and enemies to help him end his life.
He slew the sons of Abas, long-haired Argus,
758
and Cydon, whose sad sister was his lover.
An oblique arrow transfixed Cydon’s temples:
the point emerged; the rapid feathers stuck;
both wounds poured blood. His bitter arrows o√ered
pardon from death to no one: not to Lamus
for looks, or Lygdus for prophetic ribbons,
nor was Aeolus saved by adolescence.
Parthenopaeus shot the face of Lamus,
pierced Lygdus through the groin, and you, Aeolus,
groaned when his arrow punctured your white forehead.
Euboea, on its mountain rocks, bore one;
and Thisbae, white with pigeons, mourned the second;
the third will not return to green Amyclae.
Parthenopaeus never came up empty.
770
None of his missiles lacked divinity.
His right hand never rested; his shafts flew
before preceding arrows struck their mark.
Who would believe one person shot so many
or that a single hand could do such damage?
BOOK Ω ≤ΣΩ
Sometimes he aimed; sometimes he changed his hands;
sometimes he chased; sometimes he feigned and ran.
–?–?–?–
By now the sons of Labdacus had turned
776
and reassembled, both amazed and scornful.
The first among them was Amphion, he
of Jove’s own famous blood, who up till now
was unaware of what the boy had done,
the bodies in the field. ‘‘How long can you
enjoy this respite from your fate, o son?
Your death will greatly grieve deserving parents!
Although you feed your pride and swell your mind,
nobody stoops to such a minor duel! The fight
is worth too little; it’s beneath contempt!
Go back to Arcady and mix with equals,
784
play battle games at home, while angry Mars
rages in dust for real. . . . But if you want
the mournful fame that comes from valiant death,
I am prepared to kill you like a man!’’
The fearsome son of Atalanta and
788
the soldiers were engaged in trading insults.
Before Amphion finished, he responded:
‘‘Is this Thebes’ army? Then I must be late!
790
What boy would keep himself from such a war?
The one you see before you is no Theban.
My race is savage: I’m Arcadian!
No Thyiad mother bore me while a slave
to Echionian Lyaeus. I
• have never wielded spears of infamy
or worn an odious turban on my head!
Early on I was taught to crawl along
tight rivers, enter great beasts’ frightening caves,
and—why should I say more?—my mother gave
me swords and bows: your fathers pounded drums!’’
Amphion could not tolerate his words
800
and threw his mighty ash spear at his head.
≤Π≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
The deadly flash of iron spooked his horse,
which circled with its rider, turned aside,
and knocked the looming javelin o√ course.
This made Amphion angrier. He charged
Parthenopaeus with his outdrawn sword,
just as Latona hurried to the field
and stood before their eyes so they could see her.
There was a youth named Dorceus, a Maenalian,
808
whom Atalanta had enlisted for
her son to calm her fears and keep a watch.
He too was young and daring. This friend clung
beside the boy he loved with due regard.
Diana counterfeited him and said,
‘‘Parthenopeaus, you have done enough
to these Ogygian armies—done enough!
Take care for your sad mother and the gods,
whomever they protect!’’
But he was fearless:
‘‘Just let me kill this one who copies me,
815
whose weapon imitates my own, whose dress
is similar, whose bridle sounds with bells!
O loyal Dorceus, I ask nothing else!
I will assume his reins and hang his armor
over Diana’s door and please my mother
by capturing his quiver just for her!’’
Latona heard. Her smile was mixed with tears.
–?–?–?–
For some time Venus had been watching her
821
from heaven, far away, while she embraced
Gradivus and reminded him of Thebes,
for which she worried, and the dear descendants
of Cadmus and Harmonia. She hid
her sorrow in her silent heart but seized
a proper opportunity to speak:
‘‘Isn’t that woman impudent, Gradivus,
825
to interfere in battles fought by men,
BOOK Ω ≤Π∞
arranging lines, disposing martial signs?
She chooses who will die and who will live,
even among our people! Who is she
to show such prowess, such insanity?
You will be left impaling country deer!’’
The god of war was moved by her complaints
831
to leap into the battle. As he dropped
down through the empty skies, his only aide
was Anger, for the other Furies were
sweating already on the battlefield.
At once he landed next to Leto’s daughter
and sternly warned her: ‘‘You have not been granted
this battle by the father of the gods!
Get o√ this field of men who carry arms,
you shameless woman! Do it now, or you
will learn not even Pallas matches me!’’
What could she do against him? First, the spear
838
of Mars was pressing her. Next, Parthenopaeus,
your thread of life had filled its fatal dista√.
Finally, the face of Jupiter was threatening.
The goddess left at last; she had been shamed.
–?–?–?–
But father Mars observed Ogygian lines
841
and moved horrendous Dryas, he whose race
inherited a hatred of Diana
from dark Orion, their progenitor.
So Dryas raged, and the Arcadians
panicked as he pursued them with his sword
and overcame their leader. Then long lines
of people from Cyllene were destroyed,
inhabitants of shadowy Tegea,
Aepytis’s leaders, and Telphusian soldiers.
Although his arm grew heavy, he saved strength,
for he was certain he could slay their leader
Parthenopaeus, who arranged his troops
and felt his own fatigue: a thousand portents
and darkling clouds of death presaged his end.
≤Π≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
And then he saw the real, the human Dorceus,
852
and worried that he had so few companions;
he sensed his failing strength, and noticed that
his empty quiver weighed less on his shoulder.
His anger drove him less and less. He seemed
only a boy, as fearful Dryas turned
the gleam of his fierce shield in his direction.
His jaws shook suddenly; his stomach tensed,
and the Arcadian felt like a swan
who sees an eagle ju
st about to strike
and wishing Strymon’s banks would open wide
tries to take shelter under trembling feathers.
Anger no longer gripped Parthenopaeus
861
once he had seen the bulk of fearsome Dryas;
instead, he felt a chill presaging death.
In vain he called Diana and the gods,
resumed his weapons (even as he paled),
and rushed to draw his unresponsive bow.
His body was oblique, about to shoot—
the arrow touched the horn, the string his chest—
when the Aonian chieftain hurled his spear
with swift and whirling motion at such speed
it cut the angled cords that tuned his string.
His hands released the shaft; the bow relaxed;
his weapons fell as his drawn string went slack.
Stung by the pain and wounded in his shoulder
871
where his thin skin was cut beneath his armor,
he slipped his reins and let his weapons drop.
After the first, a second javelin
severed the hamstrings of his horse, which stopped . . .
then Dryas fell—a miracle! He never
knew who had struck, but time will tell, hereafter.
The boy was borne across the field by comrades—
877
so young, so simple. Even as he died,
he mourned his fallen horse. Unhelmeted,
the young man’s head hung limp, but dying grace
breathed from his trembling face. Men seized his hair
three or four times to lift his neck, but failed.
BOOK Ω ≤Π≥
The sight would be unspeakably bereaving,
even in Thebes, for red blood overflowed
his white skin, and he said, as he was choking:
‘‘I’m dying, Dorceus! Go console my mother
885
in her aΔiction. She, indeed—if worrying
can make one prophesy what’s real—has seen
this sad truth in a vision or a dream.
But use a pious fraud to ease her fears;
beguile her; do not suddenly appear
or come upon her when she holds a spear.
Then, when she has invited you to speak,
say ‘Mother, I deserve the punishment
you never meant to give. When I was young,
I took your weapons, and despite your e√orts,
I never stopped, nor did I ever spare
your feelings; you were worried by my warfare.
Now you may live in peace and rest your fears;
no longer will my boldness be your care.
You will hear no more sounds or see the dust
my troops raise; I lie naked on the earth
where you may find me close to Mount Lycaeus.
You are not near enough to hold my head
or feel my final breath. So here, sad mother’—
he cut some strands of hair and held them out—
900
‘accept this lock! In place of my whole body
accept the tresses that you brushed in vain,
despite my indignation. Bury them,
and as you make my obsequies, remember,
let only someone with experience
handle my armaments, and my best hounds
never again should hunt inside a cavern.
Let these unlucky weapons, from my first
campaign, be burned, or hang them as a sign
to say I was not favored by Diana.’ ‘‘
–?–?–?–
BOOK 10 Sacrifices
Eteocles directs the city’s guards. In Argos the women pray. The House of Sleep. Thebans slaughtered. Hopleus and Dymas die retrieving the bodies of Tydeus and Parthenopaeus. Thebes assaulted. Tiresias calls for a sacrifice. Descent of Virtue. Suicide of Menoeceus, Creon’s son. His mother’s despair and madness. Capaneus challenges the gods. Jove’s thunderbolt.
A wet night, moved by Jupiter’s behest,
dimmed Phoebus in Hesperia—the west—
not out of pity for the Tyrians
or Argives but to save the innocents
who, unaligned, did not deserve to perish.
Enormous carnage marred the open field—
5
weapons and horses ridden by proud warriors
who now left scattered limbs and unburned corpses.
Inglorious platoons with tattered standards
abandoned that sick army, and the gates
that seemed so narrow when men went to war
were broad enough to handle their retreat.
Both sides knew sorrow, but the Tyrians
11
found consolation in the fact that four
Danaan armies wandered with no leaders
just as, her helmsman lost, a ship is driven
by tempests, gods, and chance through swollen seas.
So they were unconcerned to guard their city
but sought to stem their enemies from flight
lest they, in full retreat, should reach Mycenae.
A password went by tablet to the watch;
17
positions were assigned; and by the lot
Meges received command and also Lycus,
who joined him in these movements through the dark.
They had their orders issued, were equipped
BOOK ∞≠ ≤ΠΣ
with weapons, food, and torches, when their king,
Eteocles, addressed them at their parting:
‘‘Tomorrow’s light is not far o√. These shadows
21
will not protect those cowards any longer,
and you will have defeated the Danaans.
Gather your courage and take heart. The gods
favor us. You have overthrown the pride
of Lerna and her foremost armies. Tydeus
has gone to Tartarus for punishment;
the augur’s living ghost amazes Death;
the remnants of Hippomedon upswell
Ismenos in his pride. (It would be shameful
to count, among the conquered, the Arcadian.)
We hold our destiny in our own hands.
Never again will seven generals
with their tall crests appear above those armies,
although, of course, Adrastus has his years,
my brother youth, and Capaneus madness—
a man to fear in war. Go forward, then,
circle their camp with your unsleeping flames!
Fear not the enemy. Be vigilant,
and their supplies and treasure will be yours!’’
Thus he harangued the fierce Labdacians,
35
who turned around, prepared to do again
what had exhausted them, still covered in
dust, sweat, and blood. They had no patience for
good-byes or conversations; they ignored
The Thebaid Page 41