at the doors. so achilles bade the women make ready the body of hector for burial, and they clothed him in a white mantle that priam had brought, and laid him in the wain; and supper was made ready, and priam and achilles ate and drank together, and the women spread a bed for priam, who would not stay long, but stole away back to troy while achilles was asleep. all the women came out to meet him, and to lament for hector. they carried the body into the house of andromache and laid it on a bed, and the women gathered around, and each in turn sang her song over the great dead warrior. his mother bewailed him, and his wife, and helen of the fair hands, clad in dark mourning raiment, lifted up her white arms, and said: 'hector, of all my brethren in troy thou wert the dearest, since paris brought me hither. would that ere that day i had died! for this is now the twentieth year since i came, and in all these twenty years never heard i a word from thee that was bitter and unkind; others might upbraid me, thy sisters or thy mother, for thy father was good to me as if he had been my own; but then thou wouldst restrain them that spoke evil by the courtesy of thy heart and thy gentle words. ah! woe for thee, and woe for me, whom all men shudder at, for there is now none in wide troyland to be my friend like thee, my brother and my friend!' so helen lamented, but now was done all that men might do; a great pile of wood was raised, and hector was burned, and his ashes were placed in a golden urn, in a dark chamber of stone, within a hollow hill. ix how ulysses stole the luck of troy after hector was buried, the siege went on slowly, as it had done during the first nine years of the war. the greeks did not know at that time how to besiege a city, as we saw, by way of digging trenches and building towers, and battering the walls with machines that threw heavy stones. the trojans had lost courage, and dared not go into the open plain, and they were waiting for the coming up of new armies of allies--the amazons, who were girl warriors from far away, and an eastern people called the khita, whose king was memnon, the son of the bright dawn. now everyone knew that, in the temple of the goddess pallas athãªnãª, in troy, was a sacred image, which fell from heaven, called the palladium, and this very ancient image was the luck of troy. while it remained safe in the temple people believed that troy could never be taken, but as it was in a guarded temple in the middle of the town, and was watched by priestesses day and night, it seemed impossible that the greeks should ever enter the city secretly and steal the luck away. as ulysses was the grandson of autolycus, the master thief, he often wished that the old man was with the greeks, for if there was a thing to steal autolycus could steal it. but by this time autolycus was dead, and so ulysses could only puzzle over the way to steal the luck of troy, and wonder how his grandfather would have set about it. he prayed for help secretly to hermes, the god of thieves, when he sacrificed goats to him, and at last he had a plan. there was a story that anius, the king of the isle of delos, had three daughters, named oeno, spermo, and elais, and that oeno could turn water into wine, while spermo could turn stones into bread, and elais could change mud into olive oil. those fairy gifts, people said, were given to the maidens by the wine god, dionysus, and by the goddess of corn, demeter. now corn, and wine, and oil were sorely needed by the greeks, who were tired of paying much gold and bronze to the phoenician merchants for their supplies. ulysses therefore went to agamemnon one day, and asked leave to take his ship and voyage to delos, to bring, if he could, the three maidens to the camp, if indeed they could do these miracles. as no fighting was going on, agamemnon gave ulysses leave to depart, so he went on board his ship, with a crew of fifty men of ithaca, and away they sailed, promising to return in a month. two or three days after that, a dirty old beggar man began to be seen in the greek camp. he had crawled in late one evening, dressed in a dirty smock and a very dirty old cloak, full of holes, and stained with smoke. over everything he wore the skin of a stag, with half the hair worn off, and he carried a staff, and a filthy tattered wallet, to put food in, which swung from his neck by a cord. he came crouching and smiling up to the door of the hut of diomede, and sat down just within the doorway, where beggars still sit in the east. diomede saw him, and sent him a loaf and two handfuls of flesh, which the beggar laid on his wallet, between his feet, and he made his supper greedily, gnawing a bone like a dog. after supper diomede asked him who he was and whence he came, and he told a long story about how he had been a cretan pirate, and had been taken prisoner by the egyptians when he was robbing there, and how he had worked for many years in their stone quarries, where the sun had burned him brown, and had escaped by hiding among the great stones, carried down the nile in a raft, for building a temple on the seashore. the raft arrived at night, and the beggar said that he stole out from it in the dark and found a phoenician ship in the harbour, and the phoenicians took him on board, meaning to sell him somewhere as a slave. but a tempest came on and wrecked the ship off the isle of tenedos, which is near troy, and the beggar alone escaped to the island on a plank of the ship. from tenedos he had come to troy in a fisher's boat, hoping to make himself useful in the camp, and earn enough to keep body and soul together till he could find a ship sailing to crete. he made his story rather amusing, describing the strange ways of the egyptians; how they worshipped cats and bulls, and did everything in just the opposite of the greek way of doing things. so diomede let him have a rug and blankets to sleep on in the portico of the hut, and next day the old wretch went begging about the camp and talking with the soldiers. now he was a most impudent and annoying old vagabond, and was always in quarrels. if there was a disagreeable story about the father or grandfather of any of the princes, he knew it and told it, so that he got a blow from the baton of agamemnon, and aias gave him a kick, and idomeneus drubbed him with the butt of his spear for a tale about his grandmother, and everybody hated him and called him a nuisance. he was for ever jeering at ulysses, who was far away, and telling tales about autolycus, and at last he stole a gold cup, a very large cup, with two handles, and a dove sitting on each handle, from the hut of nestor. the old chief was fond of this cup, which he had brought from home, and, when it was found in the beggar's dirty wallet, everybody cried that he must be driven out of the camp and well whipped. so nestor's son, young thrasymedes, with other young men, laughing and shouting, pushed and dragged the beggar close up to the scaean gate of troy, where thrasymedes called with a loud voice, 'o trojans, we are sick of this shameless beggar. first we shall whip him well, and if he comes back we shall put out his eyes and cut off his hands and feet, and give him to the dogs to eat. he may go to you, if he likes; if not, he must wander till he dies of hunger.' the young men of troy heard this and laughed, and a crowd gathered on the wall to see the beggar punished. so thrasymedes whipped him with his bowstring till he was tired, and they did not leave off beating the beggar till he ceased howling and fell, all bleeding, and lay still. then thrasymedes gave him a parting kick, and went away with his friends. the beggar lay quiet for some time, then he began to stir, and sat up, wiping the tears from his eyes, and shouting curses and bad words after the greeks, praying that they might be speared in the back, and eaten by dogs. at last he tried to stand up, but fell down again, and began to crawl on hands and knees towards the scaean gate. there he sat down, within the two side walls of the gate, where he cried and lamented. now helen of the fair hands came down from the gate tower, being sorry to see any man treated so much worse than a beast, and she spoke to the beggar and asked him why he had been used in this cruel way? at first he only moaned, and rubbed his sore sides, but at last he said that he was an unhappy man, who had been shipwrecked, and was begging his way home, and that the greeks suspected him of being a spy sent out by the trojans. but he had been in lacedaemon, her own country, he said, and could tell her about her father, if she were, as he supposed, the beautiful helen, and about her brothers, castor and polydeuces, and her little daughter, hermione. 'but perhaps,' he said, 'you are no mortal woman, but some goddess who favours the trojans, and if indeed you are a goddess then i liken you to aphrodite, for beauty, and stature, and shapeliness.' then helen wept; for many a year had passed since she had heard any word of her father, and daughter, and her brothers, who were dead, though she knew it not. so she stretched out her white hand, and raised the beggar, who was kneeling at her feet, and bade him follow her to her own house, within the palace garden of king priam. helen walked forward, with a bower maiden at either side, and the beggar crawling after her. when she had entered her house, paris was not there, so she ordered the bath to be filled with warm water, and new clothes to be brought, and she herself washed the old beggar and anointed him with oil. this appears very strange to us, for though saint elizabeth of hungary used to wash and clothe beggars, we are surprised that helen should do so, who was not a saint. but long afterwards she herself told the son of ulysses, telemachus, that she had washed his father when he came into troy disguised as a beggar who had been sorely beaten. you must have guessed that the beggar was ulysses, who had not gone to delos in his ship, but stolen back in a boat, and appeared disguised among the greeks. he did all this to make sure that nobody could recognise him, and he behaved so as to deserve a whipping that he might not be suspected as a greek spy by the trojans, but rather be pitied by them. certainly he deserved his name of 'the much-enduring ulysses.' meanwhile he sat in his bath and helen washed his feet. but when she had done, and had anointed his wounds with olive oil, and when she had clothed him in a white tunic and a purple mantle, then she opened her lips to cry out with amazement, for she knew ulysses; but he laid his finger on her lips, saying 'hush!' then she remembered how great danger he was in, for the trojans, if they found him, would put him to some cruel death, and she sat down, trembling and weeping, while he watched her. 'oh thou strange one,' she said, 'how enduring is thy heart and how cunning beyond measure! how hast thou borne to be thus beaten and disgraced, and to come within the walls of troy? well it is for thee that paris, my lord, is far from home, having gone to guide penthesilea, the queen of the warrior maids whom men call amazons, who is on her way to help the trojans.' then ulysses smiled, and helen saw that she had said a word which she ought not to have spoken, and had revealed the secret hope of the trojans. then she wept, and said, 'oh cruel and cunning! you have made me betray the people with whom i live, though woe is me that ever i left my own people, and my husband dear, and my child! and now if you escape alive out of troy, you will tell the greeks, and they will lie in ambush by night for the amazons on the way to troy and will slay them all. if you and i were not friends long ago, i would tell the trojans that you are here, and they would give your body to the dogs to eat, and fix your head on the palisade above the wall. woe is me that ever i was born.' ulysses answered, 'lady, as you have said, we two are friends from of old, and your friend i will be till the last, when the greeks break into troy, and slay the men, and carry the women captives. if i live till that hour no man shall harm you, but safely and in honour you shall come to your palace in lacedaemon of the rifted hills. moreover, i swear to you a great oath, by zeus above, and by them that under earth punish the souls of men who swear falsely, that i shall tell no man the thing which you have spoken.' so when he had sworn and done that oath, helen was comforted and dried her tears. then she told him how unhappy she was, and how she had lost her last comfort when hector died. 'always am i wretched,' she said, 'save when sweet sleep falls on me. now the wife of thon, king of egypt, gave me this gift when we were in egypt, on our way to troy, namely, a drug that brings sleep even to the most unhappy, and it is pressed from the poppy heads of the garland of the god of sleep.' then she showed him strange phials of gold, full of this drug: phials wrought by the egyptians, and covered with magic spells and shapes of beasts and flowers. 'one of these i will give you,' she said, 'that even from troy town you may not go without a gift in memory of the hands of helen.' so ulysses took the phial of gold, and was glad in his heart, and helen set before him meat and wine. when he had eaten and drunk, and his strength had come back to him, he said: 'now i must dress me again in my old rags, and take my wallet, and my staff, and go forth, and beg through troy town. for here i must abide for some days as a beggar man, lest if i now escape from your house in the night the trojans may think that you have told me the secrets of their counsel, which i am carrying to the greeks, and may be angry with you.' so he clothed himself again as a beggar, and took his staff, and hid the phial of gold with the egyptian drug in his rags, and in his wallet also he put the new clothes that helen had given him, and a sword, and he took farewell, saying, 'be of good heart, for the end of your sorrows is at hand. but if you see me among the beggars in the street, or by the well, take no heed of me, only i will salute you as a beggar who has been kindly treated by a queen.' so they parted, and ulysses went out, and when it was day he was with the beggars in the streets, but by night he commonly slept near the fire of a smithy forge, as is the way of beggars. so for some days he begged, saying that he was gathering food to eat while he walked to some town far away that was at peace, where he might find work to do. he was not impudent now, and did not go to rich men's houses or tell evil tales, or laugh, but he was much in the temples, praying to the gods, and above all in the temple of pallas athãªnãª. the trojans thought that he was a pious man for a beggar. now there was a custom in these times that men and women who were sick or in distress, should sleep at night on the floors of the temples. they did this hoping that the god would send them a dream to show them how their diseases might be cured, or how they might find what they had lost, or might escape from their distresses. ulysses slept in more than one temple, and once in that of pallas athãªnãª, and the priests and priestesses were kind to him, and gave him food in the morning when the gates of the temple were opened. in the temple of pallas athãªnãª, where the luck of troy lay always on her altar, the custom was that priestesses kept watch, each for two hours, all through the night, and soldiers kept guard within call. so one night ulysses slept there, on the floor, with other distressed people, seeking for dreams from the gods. he lay still all through the night till the turn of the last priestess came to watch. the priestess used to walk up and down with bare feet among the dreaming people, having a torch in her hand, and muttering hymns to the goddess. then ulysses, when her back was turned, slipped the gold phial out of his rags, and let it lie on the polished floor beside him. when the priestess came back again, the light from her torch fell on the glittering phial, and she stooped and picked it up, and looked at it curiously. there came from it a sweet fragrance, and she opened it, and tasted the drug. it seemed to her the sweetest thing that ever she had tasted, and she took more and more, and then closed the phial and laid it down, and went along murmuring her hymn. but soon a great drowsiness came over her, and she sat down on the step of the altar, and fell sound asleep, and the torch sunk in her hand, and went out, and all was dark. then ulysses put the phial in his wallet, and crept very cautiously to the altar, in the dark, and stole the luck of troy. it was only a small black mass of what is now called meteoric iron, which sometimes comes down with meteorites from the sky, but it was shaped like a shield, and the people thought it an image of the warlike shielded goddess, fallen from heaven. such sacred shields, made of glass and ivory, are found deep in the earth in the ruined cities of ulysses' time. swiftly ulysses hid the luck in his rags and left in its place on the altar a copy of the luck, which he had made of blackened clay. then he stole back to the place where he had lain, and remained there till dawn appeared, and the sleepers who sought for dreams awoke, and the temple gates were opened, and ulysses walked out with the rest of them. he stole down a lane, where as yet no people were stirring, and crept along, leaning on his staff, till he came to the eastern gate, at the back of the city, which the greeks never attacked, for they had never drawn their army in a circle round the town. there ulysses explained to the sentinels that he had gathered food enough to last for a long journey to some other town, and opened his bag, which seemed full of bread and broken meat. the soldiers said he was a lucky beggar, and let him out. he walked slowly along the waggon road by which wood was brought into troy from the forests on mount ida, and when he found that nobody was within sight he slipped into the forest, and stole into a dark thicket, hiding beneath the tangled boughs. here he lay and slept till evening, and then took the new clothes which helen had given him out of his wallet, and put them on, and threw the belt of the sword over his shoulder, and hid the luck of troy in his bosom. he washed himself clean in a mountain brook, and now all who saw him must have known that he was no beggar, but ulysses of ithaca, laertes' son. so he walked cautiously down the side of the brook which ran between high banks deep in trees, and followed it till it reached the river xanthus, on the left of the greek lines. here he found greek sentinels set to guard the camp, who cried aloud in joy and surprise, for his ship had not yet returned from delos, and they could not guess how ulysses had come back alone across the sea. so two of the sentinels guarded ulysses to the hut of agamemnon, where he and achilles and all the chiefs were sitting at a feast. they all leaped up, but when ulysses took the luck of troy from within his mantle, they cried that this was the bravest deed that had been done in the war, and they sacrificed ten oxen to zeus. 'so you were the old beggar,' said young thrasymedes. 'yes,' said ulysses, 'and when next you beat a beggar, thrasymedes, do not strike so hard and so long.' that night all the greeks were full of hope, for now they had the luck of troy, but the trojans were in despair, and guessed that the beggar was the thief, and that ulysses had been the beggar. the priestess, theano, could tell them nothing; they found her, with the extinguished torch drooping in her hand, asleep, as she sat on the step of the altar, and she never woke again. x the battles with the amazons and memnon--the death of achilles ulysses thought much and often of helen, without whose kindness he could not have saved the greeks by stealing the luck of troy. he saw that, though she remained as beautiful as when the princes all sought her hand, she was most unhappy, knowing herself to be the cause of so much misery, and fearing what the future might bring. ulysses told nobody about the secret which she had let fall, the coming of the amazons. the amazons were a race of warlike maids, who lived far away on the banks of the river thermodon. they had fought against troy in former times, and one of the great hill-graves on the plain of troy covered the ashes of an amazon, swift-footed myrinãª. people believed that they were the daughters of the god of war, and they were reckoned equal in battle to the bravest men. their young queen, penthesilea, had two reasons for coming to fight at troy: one was her ambition to win renown, and the other her sleepless sorrow for having accidentally killed her sister, hippolytãª, when hunting. the spear which she threw at a stag struck hippolytãª and slew her, and penthesilea cared no longer for her own life, and desired to fall gloriously in battle. so penthesilea and her bodyguard of twelve amazons set forth from the wide streams of thermodon, and rode into troy. the story says that they did not drive in chariots, like all the greek and trojan chiefs, but rode horses, which must have been the manner of their country. penthesilea was the tallest and most beautiful of the amazons, and shone among her twelve maidens like the moon among the stars, or the bright dawn among the hours which follow her chariot wheels. the trojans rejoiced when they beheld her, for she looked both terrible and beautiful, with a frown on her brow, and fair shining eyes, and a blush on her cheeks. to the trojans she came like iris, the rainbow, after a storm, and they gathered round her cheering, and throwing flowers and kissing her stirrup, as the people of orleans welcomed joan of arc when she came to deliver them. even priam was glad, as is a man long blind, when he has been healed, and again looks upon the light of the sun. priam held a great feast, and gave to penthesilea many beautiful gifts: cups of gold, and embroideries, and a sword with a hilt of silver, and she vowed that she would slay achilles. but when andromache, the wife of hector, heard her she said within herself, 'ah, unhappy girl, what is this boast of thine! thou hast not the strength to fight the unconquerable son of peleus, for if hector could not slay him, what chance hast thou? but the piled-up earth covers hector!' in the morning penthesilea sprang up from sleep and put on her glorious armour, with spear in hand, and sword at side, and bow and quiver hung behind her back, and her great shield covering her side from neck to stirrup, and mounted her horse, and galloped to the plain. beside her charged the twelve maidens of her bodyguard, and all the company of hector's brothers and kinsfolk. these headed the trojan lines, and they rushed towards the ships of the greeks. then the greeks asked each other, 'who is this that leads the trojans as hector led them, surely some god rides in the van of the charioteers!' ulysses could have told them who the new leader of the trojans was, but it seems that he had not the heart to fight against women, for his name is not mentioned in this day's battle. so the two lines clashed, and the plain of troy ran red with blood, for penthesilea slew molios, and persinoos, and eilissos, and antiphates, and lernos high of heart, and hippalmos of the loud warcry, and haemonides, and strong elasippus, while her maidens derinoãª and cloniãª slew each a chief of the greeks. but cloniãª fell beneath the spear of podarkes, whose hand penthesilea cut off with the sword, while idomeneus speared the amazon bremousa, and meriones of crete slew evadrãª, and diomede killed alcibiãª and derimacheia in close fight with the sword, so the company of the twelve were thinned, the bodyguard of penthesilea. the trojans and greeks kept slaying each other, but penthesilea avenged her maidens, driving the ranks of greece as a lioness drives the cattle on the hills, for they could not stand before her. then she shouted, 'dogs! to-day shall you pay for the sorrows of priam! where is diomede, where is achilles, where is aias, that, men say, are your bravest? will none of them stand before my spear?' then she charged again, at the head of the household of priam, brothers and kinsmen of hector, and where they came the greeks fell like yellow leaves before the wind of autumn. the white horse that penthesilea rode, a gift from the wife of the north wind, flashed like lightning through a dark cloud among the companies of the greeks, and the chariots that followed the charge of the amazon rocked as they swept over the bodies of the slain. then the old trojans, watching from the walls, cried: 'this is no mortal maiden but a goddess, and to-day she will burn the ships of the greeks, and they will all perish in troyland, and see greece never more again.' now it so was that aias and achilles had not heard the din and the cry of war, for both had gone to weep over the great new grave of patroclus. penthesilea and the trojans had driven back the greeks within their ditch, and they were hiding here and there among the ships, and torches were blazing in men's hands to burn the ships, as in the day of the valour of hector: when aias heard the din of battle, and called to achilles to make speed towards the ships. so they ran swiftly to their huts, and armed themselves, and aias fell smiting and slaying upon the trojans, but achilles slew five of the bodyguard of penthesilea. she, beholding her maidens fallen, rode straight against aias and achilles, like a dove defying two falcons, and cast her spear, but it fell back blunted from the glorious shield that the god had made for the son of peleus. then she threw another spear at aias, crying, 'i am the daughter of the god of war,' but his armour kept out the spear, and he and achilles laughed aloud. aias paid no more heed to the amazon, but rushed against the trojan men; while achilles raised the heavy spear that none but he could throw, and drove it down through breastplate and breast of penthesilea, yet still her hand grasped her sword-hilt. but, ere she could draw her sword, achilles speared her horse, and horse and rider fell, and died in their fall. there lay fair penthesilea in the dust, like a tall poplar tree that the wind has overthrown, and her helmet fell, and the greeks who gathered round marvelled to see her lie so beautiful in death, like artemis, the goddess of the woods, when she sleeps alone, weary with hunting on the hills. then the heart of achilles was pierced with pity and sorrow, thinking how she might have been his wife in his own country, had he spared her, but he was never to see pleasant phthia, his native land, again. so achilles stood and wept over penthesilea dead. now the greeks, in pity and sorrow, held their hands, and did not pursue the trojans who had fled, nor did they strip the armour from penthesilea and her twelve maidens, but laid the bodies on biers, and sent them back in peace to priam. then the trojans burned penthesilea in the midst of her dead maidens, on a great pile of dry wood, and placed their ashes in a golden casket, and buried them all in the great hill-grave of laomedon, an ancient king of troy, while the greeks with lamentation buried them whom the amazon had slain. [illustration: achilles pities penthesilea after slaying her.] the old men of troy and the chiefs now held a council, and priam said that they must not yet despair, for, if they had lost many of their bravest warriors, many of the greeks had also fallen. their best plan was to fight only with arrows from the walls and towers, till king memnon came to their rescue with a great army of aethiopes. now memnon was the son of the bright dawn, a beautiful goddess who had loved and married a mortal man, tithonus. she had asked zeus, the chief of the gods, to make her lover immortal, and her prayer was granted. tithonus could not die, but he began to grow grey, and then white haired, with a long white beard, and very weak, till nothing of him seemed to be left but his voice, always feebly chattering like the grasshoppers on a summer day. memnon was the most beautiful of men, except paris and achilles, and his home was in a country that borders on the land of sunrising. there he was reared by the lily maidens called hesperides, till he came to his full strength, and commanded the whole army of the aethiopes. for their arrival priam wished to wait, but polydamas advised that the trojans should give back helen to the greeks, with jewels twice as valuable as those which she had brought from the house of menelaus. then paris was very angry, and said that polydamas was a coward, for it was little to paris that troy should be taken and burned in a month if for a month he could keep helen of the fair hands. at length memnon came, leading a great army of men who had nothing white about them but the teeth, so fiercely the sun burned on them in their own country. the trojans had all the more hopes of memnon because, on his long journey from the land of sunrising, and the river oceanus that girdles the round world, he had been obliged to cross the country of the solymi. now the solymi were the fiercest of men and rose up against memnon, but he and his army fought them for a whole day, and defeated them, and drove them to the hills. when memnon came, priam gave him a great cup of gold, full of wine to the brim, and memnon drank the wine at one draught. but he did not make great boasts of what he could do, like poor penthesilea, 'for,' said he, 'whether i am a good man at arms will be known in battle, where the strength of men is tried. so now let us turn to sleep, for to wake and drink wine all through the night is an ill beginning of war.' then priam praised his wisdom, and all men betook them to bed, but the bright dawn rose unwillingly next day, to throw light on the battle where her son was to risk his life. then memnon led out the dark clouds of his men into the plain, and the greeks foreboded evil when they saw so great a new army of fresh and unwearied warriors, but achilles, leading them in his shining armour, gave them courage. memnon fell upon the left wing of the greeks, and on the men of nestor, and first he slew ereuthus, and then attacked nestor's young son, antilochus, who, now that patroclus had fallen, was the dearest friend of achilles. on him memnon leaped, like a lion on a kid, but antilochus lifted a huge stone from the plain, a pillar that had been set on the tomb of some great warrior long ago, and the stone smote full on the helmet of memnon, who reeled beneath the stroke. but memnon seized his heavy spear, and drove it through shield and corselet of antilochus, even into his heart, and he fell and died beneath his father's eyes. then nestor in great sorrow and anger strode across the body of antilochus and called to his other son, thrasymedes, 'come and drive afar this man that has slain thy brother, for if fear be in thy heart thou art no son of mine, nor of the race of periclymenus, who stood up in battle even against the strong man heracles!' but memnon was too strong for thrasymedes, and drove him off, while old nestor himself charged sword in hand, though memnon bade him begone, for he was not minded to strike so aged a man, and nestor drew back, for he was weak with age. then memnon and his army charged the greeks, slaying and stripping the dead. but nestor had mounted his chariot and driven to achilles, weeping, and imploring him to come swiftly and save the body of antilochus, and he sped to meet memnon, who lifted a great stone, the landmark of a field, and drove it against the shield of the son of peleus. but achilles was not shaken by the blow; he ran forward, and wounded memnon over the rim of his shield. yet wounded as he was memnon fought on and struck his spear through the arm of achilles, for the greeks fought with no sleeves of bronze to protect their arms. then achilles drew his great sword, and flew on memnon, and with sword-strokes they lashed at each other on shield and helmet, and the long horsehair crests of the helmets were shorn off, and flew down the wind, and their shields rang terribly beneath the sword strokes. they thrust at each others' throats between shield and visor of the helmet, they smote at knee, and thrust at breast, and the armour rang about their bodies, and the dust from beneath their feet rose up in a cloud around them, like mist round the falls of a great river in flood. so they fought, neither of them yielding a step, till achilles made so rapid a thrust that memnon could not parry it, and the bronze sword passed clean through his body beneath the breast-bone, and he fell, and his armour clashed as he fell. then achilles, wounded as he was and weak from loss of blood, did not stay to strip the golden armour of memnon, but shouted his warcry, and pressed on, for he hoped to enter the gate of troy with the fleeing trojans, and all the greeks followed after him. so they pursued, slaying as they went, and the scaean gate was choked with the crowd of men, pursuing and pursued. in that hour would the greeks have entered troy, and burned the city, and taken the women captive, but paris stood on the tower above the gate, and in his mind was anger for the death of his brother hector. he tried the string of his bow, and found it frayed, for all day he had showered his arrows on the greeks; so he chose a new bowstring, and fitted it, and strung the bow, and chose an arrow from his quiver, and aimed at the ankle of achilles, where it was bare beneath the greave, or leg-guard of metal, that the god had fashioned for him. through the ankle flew the arrow, and achilles wheeled round, weak as he was, and stumbled, and fell, and the armour that the god had wrought was defiled with dust and blood. then achilles rose again, and cried: 'what coward has smitten me with a secret arrow from afar? let him stand forth and meet me with sword and spear!' so speaking he seized the shaft with his strong hands and tore it out of the wound, and much blood gushed, and darkness came over his eyes. yet he staggered forward, striking blindly, and smote orythaon, a dear friend of hector, through the helmet, and others he smote, but now his force failed him, and he leaned on his spear, and cried his warcry, and said, 'cowards of troy, ye shall not all escape my spear, dying as i am.' but as he spoke he fell, and all his armour rang around him, yet the trojans stood apart and watched; and as hunters watch a dying lion not daring to go nigh him, so the trojans stood in fear till achilles drew his latest breath. then from the wall the trojan women raised a great cry of joy over him who had slain the noble hector: and thus was fulfilled the prophecy of hector, that achilles should fall in the scaean gateway, by the hand of paris. then the best of the trojans rushed forth from the gate to seize the body of achilles, and his glorious armour, but the greeks were as eager to carry the body to the ships that it might have due burial. round the dead achilles men fought long and sore, and both sides were mixed, greeks and trojans, so that men dared not shoot arrows from the walls of troy lest they should kill their own friends. paris, and aeneas, and glaucus, who had been the friend of sarpedon, led the trojans, and aias and ulysses led the greeks, for we are not told that agamemnon was fighting in this great battle of the war. now as angry wild bees flock round a man who is taking their honeycombs, so the trojans gathered round aias, striving to stab him, but he set his great shield in front, and smote and slew all that came within reach of his spear. ulysses, too, struck down many, and though a spear was thrown and pierced his leg near the knee he stood firm, protecting the body of achilles. at last ulysses caught the body of achilles by the hands, and heaved it upon his back, and so limped towards the ships, but aias and the men of aias followed, turning round if ever the trojans ventured to come near, and charging into the midst of them. thus very slowly they bore the dead achilles across the plain, through the bodies of the fallen and the blood, till they met nestor in his chariot and placed achilles therein, and swiftly nestor drove to the ships. there the women, weeping, washed achilles' comely body, and laid him on a bier with a great white mantle over him, and all the women lamented and sang dirges, and the first was briseis, who loved achilles better than her own country, and her father, and her brothers whom he had slain in war. the greek princes, too, stood round the body, weeping and cutting off their long locks of yellow hair, a token of grief and an offering to the dead. men say that forth from the sea came thetis of the silver feet, the mother of achilles, with her ladies, the deathless maidens of the waters. they rose up from their glassy chambers below the sea, moving on, many and beautiful, like the waves on a summer day, and their sweet song echoed along the shores, and fear came upon the greeks. then they would have fled, but nestor cried: 'hold, flee not, young lords of the achaeans! lo, she that comes from the sea is his mother, with the deathless maidens of the waters, to look on the face of her dead son.' then the sea nymphs stood around the dead achilles and clothed him in the garments of the gods, fragrant raiment, and all the nine muses, one to the other replying with sweet voices, began their lament. next the greeks made a great pile of dry wood, and laid achilles on it, and set fire to it, till the flames had consumed his body except the white ashes. these they placed in a great golden cup and mingled with them the ashes of patroclus, and above all they built a tomb like a hill, high on a headland above the sea, that men for all time may see it as they go sailing by, and may remember achilles. next they held in his honour foot races and chariot races, and other games, and thetis gave splendid prizes. last of all, when the games were ended, thetis placed before the chiefs the glorious armour that the god had made for her son on the night after the slaying of patroclus by hector. 'let these arms be the prize of the best of the greeks,' she said, 'and of him that saved the body of achilles out of the hands of the trojans.' then stood up on one side aias and on the other ulysses, for these two had rescued the body, and neither thought himself a worse warrior than the other. both were the bravest of the brave, and if aias was the taller and stronger, and upheld the fight at the ships on the day of the valour of hector; ulysses had alone withstood the trojans, and refused to retreat even when wounded, and his courage and cunning had won for the greeks the luck of troy. therefore old nestor arose and said: 'this is a luckless day, when the best of the greeks are rivals for such a prize. he who is not the winner will be heavy at heart, and will not stand firm by us in battle, as of old, and hence will come great loss to the greeks. who can be a just judge in this question, for some men will love aias better, and some will prefer ulysses, and thus will arise disputes among ourselves. lo! have we not here among us many trojan prisoners, waiting till their friends pay their ransom in cattle and gold and bronze and iron? these hate all the greeks alike, and will favour neither aias nor ulysses. let _them_ be the judges, and decide who is the best of the greeks, and the man who has done most harm to the trojans.' agamemnon said that nestor had spoken wisely. the trojans were then made to sit as judges in the midst of the assembly, and aias and ulysses spoke, and told the stories of their own great deeds, of which we have heard already, but aias spoke roughly and discourteously, calling ulysses a coward and a weakling. 'perhaps the trojans know,' said ulysses quietly, 'whether they think that i deserve what aias has said about me, that i am a coward; and perhaps aias may remember that he did not find me so weak when we wrestled for a prize at the funeral of patroclus.' then the trojans all with one voice said that ulysses was the best man among the greeks, and the most feared by them, both for his courage and his skill in stratagems of war. on this, the blood of aias flew into his face, and he stood silent and unmoving, and could not speak a word, till his friends came round him and led him away to his hut, and there he sat down and would not eat or drink, and the night fell. long he sat, musing in his mind, and then rose and put on all his armour, and seized a sword that hector had given him one day when they two fought in a gentle passage of arms, and took courteous farewell of each other, and aias had given hector a broad sword-belt, wrought with gold. this sword, hector's gift, aias took, and went towards the hut of ulysses, meaning to carve him limb from limb, for madness had come upon him in his great grief. rushing through the night to slay ulysses he fell upon the flock of sheep that the greeks kept for their meat. and up and down among them he went, smiting blindly till the dawn came, and, lo! his senses returned to him, and he saw that he had not smitten ulysses, but stood in a pool of blood among the sheep that he had slain. he could not endure the disgrace of his madness, and he fixed the sword, hector's gift, with its hilt firmly in the ground, and went back a little way, and ran and fell upon the sword, which pierced his heart, and so died the great aias, choosing death before a dishonoured life. xi ulysses sails to seek the son of achilles.--the valour of eurypylus when the greeks found aias lying dead, slain by his own hand, they made great lament, and above all the brother of aias, and his wife tecmessa bewailed him, and the shores of the sea rang with their sorrow. but of all no man was more grieved than ulysses, and he stood up and said: 'would that the sons of the trojans had never awarded to me the arms of achilles, for far rather would i have given them to aias than that this loss should have befallen the whole army of the greeks. let no man blame me, or be angry with me, for i have not sought for wealth, to enrich myself, but for honour only, and to win a name that will be remembered among men in times to come.' then they made a great fire of wood, and burned the body of aias, lamenting him as they had sorrowed for achilles. now it seemed that though the greeks had won the luck of troy and had defeated the amazons and the army of memnon, they were no nearer taking troy than ever. they had slain hector, indeed, and many other trojans, but they had lost the great achilles, and aias, and patroclus, and antilochus, with the princes whom penthesilea and memnon slew, and the bands of the dead chiefs were weary of fighting, and eager to go home. the chiefs met in council, and menelaus arose and said that his heart was wasted with sorrow for the death of so many brave men who had sailed to troy for his sake. 'would that death had come upon me before i gathered this host,' he said, 'but come, let the rest of us launch our swift ships, and return each to our own country.' he spoke thus to try the greeks, and see of what courage they were, for his desire was still to burn troy town and to slay paris with his own hand. then up rose diomede, and swore that never would the greeks turn cowards. no! he bade them sharpen their swords, and make ready for battle. the prophet calchas, too, arose and reminded the greeks how he had always foretold that they would take troy in the tenth year of the siege, and how the tenth year had come, and victory was almost in their hands. next ulysses stood up and said that, though achilles was dead, and there was no prince to lead his men, yet a son had been born to achilles, while he was in the isle of scyros, and that son he would bring to fill his father's place. 'surely he will come, and for a token i will carry to him those unhappy arms of the great achilles. unworthy am i to wear them, and they bring back to my mind our sorrow for aias. but his son will wear them, in the front of the spearmen of greece and in the thickest ranks of troy shall the helmet of achilles shine, as it was wont to do, for always he fought among the foremost.' thus ulysses spoke, and he and diomede, with fifty oarsmen, went on board a swift ship, and sitting all in order on the benches they smote the grey sea into foam, and ulysses held the helm and steered them towards the isle of scyros. now the trojans had rest from war for a while, and priam, with a heavy heart, bade men take his chief treasure, the great golden vine, with leaves and clusters of gold, and carry it to the mother of eurypylus, the king of the people who dwell where the wide marshlands of the river caycus clang with the cries of the cranes and herons and wild swans. for the mother of eurypylus had sworn that never would she let her son go to the war unless priam sent her the vine of gold, a gift of the gods to an ancient king of troy. with a heavy heart, then, priam sent the golden vine, but eurypylus was glad when he saw it, and bade all his men arm, and harness the horses to the chariots, and glad were the trojans when the long line of the new army wound along the road and into the town. then paris welcomed eurypylus who was his nephew, son of his sister astyochãª, a daughter of priam; but the grandfather of eurypylus was the famous heracles, the strongest man who ever lived on earth. so paris brought eurypylus to his house, where helen sat working at her embroideries with her four bower maidens, and eurypylus marvelled when he saw her, she was so beautiful. but the khita, the people of eurypylus, feasted in the open air among the trojans, by the light of great fires burning, and to the music of pipes and flutes. the greeks saw the fires, and heard the merry music, and they watched all night lest the trojans should attack the ships before the dawn. but in the dawn eurypylus rose from sleep and put on his armour, and hung from his neck by the belt the great shield on which were fashioned, in gold of many colours and in silver, the twelve adventures of heracles, his grandfather; strange deeds that he did, fighting with monsters and giants and with the hound of hades, who guards the dwellings of the dead. then eurypylus led on his whole army, and with the brothers of hector he charged against the greeks, who were led by agamemnon. in that battle eurypylus first smote nireus, who was the most beautiful of the greeks now that achilles had fallen. there lay nireus, like an apple tree, all covered with blossoms red and white, that the wind has overthrown in a rich man's orchard. then eurypylus would have stripped off his armour, but machaon rushed in, machaon who had been wounded and taken to the tent of nestor, on the day of the valour of hector, when he brought fire against the ships. machaon drove his spear through the left shoulder of eurypylus, but eurypylus struck at his shoulder with his sword, and the blood flowed; nevertheless, machaon stooped, and grasped a great stone, and sent it against the helmet of eurypylus. he was shaken, but he did not fall, he drove his spear through breastplate and breast of machaon, who fell and died. with his last breath he said, 'thou, too, shalt fall,' but eurypylus made answer, 'so let it be! men cannot live for ever, and such is the fortune of war.' thus the battle rang, and shone, and shifted, till few of the greeks kept steadfast, except those with menelaus and agamemnon, for diomede and ulysses were far away upon the sea, bringing from scyros the son of achilles. but teucer slew polydamas, who had warned hector to come within the walls of troy; and menelaus wounded deiphobus, the bravest of the sons of priam who were still in arms, for many had fallen; and agamemnon slew certain spearmen of the trojans. round eurypylus fought paris, and aeneas, who wounded teucer with a great stone, breaking in his helmet, but he drove back in his chariot to the ships. menelaus and agamemnon stood alone and fought in the crowd of trojans, like two wild boars that a circle of hunters surrounds with spears, so fiercely they stood at bay. there they would both have fallen, but idomeneus, and meriones of crete, and thrasymedes, nestor's son, ran to their rescue, and fiercer grew the fighting. eurypylus desired to slay agamemnon and menelaus, and end the war, but, as the spears of the scots encompassed king james at flodden field till he ran forward, and fell within a lance's length of the english general, so the men of crete and pylos guarded the two princes with their spears. there paris was wounded in the thigh with a spear, and he retreated a little way, and showered his arrows among the greeks; and idomeneus lifted and hurled a great stone at eurypylus which struck his spear out of his hand, and he went back to find it, and menelaus and agamemnon had a breathing space in the battle. but soon eurypylus returned, crying on his men, and they drove back foot by foot the ring of spears round agamemnon, and aeneas and paris slew men of crete and of mycenae till the greeks were pushed to the ditch round the camp; and then great stones and spears and arrows rained down on the trojans and the people of eurypylus from the battlements and towers of the grecian wall. now night fell, and eurypylus knew that he could not win the wall in the dark, so he withdrew his men, and they built great fires, and camped upon the plain. the case of the greeks was now like that of the trojans after the death of hector. they buried machaon and the other chiefs who had fallen, and they remained within their ditch and their wall, for they dared not come out into the open plain. they knew not whether ulysses and diomede had come safely to scyros, or whether their ship had been wrecked or driven into unknown seas. so they sent a herald to eurypylus, asking for a truce, that they might gather their dead and burn them, and the trojans and khita also buried their dead. meanwhile the swift ship of ulysses had swept through the sea to scyros, and to the palace of king lycomedes. there they found neoptolemus, the son of achilles, in the court before the doors. he was as tall as his father, and very like him in face and shape, and he was practising the throwing of the spear at a mark. right glad were ulysses and diomede to behold him, and ulysses told neoptolemus who they were, and why they came, and implored him to take pity on the greeks and help them. 'my friend is diomede, prince of argos,' said ulysses, 'and i am ulysses of ithaca. come with us, and we greeks will give you countless gifts, and i myself will present you with the armour of your father, such as it is not lawful for any other mortal man to wear, seeing that it is golden, and wrought by the hands of a god. moreover, when we have taken troy, and gone home, menelaus will give you his daughter, the beautiful hermione, to be your wife, with gold in great plenty.' then neoptolemus answered: 'it is enough that the greeks need my sword. to-morrow we shall sail for troy.' he led them into the palace to dine, and there they found his mother, beautiful deidamia, in mourning raiment, and she wept when she heard that they had come to take her son away. but neoptolemus comforted her, promising to return safely with the spoils of troy, 'or, even if i fall,' he said, 'it will be after doing deeds worthy of my father's name.' so next day they sailed, leaving deidamia mournful, like a swallow whose nest a serpent has found, and has killed her young ones; even so she wailed, and went up and down in the house. but the ship ran swiftly on her way, cleaving the dark waves till ulysses showed neoptolemus the far off snowy crest of mount ida; and tenedos, the island near troy; and they passed the plain where the tomb of achilles stands, but ulysses did not tell the son that it was his father's tomb. now all this time the greeks, shut up within their wall and fighting from their towers, were looking back across the sea, eager to spy the ship of ulysses, like men wrecked on a desert island, who keep watch every day for a sail afar off, hoping that the seamen will touch at their isle and have pity upon them, and carry them home, so the greeks kept watch for the ship bearing neoptolemus. diomede, too, had been watching the shore, and when they came in sight of the ships of the greeks, he saw that they were being besieged by the trojans, and that all the greek army was penned up within the wall, and was fighting from the towers. then he cried aloud to ulysses and neoptolemus, 'make haste, friends, let us arm before we land, for some great evil has fallen upon the greeks. the trojans are attacking our wall, and soon they will burn our ships, and for us there will be no return.' then all the men on the ship of ulysses armed themselves, and neoptolemus, in the splendid armour of his father, was the first to leap ashore. the greeks could not come from the wall to welcome him, for they were fighting hard and hand-to-hand with eurypylus and his men. but they glanced back over their shoulders and it seemed to them that they saw achilles himself, spear and sword in hand, rushing to help them. they raised a great battle-cry, and, when neoptolemus reached the battlements, he and ulysses, and diomede leaped down to the plain, the greeks following them, and they all charged at once on the men of eurypylus, with levelled spears, and drove them from the wall. then the trojans trembled, for they knew the shields of diomede and ulysses, and they thought that the tall chief in the armour of achilles was achilles himself, come back from the land of the dead to take vengeance for antilochus. the trojans fled, and gathered round eurypylus, as in a thunderstorm little children, afraid of the lightning and the noise, run and cluster round their father, and hide their faces on his knees. but neoptolemus was spearing the trojans, as a man who carries at night a beacon of fire in his boat on the sea spears the fishes that flock around, drawn by the blaze of the flame. cruelly he avenged his father's death on many a trojan, and the men whom achilles had led followed achilles' son, slaying to right and left, and smiting the trojans, as they ran, between the shoulders with the spear. thus they fought and followed while daylight lasted, but when night fell, they led neoptolemus to his father's hut, where the women washed him in the bath, and then he was taken to feast with agamemnon and menelaus and the princes. they all welcomed him, and gave him glorious gifts, swords with silver hilts, and cups of gold and silver, and they were glad, for they had driven the trojans from their wall, and hoped that to-morrow they would slay eurypylus, and take troy town. but their hope was not to be fulfilled, for though next day eurypylus met neoptolemus in the battle, and was slain by him, when the greeks chased the trojans into their city so great a storm of lightning and thunder and rain fell upon them that they retreated again to their camp. they believed that zeus, the chief of the gods, was angry with them, and the days went by, and troy still stood unconquered. xii the slaying of paris when the greeks were disheartened, as they often were, they consulted calchas the prophet. he usually found that they must do something, or send for somebody, and in doing so they diverted their minds from their many misfortunes. now, as the trojans were fighting more bravely than before, under deiphobus, a brother of hector, the greeks went to calchas for advice, and he told them that they must send ulysses and diomede to bring philoctetes the bowman from the isle of lemnos. this was an unhappy deserted island, in which the married women, some years before, had murdered all their husbands, out of jealousy, in a single night. the greeks had landed in lemnos, on their way to troy, and there philoctetes had shot an arrow at a great water dragon which lived in a well within a cave in the lonely hills. but when he entered the cave the dragon bit him, and, though he killed it at last, its poisonous teeth wounded his foot. the wound never healed, but dripped with venom, and philoctetes, in terrible pain, kept all the camp awake at night by his cries. the greeks were sorry for him, but he was not a pleasant companion, shrieking as he did, and exuding poison wherever he came. so they left him on the lonely island, and did not know whether he was alive or dead. calchas ought to have told the greeks not to desert philoctetes at the time, if he was so important that troy, as the prophet now said, could not be taken without him. but now, as he must give some advice, calchas said that philoctetes must be brought back, so ulysses and diomede went to bring him. they sailed to lemnos, a melancholy place they found it, with no smoke rising from the ruinous houses along the shore. as they were landing they learned that philoctetes was not dead, for his dismal old cries of pain, _ototototoi, ai, ai; pheu, pheu; ototototoi_, came echoing from a cave on the beach. to this cave the princes went, and found a terrible-looking man, with long, dirty, dry hair and beard; he was worn to a skeleton, with hollow eyes, and lay moaning in a mass of the feathers of sea birds. his great bow and his arrows lay ready to his hand: with these he used to shoot the sea birds, which were all that he had to eat, and their feathers littered all the floor of his cave, and they were none the better for the poison that dripped from his wounded foot. when this horrible creature saw ulysses and diomede coming near, he seized his bow and fitted a poisonous arrow to the string, for he hated the greeks, because they had left him in the desert isle. but the princes held up their hands in sign of peace, and cried out that they had come to do him kindness, so he laid down his bow, and they came in and sat on the rocks, and promised that his wound should be healed, for the greeks were very much ashamed of having deserted him. it was difficult to resist ulysses when he wished to persuade any one, and at last philoctetes consented to sail with them to troy. the oarsmen carried him down to the ship on a litter, and there his dreadful wound was washed with warm water, and oil was poured into it, and it was bound up with soft linen, so that his pain grew less fierce, and they gave him a good supper and wine enough, which he had not tasted for many years. next morning they sailed, and had a fair west wind, so that they soon landed among the greeks and carried philoctetes on shore. here podaleirius, the brother of machaon, being a physician, did all that could be done to heal the wound, and the pain left philoctetes. he was taken to the hut of agamemnon, who welcomed him, and said that the greeks repented of their cruelty. they gave him seven female slaves to take care of him, and twenty swift horses, and twelve great vessels of bronze, and told him that he was always to live with the greatest chiefs and feed at their table. so he was bathed, and his hair was cut and combed and anointed with oil, and soon he was eager and ready to fight, and to use his great bow and poisoned arrows on the trojans. the use of poisoned arrow-tips was thought unfair, but philoctetes had no scruples. now in the next battle paris was shooting down the greeks with his arrows, when philoctetes saw him, and cried: 'dog, you are proud of your archery and of the arrow that slew the great achilles. but, behold, i am a better bowman than you, by far, and the bow in my hands was borne by the strong man heracles!' so he cried and drew the bowstring to his breast and the poisoned arrowhead to the bow, and the bowstring rang, and the arrow flew, and did but graze the hand of paris. then the bitter pain of the poison came upon him, and the trojans carried him into their city, where the physicians tended him all night. but he never slept, and lay tossing in agony till dawn, when he said: 'there is but one hope. take me to oenone, the nymph of mount ida!' then his friends laid paris on a litter, and bore him up the steep path to mount ida. often had he climbed it swiftly, when he was young, and went to see the nymph who loved him; but for many a day he had not trod the path where he was now carried in great pain and fear, for the poison turned his blood to fire. little hope he had, for he knew how cruelly he had deserted oenone, and he saw that all the birds which were disturbed in the wood flew away to the left hand, an omen of evil. at last the bearers reached the cave where the nymph oenone lived, and they smelled the sweet fragrance of the cedar fire that burned on the floor of the cave, and they heard the nymph singing a melancholy song. then paris called to her in the voice which she had once loved to hear, and she grew very pale, and rose up, saying to herself, 'the day has come for which i have prayed. he is sore hurt, and has come to bid me heal his wound.' so she came and stood in the doorway of the dark cave, white against the darkness, and the bearers laid paris on the litter at the feet of oenone, and he stretched forth his hands to touch her knees, as was the manner of suppliants. but she drew back and gathered her robe about her, that he might not touch it with his hands. then he said: 'lady, despise me not, and hate me not, for my pain is more than i can bear. truly it was by no will of mine that i left you lonely here, for the fates that no man may escape led me to helen. would that i had died in your arms before i saw her face! but now i beseech you in the name of the gods, and for the memory of our love, that you will have pity on me and heal my hurt, and not refuse your grace and let me die here at your feet.' [illustration: paris comes back to oenone.] then oenone answered scornfully: 'why have you come here to me? surely for years you have not come this way, where the path was once worn with your feet. but long ago you left me lonely and lamenting, for the love of helen of the fair hands. surely she is much more beautiful than the love of your youth, and far more able to help you, for men say that she can never know old age and death. go home to helen and let her take away your pain.' thus oenone spoke, and went within the cave, where she threw herself down among the ashes of the hearth and sobbed for anger and sorrow. in a little while she rose and went to the door of the cave, thinking that paris had not been borne away back to troy, but she found him not; for his bearers had carried him by another path, till he died beneath the boughs of the oak trees. then his bearers carried him swiftly down to troy, where his mother bewailed him, and helen sang over him as she had sung over hector, remembering many things, and fearing to think of what her own end might be. but the trojans hastily built a great pile of dry wood, and thereon laid the body of paris and set fire to it, and the flame went up through the darkness, for now night had fallen. but oenone was roaming in the dark woods, crying and calling after paris, like a lioness whose cubs the hunters have carried away. the moon rose to give her light, and the flame of the funeral fire shone against the sky, and then oenone knew that paris had died--beautiful paris--and that the trojans were burning his body on the plain at the foot of mount ida. then she cried that now paris was all her own, and that helen had no more hold on him: 'and though when he was living he left me, in death we shall not be divided,' she said, and she sped down the hill, and through the thickets where the wood nymphs were wailing for paris, and she reached the plain, and, covering her head with her veil like a bride, she rushed through the throng of trojans. she leaped upon the burning pile of wood, she clasped the body of paris in her arms, and the flame of fire consumed the bridegroom and the bride, and their ashes mingled. no man could divide them any more, and the ashes were placed in a golden cup, within a chamber of stone, and the earth was mounded above them. on that grave the wood nymphs planted two rose trees, and their branches met and plaited together. this was the end of paris and oenone. xiii how ulysses invented the device of the horse of tree after paris died, helen was not given back to menelaus. we are often told that only fear of the anger of paris had prevented the trojans from surrendering helen and making peace. now paris could not terrify them, yet for all that the men of the town would not part with helen, whether because she was so beautiful, or because they thought it dishonourable to yield her to the greeks, who might put her to a cruel death. so helen was taken by deiphobus, the brother of paris, to live in his own house, and deiphobus was at this time the best warrior and the chief captain of the men of troy. meanwhile, the greeks made an assault against the trojan walls and fought long and hardily; but, being safe behind the battlements, and shooting through loopholes, the trojans drove them back with loss of many of their men. it was in vain that philoctetes shot his poisoned arrows, they fell back from the stone walls, or stuck in the palisades of wood above the walls, and the greeks who tried to climb over were speared, or crushed with heavy stones. when night fell, they retreated to the ships and held a council, and, as usual, they asked the advice of the prophet calchas. it was the business of calchas to go about looking at birds, and taking omens from what he saw them doing, a way of prophesying which the romans also used, and some savages do the same to this day. calchas said that yesterday he had seen a hawk pursuing a dove, which hid herself in a hole in a rocky cliff. for a long while the hawk tried to find the hole, and follow the dove into it, but he could not reach her. so he flew away for a short distance and hid himself; then the dove fluttered out into the sunlight, and the hawk swooped on her and killed her. the greeks, said calchas, ought to learn a lesson from the hawk, and take troy by cunning, as by force they could do nothing. then ulysses stood up and described a trick which it is not easy to understand. the greeks, he said, ought to make an enormous hollow horse of wood, and place the bravest men in the horse. then all the rest of the greeks should embark in their ships and sail to the isle of tenedos, and lie hidden behind the island. the trojans would then come out of the city, like the dove out of her hole in the rock, and would wander about the greek camp, and wonder why the great horse of tree had been made, and why it had been left behind. lest they should set fire to the horse, when they would soon have found out the warriors hidden in it, a cunning greek, whom the trojans did not know by sight, should be left in the camp or near it. he would tell the trojans that the greeks had given up all hope and gone home, and he was to say that they feared the goddess pallas was angry with them, because they had stolen her image that fell from heaven, and was called the luck of troy. to soothe pallas and prevent her from sending great storms against the ships, the greeks (so the man was to say) had built this wooden horse as an offering to the goddess. the trojans, believing this story, would drag the horse into troy, and, in the night, the princes would come out, set fire to the city, and open the gates to the army, which would return from tenedos as soon as darkness came on. the prophet was much pleased with the plan of ulysses, and, as two birds happened to fly away on the right hand, he declared that the stratagem would certainly be lucky. neoptolemus, on the other hand, voted for taking troy, without any trick, by sheer hard fighting. ulysses replied that if achilles could not do that, it could not be done at all, and that epeius, a famous carpenter, had better set about making the horse at once. next day half the army, with axes in their hands, were sent to cut down trees on mount ida, and thousands of planks were cut from the trees by epeius and his workmen, and in three days he had finished the horse. ulysses then asked the best of the greeks to come forward and go inside the machine; while one, whom the greeks did not know by sight, should volunteer to stay behind in the camp and deceive the trojans. then a young man called sinon stood up and said that he would risk himself and take the chance that the trojans might disbelieve him, and burn him alive. certainly, none of the greeks did anything more courageous, yet sinon had not been considered brave. had he fought in the front ranks, the trojans would have known him; but there were many brave fighters who would not have dared to do what sinon undertook. then old nestor was the first that volunteered to go into the horse; but neoptolemus said that, brave as he was, he was too old, and that he must depart with the army to tenedos. neoptolemus himself would go into the horse, for he would rather die than turn his back on troy. so neoptolemus armed himself and climbed into the horse, as did menelaus, ulysses, diomede, thrasymedes (nestor's son), idomeneus, philoctetes, meriones, and all the best men except agamemnon, while epeius himself entered last of all. agamemnon was not allowed by the other greeks to share their adventure, as he was to command the army when they returned from tenedos. they meanwhile launched their ships and sailed away. but first menelaus had led ulysses apart, and told him that if they took troy (and now they must either take it or die at the hands of the trojans), he would owe to ulysses the glory. when they came back to greece, he wished to give ulysses one of his own cities, that they might always be near each other. ulysses smiled and shook his head; he could not leave ithaca, his own rough island kingdom. 'but if we both live through the night that is coming,' he said, 'i may ask you for one gift, and giving it will make you none the poorer.' then menelaus swore by the splendour of zeus that ulysses could ask him for no gift that he would not gladly give; so they embraced, and both armed themselves and went up into the horse. with them were all the chiefs except nestor, whom they would not allow to come, and agamemnon, who, as chief general, had to command the army. they swathed themselves and their arms in soft silks, that they might not ring and clash, when the trojans, if they were so foolish, dragged the horse up into their town, and there they sat in the dark waiting. meanwhile, the army burned their huts and launched their ships, and with oars and sails made their way to the back of the isle of tenedos. xiv the end of troy and the saving of helen from the walls the trojans saw the black smoke go up thick into the sky, and the whole fleet of the greeks sailing out to sea. never were men so glad, and they armed themselves for fear of an ambush, and went cautiously, sending forth scouts in front of them, down to the seashore. here they found the huts burned down and the camp deserted, and some of the scouts also caught sinon, who had hid himself in a place where he was likely to be found. they rushed on him with fierce cries, and bound his hands with a rope, and kicked and dragged him along to the place where priam and the princes were wondering at the great horse of tree. sinon looked round upon them, while some were saying that he ought to be tortured with fire to make him tell all the truth about the horse. the chiefs in the horse must have trembled for fear lest torture should wring the truth out of sinon, for then the trojans would simply burn the machine and them within it. but sinon said: 'miserable man that i am, whom the greeks hate and the trojans are eager to slay!' when the trojans heard that the greeks hated him, they were curious, and asked who he was, and how he came to be there. 'i will tell you all, oh king!' he answered priam. 'i was a friend and squire of an unhappy chief, palamedes, whom the wicked ulysses hated and slew secretly one day, when he found him alone, fishing in the sea. i was angry, and in my folly i did not hide my anger, and my words came to the ears of ulysses. from that hour he sought occasion to slay me. then calchas----' here he stopped, saying: 'but why tell a long tale? if you hate all greeks alike, then slay me; this is what agamemnon and ulysses desire; menelaus would thank you for my head.' the trojans were now more curious than before. they bade him go on, and he said that the greeks had consulted an oracle, which advised them to sacrifice one of their army to appease the anger of the gods and gain a fair wind homewards. 'but who was to be sacrificed? they asked calchas, who for fifteen days refused to speak. at last, being bribed by ulysses, he pointed to me, sinon, and said that i must be the victim. i was bound and kept in prison, while they built their great horse as a present for pallas athãªnãª the goddess. they made it so large that you trojans might never be able to drag it into your city; while, if you destroyed it, the goddess might turn her anger against you. and now they have gone home to bring back the image that fell from heaven, which they had sent to greece, and to restore it to the temple of pallas athãªnãª, when they have taken your town, for the goddess is angry with them for that theft of ulysses.' the trojans were foolish enough to believe the story of sinon, and they pitied him and unbound his hands. then they tied ropes to the wooden horse, and laid rollers in front of it, like men launching a ship, and they all took turns to drag the horse up to the scaean gate. children and women put their hands to the ropes and hauled, and with shouts and dances, and hymns they toiled, till about nightfall the horse stood in the courtyard of the inmost castle. then all the people of troy began to dance, and drink, and sing. such sentinels as were set at the gates got as drunk as all the rest, who danced about the city till after midnight, and then they went to their homes and slept heavily. meanwhile the greek ships were returning from behind tenedos as fast as the oarsmen could row them. one trojan did not drink or sleep; this was deiphobus, at whose house helen was now living. he bade her come with them, for he knew that she was able to speak in the very voice of all men and women whom she had ever seen, and he armed a few of his friends and went with them to the citadel. then he stood beside the horse, holding helen's hand, and whispered to her that she must call each of the chiefs in the voice of his wife. she was obliged to obey, and she called menelaus in her own voice, and diomede in the voice of his wife, and ulysses in the very voice of penelope. then menelaus and diomede were eager to answer, but ulysses grasped their hands and whispered the word 'echo!' then they remembered that this was a name of helen, because she could speak in all voices, and they were silent; but anticlus was still eager to answer, till ulysses held his strong hand over his mouth. there was only silence, and deiphobus led helen back to his house. when they had gone away epeius opened the side of the horse, and all the chiefs let themselves down softly to the ground. some rushed to the gate, to open it, and they killed the sleeping sentinels and let in the greeks. others sped with torches to burn the houses of the trojan princes, and terrible was the slaughter of men, unarmed and half awake, and loud were the cries of the women. but ulysses had slipped away at the first, none knew where. neoptolemus ran to the palace of priam, who was sitting at the altar in his courtyard, praying vainly to the gods, for neoptolemus slew the old man cruelly, and his white hair was dabbled in his blood. all through the city was fighting and slaying; but menelaus went to the house of deiphobus, knowing that helen was there. in the doorway he found deiphobus lying dead in all his armour, a spear standing in his breast. there were footprints marked in blood, leading through the portico and into the hall. there menelaus went, and found ulysses leaning, wounded, against one of the central pillars of the great chamber, the firelight shining on his armour. 'why hast thou slain deiphobus and robbed me of my revenge?' said menelaus. 'you swore to give me a gift,' said ulysses, 'and will you keep your oath?' 'ask what you will,' said menelaus; 'it is yours and my oath cannot be broken.' 'i ask the life of helen of the fair hands,' said ulysses; 'this is my own life-price that i pay back to her, for she saved my life when i took the luck of troy, and i swore that hers should be saved.' then helen stole, glimmering in white robes, from a recess in the dark hall, and fell at the feet of menelaus; her golden hair lay in the dust of the hearth, and her hands moved to touch his knees. his drawn sword fell from the hands of menelaus, and pity and love came into his heart, and he raised her from the dust and her white arms were round his neck, and they both wept. that night menelaus fought no more, but they tended the wound of ulysses, for the sword of deiphobus had bitten through his helmet. when dawn came troy lay in ashes, and the women were being driven with spear shafts to the ships, and the men were left unburied, a prey to dogs and all manner of birds. thus the grey city fell, that had lorded it for many centuries. all the gold and silver and rich embroideries, and ivory and amber, the horses and chariots, were divided among the army; all but a treasure of silver and gold, hidden in a chest within a hollow of the wall, and this treasure was found, not very many years ago, by men digging deep on the hill where troy once stood. the women, too, were given to the princes, and neoptolemus took andromache to his home in argos, to draw water from the well and to be the slave of a master, and agamemnon carried beautiful cassandra, the daughter of priam, to his palace in mycenae, where they were both slain in one night. only helen was led with honour to the ship of menelaus. [illustration: menelaus refrains from killing helen at the intercession of ulysses.] the wanderings of ulysses i the slaying of agamemnon and the sorrows of ulysses the greeks left troy a mass of smouldering ashes; the marks of fire are still to be seen in the ruins on the hill which is now called hissarlik. the greeks had many troubles on their way home, and years passed before some of the chiefs reached their own cities. as for agamemnon, while he was at troy his wife, clytaemnestra, the sister of helen, had fallen in love with a young man named aegisthus, who wished to be king, so he married clytaemnestra, just as if agamemnon had been dead. meanwhile agamemnon was sailing home with his share of the wealth of troy, and many a storm drove him out of his course. at last he reached the harbour, about seven miles from his city of mycenae, and he kissed the earth when he landed, thinking that all his troubles were over, and that he would find his son and daughter, orestes and electra, grown up, and his wife happy because of his return. but aegisthus had set, a year before, a watchman on a high tower, to come with the news as soon as agamemnon landed, and the watchman ran to mycenae with the good news. aegisthus placed twenty armed men in a hidden place in the great hall, and then he shouted for his chariots and horses, and drove down to meet agamemnon, and welcome him, and carry him to his own palace. then he gave a great feast, and when men had drunk much wine, the armed men, who had been hiding behind curtains, rushed out, with sword and spear, and fell on agamemnon and his company. though taken by surprise they drew their swords, and fought so well for their lives that none were left alive, not one, neither of the company of agamemnon nor of the company of aegisthus; they were all slain in the hall except aegisthus, who had hidden himself when the fray began. the bodies lay round the great mixing bowl of wine, and about the tables, and the floor ran with blood. before agamemnon died he saw clytaemnestra herself stab cassandra, the daughter of priam, whom he had brought from troy. in the town of agamemnon, mycenae, deep down in the earth, have been found five graves, with bones of men and women, and these bones were all covered with beautiful ornaments of gold, hundreds of them, and swords and daggers inlaid with gold, and golden cups, and a sceptre of gold and crystal, and two gold breastplates. there were also golden masks that had been made to cover the faces of the dead kings, and who knows but that one of these masks may show us the features of the famous agamemnon? ulysses, of course, knew nothing about these murders at the time, for he was being borne by the winds into undiscovered seas. but later he heard all the story from the ghost of a dead prophet, in the land of the dead, and he determined to be very cautious if ever he reached his own island, for who knew what the young men might do, that had grown up since he sailed to troy? of the other greeks nestor soon and safely arrived at his town of pylos, but menelaus and helen were borne by the winds to egypt and other strange countries, and the ship of the brother of aias was wrecked on a rock, and there he was drowned, and calchas the prophet died on land, on his way across greece. when ulysses left troy the wind carried him to the coast of thrace, where the people were allies of the trojans. it was a king of the thracians that diomede killed when he and ulysses stole into the camp of the trojans in the night, and drove away the white horses of the king, as swift as the winds. ismarus was the name of the thracian town where ulysses landed, and his men took it and plundered it, yet ulysses allowed no one to harm the priest of apollo, maron, but protected him and his wife and child, in their house within the holy grove of the god. maron was grateful, and gave ulysses twelve talents, or little wedges, of gold, and a great bowl of silver, and twelve large clay jars, as big as barrels, full of the best and strongest wine. it was so strong that men put into the mixing bowl but one measure of wine to twenty measures of water. these presents ulysses stored up in his ship, and lucky for him it was that he was kind to maron. meanwhile his men, instead of leaving the town with their plunder, sat eating and drinking till dawn. by that time the people of the town had warned their neighbours in the country farms, who all came down in full armour, and attacked the men of ulysses. in this fight he lost seventy-two men, six from each of his twelve ships, and it was only by hard fighting that the others were able to get on board their ships and sail away. a great storm arose and beat upon the ships, and it seems that ulysses and his men were driven into fairyland, where they remained for ten years. we have heard that king arthur and thomas the rhymer were carried into fairyland, but what adventures they met with there we do not know. about ulysses we have the stories which are now to be told. for ten days his ships ran due south, and, on the tenth, they reached the land of the lotus eaters, who eat food of flowers. they went on shore and drew water, and three men were sent to try to find the people of that country, who were a quiet, friendly people, and gave the fruit of the lotus to the strange sailors. now whoever tastes of that fruit has no mind ever to go home, but to sit between the setting sun and the rising moon, dreaming happy dreams, and forgetting the world. the three men ate the lotus, and sat down to dream, but ulysses went after them, and drove them to the ships, and bound their hands and feet, and threw them on board, and sailed away. then he with his ships reached the coast of the land of the cyclopes, which means the round-eyed men, men with only one eye apiece, set in the middle of their foreheads. they lived not in houses, but in caves among the hills, and they had no king and no laws, and did not plough or sow, but wheat and vines grew wild, and they kept great flocks of sheep. there was a beautiful wild desert island lying across the opening of a bay; the isle was full of wild goats, and made a bar against the waves, so that ships could lie behind it safely, run up on the beach, for there was no tide in that sea. there ulysses ran up his ships, and the men passed the time in hunting wild goats, and feasting on fresh meat and the wine of maron, the priest of apollo. next day ulysses left all the ships and men there, except his own ship, and his own crew, and went to see what kind of people lived on the mainland, for as yet none had been seen. he found a large cave close to the sea, with laurels growing on the rocky roof, and a wall of rough stones built round a court in front. ulysses left all his men but twelve with the ship; filled a goat skin with the strong wine of maron, put some corn flour in a sack, and went up to the cave. nobody was there, but there were all the things that are usually in a dairy, baskets full of cheese, pails and bowls full of milk and whey, and kids and lambs were playing in their folds. all seemed very quiet and pleasant. the men wanted to take as much cheese as they could carry back to the ship, but ulysses wished to see the owner of the cave. his men, making themselves at home, lit a fire, and toasted and ate the cheeses, far within the cave. then a shadow thrown by the setting sun fell across the opening of the cave, and a monstrous man entered, and threw down a dry trunk of a tree that he carried for firewood. next he drove in the ewes of his flock, leaving the rams in the yard, and he picked up a huge flat stone, and set it so as to make a shut door to the cave, for twenty-four yoke of horses could not have dragged away that stone. lastly the man milked his ewes, and put the milk in pails to drink at supper. all this while ulysses and his men sat quiet and in great fear, for they were shut up in a cave with a one-eyed giant, whose cheese they had been eating. then the giant, when he had lit the fire, happened to see the men, and asked them who they were. ulysses said that they were greeks, who had taken troy, and were wandering lost on the seas, and he asked the man to be kind to them in the name of their chief god, zeus. 'we cyclopes,' said the giant, 'do not care for zeus or the gods, for we think that we are better men than they. where is your ship?' ulysses answered that it had been wrecked on the coast, to which the man made no answer, but snatched up two of the twelve, knocked out their brains on the floor, tore the bodies limb from limb, roasted them at his fire, ate them, and, after drinking many pailfuls of milk, lay down and fell asleep. now ulysses had a mind to drive his sword-point into the giant's liver, and he felt for the place with his hand. but he remembered that, even if he killed the giant, he could not move the huge stone that was the door of the cave, so he and his men would die of hunger, when they had eaten all the cheeses. in the morning the giant ate two more men for breakfast, drove out his ewes, and set the great stone in the doorway again, as lightly as a man would put a quiverlid on a quiver of arrows. then away he went, driving his flock to graze on the green hills. ulysses did not give way to despair. the giant had left his stick in the cave: it was as large as the mast of a great ship. from this ulysses cut a portion six feet long, and his men cut and rubbed as if they were making a spear shaft: ulysses then sharpened it to a point, and hardened the point in the fire. it was a thick rounded bar of wood, and the men cast lots to choose four, who should twist the bar in the giant's eye when he fell asleep at night. back he came at sunset, and drove his flocks into the cave, rams and all. then he put up his stone door, milked his ewes, and killed two men and cooked them. ulysses meanwhile had filled one of the wooden ivy bowls full of the strong wine of maron, without putting a drop of water into it. this bowl he offered to the giant, who had never heard of wine. he drank one bowl after another, and when he was merry he said that he would make ulysses a present. 'what is your name?' he asked. 'my name is _nobody_,' said ulysses. 'then i shall eat the others first and nobody last,' said the giant. 'that shall be your gift.' then he fell asleep. ulysses took his bar of wood, and made the point red-hot in the fire. next his four men rammed it into the giant's one eye, and held it down, while ulysses twirled it round, and the eye hissed like red-hot iron when men dip it into cold water, which is the strength of iron. the cyclops roared and leaped to his feet, and shouted for help to the other giants who lived in the neighbouring caves. 'who is troubling you, polyphemus,' they answered. 'why do you wake us out of our sleep?' the giant answered, 'nobody is killing me by his cunning, not at all in fair fight.' 'then if nobody is harming you nobody can help you,' shouted a giant. 'if you are ill pray to your father, poseidon, who is the god of the sea.' so the giants all went back to bed, and ulysses laughed low to see how his cunning had deceived them. then the giant went and took down his door and sat in the doorway, stretching out his arms, so as to catch his prisoners as they went out. but ulysses had a plan. he fastened sets of three rams together with twisted withies, and bound a man to each ram in the middle, so that the blind giant's hands would only feel the two outside rams. the biggest and strongest ram ulysses seized, and held on by his hands and feet to its fleece, under its belly, and then all the sheep, went out through the doorway, and the giant felt them, but did not know that they were carrying out the men. 'dear ram!' he said to the biggest, which carried ulysses, 'you do not come out first, as usual, but last, as if you were slow with sorrow for your master, whose eye nobody has blinded!' then all the rams went out into the open country, and ulysses unfastened his men, and drove the sheep down to his ship and so on board. his crew wept when they heard of the death of six of their friends, but ulysses made them row out to sea. when he was just so far away from the cave as to be within hearing distance he shouted at the cyclops and mocked him. then that giant broke off the rocky peak of a great hill and threw it in the direction of the sound. the rock fell in front of the ship, and raised a wave that drove it back to shore, but ulysses punted it off with a long pole, and his men rowed out again, far out. ulysses again shouted to the giant, 'if any one asks who blinded you, say that it was ulysses, laertes' son, of ithaca, the stormer of cities.' then the giant prayed to the sea god, his father, that ulysses might never come home, or if he did, that he might come late and lonely, with loss of all his men, and find sorrow in his house. then the giant heaved and threw another rock, but it fell at the stern of the ship, and the wave drove the ship further out to sea, to the shore of the island. there ulysses and his men landed, and killed some of the giant's sheep, and took supper, and drank wine. but the sea god heard the prayer of his son the blind giant. ulysses and his men sailed on, in what direction and for how long we do not know, till they saw far off an island that shone in the sea. when they came nearer they found that it had a steep cuff of bronze, with a palace on the top. here lived aeolus, the king of the winds, with his six sons and six daughters. he received ulysses kindly on his island, and entertained him for a whole month. then he gave him a leather bag, in which he had bound the ways of all the noisy winds. this bag was fastened with a silver cord, and aeolus left no wind out except the west wind, which would blow ulysses straight home to ithaca. where he was we cannot guess, except that he was to the west of his own island. so they sailed for nine days and nights towards the east, and ulysses always held the helm and steered, but on the tenth day he fell asleep. then his men said to each other, 'what treasure is it that he keeps in the leather bag, a present from king aeolus? no doubt the bag is full of gold and silver, while we have only empty hands.' so they opened the bag when they were so near ithaca that they could see people lighting fires on the shore. then out rushed all the winds, and carried the ship into unknown seas, and when ulysses woke he was so miserable that he had a mind to drown himself. but he was of an enduring heart, and he lay still, and the ship came back to the isle of aeolus, who cried, 'away with you! you are the most luckless of living men: you must be hated by the gods.' thus aeolus drove them away, and they sailed for seven days and nights, till they saw land, and came to a harbour with a narrow entrance, and with tall steep rocks on either side. the other eleven ships sailed into the haven, but ulysses did not venture in; he fastened his ship to a rock at the outer end of the harbour. the place must have been very far north, for, as it was summer, the sun had hardly set till dawn began again, as it does in norway and iceland, where there are many such narrow harbours within walls of rock. these places are called _fiords_. ulysses sent three men to spy out the country, and at a well outside the town they met a damsel drawing water; she was the child of the king of the people, the laestrygonians. the damsel led them to her father's house; he was a giant and seized one of the men of ulysses, meaning to kill and eat him. the two other men fled to the ships, but the laestrygonians ran along the tops of the cliffs and threw down great rocks, sinking the vessels and killing the sailors. when ulysses saw this he drew his sword and cut the cable that fastened his ship to the rock outside the harbour, and his crew rowed for dear life and so escaped, weeping for the death of their friends. thus the prayer of the blind cyclops was being fulfilled, for now out of twelve ships ulysses had but one left. ii the enchantress circe, the land of the dead, the sirens on they sailed till they came to an island, and there they landed. what the place was they did not know, but it was called aeaea, and here lived circe, the enchantress, sister of the wizard king ã�ãªtes, who was the lord of the fleece of gold, that jason won from him by help of the king's daughter, medea. for two days ulysses and his men lay on land beside their ship, which they anchored in a bay of the island. on the third morning ulysses took his sword and spear, and climbed to the top of a high hill, whence he saw the smoke rising out of the wood where circe had her palace. he thought of going to the house, but it seemed better to return to his men and send some of them to spy out the place. since the adventure of the cyclops ulysses did not care to risk himself among unknown people, and for all that he knew there might be man-eating giants on the island. so he went back, and, as he came to the bank of the river, he found a great red deer drinking under the shadow of the green boughs. he speared the stag, and, tying his feet together, slung the body from his neck, and so, leaning on his spear, he came to his fellows. glad they were to see fresh venison, which they cooked, and so dined with plenty of wine. next morning ulysses divided his men into two companies, eurylochus led one company and he himself the other. then they put two marked pieces of wood, one for eurylochus, one for ulysses, in a helmet, to decide who should go to the house in the wood. they shook the helmet, and the lot of eurylochus leaped out, and, weeping for fear, he led his twenty-two men away into the forest. ulysses and the other twenty-two waited, and, when eurylochus came back alone, he was weeping, and unable to speak for sorrow. at last he told his story: they had come to the beautiful house of circe, within the wood, and tame wolves and lions were walking about in front of the house. they wagged their tails, and jumped up, like friendly dogs, round the men of ulysses, who stood in the gateway and heard circe singing in a sweet voice, as she went up and down before the loom at which she was weaving. then one of the men of ulysses called to her, and she came out, a beautiful lady in white robes covered with jewels of gold. she opened the doors and bade them come in, but eurylochus hid himself and watched, and saw circe and her maidens mix honey and wine for the men, and bid them sit down on chairs at tables, but, when they had drunk of her cup, she touched them with her wand. then they were all changed into swine, and circe drove them out and shut them up in the styes. when ulysses heard that he slung his sword-belt round his shoulders, seized his bow, and bade eurylochus come back with him to the house of circe; but eurylochus was afraid. alone went ulysses through the woods, and in a dell he met a most beautiful young man, who took his hand and said, 'unhappy one! how shalt thou free thy friends from so great an enchantress?' then the young man plucked a plant from the ground; the flower was as white as milk, but the root was black: it is a plant that men may not dig up, but to the gods all things are easy, and the young man was the cunning god hermes, whom autolycus, the grandfather of ulysses, used to worship. 'take this herb of grace,' he said, 'and when circe has made thee drink of the cup of her enchantments the herb will so work that they shall have no power over thee. then draw thy sword, and rush at her, and make her swear that she will not harm thee with her magic.' then hermes departed, and ulysses went to the house of circe, and she asked him to enter, and seated him on a chair, and gave him the enchanted cup to drink, and then smote him with her wand and bade him go to the styes of the swine. but ulysses drew his sword, and circe, with a great cry, fell at his feet, saying, 'who art thou on whom the cup has no power? truly thou art ulysses of ithaca, for the god hermes has told me that he should come to my island on his way from troy. come now, fear not; let us be friends!' [illustration: circe sends the swine (the companions of ulysses) to the styes.] then the maidens of circe came to them, fairy damsels of the wells and woods and rivers. they threw covers of purple silk over the chairs, and on the silver tables they placed golden baskets, and mixed wine in a silver bowl, and heated water, and bathed ulysses in a polished bath, and clothed him in new raiment, and led him to the table and bade him eat and drink. but he sat silent, neither eating nor drinking, in sorrow for his company, till circe called them out from the styes and disenchanted them. glad they were to see ulysses, and they embraced him, and wept for joy. so they went back to their friends at the ship, and told them how circe would have them all to live with her; but eurylochus tried to frighten them, saying that she would change them into wolves and lions. ulysses drew his sword to cut off the head of eurylochus for his cowardice, but the others prayed that he might be left alone to guard the ship. so ulysses left him; but eurylochus had not the courage to be alone, and slunk behind them to the house of circe. there she welcomed them all, and gave them a feast, and there they dwelt for a whole year, and then they wearied for their wives and children, and longed to return to ithaca. they did not guess by what a strange path they must sail. when ulysses was alone with circe at night he told her that his men were home-sick, and would fain go to ithaca. then circe said, 'there is no way but this: you must sail to the last shore of the stream of the river oceanus, that girdles round the world. there is the land of the dead, and the house of hades and persephone, the king and queen of the ghosts. there you must call up the ghost of the blind prophet, tiresias of thebes, for he alone has knowledge of your way, and the other spirits sweep round shadow-like.' then ulysses thought that his heart would break, for how should he, a living man, go down to the awful dwellings of the dead? but circe told him the strange things that he must do, and she gave him a black ram and a black ewe, and next day ulysses called his men together. all followed him to the ship, except one, elpenor. he had been sleeping, for the sake of the cool air, on the flat roof of the house, and, when suddenly wakened, he missed his foothold on the tall ladder, and fell to the ground and broke his neck. they left him unburned and unburied, and, weeping, they followed ulysses, as follow they must, to see the homes of the ghosts and the house of hades. very sorrowfully they all went on board, taking with them the black ram and the black ewe, and they set the sails, and the wind bore them at its will. now in mid-day they sailed out of the sunlight into darkness, for they had come to the land of the cimmerian men, which the sun never sees, but all is dark cloud and mist. there they ran the ship ashore, and took out the two black sheep, and walked along the dark banks of the river oceanus to a place of which circe had told ulysses. there the two rivers of the dead meet, where a rock divides the two dark roaring streams. there they dug a trench and poured out mead, and wine, and water, and prayed to the ghosts, and then they cut the throat of the black ewe, and the grey ghosts gathered to smell the blood. pale spectres came, spirits of brides who died long ago, and youths unwed, and old unhappy men; and many phantoms were there of men who fell in battle, with shadowy spears in their hands, and battered armour. then ulysses sacrificed the black ram to the ghost of the prophet tiresias, and sat down with his sword in his hand, that no spirit before tiresias might taste the blood in the trench. first the spirit of elpenor came, and begged ulysses to burn his body, for till his body was burned he was not allowed to mingle with the other souls of dead men. so ulysses promised to burn and bury him when he went back to circe's island. then came the shadow of the mother of ulysses, who had died when he was at troy, but, for all his grief, he would not allow the shadow to come near the blood till tiresias had tasted it. at length came the spirit of the blind prophet, and he prayed ulysses to sheathe his sword and let him drink the blood of the black sheep. when he had tasted it he said that the sea god was angry because of the blinding of his son, the cyclops, and would make his voyaging vain. but if the men of ulysses were wise, and did not slay and eat the sacred cattle of the sun god, in the isle called thrinacia, they might all win home. if they were unwise, and if ulysses did come home, lonely and late he would arrive, on the ship of strangers, and he would find proud men wasting his goods and seeking to wed his wife, penelope. even if ulysses alone could kill these men his troubles would not be ended. he must wander over the land, as he had wandered over the waters, carrying an oar on his shoulder, till he came to men who had never heard of the sea or of boats. when one of these men, not knowing what an oar was, came and told him that he carried a fan for winnowing corn, then ulysses must fix the oar in the ground, and offer a sacrifice to the sea god, and go home, where he would at last live in peace. ulysses said, 'so be it!' and asked how he could have speech with the ghosts. tiresias told him how this might be done, and then his mother told him how she died of sorrow for him, and ulysses tried to embrace and kiss her, but his arms only clasped the empty air. then came up the beautiful spirits of many dead, unhappy ladies of old times, and then came the souls of agamemnon, and of achilles, and of aias. achilles was glad when he heard how bravely his young son had fought at troy, but he said it was better to be the servant of a poor farmer on earth than to rule over all the ghosts of the dead in the still grey land where the sun never shone, and no flowers grew but the mournful asphodel. many other spirits of greeks slain at troy came and asked for news about their friends, but aias stood apart and silent, still in anger because the arms of achilles had been given to ulysses. in vain ulysses told him that the greeks had mourned as much for him as for achilles; he passed silently away into the house of hades. at last the legions of the innumerable dead, all that have died since the world began, flocked, and filled the air with their low wailing cries, and fear fell on ulysses, and he went back along that sad last shore of the world's end to his ship, and sailed again out of the darkness into the sunlight, and to the isle of circe. there they burned the body of elpenor, and piled a mound over it, and on the mound set the oar of the dead man, and so went to the palace of circe. ulysses told circe all his adventures, and then she warned him of dangers yet to come, and showed him how he might escape them. he listened, and remembered all that she spoke, and these two said good-bye for ever. circe wandered away alone into the woods, and ulysses and his men set sail and crossed the unknown seas. presently the wind fell, and the sea was calm, and they saw a beautiful island from which came the sound of sweet singing. ulysses knew who the singers were, for circe had told him that they were the sirens, a kind of beautiful mermaids, deadly to men. among the flowers they sit and sing, but the flowers hide the bones of men who have listened and landed on the island, and died of that strange music, which carries the soul away. ulysses now took a great cake of bees' wax and cut it up into small pieces, which he bade his men soften and place in their ears, that they might not hear that singing. but, as he desired to hear it and yet live, he bade the sailors bind him tightly to the mast with ropes, and they must not unbind him, however much he might implore them to set him free. when all this was done the men sat down on the benches, all orderly, and smote the grey sea with their oars, and the ship rushed along through the clear still water, and came opposite the island. then the sweet singing of the sirens was borne over the sea, 'hither, come hither, renowned ulysses, great glory of the achaean name. here stay thy ship, that thou mayest listen to our song. never has any man driven his ship past our island till he has heard our voices, sweet as the honeycomb; gladly he has heard, and wiser has he gone on his way. hither, come hither, for we know all things, all that the greeks wrought and endured in troyland, all that shall hereafter be upon the fruitful earth.' thus they sang, offering ulysses all knowledge and wisdom, which they knew that he loved more than anything in the world. to other men, no doubt, they would have offered other pleasures. ulysses desired to listen, and he nodded to his men to loosen his bonds. but perimedes and eurylochus arose, and laid on him yet stronger bonds, and the ship was driven past that island, till the song of the sirens faded away, and then the men set ulysses free and took the wax out of their ears. iii the whirlpool, the sea monster, and the cattle of the sun they had not sailed far when they heard the sea roaring, and saw a great wave, over which hung a thick shining cloud of spray. they had drifted to a place where the sea narrowed between two high black rocks: under the rock on the left was a boiling whirlpool in which no ship could live; the opposite rock showed nothing dangerous, but ulysses had been warned by circe that here too lay great peril. we may ask, why did ulysses pass through the narrows between these two rocks? why did he not steer on the outer side of one or the other? the reason seems to have been that, on the outer side of these cliffs, were the tall reefs which men called the rocks wandering. between them the sea water leaped in high columns of white foam, and the rocks themselves rushed together, grinding and clashing, while fire flew out of the crevices and crests as from a volcano. circe had told ulysses about the rocks wandering, which do not even allow flocks of doves to pass through them; even one of the doves is always caught and crushed, and no ship of men escapes that tries to pass that way, and the bodies of the sailors and the planks of the ships are confusedly tossed by the waves of the sea and the storms of ruinous fire. of all ships that ever sailed the sea only 'argo,' the ship of jason, has escaped the rocks wandering, as you may read in the story of the fleece of gold. for these reasons ulysses was forced to steer between the rock of the whirlpool and the rock which seemed harmless. in the narrows between these two cliffs the sea ran like a rushing river, and the men, in fear, ceased to hold the oars, and down the stream the oars plashed in confusion. but ulysses, whom circe had told of this new danger, bade them grasp the oars again and row hard. he told the man at the helm to steer under the great rocky cliff, on the right, and to keep clear of the whirlpool and the cloud of spray on the left. well he knew the danger of the rock on the left, for within it was a deep cave, where a monster named scylla lived, yelping with a shrill voice out of her six hideous heads. each head hung down from a long, thin, scaly neck, and in each mouth were three rows of greedy teeth, and twelve long feelers, with claws at the ends of them, dropped down, ready to catch at men. there in her cave scylla sits, fishing with her feelers for dolphins and other great fish, and for men, if any men sail by that way. against this deadly thing none may fight, for she cannot be slain with the spear.[a] [a. there is a picture of this monster attacking a man in a boat. the picture was painted centuries before the time of ulysses.] all this ulysses knew, for circe had warned him. but he also knew that on the other side of the strait, where the sea spray for ever flew high above the rock, was a whirlpool, called charybdis, which would swallow up his ship if it came within the current, while scylla could only catch some of his men. for this reason he bade the helmsman to steer close to the rock of scylla, and he did not tell the sailors that she lurked there with her body hidden in her deep cave. he himself put on his armour, and took two spears, and went and stood in the raised half deck at the front of the ship, thinking that, at least, he would have a stroke at scylla. then they rowed down the swift sea stream, while the wave of the whirlpool now rose up, till the spray hid the top of the rock, and now fell, and bubbled with black sand. they were watching the whirlpool, when out from the hole in the cliff sprang the six heads of scylla, and up into the air went six of ulysses' men, each calling to him, as they were swept within her hole in the rock, where she devoured them. 'this was the most pitiful thing,' ulysses said, 'that my eyes have seen, of all my sorrows in searching out the paths of the sea.' the ship swept through the roaring narrows between the rock of scylla and the whirlpool of charybdis, into the open sea, and the men, weary and heavy of heart, bent over their oars, and longed for rest. now a place of rest seemed near at hand, for in front of the ship lay a beautiful island, and the men could hear the bleating of sheep and the lowing of cows as they were being herded into their stalls. but ulysses remembered that, in the land of the dead, the ghost of the blind prophet had warned him of one thing. if his men killed and ate the cattle of the sun, in the sacred island of thrinacia, they would all perish. so ulysses told his crew of this prophecy, and bade them row past the island. eurylochus was angry and said that the men were tired, and could row no further, but must land, and take supper, and sleep comfortably on shore. on hearing eurylochus, the whole crew shouted and said that they would go no further that night, and ulysses had no power to compel them. he could only make them swear not to touch the cattle of the sun god, which they promised readily enough, and so went ashore, took supper, and slept. [illustration: the adventure with scylla.] in the night a great storm arose: the clouds and driving mist blinded the face of the sea and sky, and for a whole month the wild south wind hurled the waves on the coast, and no ship of these times could venture out in the tempest. meanwhile the crew ate up all the stores in the ship, and finished the wine, so that they were driven to catch sea birds and fishes, of which they took but few, the sea being so rough upon the rocks. ulysses went up into the island alone, to pray to the gods, and when he had prayed he found a sheltered place, and there he fell asleep. eurylochus took the occasion, while ulysses was away, to bid the crew seize and slay the sacred cattle of the sun god, which no man might touch, and this they did, so that, when ulysses wakened, and came near the ship, he smelled the roast meat, and knew what had been done. he rebuked the men, but, as the cattle were dead, they kept eating them for six days; and then the storm ceased, the wind fell, the sun shone, and they set the sails, and away they went. but this evil deed was punished, for when they were out of sight of land, a great thunder cloud overshadowed them, the wind broke the mast, which crushed the head of the helmsman, the lightning struck the ship in the centre; she reeled, the men fell overboard, and the heads of the crew floated a moment, like cormorants, above the waves. but ulysses had kept hold of a rope, and, when the vessel righted, he walked the deck till a wave stripped off all the tackling, and loosened the sides from the keel. ulysses had only time to lash the broken mast with a rope to the keel, and sit on this raft with his feet in the water, while the south wind rose again furiously, and drove the raft back till it came under the rock where was the whirlpool of charybdis. here ulysses would have been drowned, but he caught at the root of a fig tree that grew on the rock, and there he hung, clinging with his toes to the crumbling stones till the whirlpool boiled up again, and up came the timbers. down on the timbers ulysses dropped, and so sat rowing with his hands, and the wind drifted him at last to a shelving beach of an island. here dwelt a kind of fairy, called calypso, who found ulysses nearly dead on the beach, and was kind to him, and kept him in her cave, where he lived for seven long years, always desiring to leave the beautiful fairy and return to ithaca and his wife penelope. but no ship of men ever came near that isle, which is the central place of all the seas, and he had no ship, and no men to sail and row. calypso was very kind, and very beautiful, being the daughter of the wizard atlas, who holds the two pillars that keep earth and sea asunder. but ulysses was longing to see if it were but the smoke going up from the houses of rocky ithaca, and he had a desire to die. iv how telemachus went to seek his father when ulysses had lived nearly seven years in the island of calypso, his son telemachus, whom he had left in ithaca as a little child, went forth to seek for his father. in ithaca he and his mother, penelope, had long been very unhappy. as ulysses did not come home after the war, and as nothing was heard about him from the day when the greeks sailed from troy, it was supposed that he must be dead. but telemachus was still but a boy of twelve years old, and the father of ulysses, laertes, was very old, and had gone to a farm in the country, where he did nothing but take care of his garden. there was thus no king in ithaca, and the boys, who had been about ten years old when ulysses went to troy, were now grown up, and, as their fathers had gone to the war, they did just as they pleased. twelve of them wanted to marry penelope, and they, with about a hundred others as wild as themselves, from the neighbouring islands, by way of paying court to penelope ate and drank all day at her house. they killed the cattle, sheep, and swine; they drank the wine, and amused themselves with penelope's maidens, of whom she had many. nobody could stop them; they would never go away, they said, till penelope chose one of them to be her husband, and king of the island, though telemachus was the rightful prince. penelope at last promised that she would choose one of them when she had finished a great shroud of linen, to be the death shroud of old laertes when he died. all day she wove it, but at night, when her wooers had gone (for they did not sleep in her house), she unwove it again. but one of her maidens told this to the wooers, so she had to finish the shroud, and now they pressed her more than ever to make her choice. but she kept hoping that ulysses was still alive, and would return, though, if he did, how was he to turn so many strong young men out of his house? the goddess of wisdom, athãªnãª, had always favoured ulysses, and now she spoke up among the gods, where they sat, as men say, in their holy heaven. not by winds is it shaken, nor wet with rain, nor does the snow come thither, but clear air is spread about it cloudless, and the white light floats over it. athãªnãª told how good, wise, and brave ulysses was, and how he was kept in the isle of calypso, while men ruined his wealth and wooed his wife. she said that she would herself go to ithaca, and make telemachus appeal to all the people of the country, showing how evilly he was treated, and then sail abroad to seek news of his father. so athãªnãª spoke, and flashed down from olympus to ithaca, where she took the shape of a mortal man, mentes, a chief of the taphians. in front of the doors she found the proud wooers playing at draughts and other games while supper was being made ready. when telemachus, who was standing apart, saw the stranger, he went to him, and led him into the house, and treated him kindly, while the wooers ate and drank, and laughed noisily. then telemachus told athãªnãª (or, as he supposed, the stranger), how evilly he was used, while his father's white bones might be wasting on an unknown shore or rolling in the billows of the salt sea. athãªnãª said, or mentes said, that he himself was an old friend of ulysses, and had touched at ithaca on his way to cyprus to buy copper. 'but ulysses,' he said, 'is not dead; he will certainly come home, and that speedily. you are so like him, you must be his son.' telemachus replied that he was, and mentes was full of anger, seeing how the wooers insulted him, and told him first to complain to an assembly of all the people, and then to take a ship, and go seeking news of ulysses. then athãªnãª departed, and next day telemachus called an assembly, and spoke to the people, but though they were sorry for him they could not help him. one old man, however, a prophet, said that ulysses would certainly come home, but the wooers only threatened and insulted him. in the evening athãªnãª came again, in the appearance of mentor, not the same man as mentes, but an ithacan, and a friend of ulysses. she encouraged telemachus to take a ship, with twenty oarsmen, and he told the wooers that he was going to see menelaus and nestor, and ask tidings of his father. they only mocked him, but he made all things ready for his voyage without telling his mother. it was old eurycleia, who had been his nurse and his father's nurse, that brought him wine and food for his journey; and at night, when the sea wind wakens in summer, he and mentor went on board, and all night they sailed, and at noon next day they reached pylos on the sea sands, the city of nestor the old. nestor received them gladly, and so did his sons, pisistratus and thrasymedes, who fought at troy, and next day, when mentor had gone, pisistratus and telemachus drove together, up hill and down dale, a two days' journey, to lacedaemon, lying beneath mount taygetus on the bank of the clear river eurotas. not one of the greeks had seen ulysses since the day when they all sailed from troy, yet menelaus, in a strange way, was able to tell telemachus that his father still lived, and was with calypso on a lonely island, the centre of all the seas. we shall see how menelaus knew this. when telemachus and pisistratus came, he was giving a feast, and called them to his table. it would not have been courteous to ask them who they were till they had been bathed and clothed in fresh raiment, and had eaten and drunk. after dinner, menelaus saw how much telemachus admired his house, and the flashing of light from the walls, which were covered with bronze panels, and from the cups of gold, and the amber and ivory and silver. such things telemachus had never seen in ithaca. noticing his surprise, menelaus said that he had brought many rich things from troy, after eight years wandering to cyprus, and phoenicia, and egypt, and even to libya, on the north coast of africa. yet he said that, though he was rich and fortunate, he was unhappy when he remembered the brave men who had died for his sake at troy. but above all he was miserable for the loss of the best of them all, ulysses, who was so long unheard of, and none knew whether, at that hour, he was alive or dead. at these words telemachus hid his face in his purple mantle and shed tears, so that menelaus guessed who he was, but he said nothing. then came into the hall, from her own fragrant chamber, helen of the fair hands, as beautiful as ever she had been, her bower maidens carrying her golden distaff, with which she span, and a silver basket to hold her wool, for the white hands of helen were never idle. helen knew telemachus by his likeness to his father, ulysses, and when she said this to menelaus, pisistratus overheard her, and told how telemachus had come to them seeking for news of his father. menelaus was much moved in his heart, and helen no less, when they saw the son of ulysses, who had been the most trusty of all their friends. they could not help shedding tears, for pisistratus remembered his dear brother antilochus, whom memnon slew in battle at troy, memnon the son of the bright dawn. but helen wished to comfort them, and she brought a drug of magical virtue, which polydamna, the wife of thon, king of egypt had given to her. this drug lulls all pain and anger, and brings forgetfulness of every sorrow, and helen poured it from a golden vial into the mixing bowl of gold, and they drank the wine and were comforted. then helen told telemachus what great deeds ulysses did at troy, and how he crept into the town disguised as a beggar, and came to her house, when he stole the luck of troy. menelaus told how ulysses kept him and the other princes quiet in the horse of tree, when deiphobus made helen call to them all in the very voices of their own wives, and to telemachus it was great joy to hear of his father's courage and wisdom. next day telemachus showed to menelaus how hardly he and his mother were treated by the proud wooers, and menelaus prayed that ulysses might come back to ithaca, and slay the wooers every one. 'but as to what you ask me,' he said, 'i will tell you all that i have heard about your father. in my wanderings after i sailed from troy the storm winds kept me for three weeks in the island called pharos, a day's voyage from the mouth of the river "ã�gyptus"' (which is the old name of the nile). 'we were almost starving, for our food was done, and my crew went round the shores, fishing with hook and line. now in that isle lives a goddess, the daughter of proteus, the old man of the sea. she advised me that if i could but catch her father when he came out of the sea to sleep on the shore he would tell me everything that i needed to know. at noonday he was used to come out, with all his flock of seals round him, and to sleep among them on the sands. if i could seize him, she said, he would turn into all manner of shapes in my hands: beasts, and serpents, and burning fire; but at last he would appear in his own shape, and answer all my questions. 'so the goddess spoke, and she dug hiding places in the sands for me and three of my men, and covered us with the skins of seals. at noonday the old man came out with his seals, and counted them, beginning with us, and then he lay down and fell asleep. then we leaped up and rushed at him and gripped him fast. he turned into the shapes of a lion, and of a leopard, of a snake, and a huge boar; then he was running water, and next he was a tall, blossoming tree. but we held him firmly, and at last he took his own shape, and told me that i should never have a fair wind till i had sailed back into the river ã�gyptus and sacrificed there to the gods in heaven. then i asked him for news about my brother, agamemnon, and he told me how my brother was slain in his own hall, and how aias was drowned in the sea. lastly, he told me about ulysses: how he was kept on a lonely island by the fairy calypso, and was unhappy, and had no ship and no crew to escape and win home.' this was all that menelaus could tell telemachus, who stayed with menelaus for a month. all that time the wooers lay in wait for him, with a ship, in a narrow strait which they thought he must sail through on his way back to ithaca. in that strait they meant to catch him and kill him. v how ulysses escaped from the island of calypso now the day after menelaus told telemachus that ulysses was still a living man, the gods sent hermes to calypso. so hermes bound on his feet his fair golden sandals, that wax not old, and bear him, alike over wet sea and dry land, as swift as the wind. along the crests of the waves he flew, like the cormorant that chases fishes through the sea deeps, with his plumage wet in the sea brine. he reached the island, and went up to the cave of calypso, wherein dwelt the nymph of the braided tresses, and he found her within. and on the hearth there was a great fire burning, and from afar, through the isle, was smelt the fragrance of cleft cedar blazing, and of sandal wood. and the nymph within was singing with a sweet voice as she fared to and fro before the loom, and wove with a shuttle of gold. all round about the cave there was a wood blossoming, alder and poplar and sweet smelling cypress. therein roosted birds long of wing--owls and falcons and chattering sea-crows, which have their business in the waters. and lo! there, about the hollow cave, trailed a gadding garden vine, all rich with clusters. and fountains, four set orderly, were running with clear water hard by one another, turned each to his own course. around soft meadows bloomed of violets and parsley; yea, even a deathless god who came thither might wonder at the sight and be glad at heart. there the messenger, the slayer of argos, stood and wondered. now when he had gazed at all with wonder, he went into the wide cave; nor did calypso, that fair goddess, fail to know him when she saw him face to face; for the gods use not to be strange one to another, not though one have his habitation far away. but he found not ulysses, the great-hearted, within the cave, who sat weeping on the shore even as aforetime, straining his soul with tears and groans and griefs, and as he wept he looked wistfully over the unharvested deep. and calypso, that fair goddess, questioned hermes, when she had made him sit on a bright shining star: 'wherefore, i pray thee, hermes of the golden wand, hast thou come hither, worshipful and welcome, whereas as of old thou wert not wont to visit me? tell me all thy thought; my heart is set on fulfilling it, if fulfil it i may, and if it hath been fulfilled in the counsel of fate. but now follow me further, that i may set before thee the entertainment of strangers.' therewith the goddess spread a table with ambrosia and set it by him, and mixed the ruddy nectar. so the messenger, the slayer of argos, did eat and drink. now after he had supped and comforted his soul with food, at the last he answered, and spake to her on this wise: 'thou makest question of me on my coming, a goddess of a god, and i will tell thee this my saying truly, at thy command. 'twas zeus that bade me come hither, by no will of mine; nay, who of his free will would speed over such a wondrous space of sea whereby is no city of mortals that do sacrifice to the gods. he saith that thou hast with thee a man most wretched beyond his fellows, beyond those men that round the city of priam for nine years fought, and in the tenth year sacked the city and departed homeward. yet on the way they sinned against athãªnãª, and she raised upon them an evil blast and long waves of the sea. then all the rest of his good company was lost, but it came to pass that the wind bare and the wave brought him hither. and now zeus biddeth thee send him hence with what speed thou mayest, for it is not ordained that he die away from his friends, but rather it is his fate to look on them even yet, and to come to his high-roofed home and his own country.' [illustration: calypso takes pity on ulysses.] so spake he, and calypso, that fair goddess, shuddered and spake unto him: 'hard are ye gods and jealous exceeding, who ever grudge goddesses openly to mate with men. him i saved as he went all alone bestriding the keel of a bark, for that zeus had crushed and cleft his swift ship with a white bolt in the midst of the wine-dark deep. there all the rest of his good company was lost, but it came to pass that the wind bare and the wave brought him hither. and him have i loved and cherished, and i said that i would make him to know not death and age for ever. but i will give him no despatch, not i, for i have no ships by me with oars, nor company to bear him on his way over the broad back of the sea. yet will i be forward to put this in his mind, and will hide nought, that all unharmed he may come to his own country.' then the messenger, the slayer of argos, answered her: 'yea, speed him now upon his path and have regard unto the wrath of zeus, lest haply he be angered and bear hard on thee hereafter.' therewith the great slayer of argos departed, but the lady nymph went on her way to the great-hearted ulysses, when she had heard the message of zeus. and there she found him sitting on the shore, and his eyes were never dry of tears, and his sweet life was ebbing away as he mourned for his return. in the daytime he would sit on the rocks and on the beach, straining his soul with tears, and groans, and griefs, and through his tears he would look wistfully over the unharvested deep. so, standing near him, that fair goddess spake to him: 'hapless man, sorrow no more i pray thee in this isle, nor let thy good life waste away, for even now will i send thee hence with all my heart. nay, arise and cut long beams, and fashion a wide raft with the axe, and lay deckings high thereupon, that it may bear thee over the misty deep. and i will place therein bread and water, and red wine to thy heart's desire, to keep hunger far away. and i will put raiment upon thee, and send a fair gale, that so thou mayest come all unharmed to thine own country, if indeed it be the good pleasure of the gods who hold wide heaven, who are stronger than i am both to will and to do.' then ulysses was glad and sad: glad that the gods took thought for him, and sad to think of crossing alone the wide unsailed seas. calypso said to him: 'so it is indeed thy wish to get thee home to thine own dear country even in this hour? good fortune go with thee even so! yet didst thou know in thine heart what thou art ordained to suffer, or ever thou reach thine own country, here, even here, thou wouldst abide with me and keep this house, and wouldst never taste of death, though thou longest to see thy wife, for whom thou hast ever a desire day by day. not, in sooth, that i avow me to be less noble than she in form or fashion, for it is in no wise meet that mortal women should match them with immortals in shape and comeliness.' and ulysses of many counsels answered, and spake unto her: 'be not wroth with me, goddess and queen. myself i know it well, how wise penelope is meaner to look upon than thou in comeliness and stature. but she is mortal, and thou knowest not age nor death. yet, even so, i wish and long day by day to fare homeward and see the day of my returning. yea, and if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so i will endure, with a heart within me patient of affliction. for already have i suffered full much, and much have i toiled in perils of waves and war; let this be added to the tale of those.' next day calypso brought to ulysses carpenters' tools, and he felled trees, and made a great raft, and a mast, and sails out of canvas. in five days he had finished his raft and launched it, and calypso placed in it skins full of wine and water, and flour and many pleasant things to eat, and so they kissed for that last time and took farewell, he going alone on the wide sea, and she turning lonely to her own home. he might have lived for ever with the beautiful fairy, but he chose to live and die, if he could, with his wife penelope. vi how ulysses was wrecked, yet reached phaeacia as long as the fair wind blew ulysses sat and steered his raft, never seeing land or any ship of men. he kept his eye at night on the great bear, holding it always on his left hand, as calypso taught him. seventeen days he sailed, and on the eighteenth day he saw the shadowy mountain peaks of an island called phaeacia. but now the sea god saw him, and remembered how ulysses had blinded his son the cyclops. in anger he raised a terrible storm: great clouds covered the sky, and all the winds met. ulysses wished that he had died when the trojans gathered round him as he defended the dead body of achilles. for, had he died then, he would have been burned and buried by his friends, but if he were now drowned his ghost would always wander alone on the fringes of the land of the dead, like the ghost of elpenor. as he thought thus, the winds broke the mast of his raft, and the sail and yardarm fell into the sea, and the waves dragged him deep down. at last he rose to the surface and swam after his raft, and climbed on to it, and sat there, while the winds tossed the raft about like a feather. the sea goddess, ino, saw him and pitied him, and rose from the water as a seagull rises after it has dived. she spoke to him, and threw her bright veil to him, saying, 'wind this round your breast, and throw off your clothes. leap from the raft and swim, and, when you reach land, cast the veil back into the sea, and turn away your head.' ulysses caught the veil, and wound it about his breast, but he determined not to leave the raft while the timbers held together. even as he thought thus, the timbers were driven asunder by the waves, and he seized a plank, and sat astride it as a man rides a horse. then the winds fell, all but the north wind, which drifted ulysses on for two days and nights. on the third day all was calm, and the land was very near, and ulysses began to swim towards it, through a terrible surf, which crashed and foamed on sheer rocks, where all his bones would be broken. thrice he clasped a rock, and thrice the back wash of the wave dragged him out to sea. then he swam outside of the breakers, along the line of land, looking for a safe place, and at last he came to the mouth of the river. here all was smooth, with a shelving beach, and his feet touched bottom. he staggered out of the water and swooned away as soon as he was on dry land. when he came to himself he unbound the veil of ino, and cast it into the sea, and fell back, quite spent, among the reeds of the river, naked and starving. he crept between two thick olive trees that grew close together and made a shelter against the wind, and he covered himself all over thickly with fallen dry leaves, till he grew warm again and fell into a deep sleep. while ulysses slept, alone and naked in an unknown land, a dream came to beautiful nausicaa, the daughter of the king of that country, which is called phaeacia. the dream was in the shape of a girl who was a friend of nausicaa, and it said: 'nausicaa, how has your mother such a careless daughter? there are many beautiful garments in the house that need to be washed, against your wedding day, when, as is the custom, you must give mantles and tunics to the guests. let us go a washing to the river to-morrow, taking a car to carry the raiment.' when nausicaa wakened next day she remembered the dream, and went to her father, and asked him to lend her a car to carry the clothes. she said nothing about her marriage day, for though many young princes were in love with her, she was in love with none of them. still, the clothes must be washed, and her father lent her a waggon with a high frame, and mules to drive. the clothes were piled in the car, and food was packed in a basket, every sort of dainty thing, and nausicaa took the reins and drove slowly while many girls followed her, her friends of her own age. they came to a deep clear pool, that overflowed into shallow paved runs of water, and there they washed the clothes, and trod them down in the runlets. next they laid them out to dry in the sun and wind on the pebbles, and then they took their meal of cakes and other good things. when they had eaten they threw down their veils and began to play at ball, at a game like rounders. nausicaa threw the ball at a girl who was running, but missed her, and the ball fell into the deep swift river. all the girls screamed and laughed, and the noise they made wakened ulysses where he lay in the little wood. 'where am i?' he said to himself; 'is this a country of fierce and savage men? a sound of girls at play rings round me. can they be fairies of the hill tops and the rivers, and the water meadows?' as he had no clothes, and the voices seemed to be voices of women, ulysses broke a great leafy bough which hid all his body, but his feet were bare, his face was wild with weariness, and cold, and hunger, and his hair and beard were matted and rough with the salt water. the girls, when they saw such a face peering over the leaves of the bough, screamed, and ran this way and that along the beach. but nausicaa, as became the daughter of the king, stood erect and unafraid, and as ulysses dared not go near and kneel to her, he spoke from a distance and said: 'i pray thee, o queen, whether thou art a goddess or a mortal! if indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep the wide heaven, to artemis, then, the daughter of great zeus, i mainly liken thee for beauty and stature and shapeliness. but if thou art one of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren. surely their souls ever glow with gladness for thy sake each time they see thee entering the dance, so fair a flower of maidens. but he is of heart the most blessed beyond all other who shall prevail with gifts of wooing, and lead thee to his home. never have mine eyes beheld such an one among mortals, neither man nor woman; great awe comes upon me as i look on thee. yet in delos once i saw as goodly a thing: a young sapling of a palm tree springing by the altar of apollo. for thither, too, i went, and much people with me, on that path where my sore troubles were to be. yea! and when i looked thereupon, long time i marvelled in spirit--for never grew there yet so goodly a shoot from ground--even in such wise as i wonder at thee, lady, and am astonished and do greatly fear to touch thy knees, though grievous sorrow is upon me. [illustration: how ulysses met nausicaa.] 'yesterday, on the twentieth day, i escaped from the wine-dark deep, but all that time continually the wave bare me, and the vehement winds drave from the isle ogygia. and now some god has cast me on this shore that here too, methinks, some evil may betide me; for i think not that trouble will cease; the gods ere that time will yet bring many a thing to pass. but, queen, have pity on me, for, after many trials and sore, to thee first of all am i come, and of the other folk, who hold this city and land, i know no man. nay, show me the town; give me an old garment to cast about me, if thou hadst, when thou camest here, any wrap for the linen. and may the gods grant thee all thy heart's desire: a husband and a home, and a mind at one with his may they give--a good gift, for there is nothing mightier and nobler than when man and wife are of one heart and mind in a house, a grief to their foes, and to their friends great joy, but their own hearts know it best.' then nausicaa of the white arms, answered him, and said: 'stranger, as thou seemest no evil man nor foolish--and it is olympian zeus himself that giveth weal to men, to the good and to the evil, to each one as he will, and this thy lot doubtless is of him, and so thou must in anywise endure it--now, since thou hast come to our city and our land, thou shalt not lack raiment nor aught else that is the due of a hapless suppliant when he has met them who can befriend him. and i will show thee the town, and name the name of the people. the phaeacians hold this city and land, and i am the daughter of alcinous, great of heart, on whom all the might and force of the phaeacians depend.' thus she spake, and called to her maidens of the fair tresses: 'halt, my maidens, whither flee ye at the sight of a man? ye surely do not take him for an enemy? that mortal breathes not, and never will be born, who shall come with war to the land of the phaeacians, for they are very dear to the gods. far apart we live in the wash of the waves, the outermost of men, and no other mortals are conversant with us. nay, but this man is some helpless one come hither in his wanderings, whom now we must kindly entreat, for all strangers and beggars are from zeus, and a little gift is dear. so, my maidens, give the stranger meat and drink, and bathe him in the river, where there is a shelter from the winds.' so she spake, but they halted and called each to the other, and they brought ulysses to the sheltered place, and made him sit down, as nausiaca bade them, the daughter of alcinous, high of heart. beside him they laid a mantle and a doublet for raiment, and gave him soft olive oil in the golden cruse, and bade him wash in the streams of the river. then goodly ulysses spake among the maidens, saying: 'i pray you stand thus apart while i myself wash the brine from my shoulders, and anoint me with olive oil, for truly oil is long a stranger to my skin. but in your sight i will not bathe, for i am ashamed to make me naked in the company of fair-tressed maidens.' then they went apart and told all to their lady. but with the river water the goodly ulysses washed from his skin the salt scurf that covered his back and broad shoulders, and from his head he wiped the crusted brine of the barren sea. but when he had washed his whole body, and anointed him with olive oil, and had clad himself in the raiment that the unwedded maiden gave him, then athãªnãª, the daughter of zeus, made him greater and more mighty to behold, and from his head caused deep curling locks to flow, like the hyacinth flower. and, as when some skilful man overlays gold upon silver--one that hephaestus and pallas athãªnãª have taught all manner of craft, and full of grace is his handiwork--even so did athãªnãª shed grace about his head and shoulders. then to the shore of the sea went ulysses apart, and sat down, glowing in beauty and grace, and the princess marvelled at him, and spake among her fair-tressed maidens, saying: 'listen, my white-armed maidens, and i will say somewhat. not without the will of all the gods who hold olympus has this man come among the godlike phaeacians. erewhile he seemed to me uncomely, but now he is like the gods that keep the wide heaven. would that such an one might be called my husband, dwelling here, and that it might please him here to abide! but come, my maidens, give the stranger meat and drink.' thus she spake, and they gave ready ear and hearkened, and set beside ulysses meat and drink, and the steadfast goodly ulysses did eat and drink eagerly, for it was long since he had tasted food. now nausicaa of the white arms had another thought. she folded the raiment and stored it in the goodly wain, and yoked the mules, strong of hoof, and herself climbed into the car. then she called on ulysses, and spake and hailed him: 'up now, stranger, and rouse thee to go to the city, that i may convey thee to the house of my wise father, where, i promise thee, thou shalt get knowledge of all the noblest of the phaeacians. but do thou even as i tell thee, and thou seemest a discreet man enough. so long as we are passing along the fields and farms of men, do thou fare quickly with the maidens behind the mules and the chariot, and i will lead the way. but when we set foot within the city, whereby goes a high wall with towers, and there is a fair haven on either side of the town, and narrow is the entrance, and curved ships are drawn up on either hand of the mole, thou shalt find a fair grove of athãªnãª, a poplar grove, near the road, and a spring wells forth therein, and a meadow lies all around. there is my father's land, and his fruitful close, within the sound of a man's shout from the city. sit thee down there and wait until such time as we may have come into the city, and reached the house of my father. but when thou deemest that we are got to the palace, then go up to the city of the phaeacians, and ask for the house of my father, alcinous, high of heart. it is easily known, and a young child could be thy guide, for nowise like it are builded the houses of the phaeacians, so goodly is the palace of the hero alcinous. but when thou art within the shadow of the halls and the court, pass quickly through the great chamber till thou comest to my mother, who sits at the hearth in the light of the fire, weaving yarn of sea-purple stain, a wonder to behold. her chair is leaned against a pillar, and her maidens sit behind her. and there my father's throne leans close to hers, wherein he sits and drinks his wine, like an immortal. pass thou by him, and cast thy hands about my mother's knees that thou mayest see quickly and with joy the day of thy returning, even if thou art from a very far country. if but her heart be kindly disposed towards thee, then is there hope that thou shalt see thy friends, and come to thy well-builded house, and to thine own country.' she spake and smote the mules with the shining whip, and quickly they left behind them the streams of the river; and well they trotted and well they paced, and she took heed to drive in such wise that the maidens and ulysses might follow on foot, and cunningly she plied the lash. then the sun set, and they came to the famous grove, the sacred place of athãªnãª; so there the goodly ulysses sat him down. then straightway he prayed to the daughter of mighty zeus: 'listen to me, child of zeus, lord of the aegis, unwearied maiden; hear me even now, since before thou heardest not when i was smitten on the sea, when the renowned earth-shaker smote me. grant me to come to the phaeacians as one dear and worthy of pity.' so he spake in prayer, and pallas athãªnãª heard him; but she did not yet appear to him face to face, for she had regard unto her father's brother, who furiously raged against the god-like ulysses till he should come to his own country. while nausicaa and her maidens went home, ulysses waited near the temple till they should have arrived, and then he rose and walked to the city, wondering at the harbour, full of ships, and at the strength of the walls. the goddess athãªnãª met him, disguised as a mortal girl, and told him again how the name of the king was alcinous, and his wife's name was arete: she was wise and kind, and had great power in the city. the goddess caused ulysses to pass unseen among the people till he reached the palace, which shone with bronze facings to the walls, while within the hall were golden hounds and golden statues of young men holding torches burning to give light to those who sat at supper. the gardens were very beautiful, full of fruit trees, and watered by streams that flowed from two fountains. ulysses stood and wondered at the beauty of the gardens, and then walked, unseen, through the hall, and knelt at the feet of queen arete, and implored her to send him in a ship to his own country. a table was brought to him, and food and wine were set before him, and alcinous, as his guests were going home, spoke out and said that the stranger was to be entertained, whoever he might be, and sent safely on his way. the guests departed, and arete, looking at ulysses, saw that the clothes he wore were possessions of her house, and asked him who he was, and how he got the raiment? then he told her how he had been shipwrecked, and how nausicaa had given him food, and garments out of those which she had been washing. then arete said that nausicaa should have brought ulysses straight to her house; but ulysses answered: 'chide not, i pray you, the blameless damsel,' and explained that he himself was shy, and afraid that nausicaa's parents might not like to see her coming with an unknown stranger. king alcinous answered that he was not jealous and suspicious. to a stranger so noble as ulysses he would very gladly see his daughter married, and would give him a house and plenty of everything. but if the stranger desired to go to his own country, then a ship should be made ready for him. thus courteous was alcinous, for he readily saw that ulysses, who had not yet told his name, was of noble birth, strong and wise. then all went to bed, and ulysses had a soft bed and a warm, with blankets of purple. next day alcinous sent two-and-fifty young men to prepare a ship, and they moored her in readiness out in the shore water; but the chiefs dined with alcinous, and the minstrel sang about the trojan war, and so stirred the heart of ulysses, that he held his mantle before his face and wept. when alcinous saw that, he proposed that they should go and amuse themselves with sports in the open air; races, wrestling, and boxing. the son of alcinous asked ulysses if he would care to take part in the games, but ulysses answered that he was too heavy at heart. to this a young man, euryalus, said that ulysses was probably a captain of a merchant ship, a tradesman, not a sportsman. at this ulysses was ill pleased, and replied that while he was young and happy, he was well skilled in all sports, but now he was heavy and weak with war and wandering. still, he would show what he could do. then he seized a heavy weight, much heavier than any that the phaeacians used in putting the stone. he whirled it up, and hurled it far--far beyond the furthest mark that the phaeacians had reached when putting a lighter weight. then he challenged any man to run a race with him or box with him, or shoot at a mark with him. only his speed in running did he doubt, for his limbs were stiffened by the sea. perhaps alcinous saw that it would go ill with any man who matched himself against the stranger, so he sent for the harper, who sang a merry song, and then he made the young men dance and play ball, and bade the elder men go and bring rich presents of gold and garments for the wanderer. alcinous himself gave a beautiful coffer and chest, and a great golden cup, and arete tied up all the gifts in the coffer, while the damsels took ulysses to the bath, and bathed him and anointed him with oil. as he left the bath he met nausicaa, standing at the entrance of the hall. she bade him good-bye, rather sadly, saying: 'farewell, and do not soon forget me in your own country, for to me you owe the ransom of your life.' 'may god grant to me to see my own country, lady,' he answered, 'for there i will think of you with worship, as i think of the blessed gods, all my days, for to you, lady, i owe my very life.' these were the last words they spoke to each other, for nausicaa did not sit at meat in the hall with the great company of men. when they had taken supper, the blind harper sang again a song about the deeds of ulysses at troy, and again ulysses wept, so that alcinous asked him: 'hast thou lost a dear friend or a kinsman in the great war?' then ulysses spoke out: 'i am ulysses, laertes' son, of whom all men have heard tell.' while they sat amazed, he began, and told them the whole story of his adventures, from the day when he left troy till he arrived at calypso's island; he had already told them how he was shipwrecked on his way thence to phaeacia. all that wonderful story he told to their pleasure, and euryalus made amends for his rude words at the games, and gave ulysses a beautiful sword of bronze, with an ivory hilt set with studs of gold. many other gifts were given to him, and were carried and stored on board the ship which had been made ready, and then ulysses spoke good-bye to the queen, saying: 'be happy, oh queen, till old age and death come to you, as they come to all. be joyful in your house with your children and your people, and alcinous the king.' then he departed, and lay down on sheets and cloaks in the raised deck of the ship, and soundly he slept while the fifty oars divided the waters of the sea, and drove the ship to ithaca. vii how ulysses came to his own country, and for safety disguised himself as an old beggar man when ulysses awoke, he found himself alone, wrapped in the linen sheet and the bright coverlet, and he knew not where he was. the phaeacians had carried him from the ship as he slept, and put him on shore, and placed all the rich gifts that had been given him under a tree, and then had sailed away. there was a morning mist that hid the land, and ulysses did not know the haven of his own island, ithaca, and the rock whence sprang a fountain of the water fairies that men call naiads. he thought that the phaeacians had set him in a strange country, so he counted all his goods, and then walked up and down sadly by the seashore. here he met a young man, delicately clad, like a king's son, with a double mantle, such as kings wear, folded round his shoulders, and a spear in his hand. 'tell me pray,' said ulysses, 'what land is this, and what men dwell here?' the young man said: 'truly, stranger, you know little, or you come from far away. this isle is ithaca, and the name of it is known even in troyland.' ulysses was glad, indeed, to learn that he was at home at last; but how the young men who had grown up since he went away would treat him, all alone as he was, he could not tell. so he did not let out that he was ulysses the king, but said that he was a cretan. the stranger would wonder why a cretan had come alone to ithaca, with great riches, and yet did not know that he was there. so he pretended that, in crete, a son of idomeneus had tried to rob him of all the spoil he took at troy, and that he had killed this prince, and packed his wealth and fled on board a ship of the phoenicians, who promised to land him at pylos. but the wind had borne them out of their way, and they had all landed and slept on shore, here; but the phoenicians had left him asleep and gone off in the dawn. on this the young man laughed, and suddenly appeared as the great goddess, pallas athãªnãª. 'how clever you are,' she said; 'yet you did not know me, who helped you in troyland. but much trouble lies before you, and you must not let man or woman know who you really are, your enemies are so many and powerful.' 'you never helped me in my dangers on the sea,' said ulysses, 'and now do you make mock of me, or is this really mine own country?' 'i had no mind,' said the goddess, 'to quarrel with my brother the sea god, who had a feud against you for the blinding of his son, the cyclops. but come, you shall see this is really ithaca,' and she scattered the white mist, and ulysses saw and knew the pleasant cave of the naiads, and the forests on the side of the mountain called neriton. so he knelt down and kissed the dear earth of his own country, and prayed to the naiads of the cave. then the goddess helped him to hide all his gold, and bronze, and other presents in a secret place in the cavern; and she taught him how, being lonely as he was, he might destroy the proud wooers of his wife, who would certainly desire to take his life. the goddess began by disguising ulysses, so that his skin seemed wrinkled, and his hair thin, and his eyes dull, and she gave him dirty old wraps for clothes, and over all a great bald skin of a stag, like that which he wore when he stole into troy disguised as a beggar. she gave him a staff, too, and a wallet to hold scraps of broken food. there was not a man or a woman that knew ulysses in this disguise. next, the goddess bade him go across the island to his own swineherd, who remained faithful to him, and to stay there among the swine till she brought home telemachus, who was visiting helen and menelaus in lacedaemon. she fled away to lacedaemon, and ulysses climbed the hills that lay between the cavern and the farm where the swineherd lived. when ulysses reached the farmhouse, the swineherd, eumaeus, was sitting alone in front of his door, making himself a pair of brogues out of the skin of an ox. he was a very honest man, and, though he was a slave, he was the son of a prince in his own country. when he was a little child some phoenicians came in their ship to his father's house and made friends with his nurse, who was a phoenician woman. one of them, who made love to her, asked her who she was, and she said that her father was a rich man in sidon, but that pirates had carried her away and sold her to her master. the phoenicians promised to bring her back to sidon, and she fled to their ship, carrying with her the child whom she nursed, little eumaeus; she also stole three cups of gold. the woman died at sea, and the pirates sold the boy to laertes, the father of ulysses, who treated him kindly. eumaeus was fond of the family which he served, and he hated the proud wooers for their insolence. when ulysses came near his house the four great dogs rushed out and barked at him; they would have bitten, too, but eumaeus ran up and threw stones at them, and no farm dog can face a shower of stones. he took ulysses into his house, gave him food and wine, and told him all about the greed and pride of the wooers. ulysses said that the master of eumaeus would certainly come home, and told a long story about himself. he was a cretan, he said, and had fought at troy, and later had been shipwrecked, but reached a country called thesprotia, where he learned that ulysses was alive, and was soon to leave thesprotia and return to ithaca. eumaeus did not believe this tale, and supposed that the beggar man only meant to say what he would like to hear. however, he gave ulysses a good dinner of his own pork, and ulysses amused him and his fellow slaves with stories about the siege of troy, till it was bedtime. in the meantime athãªnãª had gone to lacedaemon to the house of menelaus, where telemachus was lying awake. she told him that penelope, his mother, meant to marry one of the wooers, and advised him to sail home at once, avoiding the strait between ithaca and another isle, where his enemies were lying in wait to kill him. when he reached ithaca he must send his oarsmen to the town, but himself walk alone across the island to see the swineherd. in the morning telemachus and his friend, pisistratus, said good-bye to menelaus and helen, who wished to make him presents, and so went to their treasure house. now when they came to the place where the treasures were stored, then atrides took a double cup, and bade his son, megapenthes, to bear a mixing-bowl of silver. and helen stood by the coffers, wherein were her robes of curious needlework which she herself had wrought. so helen, the fair lady, lifted one and brought it out--the widest and most beautifully embroidered of all--and it shone like a star, and lay far beneath the rest. then they went back through the house till they came to telemachus; and menelaus, of the fair hair, spake to him, saying: 'telemachus, may zeus the thunderer, and the lord of hera, in very truth bring about thy return according to the desire of thy heart. and of the gifts, such as are treasures stored in my house, i will give thee the goodliest and greatest of price. i will give thee a mixing-bowl beautifully wrought; it is all of silver, and the lips thereof are finished with gold, the work of hephaestus; and the hero phaedimus, the king of the sidonians, gave it to me when his house sheltered me, on my coming thither. this cup i would give to thee.' therewith the hero atrides set the double cup in his hands. and the strong megapenthes bare the shining silver bowl and set it before him. and helen came up, beautiful helen, with the robe in her hands, and spake and hailed him: 'lo! i, too, give thee this gift, dear child, a memorial of the hands of helen, against the day of thy desire, even of thy bridal, for thy bride to wear it. but, meanwhile, let it lie by thy dear mother in her chamber. and may joy go with thee to thy well-builded house and thine own country.' just when telemachus was leaving her palace door, an eagle stooped from the sky and flew away with a great white goose that was feeding on the grass, and the farm servants rushed out shouting, but the eagle passed away to the right hand, across the horses of pisistratus. then helen explained the meaning of this omen. 'hear me, and i will prophesy as the immortals put it into my heart, and as i deem it will be accomplished. even as yonder eagle came down from the hill, the place of his birth and kin, and snatched away the goose that was fostered in the house, even so shall ulysses return home after much trial and long wanderings and take vengeance; yea! or even now is he at home and sowing the seeds of evil for all the wooers.' we are told no more about helen of the fair hands, except that she and menelaus never died, but were carried by the gods to the beautiful elysian plain, a happy place where war and trouble never came, nor old age, nor death. after that she was worshipped in her own country as if she had been a goddess, kind, gentle, and beautiful. telemachus thanked helen for prophesying good luck, and he drove to the city of nestor, on the sea, but was afraid to go near the old king, who would have kept him and entertained him, while he must sail at once for ithaca. he went to his own ship in the harbour, and, while his crew made ready to sail, there came a man running hard, and in great fear of the avenger of blood. this was a second-sighted man, called theoclymenus, and he implored telemachus to take him to ithaca, for he had slain a man in his own country, who had killed one of his brothers, and now the brothers and cousins of that man were pursuing him to take his life. telemachus made him welcome, and so sailed north to ithaca, wondering whether he should be able to slip past the wooers, who were lying in wait to kill him. happily the ship of telemachus passed them unseen in the night, and arrived at ithaca. he sent his crew to the town, and was just starting to walk across the island to the swineherd's house, when the second-sighted man asked what _he_ should do. telemachus told piraeus, one of his friends, to take the man home and be kind to him, which he gladly promised to do, and then he set off to seek the swineherd. the swineherd, with ulysses, had just lit a fire to cook breakfast, when they saw the farm dogs frolicking round a young man who was walking towards the house. the dogs welcomed him, for he was no stranger, but telemachus. up leaped the swineherd in delight, and the bowl in which he was mixing wine and water fell from his hands. he had been unhappy for fear the wooers who lay in wait for telemachus should kill him, and he ran and embraced the young man as gladly as a father welcomes a son who has long been in a far country. telemachus, too, was anxious to hear whether his mother had married one of the wooers, and glad to know that she still bore her troubles patiently. when telemachus stepped into the swineherd's house ulysses arose from his seat, but telemachus bade the old beggar man sit down again, and a pile of brushwood with a fleece thrown over it was brought for himself. they breakfasted on what was ready, cold pork, wheaten bread, and wine in cups of ivy wood, and eumaeus told telemachus that the old beggar gave himself out as a wanderer from crete. telemachus answered that he could not take strangers into his mother's house, for he was unable to protect them against the violence of the wooers, but he would give the wanderer clothes and shoes and a sword, and he might stay at the farm. he sent the swineherd to tell his mother, penelope, that he had returned in safety, and eumaeus started on his journey to the town. at this moment the farm dogs, which had been taking their share of the breakfast, began to whine, and bristle up, and slunk with their tails between their legs to the inmost corner of the room. telemachus could not think why they were afraid, or of what, but ulysses saw the goddess athãªnãª, who appeared to him alone, and the dogs knew that something strange and terrible was coming to the door. ulysses went out, and athãªnãª bade him tell telemachus who he really was, now that they were alone, and she touched ulysses with her golden wand, and made him appear like himself, and his clothes like a king's raiment. telemachus, who neither saw nor heard athãªnãª, wondered greatly, and thought the beggar man must be some god, wandering in disguise. but ulysses said, 'no god am i, but thine own father,' and they embraced each other and wept for joy. at last ulysses told telemachus how he had come home in a ship of the phaeacians, and how his treasure was hidden in the cave of the naiads, and asked him how many the wooers were, and how they might drive them from the house. telemachus replied that the wooers were one hundred and eight, and that medon, a servant of his own, took part with them; there was also the minstrel of the house, whom they compelled to sing at their feasts. they were all strong young men, each with his sword at his side, but they had with them no shields, helmets, and breastplates. ulysses said that, with the help of the goddess, he hoped to get the better of them, many as they were. telemachus must go to the house, and ulysses would come next day, in the disguise of an old beggar. however ill the wooers might use him, telemachus must take no notice, beyond saying that they ought to behave better. ulysses, when he saw a good chance, would give telemachus a sign to take away the shields, helmets, and weapons that hung on the walls of the great hall, and to hide them in a secret place. if the wooers missed them, he must say--first, that the smoke of the fire was spoiling them; and, again, that they were better out of the reach of the wooers, in case they quarrelled over their wine. telemachus must keep two swords, two spears, and two shields for himself and ulysses to use, if they saw a chance, and he must let neither man nor woman know that the old beggar man was his father. while they were talking, one of the crew of telemachus and the swineherd went to penelope and told her how her son had landed. on hearing this the wooers held a council as to how they should behave to him: antinous was for killing him, but amphinomus and eurymachus were for waiting, and seeing what would happen. before eumaeus came back from his errand to penelope, athãªnãª changed ulysses into the dirty old beggar again. viii ulysses comes disguised as a beggar to his own palace next morning telemachus went home, and comforted his mother, and told her how he had been with nestor and menelaus, and seen her cousin, helen of the fair hands, but this did not seem to interest penelope, who thought that her beautiful cousin was the cause of all her misfortunes. then theoclymenus, the second-sighted man whom telemachus brought from pylos, prophesied to penelope that ulysses was now in ithaca, taking thought how he might kill the wooers, who were then practising spear-throwing at a mark, while some of them were killing swine and a cow for breakfast. meanwhile ulysses, in disguise, and the swineherd were coming near the town, and there they met the goatherd, melanthius, who was a friend of the wooers, and an insolent and violent slave. he insulted the old beggar, and advised him not to come near the house of ulysses, and kicked him off the road. then ulysses was tempted to slay him with his hands, but he controlled himself lest he should be discovered, and he and eumaeus walked slowly to the palace. as they lingered outside the court, lo! a hound raised up his head and pricked his ears, even where he lay: argos, the hound of ulysses, of the hardy heart, which of old himself had bred. now in time past the young men used to lead the hound against wild goats and deer and hares; but, as then, he lay despised (his master being afar) in the deep dung of mules and kine, whereof an ample bed was spread before the doors till the slaves of ulysses should carry it away to dung therewith his wide demesne. there lay the dog argos, full of vermin. yet even now, when he was aware of ulysses standing by, he wagged his tail and dropped both his ears, but nearer to his master he had not now the strength to draw. but ulysses looked aside and wiped away a tear that he easily hid from eumaeus, and straightway he asked him, saying: 'eumaeus, verily this is a great marvel: this hound lying here in the dung. truly he is goodly of growth, but i know not certainly if he have speed with this beauty, or if he be comely only, like men's trencher dogs that their lords keep for the pleasure of the eye.' then answered the swineherd eumaeus: 'in very truth this is the dog of a man that has died in a far land. if he were what once he was in limb and in the feats of the chase, when ulysses left him to go to troy, soon wouldst thou marvel at the sight of his swiftness and his strength. there was no beast that could flee from him in the deep places of the wood when he was in pursuit; for even on a track he was the keenest hound. but now he is holden in an evil case, and his lord hath perished far from his own country, and the careless women take no charge of him.' therewith he passed within the fair-lying house, and went straight to the hall, to the company of the proud wooers. but upon argos came death even in the hour that he beheld ulysses again, in the twentieth year. thus the good dog knew ulysses, though penelope did not know him when she saw him, and tears came into ulysses' eyes as he stood above the body of the hound that loved him well. eumaeus went into the house, but ulysses sat down where it was the custom for beggars to sit, on the wooden threshold outside the door of the hall. telemachus saw him, from his high seat under the pillars on each side of the fire, in the middle of the room, and bade eumaeus carry a loaf and a piece of pork to the beggar, who laid them in his wallet between his feet, and ate. then he thought he would try if there were one courteous man among the wooers, and he entered the hall and began to beg among them. some gave him crusts and bones, but antinous caught up a footstool and struck him hard on the shoulder. 'may death come upon antinous before his wedding day!' said ulysses, and even the other wooers rebuked him for striking a beggar. penelope heard of this, and told eumaeus to bring the beggar to her; she thought he might have news of her husband. but ulysses made eumaeus say that he had been struck once in the hall, and would not come to her till after sunset, when the wooers left the house. then eumaeus went to his own farmhouse, after telling telemachus that he would come next day, driving swine for the wooers to eat. ulysses was the new beggar in ithaca: he soon found that he had a rival, an old familiar beggar, named irus. this man came up to the palace, and was angry when he saw a newcomer sitting in the doorway, 'get up,' he said, 'i ought to drag you away by the foot: begone before we quarrel!' 'there is room enough for both of us,' said ulysses, 'do not anger me.' irus challenged him to fight, and the wooers thought this good sport, and they made a ring, and promised that the winner should be beggar-in-chief, and have the post to himself. ulysses asked the wooers to give him fair play, and not to interfere, and then he stripped his shoulders, and kilted up his rags, showing strong arms and legs. as for irus he began to tremble, but antinous forced him to fight, and the two put up their hands. irus struck at the shoulder of ulysses, who hit him with his right fist beneath the ear, and he fell, the blood gushing from his mouth, and his heels drumming in the ground, and ulysses dragged him from the doorway and propped him against the wall of the court, while the wooers laughed. then ulysses spoke gravely to amphinomus, telling him that it would be wise in him to go home, for that if ulysses came back it might not be so easy to escape his hands. after sunset ulysses spoke so fiercely to the maidens of penelope, who insulted him, that they ran to their own rooms, but eurymachus threw a footstool at him. he slipped out of the way, and the stool hit the cupbearer and knocked him down, and all was disorder in the hall. the wooers themselves were weary of the noise and disorder, and went home to the houses in the town where they slept. then telemachus and ulysses, being left alone, hid the shields and helmets and spears that hung on the walls of the hall in an armoury within the house, and when this was done telemachus went to sleep in his own chamber, in the courtyard, and ulysses waited till penelope should come into the hall. ulysses sat in the dusky hall, where the wood in the braziers that gave light had burned low, and waited to see the face of his wife, for whom he had left beautiful calypso. the maidens of penelope came trooping, laughing, and cleared away the food and the cups, and put faggots in the braziers. they were all giddy girls, in love with the handsome wooers, and one of them, melantho, bade ulysses go away, and sleep at the blacksmith's forge, lest he should be beaten with a torch. penelope heard melantho, whom she had herself brought up, and she rebuked her, and ordered a chair to be brought for ulysses. when he was seated, she asked him who he was, and he praised her beauty, for she was still very fair, but did not answer her question. she insisted that he should tell her who he was, and he said that he was a cretan prince, the younger brother of idomeneus, and that he did not go to fight in troyland. in crete he stayed, and met ulysses, who stopped there on his way to troy, and he entertained ulysses for a fortnight. penelope wept when she heard that the stranger had seen her husband, but, as false stories were often told to her by strangers who came to ithaca, she asked how ulysses was dressed, and what manner of men were with him. the beggar said that ulysses wore a double mantle of purple, clasped with a gold brooch fastened by two safety pins (for these were used at that time), and on the face of the brooch was a figure of a hound holding a struggling fawn in his forepaws. (many such brooches have been found in the graves in greece). beneath his mantle ulysses wore a shining smock, smooth and glittering like the skin of an onion. probably it was made of silk: women greatly admired it. with him was a squire named eurybates, a brown, round-shouldered man. on hearing all this penelope wept again and said that she herself had given ulysses the brooch and the garments. she now knew that the beggar had really met ulysses, and he went on to tell her that, in his wanderings, he had heard how ulysses was still alive, though he had lost all his company, and that he had gone to dodona in the west of greece to ask for advice from the oak tree of zeus, the whispering oak tree, as to how he should come home, openly or secretly. certainly, he said, ulysses would return that year. penelope was still unable to believe in such good news, but she bade eurycleia, the old nurse, wash the feet of the beggar in warm water, so a foot bath was brought. ulysses turned his face away from the firelight, for the nurse said that he was very like her master. as she washed his legs she noticed the long scar of the wound made by the boar, when he hunted with his cousins, long ago, before he was married. the nurse knew him now, and spoke to him in a whisper, calling him by his name. but he caught her throat with his hand, and asked why she would cause his death, for the wooers would slay him if they knew who he was. eurycleia called him her child, and promised that she would be silent, and then she went to fetch more hot water, for she had let his foot fall into the bath and upset it when she found the scar. when she had washed him, penelope told the beggar that she could no longer refuse to marry one of the wooers. ulysses had left a great bow in the house, the old bow of king eurytus, that few could bend, and he had left twelve iron axes, made with a round opening in the blade of each. axes of this shape have been found at lacedaemon, where helen lived, so we know what the axes of ulysses were like. when he was at home he used to set twelve of them in a straight line, and shoot an arrow through the twelve holes in the blades. penelope therefore intended, next day, to bring the bow and the axes to the wooers, and to marry any one of them who could string the bow, and shoot an arrow through the twelve axes. 'i think,' said the beggar, 'that ulysses will be here before any of the wooers have bent his bow.' then penelope went to her upper chamber, and ulysses slept in an outer gallery of the house on piled-up sheep skins. there ulysses lay, thinking how he might destroy all the wooers, and the goddess athãªnãª came and comforted him, and, in the morning, he rose and made his prayer to zeus, asking for signs of his favour. there came, first a peal of thunder, and then the voice of a woman, weak and old, who was grinding corn to make bread for the wooers. all the other women of the mill had done their work and were asleep, but she was feeble and the round upper stone of the quern, that she rolled on the corn above the under stone, was too heavy for her. she prayed, and said, 'father zeus, king of gods and men, loudly hast thou thundered. grant to me my prayer, unhappy as i am. may this be the last day of the feasting of the wooers in the hall of ulysses: they have loosened my knees with cruel labour in grinding barley for them: may they now sup their last!' hearing this prayer ulysses was glad, for he thought it a lucky sign. soon the servants were at work, and eumaeus came with swine, and was as courteous to the beggar as melanthius, who brought some goats, was insolent. the cowherd, called philoetius, also arrived; he hated the wooers, and spoke friendly to the beggar. last appeared the wooers, and went in to their meal, while telemachus bade the beggar sit on a seat just within the hall, and told the servants to give him as good a share of the food as any of them received. one wooer, ctesippus, said: 'his fair share this beggar man has had, as is right, but i will give him a present over and above it!' then he picked up the foot of an ox, and threw it with all his might at ulysses, who merely moved aside, and the ox foot struck the wall. telemachus rebuked him, and the wooers began to laugh wildly and to weep, they knew not why, but theoclymenus, the second-sighted man, knew that they were all fey men, that is, doomed to die, for such men are gay without reason. 'unhappy that you are,' cried theoclymenus, 'what is coming upon you? i see shrouds covering you about your knees and about your faces, and tears are on your cheeks, and the walls and the pillars of the roof are dripping blood, and in the porch and the court are your fetches, shadows of yourselves, hurrying hellward, and the sun is darkened.' on this all the wooers laughed, and advised him to go out of doors, where he would see that the sun was shining. 'my eyes and ears serve me well,' said the second-sighted man, 'but out i will go, seeking no more of your company, for death is coming on every man of you.' then he arose and went to the house of piraeus, the friend of telemachus. the wooers laughed all the louder, as fey men do, and told telemachus that he was unlucky in his guests: one a beggar, the other a madman. but telemachus kept watching his father while the wooers were cooking a meal that they did not live to enjoy. through the crowd of them came penelope, holding in her hand the great bow of eurytus, and a quiver full of arrows, while her maidens followed, carrying the chest in which lay the twelve iron axes. she stood up, stately and scornful, among the wooers, and told them that, as marry she must, she would take the man who could string the bow and shoot the arrow through the axes. telemachus said that he would make the first trial, and that, if he succeeded, he would not allow any man of the wooers to take his mother away with him from her own house. then thrice he tried to string the bow, and the fourth time he would have strung it, but ulysses made a sign to him, and he put it down. 'i am too weak,' he said, 'let a stronger man achieve this adventure.' so they tried each in turn, beginning with the man who sat next the great mixing-bowl of wine, and so each rising in his turn. first their prophet tried, leiodes the seer, who sat next the bowl, but his white hands were too weak, and he prophesied, saying that the bow would be the death of all of them. then antinous bade the goatherd light a fire, and bring grease to heat the bow, and make it more supple. they warmed and greased the bow, and one after another tried to bend it. eumaeus and the cowherd went out into the court, and ulysses followed them. 'whose side would you two take,' he asked, 'if ulysses came home? would you fight for him or for the wooers?' 'for ulysses!' they both cried, 'and would that he was come indeed!' 'he is come, and i am he!' said ulysses. then he promised to give them lands of their own if he was victorious, and he showed them the scar on his thigh that the boar dealt with his white tusk, long ago. the two men kissed him and shed tears of joy, and ulysses said that he would go back first into the hall, and that they were to follow him. he would ask to be allowed to try to bend the bow, and eumaeus, whatever the wooers said, must place it in his hands, and then see that the women were locked up in their own separate hall. philoetius was to fasten the door leading from the courtyard into the road. ulysses then went back to his seat in the hall, near the door, and his servants followed. eurymachus was trying in vain to bend the bow, and antinous proposed to put off the trial till next day, and then sacrifice to the god apollo, and make fresh efforts. they began to drink, but ulysses asked to be allowed to try if he could string the bow. they told him that wine had made him impudent, and threatened to put him in a ship and send him to king echetus, an ogre, who would cut him to pieces. but penelope said that the beggar must try his strength; not that she would marry him, if he succeeded. she would only give him new clothes, a sword, and a spear, and send him wherever he wanted to go. telemachus cried out that the bow was his own; he would make a present of it to the beggar if he chose; and he bade his mother join her maidens, and work at her weaving. she was amazed to hear her son speak like the master of the house, and she went upstairs with her maidens to her own room. eumaeus was carrying the bow to ulysses, when the wooers made such an uproar that he laid it down, in fear for his life. but telemachus threatened to punish him if he did not obey his master, so he placed the bow in the hands of ulysses, and then went and told eurycleia to lock the women servants up in their own separate hall. philoetius slipped into the courtyard, and made the gates fast with a strong rope, and then came back, and watched ulysses, who was turning the bow this way and that, to see if the horns were still sound, for horns were then used in bow making. the wooers were mocking him, but suddenly he bent and strung the great bow as easily as a harper fastens a new string to his harp. he tried the string, and it twanged like the note of a swallow. he took up an arrow that lay on the table (the others were in the quiver beside him), he fitted it to the string, and from the chair where he sat he shot it through all the twelve axe heads. 'your guest has done you no dishonour, telemachus,' he said, 'but surely it is time to eat,' and he nodded. telemachus drew his sword, took a spear in his left hand, and stood up beside ulysses. ix the slaying of the wooers ulysses let all his rags fall down, and with one leap he reached the high threshold, the door being behind him, and he dropped, the arrows from the quiver at his feet. 'now,' he said, 'i will strike another mark that no man yet has stricken!' he aimed the arrow at antinous, who was drinking out of a golden cup. the arrow passed clean through the throat of antinous; he fell, the cup rang on the ground, and the wooers leaped up, looking round the walls for shields and spears, but the walls were bare. 'thou shalt die, and vultures shall devour thee,' they shouted, thinking the beggar had let the arrow fly by mischance. 'dogs!' he answered, 'ye said that never should i come home from troy; ye wasted my goods, and insulted my wife, and had no fear of the gods, but now the day of death has come upon you! fight or flee, if you may, but some shall not escape!' 'draw your blades!' cried eurymachus to the others; 'draw your blades, and hold up the tables as shields against this man's arrows. have at him, and drive him from the doorway.' he drew his own sword, and leaped on ulysses with a cry, but the swift arrow pierced his breast, and he fell and died. then amphinomus rushed towards ulysses, but telemachus sent his spear from behind through his shoulders. he could not draw forth the spear, but he ran to his father, and said, 'let me bring shields, spears, and helmets from the inner chamber, for us, and for the swineherd and cowherd.' 'go!' said ulysses, and telemachus ran through a narrow doorway, down a gallery to the secret chamber, and brought four shields, four helmets, and eight spears, and the men armed themselves, while ulysses kept shooting down the wooers. when his arrows were spent he armed himself, protected by the other three. but the goatherd, melanthius, knew a way of reaching the armoury, and he climbed up, and brought twelve helmets, spears, and shields to the wooers. [illustration: ulysses shoots the first arrow at the wooers.] ulysses thought that one of the women was showering down the weapons into the hall, but the swineherd and cowherd went to the armoury, through the doorway, as telemachus had gone, and there they caught melanthius, and bound him like a bundle, with a rope, and, throwing the rope over a rafter, dragged him up, and fastened him there, and left him swinging. then they ran back to ulysses, four men keeping the doorway against all the wooers that were not yet slain. but the goddess athãªnãª appeared to ulysses, in the form of mentor, and gave him courage. he needed it, for the wooers, having spears, threw them in volleys, six at a time, at the four. they missed, but the spears of the four slew each his man. again the wooers threw, and dealt two or three slight wounds, but the spears of the four were winged with death. they charged, striking with spear and sword, into the crowd, who lost heart, and flew here and there, crying for mercy and falling at every blow. ulysses slew the prophet, leiodes, but phemius, the minstrel, he spared, for he had done no wrong, and medon, a slave, crept out from beneath an ox hide, where he had been lying, and asked telemachus to pity him, and ulysses sent him and the minstrel into the courtyard, where they sat trembling. all the rest of the wooers lay dead in heaps, like heaps of fish on the sea shore, when they have been netted, and drawn to land. then ulysses sent telemachus to bring eurycleia, who, when she came and saw the wooers dead, raised a scream of joy, but ulysses said 'it is an unholy thing to boast over dead men.' he bade telemachus and the servants carry the corpses into the courtyard, and he made the women wash and clean the hall, and the seats, and tables, and the pillars. when all was clean, they took melanthius and slew him, and then they washed themselves, and the maidens who were faithful to penelope came out of their rooms, with torches in their hands, for it was now night, and they kissed ulysses with tears of joy. these were not young women, for ulysses remembered all of them. meanwhile old eurycleia ran to tell penelope all the good news: up the stairs to her chamber she ran, tripping, and falling, and rising, and laughing for joy. in she came and awakened penelope, saying: 'come and see what you have long desired: ulysses in his own house, and all the wicked wooers slain by the sword.' 'surely you are mad, dear nurse,' said penelope, 'to waken me with such a wild story. never have i slept so sound since ulysses went to that ill ilios, never to be named. angry would i have been with any of the girls that wakened me with such a silly story; but you are old: go back to the women's working room.' the good nurse answered: 'indeed, i tell you no silly tale. indeed he is in the hall; he is that poor guest whom all men struck and insulted, but telemachus knew his father.' then penelope leaped up gladly, and kissed the nurse, but yet she was not sure that her husband had come, she feared that it might be some god disguised as a man, or some evil man pretending to be ulysses. 'surely ulysses has met his death far away,' she said, and though eurycleia vowed that she herself had seen the scar dealt by the boar, long ago, she would not be convinced. 'none the less,' she said, 'let us go and see my son, and the wooers lying dead, and the man who slew them.' so they went down the stairs and along a gallery on the ground floor that led into the courtyard, and so entered the door of the hall, and crossed the high stone threshold on which ulysses stood when he shot down antinous. penelope went up to the hearth and sat opposite ulysses, who was leaning against one of the four tall pillars that supported the roof; there she sat and gazed at him, still wearing his rags, and still not cleansed from the blood of battle. she did not know him, and was silent, though telemachus called her hard of belief and cold of heart. 'my child,' she said, 'i am bewildered, and can hardly speak, but if this man is ulysses, he knows things unknown to any except him and me.' then ulysses bade telemachus go to the baths and wash, and put on fresh garments, and bade the maidens bring the minstrel to play music, while they danced in the hall. in the town the friends and kinsfolk of the wooers did not know that they were dead, and when they heard the music they would not guess that anything strange had happened. it was necessary that nobody should know, for, if the kinsfolk of the dead men learned the truth, they would seek to take revenge, and might burn down the house. indeed, ulysses was still in great danger, for the law was that the brothers and cousins of slain men must slay their slayers, and the dead were many, and had many clansmen. now eurynome bathed ulysses himself, and anointed him with oil, and clad him in new raiment, so that he looked like himself again, full of strength and beauty. he sat down on his own high seat beside the fire, and said: 'lady, you are the fairest and most cruel queen alive. no other woman would harden her heart against her husband, come home through many dangers after so many years. 'nurse,' he cried to eurycleia, 'strew me a bed to lie alone, for her heart is hard as iron.' now penelope put him to a trial. 'eurycleia,' she said, 'strew a bed for him outside the bridal chamber that he built for himself, and bring the good bedstead out of that room for him.' 'how can any man bring out that bedstead?' said ulysses, 'did i not make it with my own hands, with a standing tree for the bedpost? no man could move that bed unless he first cut down the tree trunk.' then at last penelope ran to ulysses and threw her arms round his neck, kissing him, and said: 'do not be angry, for always i have feared that some strange man of cunning would come and deceive me, pretending to be my lord. but now you have told me the secret of the bed, which no mortal has ever seen or knows but you and i, and my maiden whom i brought from my own home, and who kept the doors of our chamber.' then they embraced, and it seemed as if her white arms would never quite leave their hold on his neck. ulysses told her many things, all the story of his wanderings, and how he must wander again, on land, not on the sea, till he came to the country of men who had never seen salt. 'the gods will defend you and bring you home to your rest in the end,' said penelope, and then they went to their own chamber, and eurynome went before them with lighted torches in her hands, for the gods had brought them to the haven where they would be. x the end with the coming of the golden dawn ulysses awoke, for he had still much to do. he and telemachus and the cowherd and eumaeus put on full armour, and took swords and spears, and walked to the farm where old laertes, the father of ulysses, lived among his servants and worked in his garden. ulysses sent the others into the farmhouse to bid the old housekeeper get breakfast ready, and he went alone to the vines, being sure that his father was at work among them. there the old man was, in his rough gardening clothes, with leather gloves on, and patched leather leggings, digging hard. his servants had gone to gather loose stones to make a rough stone dyke, and he was all alone. he never looked up till ulysses went to him, and asked him whose slave he was, and who owned the garden. he said that he was a stranger in ithaca, but that he had once met the king of the island, who declared that one laertes was his father. laertes was amazed at seeing a warrior all in mail come into his garden, but said that he was the father of ulysses, who had long been unheard of and unseen. 'and who are you?' he asked. 'where is your own country?' ulysses said that he came from sicily, and that he had met ulysses five years ago, and hoped that by this time he had come home. then the old man sat down and wept, and cast dust on his head, for ulysses had not arrived from sicily in five long years; certainly he must be dead. ulysses could not bear to see his father weep, and told him that he was himself, come home at last, and that he had killed all the wooers. but laertes asked him to prove that he really was ulysses, so he showed the scar on his leg, and, looking round the garden, he said: 'come, i will show you the very trees that you gave me when i was a little boy running about after you, and asking you for one thing or another, as children do. these thirteen pear trees are my very own; you gave them to me, and mine are these fifty rows of vines, and these forty fig trees.' then laertes was fainting for joy, but ulysses caught him in his arms and comforted him. but, when he came to himself, he sighed, and said: 'how shall we meet the feud of all the kin of the slain men in ithaca and the other islands?' 'be of good courage, father,' said ulysses. 'and now let us go to the farmhouse and breakfast with telemachus.' so laertes first went to the baths, and then put on fresh raiment, and ulysses wondered to see him look so straight and strong. 'would i were as strong as when i took the castle of nericus, long ago,' said the old man, 'and would that i had been in the fight against the wooers!' then all the old man's servants came in, overjoyed at the return of ulysses, and they breakfasted merrily together. by this time all the people in the town knew that the wooers had been slain, and they crowded to the house of ulysses in great sorrow, and gathered their dead and buried them, and then met in the market place. the father of antinous, eupeithes, spoke, and said that they would all be dishonoured if they did not slay ulysses before he could escape to nestor's house in pylos. it was in vain that an old prophet told them that the young men had deserved their death. the most of the men ran home and put on armour, and eupeithes led them towards the farm of laertes, all in shining mail. but the gods in heaven had a care for ulysses, and sent athãªnãª to make peace between him and his subjects. she did not come too soon, for the avengers were drawing near the farmhouse, which had a garrison of only twelve men: ulysses, laertes, telemachus, the swineherd, the cowherd, and servants of laertes. they all armed themselves, and not choosing to defend the house, they went boldly out to meet their enemies. they encouraged each other, and laertes prayed to athãªnãª, and then threw his spear at eupeithes. the spear passed clean through helmet and through head, and eupeithes fell with a crash, and his armour rattled as he fell. but now athãªnãª appeared, and cried: 'hold your hands, ye men of ithaca, that no more blood may be shed, and peace may be made.' the foes of ulysses, hearing the terrible voice of the goddess, turned and fled, and ulysses uttered his war-cry, and was rushing among them, when a thunderbolt fell at his feet, and athãªnãª bade him stop, lest he should anger zeus, the lord of thunder. gladly he obeyed, and peace was made with oaths and with sacrifice, peace in ithaca and the islands. here ends the story of ulysses, laertes' son, for we do not know anything about his adventures when he went to seek a land of men who never heard of the sea, nor eat meat savoured with salt. the fleece of gold i the children of the cloud while troy still stood fast, and before king priam was born, there was a king called athamas, who reigned in a country beside the grecian sea. athamas was a young man, and was unmarried; because none of the princesses who then lived seemed to him beautiful enough to be his wife. one day he left his palace and climbed high up into a mountain, following the course of a little river. he came to a place where a great black rock stood on one side of the river, jutting into the stream. round the rock the water flowed deep and dark. yet, through the noise of the river, the king thought he heard laughter and voices like the voices of girls. so he climbed very quietly up the back of the rock, and, looking over the edge, there he saw three beautiful maidens bathing in a pool, and splashing each other with the water. their long yellow hair covered them like cloaks and floated behind them on the pool. one of them was even more beautiful than the others, and as soon as he saw her the king fell in love with her, and said to himself, 'this is the wife for me.' as he thought this, his arm touched a stone, which slipped from the top of the rock where he lay, and went leaping, faster and faster as it fell, till it dropped with a splash into the pool below. then the three maidens heard it, and were frightened, thinking some one was near. so they rushed out of the pool to the grassy bank where their clothes lay, lovely soft clothes, white and gray, and rosy-coloured, all shining with pearl drops, and diamonds like dew. in a moment they had dressed, and then it was as if they had wings, for they rose gently from the ground, and floated softly up and up the windings of the brook. here and there among the green tops of the mountain-ash trees the king could just see the white robes shining and disappearing, and shining again, till they rose far off like a mist, and so up and up into the sky, and at last he only followed them with his eyes, as they floated like clouds among the other clouds across the blue. all day he watched them, and at sunset he saw them sink, golden and rose-coloured and purple, and go down into the dark with the setting sun. the king went home to his palace, but he was very unhappy, and nothing gave him any pleasure. all day he roamed about among the hills, and looked for the beautiful girls, but he never found them, and all night he dreamed about them, till he grew thin and pale and was like to die. now, the way with sick men then was that they made a pilgrimage to the temple of a god, and in the temple they offered sacrifices. then they hoped that the god would appear to them in a dream, or send them a true dream at least, and tell them how they might be made well again. so the king drove in his chariot a long way, to the town where this temple was. when he reached it, he found it a strange place. the priests were dressed in dogs' skins, with the heads of the dogs drawn down over their faces, and there were live dogs running all about the shrines, for they were the favourite beasts of the god, whose name was asclepius. there was an image of him, with a dog crouched at his feet, and in his hand he held a serpent, and fed it from a bowl. the king sacrificed before the god, and when night fell he was taken into the temple, and there were many beds strewn on the floor and many people lying on them, both rich and poor, hoping that the god would appear to them in a dream, and tell them how they might be healed. there the king lay, like the rest, and for long he could not close his eyes. at length he slept, and he dreamed a dream. but it was not the god of the temple that he saw in his dream; he saw a beautiful lady, she seemed to float above him in a chariot drawn by doves, and all about her was a crowd of chattering sparrows, and he knew that she was aphrodite, the queen of love. she was more beautiful than any woman in the world, and she smiled as she looked at the king, and said, 'oh, king athamas, you are sick for love! now this you must do: go home and on the first night of the new moon, climb the hills to that place where you saw the three maidens. in the dawn they will come again to the river, and bathe in the pool. then do you creep out of the wood, and steal the clothes of her you love, and she will not be able to fly away with the rest, and she will be your wife.' then she smiled again, and her doves bore her away, and the king woke, and remembered the dream, and thanked the lady in his heart, for he knew that she was a goddess, the queen of love. [illustration: king athamas steals nephele's clothes so that she cannot float away with her sisters.] then he drove home, and did all that he had been told to do. on the first night of the new moon, when she shines like a thin gold thread in the sky, he left his palace, and climbed up through the hills, and hid in the wood by the edge of the pool. when the dawn began to shine silvery, he heard voices, and saw the three girls come floating through the trees, and alight on the river bank, and undress, and run into the water. there they bathed, and splashed each other with the water, laughing in their play. then he stole to the grassy bank, and seized the clothes of the most beautiful of the three; and they heard him move, and rushed out to their clothes. two of them were clad in a moment, and floated away up the glen, but the third crouched sobbing and weeping under the thick cloak of her yellow hair. then she prayed the king to give her back her soft gray and rose-coloured raiment, but he would not till she had promised to be his wife. and he told her how long he had loved her, and how the goddess had sent him to be her husband, and at last she promised, and took his hand, and in her shining robes went down the hill with him to the palace. but he felt as if he walked on the air, and she scarcely seemed to touch the ground with her feet. she told him that her name was nephele, which meant 'a cloud,' in their language, and that she was one of the cloud fairies who bring the rain, and live on the hilltops, and in the high lakes, and water springs, and in the sky. so they were married, and lived very happily, and had two children, a boy called phrixus, and a daughter named helle. the two children had a beautiful pet, a ram with a fleece all of gold, which was given them by the young god called hermes, a beautiful god, with wings on his shoon,--for these were the very shoon of swiftness, that he lent afterwards to the boy, perseus, who slew the gorgon, and took her head. this ram the children used to play with, and they would ride on his back, and roll about with him on the flowery meadows. they would all have been happy, but for one thing. when there were clouds in the sky, and when there was rain, then their mother, nephele, was always with them; but when the summer days were hot and cloudless, then she went away, they did not know where. the long dry days made her grow pale and thin, and, at last, she would vanish altogether, and never come again, till the sky grew soft and gray with rain. king athamas grew weary of this, for often his wife would be long away. besides there was a very beautiful girl called ino, a dark girl, who had come in a ship of phoenician merchantmen, and had stayed in the city of the king when her friends sailed from greece. the king saw her, and often she would be at the palace, playing with the children when their mother had disappeared with the clouds, her sisters. this ino was a witch, and one day she put a drug into the king's wine, and when he had drunk it, he quite forgot nephele, his wife, and fell in love with ino. at last he married her, and they had two children, a boy and a girl, and ino wore the crown, and was queen, and gave orders that nephele should never be allowed to enter the palace any more. so phrixus and helle never saw their mother, and they were dressed in ragged old skins of deer, and were ill fed, and were set to do hard work in the house, while the children of ino wore gold crowns in their hair, and were dressed in fine raiment, and had the best of everything. one day when phrixus and helle were in the field, herding the sheep (for now they were treated like peasant children, and had to work for their bread), they met an old woman, all wrinkled, and poorly clothed, and they took pity on her, and brought her home with them. queen ino saw her, and as she wanted a nurse for her own children, she took her in to be the nurse, and the old woman had charge of the children, and lived in the house, and she was kind to phrixus and helle. but neither of them knew that she was their own mother, nephele, who had disguised herself as an old woman and a servant, that she might be with her children. phrixus and helle grew strong and tall, and more beautiful than ino's children, so she hated them, and determined, at last, to kill them. they all slept at night in one room, but ino's children had gold crowns in their hair, and beautiful coverlets on their beds. one night, phrixus was half awake, and he heard the old nurse come, in the dark, and put something on his head, and on his sister's, and change their coverlets. but he was so drowsy that he half thought it was a dream, and he lay and fell asleep. in the dead of night, the wicked stepmother, ino, crept into the room with a dagger in her hand, and she stole up to the bed of phrixus, and felt his hair, and his coverlet. then she went softly to the bed of helle, and felt her coverlet, and her hair with the gold crown on it. so she supposed these to be her own children, and she kissed them in the dark, and went to the beds of the other two children. she felt their heads, and they had no crowns on, so she killed them, supposing that they were phrixus and helle. then she crept downstairs and went back to bed. in the morning, there lay the stepmother ino's children cold and dead, and nobody knew who had killed them. only the wicked queen knew, and she, of course, would not tell of herself, but if she hated phrixus and helle before, now she hated them a hundred times worse than ever. but the old nurse was gone; nobody ever saw her there again, and everybody but the queen thought that _she_ had killed the two children. everywhere the king sought for her, to burn her alive, but he never found her, for she had gone back to her sisters, the clouds. and the clouds were gone, too! for six long months, from winter to harvest time, the rain never fell. the country was burned up, the trees grew black and dry, there was no water in the streams, the corn turned yellow and died before it was come into the ear. the people were starving, the cattle and sheep were perishing, for there was no grass. and every day the sun rose hot and red, and went blazing through the sky without a cloud. here the wicked stepmother, ino, saw her chance. the king sent messengers to pytho, to consult the prophetess, and to find out what should be done to bring back the clouds and the rain. then ino took the messengers, before they set out on their journey, and gave them gold, and threatened also to kill them, if they did not bring the message she wished from the prophetess. now this message was that phrixus and helle must be burned as a sacrifice to the gods. so the messengers went, and came back dressed in mourning. and when they were brought before the king, at first they would tell him nothing. but he commanded them to speak, and then they told him, not the real message from the prophetess, but what ino had bidden them to say: that phrixus and helle must be offered as a sacrifice to appease the gods. the king was very sorrowful at this news, but he could not disobey the gods. so poor phrixus and helle were wreathed with flowers, as sheep used to be when they were led to be sacrificed, and they were taken to the altar, all the people following and weeping, and the golden ram went between them, as they walked to the temple. then they came within sight of the sea, which lay beneath the cliff where the temple stood, all glittering in the sun, and the happy white sea-birds flying over it. here the ram stopped, and suddenly he spoke to phrixus, for the god gave him utterance, and said: 'lay hold of my horn, and get on my back, and let helle climb up behind you, and i will carry you far away.' then phrixus took hold of the ram's horn, and helle mounted behind him, and grasped the golden fleece, and suddenly the ram rose in the air, and flew above the people's heads, far away over the sea. far away to the eastward he flew, and deep below them they saw the sea, and the islands, and the white towers and temples, and the fields, and ships. eastward always he went, toward the sun-rising, and helle grew dizzy and weary. at last a deep sleep came over her, and she let go her hold of the fleece, and fell from the ram's back, down and down, into the narrow seas, that run between europe and asia, and there she was drowned. and that strait is called helle's ford, or hellespont, to this day. but phrixus and the ram flew on up the narrow seas, and over the great sea which the greeks called the euxine and we call the black sea, till they reached a country named colchis. there the ram alighted, so tired and weary that he died, and phrixus had his beautiful golden fleece stripped off, and hung on an oak tree in a dark wood. and there it was guarded by a monstrous dragon, so that nobody dared to go near it. and phrixus married the king's daughter, and lived long, till he died also, and a king called ã�ãªtes, the brother of the enchantress, circe, ruled that country. of all the things he had, the rarest was the golden fleece, and it became a proverb that nobody could take that fleece away, nor deceive the dragon who guarded it. ii the search for the fleece some years after the golden ram died in colchis, far across the sea, a certain king reigned in iolcos in greece, and his name was pelias. he was not the rightful king, for he had turned his stepbrother, king ã�son, from the throne, and taken it for himself. now, ã�son had a son, a boy called jason, and he sent him far away from pelias, up into the mountains. in these hills there was a great cave, and in that cave lived chiron the wise, who, the story says, was half a horse. he had the head and breast of a man, but a horse's body and legs. he was famed for knowing more about everything than anyone else in all greece. he knew about the stars, and the plants of earth, which were good for medicine and which were poisonous. he was the best archer with the bow, and the best player of the harp; he could sing songs and tell stories of old times, for he was the last of a people, half horse and half man, who had dwelt in ancient days on the hills. therefore the kings in greece sent their sons to him to be taught shooting, singing, and telling the truth, and that was all the teaching they had then, except that they learned to hunt, fish, and fight, and throw spears, and toss the hammer and the stone. there jason lived with chiron and the boys in the cave, and many of the boys became famous. there was orpheus who played the harp so sweetly that wild beasts followed his minstrelsy, and even the trees danced after him, and settled where he stopped playing. there was mopsus who could understand what the birds say to each other; and there was butes, the handsomest of men; and tiphys, the best steersman of a ship; and castor, with his brother polydeuces, the boxer. heracles, too, the strongest man in the whole world, was there; and lynceus, whom they called keen-eye, because he could see so far, and could see even the dead men in their graves under the earth. there was ephemus, so swift and light-footed that he could run upon the gray sea and never wet his feet; and there were calais and zetes, the two sons of the north wind, with golden wings upon their feet. there also was peleus, who later married thetis of the silver feet, goddess of the sea foam, and was the father of achilles. many others were there whose names it would take too long to tell. they all grew up together in the hills good friends, healthy, and brave, and strong. and they all went out to their own homes at last; but jason had no home to go to, for his uncle, pelias, had taken it, and his father was a wanderer. so at last he wearied of being alone, and he said good-bye to his teacher, and went down through the hills toward iolcos, his father's old home, where his wicked uncle pelias was reigning. as he went, he came to a great, flooded river, running red from bank to bank, rolling the round boulders along. and there on the bank was an old woman sitting. 'cannot you cross, mother?' said jason; and she said she could not, but must wait until the flood fell, for there was no bridge. 'i'll carry you across,' said jason, 'if you will let me carry you.' so she thanked him, and said it was a kind deed, for she was longing to reach the cottage where her little grandson lay sick. then he knelt down, and she climbed upon his back, and he used his spear for a staff, and stepped into the river. it was deeper than he thought, and stronger, but at last he staggered out on the farther bank, far below where he went in. and then he set the old woman down. 'bless you, my lad, for a strong man and a brave!' she said, 'and my blessing go with you to the world's end.' then he looked and she was gone he did not know where, for she was the greatest of the goddesses, hera, the wife of zeus, who had taken the shape of an old woman, to try jason, whether he was kind and strong, or rude and churlish. from this day her grace went with him, and she helped him in all dangers. then jason went down limping to the city, for he had lost one shoe in the flood. and when he reached the town he went straight up to the palace, and through the court, and into the open door, and up the hall, where the king was sitting at his table among his men. there jason stood, leaning on his spear. when the king saw him he turned white with terror. for he had been told by the prophetess of pytho that a man with only one shoe would come some day and take away his kingdom. and here was the half-shod man of whom the prophecy had spoken. but pelias still remembered to be courteous, and he bade his men lead the stranger to the baths, and there the attendants bathed him, pouring hot water over him. and they anointed his head with oil, and clothed him in new raiment, and brought him back to the hall, and set him down at a table beside the king, and gave him meat and drink. when he had eaten and was refreshed, the king said: 'now it is time to ask the stranger who he is, and who his parents are, and whence he comes to iolcos?' and jason answered, 'i am jason, son of the rightful king, ã�son, and i am come to take back my kingdom.' the king grew pale again, but he was cunning, and he leaped up and embraced the lad, and made much of him, and caused a gold circlet to be twisted in his hair. then he said he was old, and weary of judging the people. 'and weary work it is,' he said, 'and no joy therewith shall any king have. for there is a curse on the country, that shall not be taken away till the fleece of gold is brought home, from the land of the world's end. the ghost of phrixus stands by my bedside every night, wailing and will not be comforted, till the fleece is brought home again.' when jason heard that he cried, 'i shall take the curse away, for by the splendour of lady hera's brow, i shall bring the fleece of gold from the land of the world's end before i sit on the throne of my father.' now this was the very thing that the king wished, for he thought that if once jason went after the fleece, certainly he would never come back living to iolcos. so he said that it could never be done, for the land was far away across the sea, so far that the birds could not come and go in one year, so great a sea was that and perilous. also, there was a dragon that guarded the fleece of gold, and no man could face it and live. but the idea of fighting a dragon was itself a temptation to jason, and he made a great vow by the water of styx, an oath the very gods feared to break, that certainly he would bring home that fleece to iolcos. and he sent out messengers all over greece, to all his old friends, who were with him in the centaur's cave, and bade them come and help him, for that there was a dragon to kill, and that there would be fighting. and they all came, driving in their chariots down dales and across hills: heracles, the strong man, with the bow that none other could bend; and orpheus with his harp, and castor and polydeuces, and zetes and calais of the golden wings, and tiphys, the steersman, and young hylas, still a boy, and as fair as a girl, who always went with heracles the strong. these came, and many more, and they set shipbuilders to work, and oaks were felled for beams, and ashes for oars, and spears were made, and arrows feathered, and swords sharpened. but in the prow of the ship they placed a bough of an oak tree from the forest of zeus in dodona where the trees can speak, and that bough spoke, and prophesied things to come. they called the ship 'argo,' and they launched her, and put bread, and meat, and wine on board, and hung their shields outside the bulwarks. then they said good-bye to their friends, went aboard, sat down at the oars, set sail, and so away eastward to colchis, in the land of the world's end. all day they rowed, and at night they beached the ship, as was then the custom, for they did not sail at night, and they went on shore, and took supper, and slept, and next day to the sea again. and old chiron, the man-horse, saw the swift ship from his mountain heights, and ran down to the beach; there he stood with the waves of the gray sea breaking over his feet, waving with his mighty hands, and wishing his boys a safe return. and his wife stood beside him, holding in her arms the little son of one of the ship's company, achilles, the son of peleus of the spear, and of thetis the goddess of the sea foam. so they rowed ever eastward, and ere long they came to a strange isle where dwelt men with six hands apiece, unruly giants. and these giants lay in wait for them on cliffs above the river's mouth where the ship was moored, and before the dawn they rolled down great rocks on the crew. but heracles drew his huge bow, the bow for which he slew eurytus, king of oechalia, and wherever a giant showed hand or shoulder above the cliff, he pinned him through with an arrow, till all were slain. after that they still held eastward, passing many islands, and towns of men, till they reached mysia, and the asian shore. here they landed, with bad luck. for while they were cutting reeds and grass to strew their beds on the sands, young hylas, beautiful hylas, went off with a pitcher in his hand to draw water. he came to a beautiful spring, a deep, clear, green pool, and there the water-fairies lived, whom men called nereids. there were eunis, and nycheia with her april eyes, and when they saw the beautiful hylas, they longed to have him always with them, to live in the crystal caves beneath the water, for they had never seen anyone so beautiful. as he stooped with his pitcher and dipped it into the stream, they caught him softly in their arms, and drew him down below, and no man ever saw him any more, but he dwelt with the water-fairies. but heracles the strong, who loved him like a younger brother, wandered all over the country crying '_hylas! hylas!_' and the boy's voice answered so faintly from below the stream that heracles never heard him. so he roamed alone in the forests, and the rest of the crew thought he was lost. then the sons of the north wind were angry, and bade them set sail without him, and sail they did, leaving the strong man behind. long afterward, when the fleece was won, heracles met the sons of the north wind, and slew them with his arrows. and he buried them, and set a great stone on each grave, and one of these is ever stirred, and shakes when the north wind blows. there they lie, and their golden wings are at rest. still they sped on, with a west wind blowing, and they came to a country whose king was strong, and thought himself the best boxer then living, so he came down to the ship and challenged anyone of that crew; and polydeuces, the boxer, took up the challenge. all the rest, and the people of the country, made a ring, and polydeuces and huge king amycus stepped into the midst, and put up their hands. first they moved round each other cautiously, watching for a chance, and then, as the sun shone forth in the giant's face, polydeuces leaped in and struck him between the eyes with his left hand, and, strong as he was, the giant staggered and fell. then his friends picked him up, and sponged his face with water, and all the crew of 'argo' shouted with joy. he was soon on his feet again, and rushed at polydeuces, hitting out so hard that he would have killed him if the blow had gone home. but polydeuces just moved his head a little on one side, and the blow went by, and, as the giant slipped, polydeuces planted one in his mouth and another beneath his ear, and was away before the giant could recover. there they stood, breathing heavily, and glaring at each other, till the giant made another rush, but polydeuces avoided him, and struck him several blows quickly in the eyes, and now the giant was almost blind. then polydeuces at once ended the combat by a right-hand blow on the temple. the giant fell, and lay as if he were dead. when he came to himself again, he had no heart to go on, for his knees shook, and he could hardly see. so polydeuces made him swear never to challenge strangers again as long as he lived, and then the crew of 'argo' crowned polydeuces with a wreath of poplar leaves, and they took supper, and orpheus sang to them, and they slept, and next day they came to the country of the unhappiest of kings. his name was phineus, and he was a prophet; but, when he came to meet jason and his company, he seemed more like the ghost of a beggar than a crowned king. for he was blind, and very old, and he wandered like a dream, leaning on a staff, and feeling the wall with his hand. his limbs all trembled, he was but a thing of skin and bone, and foul and filthy to see. at last he reached the doorway of the house where jason was, and sat down, with his purple cloak fallen round him, and he held up his skinny hands, and welcomed jason, for, being a prophet, he knew that now he should be delivered from his wretchedness. he lived, or rather lingered, in all this misery because he had offended the gods, and had told men what things were to happen in the future beyond what the gods desired that men should know. so they blinded him, and they sent against him hideous monsters with wings and crooked claws, called harpies, which fell upon him at his meat, and carried it away before he could put it to his mouth. sometimes they flew off with all the meat; sometimes they left a little, that he might not quite starve, and die, and be at peace, but might live in misery. yet what they left was made so foul, and of such evil savour, that even a starving man could scarcely take it within his lips. thus this king was the most miserable of all men living. he welcomed the heroes, and, above all, zetes and calais, the sons of the north wind, for they, he knew, would help him. and they all went into his wretched, naked hall, and sat down at the tables, and the servants brought meat and drink and placed it before them, the latest and last supper of the harpies. then down on the meat swooped the harpies, like lightning or wind, with clanging brazen wings, and iron claws, and the smell of a battlefield where men lie dead; down they swooped, and flew shrieking away with the food. but the two sons of the north wind drew their short swords, and rose in the air on their golden wings, and followed where the harpies fled, over many a sea and many a land, till they came to a distant isle, and there they slew the harpies with their swords. and that isle was called 'turn again,' for there the sons of the north wind turned, and it was late in the night when they came back to the hall of phineus, and to their companions. here phineus was telling jason and his company how they might win their way to colchis and the world's end, and the wood of the fleece of gold. 'first,' he said, 'you shall come in your ship to the rocks wandering, for these rocks wander like living things in the sea, and no ship has ever sailed between them. they open, like a great mouth, to let ships pass, and when she is between their lips they clash again, and crush her in their iron jaws. by this way even winged things may never pass; nay, not even the doves that bear ambrosia to father zeus, the lord of olympus, but the rocks ever catch one even of these. so, when you come near them, you must let loose a dove from the ship, and let her go before you to try the way. and if she flies safely between the rocks from one sea to the other sea, then row with all your might when the rocks open again. but if the rocks close on the bird, then return, and do not try the adventure. but, if you win safely through, then hold right on to the mouth of the river phasis, and there you shall see the towers of ã�ãªtes, the king, and the grove of the fleece of gold. and then do as well as you may.' so they thanked him, and the next morning they set sail, till they came to a place where the rocks wandering wallowed in the water, and all was foam; but when the rocks leaped apart the stream ran swift, and the waves roared beneath the rocks, and the wet cliffs bellowed. then euphemus took the dove in his hands, and set her free, and she flew straight at the pass where the rocks met, and sped right through, and the rocks gnashed like gnashing teeth, but they caught only a feather from her tail. then slowly the rocks opened again, like a wild beast's mouth that opens, and tiphys, the helmsman, shouted, 'row on, hard all!' and he held the ship straight for the pass. then the oars bent like bows in the hands of men, and the good ship leaped at the stroke. three strokes they pulled, and at each the ship leaped, and now they were within the black jaws of the rocks, the water boiling round them, and so dark it was that overhead they could see the stars, but the oarsmen could not see the daylight behind them, and the steersman could not see the daylight in front. then the great tide rushed in between the rocks like a rushing river, and lifted the ship as if it were lifted by a hand, and through the strait she passed like a bird, and the rocks clashed, and only broke the carved wood of the ship's stern. and the ship reeled into the seething sea beyond, and all the men of jason bowed their heads over their oars, half dead with the fierce rowing. then they set all sail, and the ship sped merrily on, past the shores of the inner sea, past bays and towns, and river mouths, and round green hills, the tombs of men slain long ago. and, behold, on the top of one mound stood a tall man, clad in rusty armour, and with a broken sword in his hand, and on his head a helmet with a blood-red crest. thrice he waved his hand, and thrice he shouted aloud, and was no more seen, for this was the ghost of sthenelus, actã¦on's son, whom an arrow had slain there long since, and he had come forth from his tomb to see men of his own blood, and to greet jason and his company. so they anchored there, and slew sheep in sacrifice, and poured blood and wine on the grave of sthenelus. there orpheus left a harp, placing it in the bough of a tree, that the wind might sing in the chords, and make music to sthenelus below the earth. then they sailed on, and at evening they saw above their heads the snowy crests of mount caucasus, flushed in the sunset; and high in the air they saw, as it were, a black speck that grew greater and greater, and fluttered black wings, and then fell sheer down like a stone. then they heard a dreadful cry from a valley of the mountain, for there prometheus was fastened to the rock, and the eagles fed upon him, because he stole fire from the gods, and gave it to men. all the heroes shuddered when they heard his cry; but not long after heracles came that way, and he slew the eagle with his bow, and set prometheus free. but at nightfall they came into the wide mouth of the river phasis, that flows through the land of the world's end, and they saw the lights burning in the palace of ã�ãªtes the king. so now they were come to the last stage of their journey, and there they slept, and dreamed of the fleece of gold. iii the winning of the fleece next morning the heroes awoke, and left the ship moored in the river's mouth, hidden by tall reeds, for they took down the mast, lest it should be seen. then they walked toward the city of colchis, and they passed through a strange and horrible wood. dead men, bound together with cords, were hanging from the branches, for the colchis people buried women, but hung dead men from the branches of trees. then they came to the palace, where king ã�ãªtes lived, with his young son absyrtus, and his daughter chalciope, who had been the wife of phrixus, and his younger daughter, medea, who was a witch, and the priestess of brimo, a dreadful goddess. now chalciope came out and welcomed jason, for she knew the heroes were of her dear husband's country. and beautiful medea, the dark witch-girl, came forth and saw jason, and as soon as she saw him she loved him more than her father and her brother and all her father's house. for his bearing was gallant, and his armour golden, and long yellow hair fell over his shoulders, and over the leopard skin that he wore above his armour. medea turned white and then red, and cast down her eyes, but chalciope took the heroes to the baths, and gave them food, and they were brought to ã�ãªtes, who asked them why they came, and they told him that they desired the fleece of gold, and he was very angry, and told them that only to a better man than himself would he give up that fleece. if any wished to prove himself worthy of it he must tame two bulls which breathed flame from their nostrils, and must plough four acres with these bulls, and next he must sow the field with the teeth of a dragon, and these teeth when sown would immediately grow up into armed men. jason said that, as it must be, he would try this adventure, but he went sadly enough back to the ship and did not notice how kindly medea was looking after him as he went. now, in the dead of night, medea could not sleep, because she was so sorry for the stranger, and she knew that she could help him by her magic. but she remembered how her father would burn her for a witch if she helped jason, and a great shame, too, came on her that she should prefer a stranger to her own people. so she arose in the dark, and stole just as she was to her sister's room, a white figure roaming like a ghost in the palace. at her sister's door she turned back in shame, saying, 'no, i will never do it,' and she went back again to her chamber, and came again, and knew not what to do; but at last she returned to her own bower, and threw herself on her bed, and wept. her sister heard her weeping, and came to her and they cried together, but softly, that no one might hear them. for chalciope was as eager to help the greeks for love of phrixus, her dead husband, as medea was for the love of jason. at last medea promised to carry to the temple of the goddess of whom she was a priestess, a drug that would tame the bulls which dwelt in the field of that temple. but still she wept and wished that she were dead, and had a mind to slay herself; yet, all the time, she was longing for the dawn, that she might go and see jason, and give him the drug, and see his face once more, if she was never to see him again. so, at dawn she bound up her hair, and bathed her face, and took the drug, which was pressed from a flower. that flower first blossomed when the eagle shed the blood of prometheus on the earth. the virtue of the juice of the flower was this, that if a man anointed himself with it, he could not that day be wounded by swords, and fire could not burn him. so she placed it in a vial beneath her girdle, and she went with other girls, her friends, to the temple of the goddess. now jason had been warned by chalciope to meet her there, and he was coming with mopsus who knew the speech of birds. but mopsus heard a crow that sat on a poplar tree speaking to another crow, saying: 'here comes a silly prophet, and sillier than a goose. he is walking with a young man to meet a maid, and does not know that, while he is there to hear, the maid will not say a word that is in her heart. go away, foolish prophet; it is not you she cares for.' then mopsus smiled, and stopped where he was; but jason went on, where medea was pretending to play with the girls, her companions. when she saw jason she felt as if she could neither go forward, nor go back, and she was very pale. but jason told her not to be afraid, and asked her to help him, but for long she could not answer him; however, at the last, she gave him the drug, and taught him how to use it. 'so shall you carry the fleece to iolcos, far away, but what is it to me where you go when you have gone from here? still remember the name of me, medea, as i shall remember you. and may there come to me some voice, or some bird bearing the message, whenever you have quite forgotten me.' but jason answered, 'lady, let the winds blow what voice they will, and what that bird will, let him bring. but no wind or bird shall ever bear the news that i have forgotten you, if you will cross the sea with me, and be my wife.' then she was glad, and yet she was afraid, at the thought of that dark voyage, with a stranger, from her father's home and her own. so they parted, jason to the ship, and medea to the palace. but in the morning jason anointed himself and his armour with the drug, and all the heroes struck at him with spears and swords, but the swords would not bite on him nor on his armour. he felt so strong and light that he leaped in the air with joy, and the sun shone on his glittering shield. now they all went up together to the field where the bulls were breathing flame. there already was ã�ãªtes, with medea, and all the colchians had come to see jason die. a plough had been brought to which he was to harness the bulls. then he walked up to them, and they blew fire at him that flamed all round him, but the magic drug protected him. he took a horn of one bull in his right hand, and a horn of the other in his left, and dashed their heads together so mightily that they fell. when they rose, all trembling, he yoked them to the plough, and drove them with his spear, till all the field was ploughed in straight ridges and furrows. then he dipped his helmet in the river, and drank water, for he was weary; and next he sowed the dragon's teeth on the right and left. then you might see spear points, and sword points, and crests of helmets break up from the soil like shoots of corn, and presently the earth was shaken like sea waves, as armed men leaped out of the furrows, all furious for battle, and all rushed to slay jason. but he, as medea had told him to do, caught up a great rock, and threw it among them, and he who was struck by the rock said to his neighbour, 'you struck me; take that!' and ran his spear through that man's breast, but before he could draw it out another man had cleft his helmet with a stroke, and so it went: an hour of striking and shouting, while the sparks of fire sprang up from helmet and breastplate and shield. the furrows ran red with blood, and wounded men crawled on hands and knees to strike or stab those that were yet standing and fighting. so axes and sword and spear flashed and fell, till now all the men were down but one, taller and stronger than the rest. round him he looked, and saw only jason standing there, and he staggered toward him, bleeding, and lifting his great axe above his head. but jason only stepped aside from the blow which would have cloven him to the waist, the last blow of the men of the dragon's teeth, for he who struck fell, and there he lay and died. then jason went to the king, where he sat looking darkly on, and said, 'o king, the field is ploughed, the seed is sown, the harvest is reaped. give me now the fleece of gold, and let me be gone.' but the king said, 'enough is done. to-morrow is a new day. to-morrow shall you win the fleece.' then he looked sidewise at medea, and she knew that he suspected her, and she was afraid. ã�ãªtes went and sat brooding over his wine with the captains of his people; and his mood was bitter, both for loss of the fleece, and because jason had won it not by his own prowess, but by the magic aid of medea. as for medea herself, it was the king's purpose to put her to a cruel death, and this she needed not her witchery to know, and a fire was in her eyes, and terrible sounds were ringing in her ears, and it seemed she had but two choices: to drink poison and die, or to flee with the heroes in the ship 'argo.' but at last flight seemed better than death. so she hid all her engines of witchcraft in the folds of her gown, and she kissed her bed where she would never sleep again, and the posts of the door, and she caressed the very walls with her hand in that last farewell. and she cut a long lock of her yellow hair, and left it in the room, a keepsake to her mother dear, in memory of her maiden days. 'good-bye, my mother,' she said, 'this long lock i leave thee in place of me; good-bye, a long good-bye, to me who am going on a long journey; good-bye, my sister chalciope, good-bye! dear house, good-bye!' then she stole from the house, and the bolted doors leaped open at their own accord at the swift spell medea murmured. with her bare feet she ran down the grassy paths, and the daisies looked black against the white feet of medea. so she sped to the temple of the goddess, and the moon overhead looked down on her. many a time had she darkened the moon's face with her magic song, and now the lady moon gazed white upon her, and said, 'i am not, then, the only one that wanders in the night for love, as i love endymion the sleeper, who sleeps on the crest of the latmian hill, and beholds me in his dreams. many a time hast thou darkened my face with thy songs, and made night black with thy sorceries, and now thou too art in love! so go thy way, and bid thy heart endure, for a sore fate is before thee!' but medea hastened on till she came to the high river bank, and saw the heroes, merry at their wine in the light of a blazing fire. thrice she called aloud, and they heard her, and came to her, and she said, 'save me, my friends, for all is known, and my death is sure. and i will give you the fleece of gold for the price of my life.' then jason swore that she should be his wife, and more dear to him than all the world. so she went aboard their boat, and swiftly they rowed up stream to the dark wood where the dragon who never sleeps lay guarding the fleece of gold. there she landed, and jason, and orpheus with his harp, and through the wood they went, but that old serpent saw them coming, and hissed so loud that women wakened in colchis town, and children cried to their mothers. but orpheus struck softly on his harp, and he sang a hymn to sleep, bidding him come and cast a slumber on the dragon's wakeful eyes. this was the song he sang: sleep! king of gods and men! come to my call again, swift over field and fen, mountain and deep; come, bid the waves be still; sleep, streams on height and hill; beasts, birds, and snakes, thy will conquereth, sleep! come on thy golden wings, come ere the swallow sings, lulling all living things, fly they or creep! come with thy leaden wand, come with thy kindly hand, soothing on sea or land mortals that weep. come from the cloudy west, soft over brain and breast, bidding the dragon rest, come to me, sleep! this was orpheus's song, and he sang so sweetly that the bright, small eyes of the dragon closed, and all his hard coils softened and uncurled. then jason set his foot on the dragon's neck and hewed off his head, and lifted down the golden fleece from the sacred oak tree, and it shone like a golden cloud at dawn. he waited not to wonder at it, but he and medea and orpheus hurried through the wet wood-paths to the ship, and threw it on board, cast a cloak over it, and bade the heroes sit down to the oars, half of them, but the others to take their shields and stand each beside the oarsmen, to guard them from the arrows of the colchians. then he cut the stern cables with his sword, and softly they rowed, under the bank, down the dark river to the sea. but the hissing of the dragon had already awakened the colchians, and lights were flitting by the palace windows, and ã�ãªtes was driving in his chariot with all his men down to the banks of the river. then their arrows fell like hail about the ship, but they rebounded from the shields of the heroes, and the swift ship sped over the bar, and leaped as she felt the first waves of the salt sea. [illustration: how the serpent that guarded the golden fleece was slain.] and now the fleece was won. but it was weary work bringing it home to greece, and medea and jason did a deed which angered the gods. they slew her brother absyrtus, who followed after them with a fleet, and cut him limb from limb, and when ã�ãªtes came with his ships, and saw the dead limbs, he stopped, and went home, for his heart was broken. the gods would not let the greeks return by the way they had come, but by strange ways where never another ship has sailed. up the ister (the danube) they rowed, through countries of savage men, till the 'argo' could go no farther, by reason of the narrowness of the stream. then they hauled her overland, where no man knows, but they launched her on the elbe at last, and out into a sea where never sail had been seen. then they were driven wandering out into ocean, and to a fairy, far-off isle where lady circe dwelt. circe was the sister of king ã�ãªtes, both were children of the sun god, and medea hoped that circe would be kind to her, as she could not have heard of the slaying of absyrtus. medea and jason went up through the woods of the isle to the house of circe, and had no fear of the lions and wolves and bears that guarded the house. these knew that medea was an enchantress, and they fawned on her and jason and let them pass. but in the house they found circe clad in dark mourning raiment, and all her long black hair fell wet and dripping to her feet, for she had seen visions of terror and sin, and therefore she had purified herself in salt water of the sea. the walls of her chamber, in the night, had shone as with fire, and dripped as with blood, and a voice of wailing had broken forth, and the spirit of dead absyrtus had cried in her ears. when medea and jason entered her hall, circe bade them sit down, and called her bower maidens, fairies of woods and waters, to strew a table with a cloth of gold, and set on it food and wine. but jason and medea ran to the hearth, the sacred place of the house to which men that have done murder flee, and there they are safe, when they come in their flight to the house of a stranger. they cast ashes from the hearth on their heads, and circe knew that they had slain absyrtus. yet she was of medea's near kindred, and she respected the law of the hearth. therefore she did the rite of purification, as was the custom, cleansing blood with blood, and she burned in the fire a cake of honey, and meal, and oil, to appease the furies who revenge the deaths of kinsmen by the hands of kinsmen. when all was done, jason and medea rose from their knees, and sat down on chairs in the hall, and medea told circe all her tale, except the slaying of absyrtus. 'more and worse than you tell me you have done,' said circe, 'but you are my brother's daughter.' then she advised them of all the dangers of their way home to greece, how they must shun the sirens, and scylla and charybdis, and she sent a messenger, iris, the goddess of the rainbow, to bid thetis help them through the perils of the sea, and bring them safe to phã¦acia, where the phã¦acians would send them home. 'but you shall never be happy, nor know one good year in all your lives,' said circe, and she bade them farewell. they went by the way that ulysses went on a later day; they passed through many perils, and came to iolcos, where pelias was old, and made jason reign in his stead. but jason and medea loved each other no longer, and many stories, all different from each other, are told concerning evil deeds that they wrought, and certainly they left each other, and jason took another wife, and medea went to athens. here she lived in the palace of ã�geus, an unhappy king who had been untrue to his own true love, and therefore the gods took from him courage and strength. but about medea at athens the story is told in the next tale, the tale of theseus, ã�geus's son. theseus i the wedding of ã�thra long before ulysses was born, there lived in athens a young king, strong, brave, and beautiful, named ã�geus. athens, which later became so great and famous, was then but a little town, perched on the top of a cliff which rises out of the plain, two or three miles from the sea. no doubt the place was chosen so as to be safe against pirates, who then used to roam all about the seas, plundering merchant ships, robbing cities, and carrying away men, women, and children, to sell as slaves. the athenians had then no fleet with which to put the pirates down, and possessed not so much land as would make a large estate in england: other little free towns held the rest of the surrounding country. king ã�geus was young, and desired to take a wife, indeed a wife had been found for him. but he wanted to be certain, if he could, that he was to have sons to succeed him: so many misfortunes happen to kings who have no children. but how was he to find out whether he should have children or not? at that time, and always in greece before it was converted to christianity, there were temples of the gods in various places, at which it was supposed that men might receive answers to their questions. these temples were called oracles, or places where oracles were given, and the most famous of them was the temple of apollo at pytho, or delphi, far to the north-west of athens. here was a deep ravine of a steep mountain, where the god apollo was said to have shot a monstrous dragon with his arrows. he then ordered that a temple should be built here, and in this temple a maiden, being inspired by the god, gave her prophecies. the people who came to consult her made the richest presents to the priests, and the temple was full of cups and bowls of gold and silver, and held more wealth in its chambers than the treasure houses of the richest kings. ã�geus determined to go to delphi to ask his question: would he have sons to come after him? he did not tell his people where he was going; he left the kingdom to be governed by his brother pallas, and he set out secretly at night, taking no servant. he did not wear royal dress, and he drove his own chariot, carrying for his offering only a small cup of silver, for he did not wish it to be known that he was a king, and told the priests that he was a follower of peleus, king of phthia. in answer to his question, the maiden sang two lines of verse, for she always prophesied in verse. her reply was difficult to understand, as oracles often were, for the maiden seldom spoke out clearly, but in a kind of riddle that might be understood in more ways than one; so that, whatever happened, she could not be proved to have made a mistake. ã�geus was quite puzzled by the answer he got. he did not return to athens, but went to consult the prince of troezene, named pittheus, who was thought the wisest man then living. pittheus did not know who ã�geus was, but saw that he seemed of noble birth, tall and handsome, so he received him very kindly, and kept him in his house for some time, entertaining him with feasts, dances, and hunting parties. now pittheus had a very lovely daughter, named ã�thra. she and ã�geus fell in love with each other, so deeply that they desired to be married. it was the custom that the bridegroom should pay a price, a number of cattle, to the father of the bride, and ã�geus, of course, had no cattle to give. but it was also the custom, if the lover did some very brave and useful action, to reward him with the hand of his lady, and ã�geus had his opportunity. a fleet of pirates landed at troezene and attacked the town, but ã�geus fought so bravely and led the men of pittheus so well, that he not only slew the pirate chief, and defeated his men, but also captured some of his ships, which were full of plunder, gold, and bronze, and iron, and slaves. with this wealth ã�geus paid the bride price, as it was called, for ã�thra, and they were married. pittheus thought himself a lucky man, for he had no son, and here was a son-in-law who could protect his little kingdom, and wear the crown when he himself was dead. though pittheus was believed to be very wise, in this matter he was very foolish. he never knew who ã�geus really was, that is the king of athens, nor did poor ã�thra know. in a short time ã�geus wearied of beautiful ã�thra, who continued to love him dearly. he was anxious also to return to his kingdom, for he heard that his brother pallas and his many sons were governing badly; and he feared that pallas might keep the crown for himself, so he began to speak mysteriously to ã�thra, talking about a long and dangerous journey which he was obliged to make, for secret reasons, and from which he might never return alive. ã�thra wept bitterly, and sometimes thought, as people did in these days, that the beautiful stranger might be no man, but a god, and that he might return to olympus, the home of the gods, and forget her; for the gods never tarried long with the mortal women who loved them. at last ã�geus took ã�thra to a lonely glen in the woods, where, beside a little mountain stream, lay a great moss-grown boulder that an earthquake, long ago, had shaken from the rocky cliff above. 'the time is coming,' said ã�geus 'when you and i must part, and only the gods can tell when we shall meet again! it may be that you will bear a child, and, if he be a boy, when he has come to his strength you must lead him to this great stone, and let no man or woman be there but you two only. you must then bid him roll away the stone, and, if he has no strength to raise it, so must it be. but if he can roll it away, then let him take such things as he finds there, and let him consider them well, and do what the gods put into his heart.' thus ã�geus spoke, and on the dawn of the third night after this day, when ã�thra awoke from sleep, she did not find him by her side. she arose, and ran through the house, calling his name, but there came no answer, and from that time ã�geus was never seen again in troezene, and people marvelled, thinking that he, who came whence no man knew, and was so brave and beautiful, must be one of the immortal gods. 'who but a god,' they said, 'would leave for no cause a bride, the flower of greece for beauty, young, and loving; and a kingdom to which he was not born? truly he must be apollo of the silver bow, or hermes of the golden wand.' so they spoke among each other, and honoured ã�thra greatly, but she pined and drooped with sorrow, like a tall lily flower, that the frost has touched in a rich man's garden. ii the boyhood of theseus time went by, and ã�thra had a baby, a son. this was her only comfort, and she thought that she saw in him a likeness to his father, whose true name she did not know. certainly he was a very beautiful baby, well formed and strong, and, as soon as he could walk he was apt to quarrel with other children of his own age, and fight with them in a harmless way. he never was an amiable child, though he was always gentle to his mother. from the first he was afraid of nothing, and when he was about four or five he used to frighten his mother by wandering from home, with his little bow and arrows, and staying by himself in the woods. however, he always found his own way back again, sometimes with a bird or a snake that he had shot, and once dragging the body of a fawn that was nearly as heavy as himself. thus his mother, from his early boyhood, had many fears for him, that he might be killed by some fierce wild boar in the woods, for he would certainly shoot at whatever beast he met; or that he might kill some other boy in a quarrel, when he would be obliged to leave the country. the other boys, however, soon learned not to quarrel with theseus (so ã�thra had named her son), for he was quick of temper, and heavy of hand, and, as for the wild beasts, he was cool as well as eager, and seemed to have an untaught knowledge of how to deal with them. ã�thra was therefore very proud of her son, and began to hope that when he was older he would be able to roll away the great stone in the glen. she told him nothing about it when he was little, but, in her walks with him in the woods or on the sea shore, she would ask him to try his force in lifting large stones. when he succeeded she kissed and praised him, and told him stories of the famous strong man, heracles, whose name was well known through all greece. theseus could not bear to be beaten at lifting any weight, and, if he failed, he would rise early and try again in the morning, for many men, as soon as they rise from bed, can lift weights which are too heavy for them later in the day. when theseus was seven years old, ã�thra found for him a tutor, named connidas, who taught him the arts of netting beasts and hunting, and how to manage the dogs, and how to drive a chariot, and wield sword and shield, and to throw the spear. other things connidas taught him which were known to few men in greece, for connidas came from the great rich island of crete. he had killed a man there in a quarrel, and fled to troezene to escape the revenge of the man's brothers and cousins. in crete many people could read and write, which in greece, perhaps none could do, and connidas taught theseus this learning. when he was fifteen years old, theseus went, as was the custom of young princes, to the temple of delphi, not to ask questions, but to cut his long hair, and sacrifice it to the god, apollo. he cut the forelock of his hair, so that no enemy, in battle, might take hold of it, for theseus intended to fight at close quarters, hand to hand, in war, not to shoot arrows and throw spears from a distance. by this time he thought himself a man, and was always asking where his father was, while ã�thra told him how her husband had left her soon after their marriage, and that she had never heard of him since, but that some day theseus might find out all about him for himself, which no other person would ever be able to do. ã�thra did not wish to tell theseus too soon the secret of the great stone, which hid she knew not what. she saw that he would leave her and go to seek his father, if he was able to raise the stone and find out the secret, and she could not bear to lose him, now that day by day he grew more like his father, her lost lover. besides, she wanted him not to try to raise the stone till he came to his strength. but when he was in his nineteenth year, he told her that he would now go all over greece and the whole world seeking for his father. she saw that he meant what he said, and one day she led him alone to the glen where the great stone lay, and sat down with him there, now talking, and now silent as if she were listening to the pleasant song of the burn that fell from a height into a clear deep pool. really she was listening to make sure that no hunter and no lovers were near them in the wood, but she only heard the songs of the water and the birds, no voices, or cry of hounds, or fallen twig cracking under a footstep. at last, when she was quite certain that nobody was near, she whispered, and told theseus how her husband, before he disappeared, had taken her to this place, and shown her the great moss-grown boulder, and said that, when his son could lift that stone away, he would find certain tokens, and that he must then do what the gods put into his heart. theseus listened eagerly, and said, 'if my father lifted that stone, and placed under it certain tokens, i also can lift it, perhaps not yet, but some day i shall be as strong a man as my father.' then he set himself to move the stone, gradually putting out all his force, but it seemed rooted in the earth, though he tried it now on one side and now on another. at last he flung himself at his mother's feet, with his head in the grass, and lay without speaking. his breath came hard and quick, and his hands were bleeding. ã�thra laid her hand on his long hair, and was silent. 'i shall not lose my boy this year,' she thought. they were long in that lonely place, but at last theseus rose, and kissed his mother, and stretched his arms. 'not to-day!' he said, but his mother thought in her heart, 'not for many a day, i hope!' then they walked home to the house of pittheus, saying little, and when they had taken supper, theseus said that he would go to bed and dream of better fortune. so he arose, and went to his own chamber, which was built apart in the court of the palace, and soon ã�thra too went to sleep, not unhappy, for her boy, she thought, would not leave her for a long time. but in the night theseus arose, and put on his shoes, and his smock, and a great double mantle. he girt on his sword of bronze, and went into the housekeeper's chamber, where he took a small skin of wine, and some food. these he placed in a wallet which he slung round his neck by a cord, and, lastly he stole out of the court, and walked to the lonely glen, and to the pool in the burn near which the great stone lay. here he folded his purple mantle of fine wool round him, and lay down to sleep in the grass, with his sword lying near his hand. when he awoke the clear blue morning light was round him, and all the birds were singing their song to the dawn. theseus arose, threw off his mantle and smock, and plunged into the cold pool of the burn, and then he drank a little of the wine, and ate of the bread and cold meat, and set himself to move the stone. at the first effort, into which he put all his strength, the stone stirred. with the second he felt it rise a little way from the ground, and then he lifted with all the might in his heart and body, and rolled the stone clean over. [illustration: theseus tries to lift the stone.] beneath it there was nothing but the fresh turned soil, but in a hollow of the foot of the rock, which now lay upper-most, there was a wrapping of purple woollen cloth, that covered something. theseus tore out the packet, unwrapped the cloth, and found within it a wrapping of white linen. this wrapping was in many folds, which he undid, and at last he found a pair of shoon, such as kings wear, adorned with gold, and also the most beautiful sword that he had ever seen. the handle was of clear rock crystal, and through the crystal you could see gold, inlaid with pictures of a lion hunt done in different shades of gold and silver. the sheath was of leather, with patterns in gold nails, and the blade was of bronze, a beautiful pattern ran down the centre to the point, the blade was straight, and double edged, supple, sharp, and strong. never had theseus seen so beautiful a sword, nor one so well balanced in his hand. he saw that this was a king's sword; and he thought that it had not been wrought in greece, for in greece was no sword-smith that could do such work. examining it very carefully he found characters engraved beneath the hilt, not letters such as the greeks used in later times, but such cretan signs as connidas had taught him to read, for many a weary hour, when he would like to have been following the deer in the forest. theseus pored over these signs till he read: icmalius me made. of ã�geus of athens am i. now he knew the secret. his father was ã�geus, the king of athens. theseus had heard of him and knew that he yet lived, a sad life full of trouble. for ã�geus had no child by his athenian wife, and the fifty sons of his brother, pallas (who were called the pallantidã¦) despised him, and feasted all day in his hall, recklessly and fiercely, robbing the people, and ã�geus had no power in his own kingdom. 'methinks that my father has need of me!' said theseus to himself. then he wrapped up the sword and shoon in the linen and the cloth of wool, and walked home in the early morning to the palace of pittheus. when theseus came to the palace, he went straight to the upper chamber of his mother, where she was spinning wool with a distaff of ivory. when he laid before her the sword and the shoon, the distaff fell from her hand, and she hid her head in a fold of her robe. theseus kissed her hands and comforted her, and she dried her eyes, and praised him for his strength. 'these are the sword and the shoon of your father,' she said, 'but truly the gods have taken away his strength and courage. for all men say that ã�geus of athens is not master in his own house; his brother's sons rule him, and with them medea, the witch woman, that once was the wife of jason.' 'the more he needs his son!' said theseus. 'mother, i must go to help him, and be the heir of his kingdom, where you shall be with me always, and rule the people of cecrops that fasten the locks of their hair with grasshoppers of gold.' 'so may it be, my child,' said ã�thra, 'if the gods go with you to protect you. but you will sail to athens in a ship with fifty oarsmen, for the ways by land are long, and steep, and dangerous, beset by cruel giants and monstrous men.' 'nay, mother,' said theseus, 'by land must i go, for i would not be known in athens, till i see how matters fall out; and i would destroy these giants and robbers, and give peace to the people, and win glory among men. this very night i shall set forth.' he had a sore and sad parting from his mother, but under cloud of night he went on his way, girt with the sword of ã�geus, his father, and carrying in his wallet the shoon with ornaments of gold. iii adventures of theseus theseus walked through the night, and slept for most of the next day at a shepherd's hut. the shepherd was kind to him, and bade him beware of one called the maceman, who guarded a narrow path with a sheer cliff above, and a sheer precipice below. 'no man born may deal with the maceman,' said the shepherd, 'for his great club is of iron, that cannot be broken, and his strength is as the strength of ten men, though his legs have no force to bear his body. men say that he is the son of the lame god, hephaestus, who forged his iron mace; there is not the like of it in the world.' 'shall i fear a lame man?' said theseus, 'and is it not easy, even if he be so terrible a fighter, for me to pass him in the darkness, for i walk by night?' the shepherd shook his head. 'few men have passed periphetes the maceman,' said he, 'and wiser are they who trust to swift ships than to the upland path.' 'you speak kindly, father,' said theseus, 'but i am minded to make the upland paths safe for all men.' so they parted, and theseus walked through the sunset and the dusk, always on a rising path, and the further he went the harder it was to see the way, for the path was overgrown with grass, and the shadows were deepening. night fell, and theseus hardly dared to go further, for on his left hand was a wall of rock, and on his right hand a cliff sinking sheer and steep to the sea. but now he saw a light in front of him, a red light flickering, as from a great fire, and he could not be content till he knew why that fire was lighted. so he went on, slowly and warily, till he came in full view of the fire which covered the whole of a little platform of rock; on one side the blaze shone up the wall of cliff on his left hand, on the other was the steep fall to the sea. in front of this fire was a great black bulk; theseus knew not what it might be. he walked forward till he saw that the black bulk was that of a monstrous man, who sat with his back to the fire. the man nodded his heavy head, thick with red unshorn hair, and theseus went up close to him. 'ho, sir,' he cried, 'this is my road, and on my road i must pass!' the seated man opened his eyes sleepily. 'not without my leave,' he said, 'for i keep this way, i and my club of iron.' 'get up and begone!' said theseus. 'that were hard for me to do,' said the monstrous man, 'for my legs will not bear the weight of my body, but my arms are strong enough.' 'that is to be seen!' said theseus, and he drew his sword, and leaped within the guard of the iron club that the monster, seated as he was, swung lightly to this side and that, covering the whole width of the path. the maceman swung the club at theseus, but theseus sprang aside, and in a moment, before the monster could recover his stroke, drove through his throat the sword of ã�geus, and he fell back dead. 'he shall have his rights of fire, that his shadow may not wander outside the house of hades,' said theseus to himself, and he toppled the body of the maceman into his own great fire. then he went back some way, and wrapping himself in his mantle, he slept till the sun was high in heaven, while the fire had sunk into its embers, and theseus lightly sprang over them, carrying with him the maceman's iron club. the path now led downwards, and a burn that ran through a green forest kept him company on the way, and brought him to pleasant farms and houses of men. they marvelled to see him, a young man, carrying the club of the maceman. 'did you find him asleep?' they asked, and theseus smiled and said, 'no, i found him awake. but now he sleeps an iron sleep, from which he will never waken, and his body had due burning in his own watchfire.' then the men and women praised theseus, and wove for him a crown of leaves and flowers, and sacrificed sheep to the gods in heaven, and on the meat they dined, rejoicing that now they could go to troezene by the hill path, for they did not love ships and the sea. when they had eaten and drunk, and poured out the last cup of wine on the ground, in honour of hermes, the god of luck, the country people asked theseus where he was going? he said that he was going to walk to athens, and at this the people looked sad. 'no man may walk across the neck of land where ephyre is built,' they said, 'because above it sinis the pine-bender has his castle, and watches the way.' 'and who is sinis, and why does he bend pine trees?' asked theseus. 'he is the strongest of men, and when he catches a traveller, he binds him hand and foot, and sets him between two pine trees. then he bends them down till they meet, and fastens the traveller to the boughs of each tree, and lets them spring apart, so that the man is riven asunder.' 'two can play at that game,' said theseus, smiling, and he bade farewell to the kind country people, shouldered the iron club of periphetes, and went singing on his way. the path led him over moors, and past farm-houses, and at last rose towards the crest of the hill whence he would see the place where two seas would have met, had they not been sundered by the neck of land which is now called the isthmus of corinth. here the path was very narrow, with thick forests of pine trees on each hand, and 'here,' thought theseus to himself, 'i am likely to meet the pine-bender.' soon he knew that he was right, for he saw the ghastly remains of dead men that the pine trees bore like horrible fruit, and presently the air was darkened overhead by the waving of vultures and ravens that prey upon the dead. 'i shall fight the better in the shade,' said theseus, and he loosened the blade of the sword in its sheath, and raised the club of periphetes aloft in his hand. well it was for him that he raised the iron club, for, just as he lifted it, there flew out from the thicket something long, and slim, and black, that fluttered above his head for a moment, and then a loop at the end of it fell round the head of theseus, and was drawn tight with a sudden jerk. but the loop fell also above and round the club, which theseus held firm, pushing away the loop, and so pushed it off that it did not grip his neck. drawing with his left hand his bronze dagger, he cut through the leather lasso with one stroke, and bounded into the bushes from which it had flown. here he found a huge man, clad in the skin of a lion, with its head fitting to his own like a mask. the man lifted a club made of the trunk of a young pine tree, with a sharp-edged stone fastened into the head of it like an axe-head. but, as the monster raised his long weapon it struck on a strong branch of a tree above him, and was entangled in the boughs, so that theseus had time to thrust the head of the iron club full in his face, with all his force, and the savage fell with a crash like a falling oak among the bracken. he was one of the last of an ancient race of savage men, who dwelt in greece before the greeks, and he fought as they had fought, with weapons of wood and stone. theseus dropped with his knees on the breast of the pine-bender, and grasped his hairy throat with both his hands, not to strangle him, but to hold him sure and firm till he came to himself again. when at last the monster opened his eyes, theseus gripped his throat the harder, and spoke, 'pine-bender, for thee shall pines be bent. but i am a man and not a monster, and thou shalt die a clean death before thy body is torn in twain to be the last feast of thy vultures.' then, squeezing the throat of the wretch with his left hand, he drew the sword of ã�geus, and drove it into the heart of sinis the pine-bender, and he gave a cry like a bull's, and his soul fled from him. then theseus bound the body of the savage with his own leather cord, and, bending down the tops of two pine trees, he did to the corpse as sinis had been wont to do to living men. lastly he cleaned the sword-blade carefully, wiping it with grass and bracken, and thrusting it to the hilt through the soft fresh ground under the trees, and so went on his way till he came to a little stream that ran towards the sea from the crest of the hill above the town of ephyre, which is now called corinth. but as he cleansed himself in the clear water, he heard a rustle in the boughs of the wood, and running with sword drawn to the place whence the sound seemed to come, he heard the whisper of a woman. then he saw a strange sight. a tall and very beautiful girl was kneeling in a thicket, in a patch of asparagus thorn, and was weeping, and praying, in a low voice, and in a childlike innocent manner, to the thorns, begging them to shelter and defend her. theseus wondered at her, and, sheathing his sword, came softly up to her, and bade her have no fear. then she threw her arms about his knees, and raised her face, all wet with tears, and bade him take pity upon her, for she had done no harm. 'who are you, maiden? you are safe with me,' said theseus. 'do you dread the pine-bender?' 'alas, sir,' answered the girl, 'i am his daughter, perigyne, and his blood is on your hands.' 'yet i do not war with women,' said theseus, 'though that has been done which was decreed by the gods. if you follow with me, you shall be kindly used, and marry, if you will, a man of a good house, being so beautiful as you are.' when she heard this, the maiden rose to her feet, and would have put her hand in his. 'not yet,' said theseus, kindly, 'till water has clean washed away that which is between thee and me. but wherefore, maiden, being in fear as you were, did you not call to the gods in heaven to keep you, but to the asparagus thorns that cannot hear or help?' 'my father, sir,' she said, 'knew no gods, but he came of the race of the asparagus thorns, and to them i cried in my need.' theseus marvelled at these words, and said, 'from this day you shall pray to zeus, the lord of thunder, and to the other gods.' then he went forth from the wood, with the maiden following, and wholly cleansed himself in the brook that ran by the way. so they passed down to the rich city of ephyre, where the king received him gladly, when he heard of the slaying of the maceman, periphetes, and of sinis the pine-bender. the queen, too, had pity on perigyne, so beautiful she was, and kept her in her own palace. afterwards perigyne married a prince, deiones, son of eurytus, king of oechalia, whom the strong man heracles slew for the sake of his bow, the very bow with which ulysses, many years afterwards, destroyed the wooers in his halls. the sons of perigyne and deiones later crossed the seas to asia, and settled in a land called caria, and they never burned or harmed the asparagus thorn to which perigyne had prayed in the thicket. greece was so lawless in these days that all the road from troezene northward to athens was beset by violent and lawless men. they loved cruelty even more than robbery, and each of them had carefully thought out his particular style of being cruel. the cities were small, and at war with each other, or at war among themselves, one family fighting against another for the crown. thus there was no chance of collecting an army to destroy the monstrous men of the roads, which it would have been easy enough for a small body of archers to have done. later theseus brought all into great order, but now, being but one man, he went seeking adventures. on the border of a small country called megara, whose people were much despised in greece, he found a chance of advancing himself, and gaining glory. he was walking in the middle of the day along a narrow path at the crest of a cliff above the sea, when he saw the flickering of a great fire in the blue air, and steam going up from a bronze caldron of water that was set on the fire. on one side of the fire was a foot-bath of glittering bronze. hard by was built a bower of green branches, very cool on that hot day, and from the door of the bower stretched a great thick hairy pair of naked legs. theseus guessed, from what he had been told, that the owner of the legs was sciron the kicker. he was a fierce outlaw who was called the kicker because he made all travellers wash his feet, and, as they were doing so, kicked them over the cliff. some say that at the foot of the cliff dwelt an enormous tortoise, which ate the dead and dying when they fell near his lair, but as tortoises do not eat flesh, generally, this may be a mistake. theseus was determined not to take any insolence from sciron, so he shouted-'slave, take these dirty legs of yours out of the way of a prince. 'prince!' answered sciron, 'if my legs are dirty, the gods are kind who have sent you to wash them for me.' then he got up, lazily, laughing and showing his ugly teeth, and stood in front of his bath with his heavy wooden club in his hand. he whirled it round his head insultingly, but theseus was quicker than he, and again, as when he slew the pine-bender, he did not strike, for striking is slow compared to thrusting, but like a flash he lunged forward and drove the thick end of his iron club into the breast of sciron. he staggered, and, as he reeled, theseus dealt him a blow across the thigh, and he fell. theseus seized the club which dropped from the hand of sciron, and threw it over the cliff; it seemed long before the sound came up from the rocks on which it struck. 'a deep drop into a stony way, sciron,' said theseus, 'now wash my feet! stand up, and turn your back to me, and be ready when i tell you.' sciron rose, slowly and sulkily, and stood as theseus bade him do. now theseus was not wearing light shoes or sandals, like the golden sandals of ã�geus, which he carried in his wallet. he was wearing thick boots, with bronze nails in the soles, and the upper leathers were laced high up his legs, for the greeks wore such boots when they took long walks on mountain roads. as soon as theseus had trained sciron to stand in the proper position, he bade him stoop to undo the lacings of his boots. as sciron stooped, theseus gave him one tremendous kick, that lifted him over the edge of the cliff, and there was an end of sciron. theseus left the marches of megara, and walked singing on his way, above the sea, for his heart was light, and he was finding adventures to his heart's desire. being so young and well trained, his foot and hand, in a combat, moved as swift as lightning, and his enemies were older than he, and, though very strong, were heavy with full feeding, and slow to move. now it is speed that wins in a fight, whether between armies or single men, if strength and courage go with it. at last the road led theseus down from the heights to a great fertile plain, called the thriasian plain, not far from athens. there, near the sea, stands the famous old city of eleusis. when hades, the god of the dead, carried away beautiful persephone, the daughter of demeter, the goddess of corn and all manner of grain, to his dark palace beside the stream of ocean, it was to eleusis that demeter wandered. she was clad in mourning robes, and she sat down on a stone by the way, like a weary old woman. now the three daughters of the king who then reigned in eleusis came by, on the way to the well, to fetch water, and when they saw the old woman they set down their vessels and came round her, asking what they could do for her, who was so tired and poor. they said that they had a baby brother at home, who was the favourite of them all, and that he needed a nurse. demeter was pleased with their kindness, and they left their vessels for water beside her, and ran home to their mother. their long golden hair danced on their shoulders as they ran, and they came, out of breath, to their mother the queen, and asked her to take the old woman to be their brother's nurse. the queen was kind, too, and the old woman lived in their house, till zeus, the chief god, made the god of the dead send back persephone, to be with her mother through spring, and summer, and early autumn, but in winter she must live with her husband in the dark palace beside the river of ocean. then demeter was glad, and she caused the grain to grow abundantly for the people of eleusis, and taught them ceremonies, and a kind of play in which all the story of her sorrows and joy was acted. it was also taught that the souls of men do not die with the death of their bodies, any more than the seed of corn dies when it is buried in the dark earth, but that they live again in a world more happy and beautiful than ours. these ceremonies were called the mysteries of eleusis, and were famous in all the world. theseus might have expected to find eleusis a holy city, peaceful and quiet. but he had heard, as he travelled, that in eleusis was a strong bully, named cercyon; he was one of the rough highlanders of arcadia, who lived in the hills of the centre of southern greece, which is called peloponnesus. he is said to have taken the kingship, and driven out the descendants of the king whose daughters were kind to demeter. the strong man used to force all strangers to wrestle with him, and, when he threw them, for he had never been thrown, he broke their backs. knowing this, and being himself fond of wrestling, theseus walked straight to the door of the king's house, though the men in the town warned him, and the women looked at him with sad eyes. he found the gate of the courtyard open, with the altar of zeus the high god smoking in the middle of it, and at the threshold two servants welcomed him, and took him to the polished bath, and women washed him, and anointed him with oil, and clothed him in fresh raiment, as was the manner in kings' houses. then they led him into the hall, and he walked straight up to the high seats between the four pillars beside the hearth, in the middle of the hall. there cercyon sat, eating and drinking, surrounded by a score of his clan, great, broad, red-haired men, but he himself was the broadest and the most brawny. he welcomed theseus, and caused a table to be brought, with meat, and bread, and wine, and when theseus had put away his hunger, began to ask him who he was and whence he came. theseus told him that he had walked from troezene, and was on his way to the court of king peleus (the father of achilles), in the north, for he did not want the news of his coming to go before him to athens. 'you walked from troezene?' said cercyon. 'did you meet or hear of the man who killed the maceman and slew the pine-bender, and kicked sciron into the sea?' 'i walk fast, but news flies faster,' said theseus. 'the news came through my second-sighted man,' said cercyon, 'there he is, in the corner,' and cercyon threw the leg bone of an ox at his prophet, who just managed to leap out of the way. 'he seems to have foreseen that the bone was coming at him,' said cercyon, and all his friends laughed loud. 'he told us this morning that a stranger was coming, he who had killed the three watchers of the way. from your legs and shoulders, and the iron club that you carry, methinks you are that stranger?' theseus smiled, and nodded upwards, which the greeks did when they meant 'yes!' 'praise be to all the gods!' said cercyon. 'it is long since a good man came my way. do they practise wrestling at troezene?' 'now and then,' said theseus. 'then you will try a fall with me? there is a smooth space strewn with sand in the courtyard.' theseus answered that he had come hoping that the king would graciously honour him by trying a fall. then all the wild guests shouted, and out they all went and made a circle round the wrestling-place, while theseus and cercyon threw down their clothes and were anointed with oil over their bodies. to it they went, each straining forward and feeling for a grip, till they were locked, and then they swayed this way and that, their feet stamping the ground; and now one would yield a little, now the other, while the rough guests shouted, encouraging each of them. at last they rested and breathed, and now the men began to bet; seven oxen to three was laid on cercyon, and taken in several places. back to the wrestle they went, and theseus found this by far the hardest of his adventures, for cercyon was heavier than he, and as strong, but not so active. so theseus for long did little but resist the awful strain of the arms of cercyon, till, at last, for a moment cercyon weakened. then theseus slipped his hip under the hip of cercyon, and heaved him across and up, and threw him on the ground. he lighted in such a way that his neck broke, and there he lay dead. 'was it fairly done?' said theseus. 'it was fairly done!' cried the highlanders of arcadia; and then they raised such a wail for the dead that theseus deemed it wise to put on his clothes and walk out of the court; and, leaping into a chariot that stood empty by the gate, for the servant in the chariot feared the club of iron, he drove away at full speed. though cercyon was a cruel man and a wild, theseus was sorry for him in his heart. the groom in the chariot tried to leap out, but theseus gripped him tight. 'do not hurry, my friend,' said theseus, 'for i have need of you. i am not stealing the chariot and horses, and you shall drive them back after we reach athens.' 'but, my lord,' said the groom, 'you will never reach athens.' 'why not?' asked theseus. 'because of the man procrustes, who dwells in a strong castle among the hills on the way. he is the maimer of all mortals, and has at his command a company of archers and spearmen, pirates from the islands. he meets every traveller, and speaks to him courteously, praying him to be his guest, and if any refuses the archers leap out of ambush and seize and bind him. with them no one man can contend. he has a bed which he says is a thing magical, for it is of the same length as the tallest or the shortest man who sleeps in it, so that all are fitted. now the manner of it is this--there is an engine with ropes at the head of the bed, and a saw is fitted at the bed foot. if a man is too short, the ropes are fastened to his hands, and are strained till he is drawn to the full length of the bed. if he is too long the saw shortens him. such a monster is procrustes. 'verily, my lord, king cercyon was to-morrow to lead an army against him, and the king had a new device, as you may see, by which two great shields are slung along the side of this chariot, to ward off the arrows of the men of procrustes.' 'then you and i will wear the shields when we come near the place where procrustes meets travellers by the way, and i think that to-night his own bed will be too long for him,' said theseus. to this the groom made no answer, but his body trembled. theseus drove swiftly on till the road began to climb the lowest spur of mount parnes, and then he drew rein, and put on one of the great shields that covered all his body and legs, and he bade the groom do the like. then he drove slowly, watching the bushes and underwood beside the way. soon he saw the smoke going up from the roof of a great castle high in the woods beside the road; and on the road there was a man waiting. theseus, as he drove towards him, saw the glitter of armour in the underwood, and the setting sun shone red on a spear-point above the leaves. 'here is our man,' he said to the groom, and pulled up his horses beside the stranger. he loosened his sword in the sheath, and leaped out of the chariot, holding the reins in his left hand, and bowed courteously to the man, who was tall, weak-looking, and old, with grey hair and a clean-shaven face, the colour of ivory. he was clad like a king, in garments of dark silk, with gold bracelets, and gold rings that clasped the leather gaiters on his legs, and he smiled and smiled, and rubbed his hands, while he looked to right and left, and not at theseus. 'i am fortunate, fair sir,' said he to theseus, 'for i love to entertain strangers, with whom goes the favour and protection of zeus. surely strangers are dear to all men, and holy! you, too, are not unlucky, for the night is falling, and the ways will be dark and dangerous. you will sup and sleep with me, and to-night i can give you a bed that is well spoken of, for its nature is such that it fits all men, the short and the tall, and you are of the tallest.' 'to-night, fair sir,' quoth theseus, 'your own bed will be full long for you.' and, drawing the sword of ã�geus, he cut sheer through the neck of procrustes at one blow, and the head of the man flew one way, and his body fell another way. then with a swing of his hand theseus turned his shield from his front to his back, and leaped into the chariot. he lashed the horses forward with a cry, while the groom also turned his own shield from front to back; and the arrows of the bowmen of procrustes rattled on the bronze shields as the chariot flew along, or struck the sides and the seat of it. one arrow grazed the flank of a horse, and the pair broke into a wild gallop, while the yells of the bowmen grew faint in the distance. at last the horses slackened in their pace as they climbed a hill, and from the crest of it theseus saw the lights in the city of aphidnã¦. 'now, my friend,' he said to the groom, 'the way is clear to athens, and on your homeward road with the horses and the chariot you shall travel well guarded. by the splendour of lady athãªnãª's brow, i will burn that raven's nest of procrustes!' so they slept that night on safe beds at the house of the sons of phytalus, who bore rule in aphidnã¦. here they were kindly welcomed, and the sons of phytalus rejoiced when they heard how theseus had made safe the ways, and slain the beasts that guarded them. 'we are your men,' they said, 'we and all our people, and our spears will encircle you when you make yourself king of athens, and of all the cities in the attic land.' iv theseus finds his father next day theseus said farewell to the sons of phytalus, and drove slowly through the pleasant green woods that overhung the clear river cephisus. he halted to rest his horses in a glen, and saw a very beautiful young man walking in a meadow on the other side of the river. in his hand he bore a white flower, and the root of it was black; in the other hand he carried a golden wand, and his upper lip was just beginning to darken, he was of the age when youth is most gracious. he came towards theseus, and crossed the stream where it broke deep, and swift, and white, above a long pool, and it seemed to theseus that his golden shoon did not touch the water. 'come, speak with me apart,' the young man said; and theseus threw the reins to the groom, and went aside with the youth, watching him narrowly, for he knew not what strange dangers might beset him on the way. 'whither art thou going, unhappy one,' said the youth, 'thou that knowest not the land? behold, the sons of pallas rule in athens, fiercely and disorderly. thy father is of no force, and in the house with him is a fair witch woman from a far country. her name is medea, the daughter of ã�ãªtes, the brother of circe the sorceress. she wedded the famous jason, and won for him the fleece of gold, and slew her own brother absyrtus. other evils she wrought, and now she dwells with ã�geus, who fears and loves her greatly. take thou this herb of grace, and if medea offers you a cup of wine, drop this herb in the cup, and so you shall escape death. behold, i am hermes of the golden wand.' then he gave to theseus the flower, and passed into the wood, and theseus saw him no more; so then theseus knelt down, and prayed, and thanked the gods. the flower he placed in the breast of his garment, and, returning to his chariot, he took the reins, and drove to athens, and up the steep narrow way to the crest of the rock where the temple of athãªnãª stood and the palace of king ã�geus. theseus drove through to the courtyard, and left his chariot at the gate. in the court young men were throwing spears at a mark, while others sat at the house door, playing draughts, and shouting and betting. they were heavy, lumpish, red-faced young men, all rather like each other. they looked up and stared, but said nothing. theseus knew that they were his cousins, the sons of pallas, but as they said nothing to him he walked through them, iron club on shoulder, as if he did not see them, and as one tall fellow stood in his way, the tall fellow spun round from a thrust of his shoulder. at the hall door theseus stopped and shouted, and at his cry two or three servants came to him. 'look to my horses and man,' said theseus; 'i come to see your master.' and in he went, straight up to the high chairs beside the fire in the centre. the room was empty, but in a high seat sat, fallen forward and half-asleep, a man in whose grey hair was a circlet of gold and a golden grasshopper. theseus knew that it was his father, grey and still, like the fallen fire on the hearth. as the king did not look up, theseus touched his shoulder, and then knelt down, and put his arms round the knees of the king. the king aroused himself with a start. 'who? what want you?' he said, and rubbed his red, bloodshot eyes. 'a suppliant from troezene am i, who come to your knees, oh, king, and bring you gifts.' 'from troezene!' said the king sleepily, as if he were trying to remember something. 'from ã�thra, your wife, your son brings your sword and your shoon,' said theseus; and he laid the sword and the shoon at his father's feet. the king rose to his feet with a great cry. 'you have come at last,' he cried, 'and the gods have forgiven me and heard my prayers. but gird on the sword, and hide the shoon, and speak not the name of "wife," for there is one that hears.' 'one that has heard,' said a sweet silvery voice; and from behind a pillar came a woman, dark and pale, but very beautiful, clothed in a rich eastern robe that shone and shifted from colour to colour. lightly she threw her white arms round the neck of theseus, lightly she kissed his cheeks, and a strange sweet fragrance hung about her. then, holding him apart, with her hands on his shoulders, she laughed, and half-turning to ã�geus, who had fallen back into his chair, she said: 'my lord, did you think that you could hide anything from me?' then she fixed her great eyes on the eyes of theseus. 'we are friends?' she said, in her silvery voice. 'lady, i love you even as you love my father, king ã�geus,' said theseus. 'even so much?' said the lady medea. 'then we must both drink to him in wine.' she glided to the great golden mixing-cup of wine that stood on a table behind ã�geus, and with her back to theseus she ladled wine into a cup of strange coloured glass. 'pledge me and the king,' she said, bringing the cup to theseus. he took it, and from his breast he drew the flower of black root and white blossom that hermes had given him, and laid it in the wine. then the wine bubbled and hissed, and the cup burst and broke, and the wine fell on the floor, staining it as with blood. medea laughed lightly. 'now we are friends indeed, for the gods befriend you,' she said, 'and i swear by the water of styx that your friends are my friends, and your foes are my foes, always, to the end. the gods are with you; and by the great oath of the gods i swear, which cannot be broken; for i come of the kin of the gods who live for ever.' now the father of the father of medea was the sun god. theseus took both her hands. 'i also swear,' he said, 'by the splendour of zeus, that your friends shall be my friends, and that your foes shall be my foes, always, to the end.' then medea sat by the feet of ã�geus, and drew down his head to her shoulder, while theseus took hold of his hand, and the king wept for joy. for the son he loved, and the woman whom he loved and feared, were friends, and they two were stronger than the sons of pallas. while they sat thus, one of the sons of pallas--the pallantidã¦ they were called--slouched into the hall to see if dinner was ready. he stared, and slouched out again, and said to his brothers: 'the old man is sitting in the embraces of the foreign woman, and of the big stranger with the iron club!' then they all came together, and growled out their threats and fears, kicking at the stones in the courtyard, and quarrelling as to what it was best for them to do. meanwhile, in the hall, the servants began to spread the tables with meat and drink, and theseus was taken to the bath, and clothed in new raiment. while theseus was at the bath medea told ã�geus what he ought to do. so when theseus came back into the hall, where the sons of pallas were eating and drinking noisily, ã�geus stood up, and called to theseus to sit down at his right hand. he added, in a loud voice, looking all round the hall: 'this is my son, theseus, the slayer of monsters, and his is the power in the house!' the sons of pallas grew pale with fear and anger, but not one dared to make an insolent answer. they knew that they were hated by the people of athens, except some young men of their own sort, and they did not dare to do anything against the man who had slain periphetes and sinis, and cercyon, and sciron, and, in the midst of his paid soldiers, had struck off the head of procrustes. silent all through dinner sat the sons of pallas, and, when they had eaten, they walked out silently, and went to a lonely place, where they could make their plans without being overheard. theseus went with medea into her fragrant chamber, and they spake a few words together. then medea took a silver bowl, filled it with water, and, drawing her dark silken mantle over her head, she sat gazing into the bowl. when she had gazed silently for a long time she said: 'some of them are going towards sphettus, where their father dwells, to summon his men in arms, and some are going to gargettus on the other side of the city, to lie in ambush, and cut us off when they of sphettus assail us. they will attack the palace just before the dawn. now i will go through the town, and secretly call the trusty men to arm and come to defend the palace, telling them that the son of ã�geus, the man who cleared the ways, is with us. and do you take your chariot, and drive speedily to the sons of phytalus, and bring all their spears, chariot men and foot men, and place them in ambush around the village of gargettus, where one band of the pallantidã¦ will lie to-night till dawn. the rest you know.' theseus nodded and smiled. he drove at full speed to aphidnã¦, where the sons of phytalus armed their men, and by midnight they lay hidden in the woods round the village of gargettus. when the stars had gone onward, and the second of the three watches of the night was nearly past, they set bands of men to guard every way from the little town, and theseus with another band rushed in, and slew the men of the sons of pallas around their fires, some of them awake, but most of them asleep. those who escaped were taken by the bands who watched the ways, and when the sky was now clear at the earliest dawn, theseus led his companions to the palace of ã�geus, where they fell furiously upon the rear of the men from sphettus, who were besieging the palace of ã�geus. the sphettus company had broken in the gate of the court, and were trying to burn the house, while arrows flew thick from the bows of the trusty men of athens on the palace roof. the pallantids had set no sentinels, for they thought to take theseus in the palace, and there to burn him, and win the kingdom for themselves. then silently and suddenly the friends of theseus stole into the courtyard, and, leaving some to guard the gate, they drew up in line, and charged the confused crowd of the pallantids. their spears flew thick among the enemy, and then they charged with the sword, while the crowd, in terror, ran this way and that way, being cut down at the gate, and dragged from the walls, when they tried to climb them. the daylight found the pallantidã¦ and their men lying dead in the courtyard, all the sort of them. then theseus with the sons of phytalus and their company marched through the town, proclaiming that the rightful prince was come, and that the robbers and oppressors were fallen, and all honest men rejoiced. they burned the dead, and buried their ashes and bones, and for the rest of that day they feasted in the hall of ã�geus. next day theseus led his friends back to aphidnã¦, and on the next day they attacked and stormed the castle of procrustes, and slew the pirates, and theseus divided all the rich plunder among the sons of phytalus and their company, but the evil bed they burned to ashes. v heralds come for tribute the days and weeks went by, and theseus reigned with his father in peace. the chief men came to athens from the little towns in the country, and begged theseus to be their lord, and they would be his men, and he would lead their people if any enemy came up against them. they would even pay tribute to be used for buying better arms, and making strong walls, and providing ships, for then the people of athens had no navy. theseus received them courteously, and promised all that they asked, for he did not know that soon he himself would be sent away as part of the tribute which the athenians paid every nine years to king minos of crete. though everything seemed to be peaceful and happy through the winter, yet theseus felt that all was not well. when he went into the houses of the town's people, where all had been merry and proud of his visits, he saw melancholy, silent mothers, and he missed the young people, lads and maidens. many of them were said to have gone to visit friends in far-away parts of greece. the elder folk, and the young people who were left, used to stand watching the sea all day, as if they expected something strange to come upon them from the sea, and ã�geus sat sorrowful over the fire, speaking little, and he seemed to be in fear. theseus was disturbed in his mind, and he did not choose to put questions to ã�geus or to the townsfolk. he and medea were great friends, and one day when they were alone in her chamber, where a fragrant fire of cedar wood burned, he told her what he had noticed. medea sighed, and said: 'the curse of the sons of pallas is coming upon the people of athens--such a curse and so terrible that not even you, prince theseus, can deal with it. the enemy is not one man or one monster only, but the greatest and most powerful king in the world.' 'tell me all,' said theseus, 'for though i am but one man, yet the ever-living gods protect and help me.' 'the story of the curse is long,' said medea. 'when your father ã�geus was young, after he returned to athens from troezene, he decreed that games should be held every five years, contests in running, boxing, wrestling, foot races, and chariot races. not only the people of athens, but strangers were allowed to take part in the games, and among the strangers came androgeos, the eldest son of great minos, king of cnossos, in the isle of crete of the hundred cities, far away in the southern sea. minos is the wisest of men, and the most high god, even zeus, is his counsellor, and speaks to him face to face. he is the richest of men, and his ships are without number, so that he rules all the islands, and makes war, when he will, even against the king of egypt. the son of minos it was who came to the sports with three fair ships, and he was the strongest and swiftest of men. he won the foot race, and the prizes for boxing and wrestling, and for shooting with the bow, and throwing the spear, and hurling the heavy weight, and he easily overcame the strongest of the sons of pallas. 'then, being unjust men and dishonourable, they slew him at a feast in the hall of ã�geus, their own guest in the king's house they slew, a thing hateful to the gods above all other evil deeds. his ships fled in the night, bearing the news to king minos, and, a year after that day, the sea was black with his countless ships. his men landed, and they were so many, all glittering in armour of bronze, that none dared to meet them in battle. king ã�geus and all the elder men of the city went humbly to meet minos, clad in mourning, and bearing in their hands boughs of trees, wreathed with wool, to show that they came praying for mercy. "mercy ye shall have when ye have given up to me the men who slew my son," said minos. but ã�geus could not give up the sons of pallas, for long ago they had fled in disguise, and were lurking here and there, in all the uttermost parts of greece, in the huts of peasants. such mercy, then, the athenians got as minos was pleased to give. he did not burn the city, and slay the men, and carry the women captives. but he made ã�geus and the chief men swear that every nine years they would choose by lot seven of the strongest youths, and seven of the fairest maidens, and give them to his men, to carry away to crete. every nine years he sends a ship with dark sails, to bear away the captives, and this is the ninth year, and the day of the coming of the ship is at hand. can you resist king minos?' 'his ship we could burn, and his men we could slay,' said theseus; and his hand closed on the hilt of his sword. 'that may well be,' said medea, 'but in a year minos would come with his fleet and his army, and burn the city; and the other cities of greece, fearing him and not loving us, would give us no aid.' 'then,' said theseus, 'we must even pay the tribute for this last time; but in nine years, if i live, and the gods help me, i shall have a fleet, and minos must fight for his tribute. for in nine years athens will be queen of all the cities round about, and strong in men and ships. yet, tell me, how does minos treat the captives from athens, kindly or unkindly?' 'none has ever come back to tell the tale,' said medea, 'but the sailors of minos say that he places the captives in a strange prison called the labyrinth. it is full of dark winding ways, cut in the solid rock, and therein the captives are lost and perish of hunger, or live till they meet a thing called the minotaur. this monster has the body of a strong man, and a man's legs and arms, but his head is the head of a bull, and his teeth are the teeth of a lion, and no man may deal with him. those whom he meets he tosses, and gores, and devours. whence this evil beast came i know, but the truth of it may not be spoken. it is not lawful for king minos to slay the horror, which to him is great shame and grief; neither may he help any man to slay it. therefore, in his anger against the athenians he swore that, once in every nine years, he would give fourteen of the athenian men and maidens to the thing, and that none of them should bear sword or spear, dagger or axe, or any other weapon. yet, if one of the men, or all of them together, could slay the monster, minos made oath that athens should be free of him and his tribute.' theseus laughed and stood up. 'soon,' he said, 'shall king minos be free from the horror, and athens shall be free from the tribute, if, indeed, the gods be with me. for me need no lot be cast; gladly i will go to crete of my free will.' 'i needed not to be a prophetess to know that you would speak thus,' said medea. 'but one thing even i can do. take this phial, and bear it in your breast, and, when you face the minotaur, do as i shall tell you.' then she whispered some words to theseus, and he marked them carefully. he went forth from medea's bower; he walked to the crest of the hill upon which athens is built, and there he saw all the people gathered, weeping, and looking towards the sea. swiftly a ship with black sails was being rowed towards the shore, and her sides shone with the bronze shields of her crew, that were hung on the bulwarks. 'my friends,' cried theseus, 'i know that ship, and wherefore she comes, and with her i shall sail to crete and slay the minotaur. did i not slay sinis and sciron, cercyon and procrustes, and periphetes? let there be no drawing of lots. where are seven men and seven maidens who will come with me, and meet these cretans when they land, and sail back with them, and see this famous crete, for the love of theseus?' then there stepped forth seven young men of the best of athens, tall, and strong, and fair, the ancestors of them who smote, a thousand years afterwards, the persians at marathon and in the strait of salamis. 'we will live or die with you, prince theseus,' they said. next, one by one, came out of the throng, blushing, but with heads erect and firm steps, the seven maidens whom the seven young men loved. they, too, were tall, and beautiful, and stately, like the stone maidens called caryatides who bear up the roofs of temples. 'we will live and die with you, prince theseus, and with our lovers,' they cried; and all the people gave such a cheer that king ã�geus heard it, and came from his palace, leaning on his staff, and medea walked beside him. 'why do you raise a glad cry, my children?' said ã�geus. 'is not that the ship of death, and must we not cast lots for the tribute to king minos?' 'sir,' said theseus, 'we rejoice because we go as free folk, of our own will, these men and maidens and i, to take such fortune as the gods may give us, and to do as well as we may. nay, delay us not, for from this hour shall athens be free, without master or lord among cretan men.' 'but, my son, who shall defend me, who shall guide me, when i have lost thee, the light of mine eyes, and the strength of my arm?' whimpered ã�geus. 'is the king weeping alone, while the fathers and mothers of my companions have dry eyes?' said theseus. 'the gods will be your helpers, and the lady who is my friend, and who devised the slaying of the sons of pallas. hers was the mind, if the hand was my own, that wrought their ruin. let her be your counsellor, for no other is so wise. but that ship is near the shore, and we must go.' then theseus embraced ã�geus, and medea kissed him, and the young men and maidens kissed their fathers and mothers, and said farewell. with theseus at their head they marched down the hill, two by two; but medea sent after them chariots laden with changes of raiment, and food, and skins of wine, and all things of which they had need. they were to sail in their own hired ship, for such was the custom, and the ship was ready with her oarsmen. but theseus and the seven, by the law of minos, might carry no swords or other weapons of war. the ship had a black sail, but ã�geus gave to the captain a sail dyed scarlet with the juice of the scarlet oak, and bade him hoist it if he was bringing back theseus safe, but, if not, to return under the black sail. the captain, and the outlook man, and the crew, and the ship came all from the isle of salamis, for as yet the athenians had no vessels fit for long voyages--only fishing-boats. as theseus and his company marched along they met the herald of king minos, bearing a sacred staff, for heralds were holy, and to slay a herald was a deadly sin. he stopped when he met theseus, and wondered at his beauty and strength. 'my lord,' said he, 'wherefore come you with the fourteen? know you to what end they are sailing?' 'that i know not, nor you, nor any man, but they and i are going to one end, such as the gods may give us,' answered theseus. 'speak with me no more, i pray you, and go no nearer athens, for there men's hearts are high to-day, and they carry swords.' the voice and the eyes of theseus daunted the herald, and he with his men turned and followed behind, humbly, as if they were captives and theseus were conqueror. vi theseus in crete after many days' sailing, now through the straits under the beautiful peaks of the mountains that crowned the islands, and now across the wide sea far from sight of land, they beheld the crest of mount ida of crete, and ran into the harbour, where a hundred ships lay at anchor, and a great crowd was gathered. theseus marvelled at the ships, so many and so strong, and at the harbour with its huge walls, while he and his company landed. a hundred of the guardsmen of minos, with large shields, and breastplates made of ribs of bronze, and helmets of bronze with horns on them, were drawn up on the pier. they surrounded the little company of athenians, and they all marched to the town of cnossos, and the palace of the king. if theseus marvelled at the harbour he wondered yet more at the town. it was so great that it seemed endless, and round it went a high wall, and at every forty yards was a square tower with small square windows high up. these towers were exactly like those which you may see among the hills and beside the burns in the border country, the south of scotland and the north of england; towers built when england and scotland were at war. but when they had passed through the gateway in the chief tower, the town seemed more wonderful than the walls, for in all things it was quite unlike the cities of greece. the street, paved with flat paving stones, wound between houses like our own, with a ground floor (in this there were no windows) and with two or three stories above, in which there were windows, with sashes, and with so many panes to each window, the panes were coloured red. each window opened on a balcony, and the balconies were crowded with ladies in gay dresses like those which are now worn. under their hats their hair fell in long plaits over their shoulders: they had very fine white blouses, short jackets, embroidered in bright coloured silk, and skirts with flounces. laughing merrily they looked down at the little troop of prisoners, chatting, and some saying they were sorry for the athenian girls. others, seeing theseus marching first, a head taller than the tallest guardsman, threw flowers that fell at his feet, and cried, 'go on, brave prince!' for they could not believe that he was one of the prisoners. the crowd in the street being great, the march was stopped under a house taller than the rest; in the balcony one lady alone was seated, the others stood round her as if they were her handmaidens. this lady was most richly dressed, young, and very beautiful and stately, and was, indeed, the king's daughter, ariadne. she looked grave and full of pity, and, as theseus happened to glance upwards, their eyes met, and remained fixed on each other. theseus, who had never thought much about girls before, grew pale, for he had never seen so beautiful a maiden: ariadne also turned pale, and then blushed and looked away, but her eyes glanced down again at theseus, and he saw it, and a strange feeling came into his heart. the guards cleared the crowd, and they all marched on till they came to the palace walls and gate, which were more beautiful even than the walls of the town. but the greatest wonder of all was the palace, standing in a wide park, and itself far greater than such towns as theseus had seen, troezene, or aphidnae, or athens. there was a multitude of roofs of various heights, endless roofs, endless windows, terraces, and gardens: no king's palace of our times is nearly so great and strong. there were fountains and flowers and sweet-smelling trees in blossom, and, when the athenians were led within the palace, they felt lost among the winding passages and halls. the walls of them were painted with pictures of flying fishes, above a clear white sea, in which fish of many kinds were swimming, with the spray and bubbles flying from their tails, as the sea flows apart from the rudder of a ship. there were pictures of bull fights, men and girls teasing the bull, and throwing somersaults over him, and one bull had just tossed a girl high in the air. ladies were painted in balconies, looking on, just such ladies as had watched theseus and his company; and young men bearing tall cool vases full of wine were painted on other walls; and others were decorated with figures of bulls and stags, in hard plaster, fashioned marvellously, and standing out from the walls 'in relief,' as it is called. other walls, again, were painted with patterns of leaves and flowers. the rooms were full of the richest furniture, chairs inlaid with ivory, gold, and silver, chests inlaid with painted porcelain in little squares, each square containing a separate bright coloured picture. there were glorious carpets, and in some passages stood rows of vases, each of them large enough to hold a man, like the pots in the story of ali baba and the forty thieves in the arabian nights. there were tablets of stone brought from egypt, with images carved of gods and kings, and strange egyptian writing, and there were cups of gold and silver--indeed, i could not tell you half the beautiful and wonderful things in the palace of minos. we know that this is true, for the things themselves, all of them, or pictures of them, have been brought to light, dug out from under ground; and, after years of digging, there is still plenty of this wonderful palace to be explored. the athenians were dazzled, and felt lost and giddy with passing through so many rooms and passages, before they were led into the great hall named the throne room, where minos was sitting in his gilded throne that is still standing. around him stood his chiefs and princes, gloriously clothed in silken robes with jewels of gold; they left a lane between their ranks, and down this lane was led theseus at the head of his little company. minos, a dark-faced man, with touches of white in his hair and long beard, sat with his elbow on his knee, and his chin in his hand, and he fixed his eyes on the eyes of theseus. theseus bowed and then stood erect, with his eyes on the eyes of minos. 'you are fifteen in number,' said minos at last, 'my law claims fourteen.' 'i came of my own will,' answered theseus, 'and of their own will came my company. no lots were cast.' 'wherefore?' asked minos. 'the people of athens have a mind to be free, o king.' 'there is a way,' said minos. 'slay the minotaur and you are free from my tribute.' 'i am minded to slay him,' said theseus, and, as he spoke, there was a stir in the throng of chiefs, and priests, and princes, and ariadne glided through them, and stood a little behind her father's throne, at one side. theseus bowed low, and again stood erect, with his eyes on the face of ariadne. 'you speak like a king's son that has not known misfortune,' said minos. 'i have known misfortune, and my name is theseus, ã�geus' son,' said theseus. 'this is a new thing. when i saw king ã�geus he had no son, but he had many nephews.' 'no son that he wotted of,' said theseus, 'but now he has no nephews, and one son.' 'is it so?' asked minos, 'then you have avenged me on the slayers of my own son, fair sir, for it was your sword, was it not, that delivered ã�geus from the sons of pallas?' 'my sword and the swords of my friends, of whom seven stand before you.' 'i will learn if this be true,' said minos. 'true!' cried theseus, and his hand flew to the place where his sword-hilt should have been, but he had no sword. king minos smiled. 'you are young,' he said, 'i will learn more of these matters. lead these men and maidens to their own chambers in the palace,' he cried to his guard. 'let each have a separate chamber, and all things that are fitting for princes. to-morrow i will take counsel.' theseus was gazing at ariadne. she stood behind her father, and she put up her right hand as if to straighten her veil, but, as she raised her hand, she swiftly made the motion of lifting a cup to the lips; and then she laid on her lips the fingers of her left hand, closing them fast. theseus saw the token, and he bowed, as did all his company, to minos and to the princess, and they were led upstairs and along galleries, each to a chamber more rich and beautiful than they had seen before in their dreams. then each was taken to a bath, they were washed and clothed in new garments, and brought back to their chambers, where meat was put before them, and wine in cups of gold. at the door of each chamber were stationed two guards, but four guards were set at the door of theseus. at nightfall more food was brought, and, for theseus, much red wine, in a great vessel adorned with ropes and knobs of gold. theseus ate well, but he drank none, and, when he had finished, he opened the door of his chamber, and carried out all the wine and the cup. 'i am one,' he said, 'who drinks water, and loves not the smell of wine in his chamber.' the guards thanked him, and soon he heard them very merry over the king's best wine, next he did not hear them at all, next--he heard them snoring! theseus opened the door gently and silently: the guards lay asleep across and beside the threshold. something bright caught his eye, he looked up, a lamp was moving along the dark corridor, a lamp in the hand of a woman clad in a black robe; the light fell on her white silent feet, and on the feet of another woman who followed her. theseus softly slipped back into his chamber. the light, though shaded by the girl's hand, showed in the crevice between the door and the door-post. softly entered ariadne, followed by an old woman that had been her nurse. 'you guessed the token?' she whispered. 'in the wine was a sleepy drug.' theseus, who was kneeling to her, nodded. 'i can show you the way to flee, and i bring you a sword.' 'i thank you, lady, for the sword, and i pray you to show me the way--to the minotaur.' ariadne grew pale, and her hand flew to her heart. 'i pray you make haste. flee i will not, nor, if the king have mercy on us, will i leave crete till i have met the minotaur: for he has shed the blood of my people.' ariadne loved theseus, and knew well in her heart that he loved her. but she was brave, and she made no more ado; she beckoned to him, and stepped across the sleeping guardsmen that lay beside the threshold. theseus held up his hand, and she stopped, while he took two swords from the men of the guard. one was long, with a strong straight narrow blade tapering to a very sharp point; the other sword was short and straight, with keen cutting double edges. theseus slung them round his neck by their belts, and ariadne walked down the corridor, theseus following her, and the old nurse following him. he had taken the swords from the sleeping men lest, if ariadne gave him one, it might be found out that she had helped him, and she knew this in her heart, for neither of them spoke a word. swiftly and silently they went, through galleries and corridors that turned and wound about, till ariadne came to the door of her own chamber. here she held up her hand, and theseus stopped, till she came forth again, thrusting something into the bosom of her gown. again she led the way, down a broad staircase between great pillars, into a hall, whence she turned, and passed down a narrower stair, and then through many passages, till she came into the open air, and they crossed rough ground to a cave in a hill. in the back of the cave was a door plated with bronze which she opened with a key. here she stopped and took out of the bosom of her gown a coil of fine strong thread. 'take this,' she said, 'and enter by that door, and first of all make fast the end of the coil to a stone, and so walk through the labyrinth, and, when you would come back, the coil shall be your guide. take this key also, to open the door, and lock it from within. if you return place the key in a cleft in the wall within the outer door of the palace.' she stopped and looked at theseus with melancholy eyes, and he threw his arms about her, and they kissed and embraced as lovers do who are parting and know not if they may ever meet again. at last she sighed and said, 'the dawn is near--farewell; the gods be with you. i give you the watchword of the night, that you may pass the sentinels if you come forth alive,' and she told him the word. then she opened the door and gave him the key, and the old nurse gave him the lamp which she carried, and some food to take with him. vii the slaying of the minotaur theseus first fastened one end of his coil of string to a pointed rock, and then began to look about him. the labyrinth was dark, and he slowly walked, holding the string, down the broadest path, from which others turned off to right or left. he counted his steps, and he had taken near three thousand steps when he saw the pale sky showing in a small circle cut in the rocky roof, above his head, and he saw the fading stars. sheer walls of rock went up on either hand of him, a roof of rock was above him, but in the roof was this one open place, across which were heavy bars. soon the daylight would come. theseus set the lamp down on a rock behind a corner, and he waited, thinking, at a place where a narrow dark path turned at right angles to the left. looking carefully round he saw a heap of bones, not human bones, but skulls of oxen and sheep, hoofs of oxen, and shank bones. 'this,' he thought, 'must be the place where the food of the minotaur is let down to him from above. they have not athenian youths and maidens to give him every day! beside his feeding place i will wait.' saying this to himself, he rose and went round the corner of the dark narrow path cut in the rock to the left. he made his own breakfast, from the food that ariadne had given him, and it occurred to his mind that probably the minotaur might also be thinking of breakfast time. he sat still, and from afar away within he heard a faint sound, like the end of the echo of a roar, and he stood up, drew his long sword, and listened keenly. the sound came nearer and louder, a strange sound, not deep like the roar of a bull, but more shrill and thin. theseus laughed silently. a monster with the head and tongue of a bull, but with the chest of a man, could roar no better than that! the sounds came nearer and louder, but still with the thin sharp tone in them. theseus now took from his bosom the phial of gold that medea had given him in athens when she told him about the minotaur. he removed the stopper, and held his thumb over the mouth of the phial, and grasped his long sword with his left hand, after fastening the clue of thread to his belt. the roars of the hungry minotaur came nearer and nearer; now his feet could be heard padding along the echoing floor of the labyrinth. theseus moved to the shadowy corner of the narrow path, where it opened into the broad light passage, and he crouched there; his heart was beating quickly. on came the minotaur, up leaped theseus, and dashed the contents of the open phial in the eyes of the monster; a white dust flew out, and theseus leaped back into his hiding place. the minotaur uttered strange shrieks of pain; he rubbed his eyes with his monstrous hands; he raised his head up towards the sky, bellowing and confused; he stood tossing his head up and down; he turned round and round about, feeling with his hands for the wall. he was quite blind. theseus drew his short sword, crept up, on naked feet, behind the monster, and cut through the back sinews of his legs at the knees. down fell the minotaur, with a crash and a roar, biting at the rocky floor with his lion's teeth, and waving his hands, and clutching at the empty air. theseus waited for his chance, when the clutching hands rested, and then, thrice he drove the long sharp blade of bronze through the heart of the minotaur. the body leaped, and lay still. [illustration: how theseus slew the minotaur.] theseus kneeled down, and thanked all the gods, and promised rich sacrifices, and a new temple to pallas athãªnãª, the guardian of athens. when he had finished his prayer, he drew the short sword, and hacked off the head of the minotaur. he sheathed both his swords, took the head in his hand, and followed the string back out of the daylit place, to the rock where he had left his lamp. with the lamp and the guidance of the string he easily found his way to the door, which he unlocked. he noticed that the thick bronze plates of the door were dinted and scarred by the points of the horns of the minotaur, trying to force his way out. he went out into the fresh early morning; all the birds were singing merrily, and merry was the heart of theseus. he locked the door, and crossed to the palace, which he entered, putting the key in the place which ariadne had shown him. she was there, with fear and joy in her eyes. 'touch me not,' said theseus, 'for i am foul with the blood of the minotaur.' she brought him to the baths on the ground floor, and swiftly fled up a secret stair. in the bathroom theseus made himself clean, and clad himself in fresh raiment which was lying ready for him. when he was clean and clad he tied a rope of byblus round the horns of the head of the minotaur, and went round the back of the palace, trailing the head behind him, till he came to a sentinel. 'i would see king minos,' he said, 'i have the password, _androgeos_!' the sentinel, pale and wondering, let him pass, and so he went through the guards, and reached the great door of the palace, and there the servants wrapped the bleeding head in cloth, that it might not stain the floors. theseus bade them lead him to king minos, who was seated on his throne, judging the four guardsmen, that had been found asleep. when theseus entered, followed by the serving men with their burden, the king never stirred on his throne, but turned his grey eyes on theseus. 'my lord,' said theseus, 'that which was to be done is done.' the servants laid their burden at the feet of king minos, and removed the top fold of the covering. the king turned to the captain of his guard. 'a week in the cells for each of these four men,' said he, and the four guards, who had expected to die by a cruel death, were led away. 'let that head and the body also be burned to ashes and thrown into the sea, far from the shore,' said minos, and his servants silently covered the head of the minotaur, and bore it from the throne room. then, at last, minos rose from his throne, and took the hand of theseus, and said, 'sir, i thank you, and i give you back your company safe and free; and i am no more in hatred with your people. let there be peace between me and them. but will you not abide with us awhile, and be our guests?' theseus was glad enough, and he and his company tarried in the palace, and were kindly treated. minos showed theseus all the splendour and greatness of his kingdom and his ships, and great armouries, full of all manner of weapons: the names and numbers of them are yet known, for they are written on tablets of clay, that were found in the storehouse of the king. later, in the twilight, theseus and ariadne would walk together in the fragrant gardens where the nightingales sang, and minos knew it, and was glad. he thought that nowhere in the world could he find such a husband for his daughter, and he deemed it wise to have the alliance of so great a king as theseus promised to be. but, loving his daughter, he kept theseus with him long, till the prince was ashamed of his delay, knowing that his father, king ã�geus, and all the people of his country, were looking for him anxiously. therefore he told what was in his heart to minos, who sighed, and said, 'i knew what is in your heart, and i cannot say you nay. i give to you my daughter as gladly as a father may.' then they spoke of things of state, and made firm alliance between cnossos and athens while they both lived; and the wedding was done with great splendour, and, at last, theseus and ariadne and all their company went aboard, and sailed from crete. one misfortune they had: the captain of their ship died of a sickness while they were in crete, but minos gave them the best of his captains. yet by reason of storms and tempests they had a long and terrible voyage, driven out of their course into strange seas. when at length they found their bearings, a grievous sickness fell on beautiful ariadne. day by day she was weaker, till theseus, with a breaking heart, stayed the ship at an isle but two days' sail from athens. there ariadne was carried ashore, and laid in a bed in the house of the king of that island, and the physicians and the wise women did for her what they could. but she died with her hands in the hands of theseus, and his lips on her lips. in that isle she was buried, and theseus went on board his ship, and drew his cloak over his head, and so lay for two days, never moving nor speaking, and tasting neither meat nor drink. no man dared to speak to him, but when the vessel stopped in the harbour of athens, he arose, and stared about him. the shore was dark with people all dressed in mourning raiment, and the herald of the city came with the news that ã�geus the king was dead. for the cretan captain did not know that he was to hoist the scarlet sail if theseus came home in triumph, and ã�geus, as he watched the waters, had descried the dark sail from afar off, and, in his grief, had thrown himself down from the cliff, and was drowned. this was the end of the voyaging of theseus. * * * * * theseus wished to die, and be with ariadne, in the land of queen persephone. but he was a strong man, and he lived to be the greatest of the kings of athens, for all the other towns came in, and were his subjects, and he ruled them well. his first care was to build a great fleet in secret harbours far from towns and the ways of men, for, though he and minos were friends while they both lived, when minos died the new cretan king might oppress athens. minos died, at last, and his son picked a quarrel with theseus, who refused to give up a man that had fled to athens because the new king desired to slay him, and news came to theseus that a great navy was being made ready in crete to attack him. then he sent heralds to the king of a fierce people, called the dorians, who were moving through the countries to the north-west of greece, seizing lands, settling on them, and marching forward again in a few years. they were wild, strong, and brave, and they are said to have had swords of iron, which were better than the bronze weapons of the greeks. the heralds of theseus said to them, 'come to our king, and he will take you across the sea, and show you plunder enough. but you shall swear not to harm his kingdom.' this pleased the dorians well, and the ships of theseus brought them round to athens, where theseus joined them with many of his own men, and they did the oath. they sailed swiftly to crete, where, as they arrived in the dark, the cretan captains thought that they were part of their own navy, coming in to join them in the attack on athens; for that theseus had a navy the cretans knew not; he had built it so secretly. in the night he marched his men to cnossos, and took the garrison by surprise, and burned the palace, and plundered it. even now we can see that the palace has been partly burned, and hurriedly robbed by some sudden enemy. the dorians stayed in crete, and were there in the time of ulysses, holding part of the island, while the true cretans held the greater part of it. but theseus returned to athens, and married hippolyte, queen of the amazons. the story of their wedding festival is told in shakespeare's play, 'a midsummer night's dream.' and theseus had many new adventures, and many troubles, but he left athens rich and strong, and in no more danger from the kings of crete. though the dorians, after the time of ulysses, swept all over the rest of greece, and seized mycenã¦ and lacedã¦mon, the towns of agamemnon and menelaus, they were true to their oath to theseus, and left athens to the athenians. perseus i the prison of danae many years before the siege of troy there lived in greece two princes who were brothers and deadly enemies. each of them wished to be king both of argos (where diomede ruled in the time of the trojan war), and of tiryns. after long wars one of the brothers, proetus, took tiryns, and built the great walls of huge stones, and the palace; while the other brother, acrisius, took argos, and he married eurydice, a princess of the royal house of lacedã¦mon, where menelaus and helen were king and queen in later times. acrisius had one daughter, danae, who became the most beautiful woman in greece, but he had no son. this made him very unhappy, for he thought that, when he grew old, the sons of his brother proetus would attack him, and take his lands and city, if he had no son to lead his army. his best plan would have been to find some brave young prince, like theseus, and give danae to him for his wife, and their sons would be leaders of the men of argos. but acrisius preferred to go to the prophetic maiden of the temple of apollo at delphi (or pytho, as it was then called), and ask what chance he had of being the father of a son. the maiden seldom had good news to give any man; but at least this time it was easy to understand what she said. she went down into the deep cavern below the temple floor, where it was said that a strange mist or steam flowed up out of the earth, and made her fall into a strange sleep, in which she could walk and speak, but knew not what she was singing, for she sang her prophecies. at last she came back, very pale, with her laurel wreath twisted awry, and her eyes open, but seeing nothing. she sang that acrisius would never have a son; but that his daughter would bear a son, who would kill him. acrisius mounted his chariot, sad and sorry, and was driven homewards. on the way he never spoke a word, but was thinking how he might escape from the prophecy, and baffle the will of zeus, the chief of the gods. he did not know that zeus himself had looked down upon danae and fallen in love with her, nor did danae know. the only sure way to avoid the prophecy was to kill danae, and acrisius thought of doing this; but he loved her too much; and he was afraid that his people would rise against him, if he slew his daughter, the pride of their hearts. still another fear was upon acrisius, which will be explained later in the story. he could think of nothing better than to build a house all of bronze, in the court of his palace, a house sunk deep in the earth, but with part of the roof open to the sky, as was the way in all houses then; the light came in from above, and the smoke of the fire went out in the same way. this chamber acrisius built, and in it he shut up poor danae with the woman that had been her nurse. they saw nothing, hills or plains or sea, men or trees, they only saw the sun at midday, and the sky, and the free birds flitting across it. there danae lay, and was weary and sad, and she could not guess why her father thus imprisoned her. he used to visit her often and seemed kind and sorry for her, but he would never listen when she implored him to sell her for a slave into a far country, so that, at least, she might see the world in which she lived. now on a day a mysterious thing happened; the old poet pindar, who lived long after, in the time of the war between the greeks and the king of persia, says that a living stream of gold flowed down from the sky and filled the chamber of danae. some time after this danae bore a baby, a son, the strongest and most beautiful of children. she and her nurse kept it secret, and the child was brought up in an inner chamber of the house of bronze. it was difficult to prevent so lively a child from making a noise in his play, and one day, when acrisius was with danae, the boy, now three or four years old, escaped from his nurse, and ran from her room, laughing and shouting. acrisius rushed out, and saw the nurse catch the child, and throw her mantle over him. acrisius seized the boy, who stood firm on his little legs, with his head high, frowning at his grandfather, and gazing in anger out of his large blue eyes. acrisius saw that this child would be dangerous when he became a man, and in great anger he bade his guards take the nurse out, and strangle her with a rope, while danae knelt weeping at his feet. when they were alone he said to danae: 'who is the father of this child?' but she, with her boy on her arm, slipped past acrisius, and out of the open door, and up the staircase, into the open air. she ran to the altar of zeus, which was built in the court, and threw her arms round it, thinking that there no man dared to touch her. 'i cry to zeus that is throned in the highest, the lord of thunder,' she said: 'for he and no other is the father of my boy, even perseus.' the sky was bright and blue without a cloud, and danae cried in vain. there came no flash of lightning nor roll of thunder. 'is it even so?' said acrisius, 'then let zeus guard his own.' he bade his men drag danae from the altar; and lock her again in the house of bronze; while he had a great strong chest made. in that chest he had the cruelty to place danae and her boy, and he sent them out to sea in a ship, the sailors having orders to let the chest down into the waters when they were far from shore. they dared not disobey, but they put food and a skin of wine, and two skins of water in the chest, and lowered it into the sea, which was perfectly calm and still. it was their hope that some ship would come sailing by, perhaps a ship of phoenician merchant-men, who would certainly save danae and the child, if only that they might sell them for slaves. king acrisius himself was not ignorant that this might happen, and that his grandson might live to be the cause of his death. but the greeks believed that if any man killed one of his own kinsfolk, he would be pursued and driven mad by the furies called the erinyes, terrible winged women with cruel claws. these winged women drove orestes, the son of agamemnon, fleeing like a madman through the world, because he slew his own mother, clytaemnestra, to avenge his father, whom she and ã�gisthus had slain. nothing was so much dreaded as these furies, and therefore acrisius did not dare to slay his daughter and his grandson, perseus, but only put them in the way of being drowned. he heard no more of them, and hoped that both of their bodies were rolling in the waves, or that their bones lay bleaching on some unknown shore. but he could not be certain--indeed, he soon knew better--and as long as he lived, he lived in fear that perseus had escaped, and would come and slay him, as the prophetess had said in her song. the chest floated on the still waters, and the sea birds swooped down to look at it, and passed by, with one waft of their wings. the sun set, and danae watched the stars, the bear and orion with his belt, and wrapped her boy up warm, and he slept sound, for he never knew fear, in his mother's arms. the dawn came in her golden throne, and danae saw around her the blue sharp crests of the mountains of the islands that lay scattered like water lilies on the seas of greece. if only the current would drift her to an island, she thought, and prayed in her heart to the gods of good help, pallas athãªnãª, and hermes of the golden wand. soon she began to hope that the chest was drawing near an island. she turned her head in the opposite direction for a long while, and then looked forward again. she was much nearer the island, and could see the smoke going up from cottages among the trees. but she drifted on and drifted past the end of the isle, and on with the current, and so all day. a weary day she had, for the boy was full of play, and was like to capsize the chest. she gave him some wine and water, and presently he fell asleep, and danae watched the sea and the distant isles till night came again. it was dark, with no moon, and the darker because the chest floated into the shadow of a mountain, and the current drew it near the shore. but danae dared not hope again; men would not be abroad, she thought, in the night. as she lay thus helpless, she saw a light moving on the sea, and she cried as loud as she could cry. then the light stopped, and a man's shout came to her over the water, and the light moved swiftly towards her. it came from a brazier set on a pole in a boat, and now danae could see the bright sparks that shone in the drops from the oars, for the boat was being rowed towards her, as fast as two strong men could pull. being weak from the heat of the sun that had beaten on her for two days, and tired out with hopes and fears, danae fainted, and knew nothing till she felt cold water on her face. then she opened her eyes, and saw kind eyes looking at her own, and the brown face of a bearded man, in the light of the blaze that fishermen carry in their boats at night, for the fish come to wonder at it, and the fishermen spear them. there were many dead fish in the boat, into which danae and the child had been lifted, and a man with a fish spear in his hand was stooping over her. then danae knew that she and her boy were saved, and she lay, unable to speak, till the oarsmen had pulled their boat to a little pier of stone. there the man with the fish spear lifted her up lightly and softly set her on her feet on land, and a boatman handed to him the boy, who was awake, and was crying for food. 'you are safe, lady!' said the man with the spear, 'and i have taken fairer fish than ever swam the sea. i am called dictys; my brother, polydectes, is king of this island, and my wife is waiting for me at home, where she will make you welcome, and the boy thrice welcome, for the gods have taken our only son.' he asked no questions of danae; it was reckoned ill manners to put questions to strangers and guests, but he lighted two torches at the fire in the boat, and bade his two men walk in front, to show the way, while he supported danae, and carried the child on his shoulder. they had not far to go, for dictys, who loved fishing of all things, had his house near the shore. soon they saw the light shining up from the opening in the roof of the hall; and the wife of dictys came running out, crying: 'good sport?' when she heard their voices and footsteps. 'rare sport,' shouted dictys cheerily, and he led in danae, and gave the child into the arms of his wife. then they were taken to the warm baths, and dressed in fresh raiment. food was set before them, and presently danae and perseus slept on soft beds, with coverlets of scarlet wool. dictys and his wife never asked danae any questions about how and why she came floating on the sea through the night. news was carried quickly enough from the mainland to the islands by fishers in their boats and merchant men, and pedlars. dictys heard how the king of argos had launched his daughter and her son on the sea, hoping that both would be drowned. all the people knew in the island, which was called seriphos, and they hated the cruelty of acrisius, and many believed that perseus was the son of zeus. if the news from argos reached seriphos, we may guess that the news from seriphos reached argos, and that acrisius heard how a woman as beautiful as a goddess, with a boy of the race of the gods, had drifted to the shore of the little isle. acrisius knew, and fear grew about his heart, fear that was sharper as the years went on, while perseus was coming to his manhood. acrisius often thought of ways by which he might have his grandson slain; but none of them seemed safe. by the time when perseus was fifteen, acrisius dared not go out of doors, except among the spears of his armed guards, and he was so eaten up by fear that it would have been happier for him if he had never been born. ii the vow of perseus it was fortunate for perseus that dictys treated him and taught him like his own son, and checked him if he was fierce and quarrelsome, as so strong a boy was apt to be. he was trained in all the exercises of young men, the use of spear and sword, shield and bow; and in running, leaping, hunting, rowing, and the art of sailing a boat. there were no books in seriphos, nobody could read or write; but perseus was told the stories of old times, and of old warriors who slew monsters by sea and land. most of the monsters had been killed, as perseus was sorry to hear, for he desired to try his own luck with them when he came to be a man. but the most terrible of all, the gorgons, who were hated by men and gods, lived still, in an island near the land of the dead; but the way to that island was unknown. these gorgons were two sisters, and a third woman; the two were hideous to look on, with hair and wings and claws of bronze, and with teeth like the white tusks of swine. swinish they were, ugly and loathsome, feeding fearfully on the bodies of unburied men. but the third gorgon was beautiful save for the living serpents that coiled in her hair. she alone of the three gorgons was mortal, and could be slain, but who could slay her? so terrible were her eyes that men who had gone up against her were changed into pillars of stone. this was one of the stories that perseus heard when he was a boy; and there was a proverb that this or that hard task was 'as difficult to do as to slay the gorgon.' perseus, then, ever since he was a little boy, was wondering how he could slay the gorgon and become as famous as the strong man heracles, or the good knight bellerophon, who slew the chimaera. perseus was always thinking of such famous men as these, and especially loved the story of bellerophon, which is this: in the city of ephyre, now called corinth, was a king named glaucus, who had a son, bellerophon. he was brought up far from home, in argos, by king proetus (the great-uncle of perseus), who was his foster-father, and loved him well. proetus was an old man, but his wife, anteia, was young and beautiful, and bellerophon also was beautiful and young, and, by little and little, anteia fell in love with him, and could not be happy without him, but no such love was in bellerophon's heart for her, who was his foster-mother. at last anteia, forgetting all shame, told bellerophon that she loved him, and hated her husband; and she asked him to fly with her to the seashore, where she had a ship lying ready, and they two would sail to some island far away, and be happy together. bellerophon knew not what to say; he could not wrong king proetus, his foster-father. he stood speechless, his face was red with shame, but the face of anteia grew white with rage. 'dastard!' she said, 'thou shalt not live long in argos to boast of my love and your own virtue!' she ran from him, straight to king proetus, and flung herself at his feet. 'what shall be done, oh king,' she cried, 'to the man who speaks words of love dishonourable to the queen of argos?' 'by the splendour of zeus,' cried proetus, 'if he were my own foster-son he shall die!' 'thou hast named him!' said anteia, and she ran to her own upper chamber, and locked the door, and flung herself on the bed, weeping for rage as if her heart would break. proetus followed her, but she would not unlock her door, only he heard her bitter weeping, and he went apart, alone, and took thought how he should be revenged on bellerophon. he had no desire to slay him openly, for then the king of ephyre would make war against him. he could not bring him to trial before the judges, for there was no witness against him except anteia; and he did not desire to make his subjects talk about the queen, for it was the glory of a woman, in those days, not to be spoken of in the conversation of men. therefore proetus, for a day or two, seemed to favour bellerophon more kindly than ever. next he called him into his chamber, alone, and said that it was well for young men to see the world, to cross the sea and visit foreign cities, and win renown. the eyes of bellerophon brightened at these words, not only because he desired to travel, but because he was miserable in argos, where he saw every day the angry eyes of anteia. then proetus said that the king of lycia, in asia far across the sea, was his father-in-law, and his great friend. to him he would send bellerophon, and proetus gave him a folded tablet, in which he had written many deadly signs. bellerophon took the folded tablet, not looking, of course, at what was written in it, and away he sailed to lycia. the king of that country received him well, and on the tenth day after his arrival asked him if he brought any token from king proetus. bellerophon gave him the tablet, which he opened and read. the writing said that bellerophon must die. now at that time lycia was haunted by a monster of no human birth; her front was the front of a lion, in the middle of her body she was a goat, she tapered away to a strong swift serpent, and she breathed flame from her nostrils. the king of lycia, wishing to get rid of bellerophon, had but to name this curse to his guest, who vowed that he would meet her if he might find her. so he was led to the cavern where she dwelt, and there he watched for her all night till the day dawned. he was cunning as well as brave, and men asked him why he took with him no weapon but his sword, and two spears with heavy heads, not of bronze, but of soft lead. bellerophon told his companions that he had his own way of fighting, and bade them go home, and leave him alone, while his charioteer stood by the horses and chariot in a hollow way, out of sight. bellerophon himself watched, lying on his face, hidden behind a rock in the mouth of the cavern. the moment that the rising sun touched with a red ray the dark mouth of the cave, forth came the chimaera, and, setting her fore paws on the rock, looked over the valley. the moment that she opened her mouth, breathing flame, bellerophon plunged his leaden spears deep down her throat, and sprang aside. on came the chimaera, her serpent tail lashing the stones, but bellerophon ever kept on the further side of a great tall rock. the chimaera ceased to pursue him, she rolled on the earth, uttering screams of pain, for the lead was melting in the fire that was within her, and at last the molten lead burned through her, and she died. bellerophon hacked off her head, and several feet of her tail, stowed them in his chariot, and drove back to the palace of the king of lycia, while the people followed him with songs of praise. the king set him three other terrible tasks, but he achieved each of the adventures gloriously, and the king gave him his daughter to be his bride, and half of all the honours of his kingdom. this is the story of bellerophon (there were other ways of telling it), and perseus was determined to do as great deeds as he. but perseus was still a boy, and he did not know, and no man could tell him, the way to the island of the gorgons. when perseus was about sixteen years old, the king of seriphos, polydectes, saw danae, fell in love with her, and wanted to take her into his palace, but he did not want perseus. he was a bad and cruel man, but perseus was so much beloved by the people that he dared not kill him openly. he therefore made friends with the lad, and watched him carefully to see how he could take advantage of him. the king saw that he was of a rash, daring and haughty spirit, though dictys had taught him to keep himself well in hand, and that he was eager to win glory. the king fell on this plan: he gave a great feast on his birthday, and invited all the chief men and the richest on the island; perseus, too, he asked to the banquet. as the custom was, all the guests brought gifts, the best that they had, cattle, women-slaves, golden cups, wedges of gold, great vessels of bronze, and other splendid things, and the king met the guests at the door of his hall, and thanked them graciously. last came perseus: he had no gift to give, for he had nothing of his own. the others began to sneer at him, saying, 'here is a birthday guest without a birthday gift!' 'how should no man's son have a present fit for a king.' 'this lad is lazy, tied to his mother; he should long ago have taken service with the captain of a merchant ship.' 'he might at least watch the town's cows on the town's fields,' said another. thus they insulted perseus, and the king, watching him with a cruel smile, saw his face grow red, and his blue eyes blaze, as he turned from one to another of the mockers, who pointed their fingers at him and jeered. at last perseus spoke: 'ye farmers and fishers, ye ship-captains and slave dealers of a little isle, i shall bring to your master such a present as none of you dare to seek. farewell. ye shall see me once again and no more. i go to slay the gorgon, and bring such a gift as no king possesses--the head of the gorgon.' they laughed and hooted, but perseus turned away, his hand on his sword hilt, and left them to their festival, while the king rejoiced in his heart. perseus dared not see his mother again, but he spoke to dictys, saying that he knew himself now to be of an age when he must seek his fortune in other lands; and he bade dictys guard his mother from wrong, as well as he might. dictys promised that he would find a way of protecting danae, and he gave perseus three weighed wedges of gold (which were called 'talents,' and served as money), and lent him a ship, to take him to the mainland of greece, there to seek his fortune. in the dawn perseus secretly sailed away, landed at malea, and thence walked and wandered everywhere, seeking to learn the way to the island of the gorgons. he was poorly clad, and he slept at night by the fires of smithies, where beggars and wanderers lay: listening to the stories they told, and asking old people, when he met them, if they knew any one who knew the way to the island of the gorgons. they all shook their heads. 'yet i should be near knowing,' said one old man, 'if that isle be close to the land of the dead, for i am on its borders. yet i know nothing. perchance the dead may know; or the maid that prophesies at pytho, or the selloi, the priests with unwashen feet, who sleep on the ground below the sacred oaks of zeus in the grove of dodona far away.' perseus could learn no more than this, and he wandered on and on. he went to the cave that leads down to the land of the dead, where the ghosts answer questions in their thin voices, like the twittering of bats. but the ghosts could not tell him what he desired to know. he went to pytho, where the maid, in her song, bade him seek the land of men who eat acorns instead of the yellow grain of demeter, the goddess of harvest. thence he wandered to epirus, and to the selloi who dwell in the oak forest of zeus, and live on the flour ground from acorns. one of them lay on the ground in the wood, with his head covered up in his mantle, and listened to what the wind says, when it whispers to the forest leaves. the leaves said, 'we bid the young man be of good hope, for the gods are with him.' this answer did not tell perseus where the isle of the gorgons lay, but the words put hope in his heart, weary and footsore as he was. he ate of the bread made of the acorns, and of the flesh of the swine that the selloi gave him, and he went alone, and, far in the forest, he laid his head down on the broad mossy root of an old oak tree. he did not sleep, but watched the stars through the boughs, and he heard the cries of the night-wandering beasts in the woodland. 'if the gods be with me, i shall yet do well,' he said, and, as he spoke, he saw a white clear light moving through the darkness. that clear white light shone from a golden lamp in the hand of a tall and beautiful woman, clad in armour, and wearing, hung by a belt from her neck, a great shield of polished bronze. with her there came a young man, with winged shoon of gold on his feet, and belted with a strange short curved sword: in his hand was a golden wand, with wings on it, and with golden serpents twisted round it. perseus knew that these beautiful folk were the goddess athãªnãª, and hermes, who brings all fortunate things. he fell upon his face before them, but athãªnãª spoke in a sweet grave voice, saying, 'arise, perseus, and speak to us face to face, for we are of your kindred, we also are children of zeus, the father of gods and men.' then perseus arose and looked straight into their eyes. 'we have watched you long, perseus, to learn whether you have the heart of a hero, that can achieve great adventures; or whether you are an idle dreaming boy. we have seen that your heart is steadfast, and that you have sought through hunger, and long travel to know the way wherein you must find death or win glory. that way is not to be found without the help of the gods. first you must seek the three grey women, who dwell beyond the land that lies at the back of the north wind. they will tell you the road to the three nymphs of the west, who live in an island of the sea that never knew a sail; for it is beyond the pillars that heracles set up when he wearied in his journey to the well of the world's end, and turned again. you must go to these nymphs, where never foot of man has trod, and they will show you the measure of the way to the isle of the gorgons. if you see the faces of the gorgons, you will be turned to stone. yet you have vowed to bring the head of the youngest of the three, she who was not born a gorgon but became one of them by reason of her own wickedness. if you slay her, you must not see even her dead head, but wrap it round in this goat-skin which hangs beside my shield; see not the head yourself, and let none see it but your enemies.' 'this is a great adventure,' said perseus, 'to slay a woman whom i may not look upon, lest i be changed into stone.' 'i give you my polished shield,' said athãªnãª. 'let it never grow dim, if you would live and see the sunlight.' she took off her shield from her neck, with the goat-skin cover of the shield, and hung them round the neck of perseus. he knelt and thanked her for her grace, and, looking up through a clear space between the forest boughs, he said, 'i see the bear, the stars of the north that are the guide of sailors. i shall walk towards them even now, by your will, for my heart burns to find the three grey women, and learn the way.' hermes smiled, and said, 'an old man and white-bearded would you be, ere you measured out that way on foot! here, take my winged sandals, and bind them about your feet. they know all the paths of the air, and they will bring you to the three grey women. belt yourself, too, with my sword, for this sword needs no second stroke, but will cleave through that you set it to smite.' so perseus bound on the shoes of swiftness, and the sword of sharpness, the name of it was herpãª; and when he rose from binding on the shoon, he was alone. the gods had departed. he drew the sword, and cut at an oak tree trunk, and the blade went clean through it, while the tree fell with a crash like thunder. then perseus rose through the clear space in the wood, and flew under the stars, towards the constellation of the bear. north of greece he flew, above the thracian mountains, and the danube (which was then called the ister) lay beneath him like a long thread of silver. the air grew cold as he crossed lands then unknown to the greeks, lands where wild men dwelt, clad in the skins of beasts, and using axe-heads and spear-heads made of sharpened stones. he passed to the land at the back of the north wind, a sunny warm land, where the people sacrifice wild asses to the god apollo. beyond this he came to a burning desert of sand, but far away he saw trees that love the water, poplars and willows, and thither he flew. he came to a lake among the trees, and round and round the lake were flying three huge grey swans, with the heads of women, and their long grey hair flowed down below their bodies, and floated on the wind. they sang to each other as they flew, in a voice like the cry of the swan. they had but one eye among them, and but one tooth, which they passed to each other in turn, for they had arms and hands under their wings. perseus dropped down in his flight, and watched them. when one was passing the eye to the other, none of them could see him, so he waited for his chance and took it, and seized the eye. 'where is our eye? have _you_ got it?' said the grey woman from whose hand perseus took it. 'i have it not.' 'i have it not!' cried each of the others, and they all wailed like swans. 'i have it,' said perseus, and hearing his voice they all flew to the sound of it but he easily kept out of their way. 'the eye will i keep,' said perseus, 'till you tell me what none knows but you, the way to the isle of the gorgons.' 'we know it not,' cried the poor grey women. 'none knows it but the nymphs of the isle of the west: give us our eye!' 'then tell me the way to the nymphs of the isle of the west,' said perseus. 'turn your back, and hold your course past the isle of albion, with the white cliffs, and so keep with the land on your left hand, and the unsailed sea on your right hand, till you mark the pillars of heracles on your left, then take your course west by south, and a curse on you! give us our eye!' perseus gave them their eye, and she who took it flew at him, but he laughed, and rose high above them and flew as he was told. over many and many a league of sea and land he went, till he turned to his right from the pillars of heracles (at gibraltar), and sailed along, west by south, through warm air, over the lonely endless atlantic waters. at last he saw a great blue mountain, with snow feathering its crests, in a far-off island, and on that island he alighted. it was a country of beautiful flowers, and pine forests high on the hill, but below the pines all was like a garden, and in that garden was a tree bearing apples of gold, and round the tree were dancing three fair maidens, clothed in green, and white, and red. 'these must be the nymphs of the isle of the west,' said perseus, and he floated down into the garden, and drew near them. as soon as they saw him they left off dancing, and catching each other by the hands they ran to perseus laughing, and crying, 'hermes, our playfellow hermes has come!' the arms of all of them went round perseus at once, with much laughing and kissing. 'why have you brought a great shield, hermes?' they cried, 'here there is no unfriendly god or man to fight against you.' perseus saw that they had mistaken him for the god whose sword and winged shoon he wore, but he did not dislike the mistake of the merry maidens. 'i am not hermes,' he said, 'but a mortal man, to whom the god has graciously lent his sword and shoon, and the shield was lent to me by pallas athãªnãª. my name is perseus.' the girls leaped back from him, blushing and looking shy. the eldest girl answered, 'we are the daughters of hesperus, the god of the evening star. i am ã�glãª, this is my sister erytheia, and this is hesperia. we are the keepers of this island, which is the garden of the gods, and they often visit us; our cousins, dionysus, the young god of wine and mirth, and hermes of the golden wand come often; and bright apollo, and his sister artemis the huntress. but a mortal man we have never seen, and wherefore have the gods sent you hither?' 'the two gods sent me, maidens, to ask you the way to the isle of the gorgons, that i may slay medusa of the snaky hair, whom gods and men detest.' 'alas!' answered the nymphs, 'how shall you slay her, even if we knew the way to that island, which we know not?' perseus sighed: he had gone so far, and endured so much, and had come to the nymphs of the isle of the west, and even they could not tell how to reach the gorgons' island. [illustration: perseus in the garden of the hesperides.] 'do not fear,' said the girl, 'for if we know not the way we know one that knows it: atlas is his name--the giant of the mountain. he dwells on the highest peak of the snow-crested hill, and it is he who holds up the heavens, and keeps heaven and earth asunder. he looks over all the world, and over the wide western sea: him we must ask to answer your question. take off your shield, which is so heavy, and sit down with us among the flowers, and let us think how you may slay the gorgon.' perseus gladly unslung his heavy shield, and sat down among the white and purple wind flowers. ã�glãª, too, sat down; but young erytheia held the shield upright, while beautiful hesperia admired herself, laughing, in the polished surface. perseus smiled as he watched them, and a plan came into his mind. in all his wanderings he had been trying hard to think how, if he found the gorgon, he might cut off her head, without seeing the face which turned men into stone. now his puzzle was ended. he could hold up the shield above the gorgon, and see the reflection of her face, as in a mirror, just as now he saw the fair reflected face of hesperia. he turned to ã�glãª, who sat silently beside him: 'maiden,' he said, 'i have found out the secret that has perplexed me long, how i may strike at the gorgon without seeing her face that turns men to stone. i will hang above her in the air, and see her face reflected in the mirror of the shield, and so know where to strike.' the two other girls had left the shield on the grass, and they clapped their hands when perseus said this, but ã�glãª still looked grave. 'it is much that you should have found this cunning plan; but the gorgons will see you, and two of them are deathless and cannot be slain, even with the sword herpã©. these gorgons have wings almost as swift as the winged shoon of hermes, and they have claws of bronze that cannot be broken.' hesperia clapped her hands. 'yet i know a way,' she said, 'so that this friend of ours may approach the gorgons, yet not be seen by them. you must be told,' she said, turning to perseus, 'that we three sisters were of the company of the fairy queen, persephone, daughter of demeter, the goddess of the harvest. we were gathering flowers with her, in the plain of enna, in a spring morning, when there sprang up a new flower, fragrant and beautiful, the white narcissus. no sooner had persephone plucked that flower than the earth opened beside her, and up came the chariot and horses of hades, the king of the dead, who caught persephone into his chariot, and bore her down with him to the house of hades. we wept and were in great fear, but zeus granted to persephone to return to earth with the first snowdrop, and remain with her mother, demeter, till the last rose had faded. now i was the favourite of persephone, and she carried me with her to see her husband, who is kind to me for her sake, and can refuse me nothing, and he has what will serve your turn. to him i will go, for often i go to see my playmate, when it is winter in your world: it is always summer in our isle. to him i will go, and return again, when i will so work that you may be seen of none, neither by god, or man, or monster. meanwhile my sisters will take care of you, and to-morrow they will lead you to the mountain top, to speak with the giant.' 'it is well spoken,' said tall, grave ã�glãª, and she led perseus to their house, and gave him food and wine, and at night he slept full of hope, in a chamber in the courtyard. next morning, early, perseus and ã�glãª and erytheia floated up to the crest of the mountain, for hesperia had departed in the night, to visit queen persephone. perseus took a hand of each of the nymphs, and they had no weary climbing; they all soared up together, so great was the power of the winged shoon of hermes. they found the good giant atlas, kneeling on a black rock above the snow, holding up the vault of heaven with either hand. when ã�glãª had spoken to him, he bade his girls go apart, and said to perseus, 'yonder, far away to the west, you see an island with a mountain that rises to a flat top, like a table. there dwell the gorgons.' perseus thanked him eagerly, but atlas sighed and said, 'mine is a weary life. here have i knelt and done my task, since the giants fought against the gods, and were defeated. then, for my punishment, i was set here by zeus to keep sky and earth asunder. but he told me that after hundreds of years i should have rest, and be changed to a stone. now i see that the day of rest appointed is come, for you shall show me the head of the gorgon when you have slain her, and my body shall be stone, but my spirit shall be with the ever living gods.' perseus pitied atlas; he bowed to the will of zeus, and to the prayer of the giant, and gave his promise. then he floated to ã�glãª and erytheia, and they all three floated down again to the garden of the golden apples. here as they walked on the soft grass, and watched the wind toss the white and red and purple bells of the wind flowers, they heard a low laughter close to them, the laughter of hesperia, but her they saw not. 'where are you, hesperia, where are you hiding?' cried ã�glãª, wondering, for the wide lawn was open, without bush or tree where the girl might be lurking. 'find me if you can,' cried the voice of hesperia, close beside them, and handfuls of flowers were lightly tossed to them, yet they saw none who threw them. 'this place is surely enchanted,' thought perseus, and the voice of hesperia answered: 'come follow, follow me. i will run before you to the house, and show you my secret.' then they all saw the flowers bending, and the grass waving, as if a light-footed girl were running through it, and they followed to the house the path in the trodden grass. at the door, hesperia met them: 'you could not see me,' she said, 'nor will the gorgons see perseus. look, on that table lies the helmet of hades, which mortal men call the cap of darkness. while i wore it you could not see me, nay, a deathless god cannot see the wearer of that helmet.' she took up a dark cap of hard leather, that lay on a table in the hall, and raised it to her head, and when she had put it on, she was invisible. she took it off, and placed it on the brows of perseus. 'we cannot see you, perseus,' cried all the girls. 'look at yourself in your shining shield: can you see yourself?' perseus turned to the shield, which he had hung on a golden nail in the wall. he saw only the polished bronze, and the faces of the girls who were looking over his shoulder. he took off the helmet of hades and gave a great sigh. 'kind are the gods,' he said. 'methinks that i shall indeed keep my vow, and bring to polydectes the gorgon's head.' they were merry that night, and perseus told them his story, how he was the son of zeus, and the girls called him 'cousin perseus.' 'we love you very much, and we could make you immortal, without old age and death,' said hesperia. 'you might live with us here for ever--it is lonely, sometimes, for three maidens in the garden of the gods. but you must keep your vow, and punish your enemies, and cherish your mother, and do not forget your cousins three, when you have married the lady of your heart's desire, and are king of argos.' the tears stood in the eyes of perseus. 'cousins dear,' he said, 'never shall i forget you, not even in the house of hades. you will come thither now and again, hesperia? but i love no woman.' 'i think you will not long be without a lady and a love, perseus,' said erytheia; 'but the night is late, and to-morrow you have much to do.' so they parted, and next morning they bade perseus be of good hope. he burnished and polished the shield, and covered it with the goat's skin, he put on the shoes of swiftness, and belted himself with the sword of sharpness, and placed on his head the cap of darkness. then he soared high in the air, till he saw the gorgons' isle, and the table-shaped mountain, a speck in the western sea. the way was long, but the shoes were swift, and, far aloft, in the heat of the noon-day, perseus looked down on the top of the table-mountain. there he could dimly see three bulks of strange shapeless shape, with monstrous limbs that never stirred, and he knew that the gorgons were sleeping their midday sleep. then he held the shield so that the shapes were reflected in its polished face, and very slowly he floated down, and down, till he was within striking distance. there they lay, two of them uglier than sin, breathing loud in their sleep like drunken men. but the face of her who lay between the others was as quiet as the face of a sleeping child; and as beautiful as the face of the goddess of love, with long dark eyelashes veiling the eyes, and red lips half open. nothing stirred but the serpents in the hair of beautiful medusa; they were never still, but coiled and twisted, and perseus loathed them as he watched them in the mirror. they coiled and uncoiled, and left bare her ivory neck, and then perseus drew the sword herpãª, and struck once. in the mirror he saw the fallen head, and he seized it by the hair, and wrapped it in the goat-skin, and put the goat-skin in his wallet. then he towered high in the air, and, looking down, he saw the two sister gorgons turning in their sleep; they woke, and saw their sister dead. they seemed to speak to each other; they looked this way and that, into the bright empty air, for perseus in the cap of darkness they could not see. they rose on their mighty wings, hunting low, and high, and with casts behind their island and in front of it, but perseus was flying faster than ever he flew before, stooping and rising to hide his scent. he dived into the deep sea, and flew under water as long as he could hold his breath, and then rose and fled swiftly forward. the gorgons were puzzled by each double he had made, and, at the place where he dived they lost the scent, and from far away perseus heard their loud yelps, but soon these faded in the distance. he often looked over his shoulder as he flew straight towards the far-off blue hill of the giant atlas, but the sky was empty behind him, and the gorgons he never saw again. the mountain turned from blue to clear grey and red and gold, with pencilled rifts and glens, and soon perseus stood beside the giant atlas. 'you are welcome and blessed,' said the giant. 'show me the head that i may be at rest.' then perseus took the bundle from the wallet, and carefully unbound the goat-skin, and held up the head, looking away from it, and the giant was a great grey stone. down sailed perseus, and stood in the garden of the gods, and laid the cap of darkness on the grass. the three nymphs who were sitting there, weaving garlands of flowers, leaped up, and came round him, and kissed him, and crowned him with the flowery chaplets. that night he rested with them, and in the morning they kissed and said farewell. 'do not forget us,' said ã�glãª, 'nor be too sorry for our loneliness. to-day hermes has been with us, and to-morrow he comes again with dionysus, the god of the vine, and all his merry company. hermes left a message for you, that you are to fly eastward, and south, to the place where your wings shall guide you, and there, he said, you shall find your happiness. when that is won, you shall turn north and west, to your own country. we say, all three of us, that our love is with you always, and we shall hear of your gladness, for hermes will tell us; then we too shall be glad. farewell!' so the three maidens embraced him with kind faces and smiling eyes, and perseus, too, smiled as well as he might, but in his eastward way he often looked back, and was sad when he could no longer see the kindly hill above the garden of the gods. iii perseus and andromeda perseus flew where the wings bore him, over great mountains, and over a wilderness of sand. below his feet the wind woke the sand storms, and beneath him he saw nothing but a soft floor of yellow grey, and when that cleared he saw islands of green trees round some well in the waste, and long trains of camels, and brown men riding swift horses, at which he wondered; for the greeks in his time drove in chariots, and did not ride. the red sun behind him fell, and all the land was purple, but, in a moment, as it seemed, the stars rushed out, and he sped along in the starlight till the sky was grey again, and rosy, and full of fiery colours, green and gold and ruby and amethyst. then the sun rose, and perseus looked down on a green land, through which was flowing north a great river, and he guessed that it was the river ã�gyptus, which we now call the nile. beneath him was a town, with many white houses in groves of palm trees, and with great temples of the gods, built of red stone. the shoes of swiftness stopped above the wide market-place, and there perseus hung poised, till he saw a multitude of men pour out of the door of a temple. at their head walked the king, who was like a greek, and he led a maiden as white as snow wreathed with flowers and circlets of wool, like the oxen in greece, when men sacrifice them to the gods. behind the king and the maid came a throng of brown men, first priests and magicians and players on harps, and women shaking metal rattles that made a wild mournful noise, while the multitude lamented. slowly, while perseus watched, they passed down to the shore of the great river, so wide a river as perseus had never seen. they went to a steep red rock, like a wall, above the river; at its foot was a flat shelf of rock--the water just washed over it. here they stopped, and the king kissed and embraced the white maiden. they bound her by chains of bronze to rings of bronze in the rock; they sang a strange hymn; and then marched back to the town, throwing their mantles over their heads. there the maiden stood, or rather hung forward supported by the chains. perseus floated down, and, the nearer he came, the more beautiful seemed the white maid, with her soft dark hair falling to her white feet. softly he floated down, till his feet were on the ledge of rock. she did not hear him coming, and when he gently touched her she gave a cry, and turned on him her large dark eyes, wild and dry, without a tear. 'is it a god?' she said, clasping her hands. 'no god, but a mortal man am i, perseus the slayer of the gorgon. what do you here? what cruel men have bound you?' 'i am andromeda, the daughter of cepheus, king of a strange people. the lot fell on me, of all the maidens in the city, to be offered to the monster fish that walks on feet, who is their god. once a year they give to him a maiden.' perseus thereon drew the sword herpãª, and cut the chains of bronze that bound the girl as if they had been ropes of flax, and she fell at his feet, covering her eyes with her hands. then perseus saw the long reeds on the further shore of the river waving and stirring and crashing, and from them came a monstrous fish walking on feet, and slid into the water. his long sharp black head showed above the stream as he swam, and the water behind him showed like the water in the wake of a ship. 'be still and hide your eyes!' whispered perseus to the maiden. he took the goat-skin from his wallet, and held up the gorgon's head, with the back of it turned towards him, and he waited till the long black head was lifted from the river's edge, and the forefeet of that fish were on the wet ledge of rock. then he held the head before the eyes of the monster, and from the head downward it slowly stiffened. the head and forefeet and shoulders were of stone before the tail had ceased to lash the water. then the tail stiffened into a long jagged sharp stone, and perseus, wrapping up the head in the goat-skin, placed it in his wallet. he turned his back to andromeda, while he did this lest by mischance her eyes should open and see the head of the gorgon. but her eyes were closed, and perseus found that she had fainted, from fear of the monster, and from the great heat of the sun. perseus put the palms of his hands together like a cup, and stooping to the stream he brought water, and threw it over the face and neck of andromeda, wondering at her beauty. her eyes opened at last, and she tried to rise to her feet, but she dropped on her knees, and clung with her fingers to the rock. seeing her so faint and weak perseus raised her in his arms, with her beautiful head pillowed on his shoulder, where she fell asleep like a tired child. then he rose in the air and floated over the sheer wall of red stone above the river, and flew slowly towards the town. there were no sentinels at the gate; the long street was empty, for all the people were in their houses, praying and weeping. but a little girl stole out of a house near the gate. she was too young to understand why her father and mother and elder brothers were so sad, and would not take any notice of her. she thought she would go out and play in the street, and when she looked up from her play, she saw perseus bearing the king's daughter in his arms. the child stared, and then ran into her house, crying aloud, for she could hardly speak, and pulled so hard at her mother's gown that her mother rose and followed her to the house door. the mother gave a joyful cry, her husband and her children ran forth, and they, too, shouted aloud for pleasure. their cries reached the ears of people in other houses, and presently all the folk, as glad as they had been sorrowful, were following perseus to the palace of the king. perseus walked through the empty court, and stood at the door of the hall, where the servants came to him, both men and women, and with tears of joy the women bore andromeda to the chamber of her mother, queen cassiopeia. [illustration: the rescue of andromeda.] who can tell how happy were the king and queen, and how gladly they welcomed perseus! they made a feast for him, and they sent oxen and sheep to all the people, and wine, that all might rejoice and make merry. andromeda, too, came, pale but smiling, into the hall, and sat down beside her mother's high seat, listening while perseus told the whole story of his adventures. now perseus could scarcely keep his eyes from andromeda's face while he spoke, and she stole glances at him. when their eyes met, the colour came into her face again, which glowed like ivory that a carian woman has lightly tinged with rose colour, making an ornament for some rich king. perseus remembered the message of hermes, which ã�glãª had given him, that if he flew to the east and south he would find his happiness. he knew that he had found it, if this maiden would be his wife, and he ended his tale by repeating the message of hermes. 'the gods speak only truth,' he said, 'and to have made you all happy is the greatest happiness to perseus of argos.' yet he hoped in his heart to see a yet happier day, when the rites of marriage should be done between andromeda and him, and the young men and maidens should sing the wedding song before their door. andromeda was of one mind with him, and, as perseus must needs go home, her parents believed that she could not live without him who had saved her from such a cruel death. so with heavy hearts they made the marriage feast, and with many tears andromeda and her father and mother said farewell. perseus and his bride sailed down the great river ã�gyptus in the king's own boat; and at every town they were received with feasts, and songs, and dances. they saw all the wonderful things of egypt, palaces and pyramids and temples and tombs of kings, and at last they found a ship of the cretans in the mouth of the nile. this they hired, for they carried with them great riches, gold, and myrrh, and ivory, gifts of the princes of egypt. iv how perseus avenged danae with a steady south wind behind them they sailed to seriphos, and landed, and brought their wealth ashore, and went to the house of dictys. they found him lonely and sorrowful, for his wife had died, and his brother, king polydectes, had taken danae, and set her to grind corn in his house, among his slave women. when perseus heard that word, he asked, 'where is king polydectes?' 'it is his birthday, and he holds his feast among the princes,' said dictys. 'then bring me,' said perseus, 'the worst of old clothes that any servant of your house can borrow from a beggar man, if there be a beggar man in the town.' such a man there was--he came limping through the door of the courtyard, and up to the threshold of the house, where he sat whining, and asking for alms. they gave him food and wine, and perseus cried, 'new clothes for old, father, i will give you, and new shoes for old.' the beggar could not believe his ears, but he was taken to the baths, and washed, and new clothes were given to him, while perseus clad himself in the beggar's rags, and dictys took charge of the winged shoon of hermes and the sword herpãª, and the burnished shield of athãªnãª. then perseus cast dust and wood ashes on his hair, till it looked foul and grey, and placed the goat-skin covering and the gorgon's head in his wallet, and with the beggar's staff in his hand he limped to the palace of polydectes. on the threshold he sat down, like a beggar, and polydectes saw him and cried to his servants, 'bring in that man; is it not the day of my feast? surely all are welcome.' perseus was led in, looking humbly at the ground, and was brought before the king. 'what news, thou beggar man?' said the king. 'such news as was to be looked for,' whined perseus. 'behold, i am he who brought no present to the king's feast, seven long years agone, and now i come back, tired and hungry, to ask his grace.' 'by the splendour of zeus,' cried polydectes, 'it is none but the beggar brat who bragged that he would fetch me such a treasure as lies in no king's chamber! the beggar brat is a beggar man; how time and travel have tamed him! ho, one of you, run and fetch his mother who is grinding at the mill, that she may welcome her son.' a servant ran from the hall, and the chiefs of seriphos mocked at perseus. 'this is he who called us farmers and dealers in slaves. verily he would not fetch the price of an old cow in the slave market.' then they threw at him crusts of bread, and bones of swine, but he stood silent. then danae was led in, clad in vile raiment, but looking like a queen, and the king cried, 'go forward, woman: look at that beggar man; dost thou know thy son?' she walked on, her head high, and perseus whispered, 'mother, stand thou beside me, and speak no word!' 'my mother knows me not, or despises me,' said perseus, 'yet, poor as i am, i do not come empty-handed. in my wallet is a gift, brought from very far away, for my lord the king.' he swung his wallet round in front of him; he took off the covering of goat-skin, and he held the gorgon's head on high, by the hair, facing the king and the chiefs. in one moment they were all grey stones, all along the hall, and the chairs whereon they sat crashed under the weight of them, and they rolled on the hard clay floor. perseus wrapped the head in the goat-skin, and shut it in the wallet carefully, and cried, 'mother, look round, and see thy son and thine own revenge.' then danae knew her son, by the sound of his voice, if not by her eyesight, and she wept for joy. so they two went to the house of dictys, and perseus was cleansed, and clad in rich raiment, and danae, too, was apparelled like a free woman, and embraced andromeda with great joy. perseus made the good dictys king of seriphos; and he placed the winged shoes in the temple of hermes, with the sword herpãª, and the gorgon's head, in its goat-skin cover; but the polished shield he laid on the altar in the temple of athãªnãª. then he bade all who served in the temples come forth, both young and old, and he locked the doors, and he and dictys watched all night, with the armed cretans, the crew of his ship, that none might enter. next day perseus alone went into the temple of athãªnãª. it was as it had been, but the gorgon's head and the polished shield were gone, and the winged shoon and the sword herpãª had vanished from the temple of hermes. with danae and andromeda perseus sailed to greece, where he learned that the sons of king proetus had driven king acrisius out of argos, and that he had fled to phthia in the north, where the ancestor of the great achilles was king. thither perseus went, to see his grandfather, and he found the young men holding games and sports in front of the palace. perseus thought that his grandfather might love him better if he showed his strength in the games, which were open to strangers, so he entered and won the race, and the prize for leaping, and then came the throwing of the disc of bronze. perseus threw a great cast, far beyond the rest, but the disc swerved, and fell among the crowd. then perseus was afraid, and ran like the wind to the place where the disc fell. there lay an old man, smitten sorely by the disc, and men said that he had killed king acrisius. thus the word of the prophetess and the will of fate were fulfilled. perseus went weeping to the king of phthia, and told him all the truth, and the king, who knew, as all greece knew, how acrisius had tried to drown his daughter and her child, believed the tale, and said that perseus was guiltless. he and danae and andromeda dwelt for a year in phthia, with the king, and then perseus with an army of pelasgians and myrmidons, marched south to argos, and took the city, and drove out his cousins, the sons of proetus. there in argos perseus, with his mother and beautiful andromeda, dwelt long and happily, and he left the kingdom to his son when he died. * * * * * _the story of ulysses is taken mainly from the iliad, the odyssey, and the_ post homerica _of quintus smyrnã¦us. as we have no detailed account of the stealing of the palladium by ulysses, use has been made of helen's tale about his entry into troy in the disguise of a beaten beggar. the chief source of 'the fleece of gold' is tradition, with the argonautica of apollonius rhodius; the fight between polydeuces and the giant is best reported by theocritus. no epic or tragedy concerning the early fortunes of theseus and the history of perseus has reached us: summaries in plutarch and apollodorus provide the outlines of the legends. the descriptions of costume, arms, and mode of life are derived from homer and from the 'mycenã¦an' relics discovered in the last thirty years by dr. schliemann, mr. a. j. evans, and many other explorers. 'the fleece of gold,' first published in an american magazine, has also appeared in america in a little volume (henry altemus & co.). it is here reprinted by permission of messrs. altemus, with some changes and corrections._ * * * * * transcriber's note: minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note. some illustrations have been moved to avoid splitting paragraphs and make smoother reading. there are inconsistencies in the use of ligatures in some of the names. these inconsistencies have been left as in the original text. 