Creon sent his young son Menoeceus to guide the old seer to the palace, and soon after Tiresias appeared before the king, standing with trembling knees between his daughter Manto and the boy. When he was pressed to tell what the birds boded for the city, he was silent for a long time. At last he spoke, and his words were sad. “The sons of Oedipus are guilty of a grave sin against their father. They will bring bitterness and sorrow to the land of Thebes. Argives and Cadmeans will slaughter one another, and brother will die at the hand of brother. I know of only one way to save the city, but that is too terrible to face even for the sake of rescue. My lips refuse to utter it. Farewell!” He turned to go, but Creon pleaded with him stormily, and at last Tiresias yielded to his importunity. “You insist on hearing it?” he asked, and his tone was stern. “Then speak I must. But first tell me where your son Menoeceus is who brought me here.”
“He stands beside you,” said Creon.
“Then let him flee as far as his feet will take him, before I utter the will of the gods!”
“But why?” asked Creon. “Menoeceus is his father’s true child. He can keep silence if it is better so, and it will be a glad thing for him to know the means which may save us all.”
“Then hear what I have learned from the birds,” said Tiresias. “Fortune will again visit you, but the threshold she must cross will be mournful. The youngest of the race sprung from the dragon seed must perish. Only through his fall can you issue victorious from this encounter.”
“Alas!” cried Creon. “What is the meaning of your words, old man?”
“That the youngest descendant of Cadmus must die if the city is to be saved.”
“You demand the death of my darling child, of my son Menoeceus?” Creon drew himself up haughtily. “Away with you! Out of my city! I can dispense with your gloomy prophecies.”
“Is the truth invalid because it brings sorrow to your heart?” Tiresias asked gravely. And now Creon cast himself at his feet, clasped his knees, and implored the prophet by his gray locks to retract what he had said. But the seer was firm. “The offering cannot be evaded,” he said. “At the fountain of Dirce, where the dragon once rested his coils, the boy’s blood must flow. Earth will be your friend only when in return for the human blood she once infused in Cadmus through the teeth of the dragon, she receives the blood of a kinsman of Cadmus. If Menoeceus consents to sacrifice himself for his city, he will, in death, be its liberator, and the homecoming of Adrastus and his host will be unblest. There are two ways before you, Creon. Now choose which it shall be.”
When Tiresias had spoken, he left the hall with his daughter. Creon sank into a deep silence. At last he called out in anguish: “How gladly would I myself die for my country! But to offer up you, my child … Go, my son, as far as your feet will carry you. Leave this accursed land, too evil to contain your innocence. Go by way of Delphi, Aetolia, and Thesprotia to the oracle of Dodona, and there take refuge in the sanctuary.”
“Yes,” said Menoeceus, and his eyes shone. “Give me whatever I shall need for the journey, and you may be sure I shall find the way.” But when Creon, calmed by his son’s tractability, had hurried to his post, the boy threw himself upon the earth and made fervent prayer to the gods. “Forgive me, immortals, if I have lied; if by false words I freed my father from fears unworthy of him! It is not dishonorable for him, an old man, to be afraid. But what cowardice it would be if I betrayed the land to which I owe life! Hear my oath, O gods, and accept it graciously. For through my death I shall save my country. Flight would be too shameful! I shall mount the rampart and throw myself into the deep, dark gorge of the dragon, for in this way the prophet said I could save the land of Thebes.”
And the boy rose and hastened to the highest point of the palace wall, measured the ranks of his enemies with one brief glance, and cursed them with solemn imprecation. Then he drew out the dagger he had hidden in the folds of his tunic, plunged it into his throat, and fell from that steep rampart. His shattered body came to rest on the margin of the fountain of Dirce.
THE ATTACK UPON THEBES
The oracle had been fulfilled. Creon bridled his sense of utter despair, while Eteocles assigned seven bands of men to the seven guardians of the gates, dispatched rider after rider to replace them, and set up light infantry behind the shield-bearers, so that every site where attack was probable might be fully protected. And now the Argive army moved across the plain, and the storming of the walls began. The air shook with ringing song, and trumpets blared, both from the ramparts of Thebes and the ranks of the enemy.
First Parthenopaeus, son of Atalanta, the huntress, led his battalions, shield crowded against shield, toward one of the gates. Embossed on his own shield was the image of his mother slaying the Aetolian Boar with her swift arrow. Amphiaraus, the soothsayer, moved toward a second gate, and in his chariot were sacrificial animals to offer the gods. His weapons were unadorned, and his shield shining and empty. Hippomedon advanced toward the third gate. His emblem was hundred-eyed Argus, watching Io, whom Hera had changed into a heifer. Tydeus guided his men toward the fourth gate. A shaggy lion’s skin was pictured on his shield, and in his right hand he brandished a torch, swinging it angrily from side to side. King Polynices, exiled from his country, led the attack against the fifth gate, and his coat of arms was a team of horses rearing in rage. The sixth gate was the goal of Capaneus, who boasted of being the equal of Ares, the war-god. Carved on the metal surface of his shield was a giant who had lifted a whole city from its foundations and was carrying it on his shoulders; this was meant to symbolize the fate Capaneus had in mind for Thebes. Toward the seventh and last gate came Adrastus, king of the Argives, and his escutcheon showed a hundred dragons bearing off in their jaws the children of Thebes.
When the seven leaders were close to the gates, they opened battle with slings, bows, and spears. But the Thebans fended off this first attack so fiercely that the Argives were forced to withdraw. Then Tydeus and Polynices bethought themselves quickly and cried: “Comrades, why wait until we fall beneath their missiles? Now, this very instant, let us storm the gates with our foot soldiers, riders, and charioteers—all together with one mass charge!” His words spread through the host like flame, and the Argives took heart again. They surged forward with concerted strength, but the outcome was no happier than before. With bashed heads the attackers sank at the feet of the defenders. Whole battalions died beneath the walls, and the dry earth was turned into rivers of blood. At that, Parthenopaeus hurled himself at the gate like a tempest and called for fire and axes to demolish and burn it to the ground. Periclymenus, a Theban hero whose post was on the rampart nearby, watched his efforts and, at the given moment, tore loose from the wall a mass of stone large enough to fill a wagon, and it fell, crushing the blond head of the besieger and grinding his bones to dust. When Eteocles saw that this gate was safe, he flew to the others. At the fourth he came upon Tydeus raging like a dragon. He jerked his head under his helmet with its streaming plumes, and the shield he was holding over it shrilled with the clang of the metal discs fastened around the rim. High toward the wall he hurled his lance, and the band of shield-bearers around him launched a hail of spears at the top of the rampart, so that the Thebans had to retreat from the edge.
At this moment Eteocles appeared on the scene. He reassembled them as a huntsman gathers the pack which has scattered, and led them back to the wall. Then he hastened on from gate to gate. He met Capaneus, who was carrying a tall ladder and boasting that Zeus himself should not keep him from razing the conquered city to the ground. With these insolent words he set the ladder against the wall and, in a pelting storm of stones, climbed the slippery rungs under cover of his shield. But it was not the Thebans who punished him for his impious vaunt. Zeus himself lay in wait for the offender and slew him with a thunderbolt, just as he was leaping from ladder to wall. The blow was so mighty that the whole earth quaked. His limbs were strewn around the ladder, his hair flamed up to the sky, and his blood spattered the
rungs. Like wheels, his hands and feet rolled in a circle, and his trunk burned on the ground.
King Adrastus took this for a sign that the father of gods was hostile to his undertaking. He guided his men away from the city moat and gave orders to retreat. And when the Thebans saw the happy omen given them by Zeus, they rushed from their city on foot and in chariots and wrought confusion among the Argive hosts. Chariot clashed against chariot and bodies struck the earth. The Thebans were victorious, but not until they had driven the enemy far from their walls did they return to their city.
BROTHERS IN SINGLE COMBAT
This was the end of the attack on the city of Thebes. But when Creon and Eteocles were back in the shelter of their own ramparts, the beaten Argive host gathered again and was soon ready to attack once more. The Thebans, quickly aware of this, had small hope of resisting a second time, since their numbers had been thinned and their strength weakened by the first attack. And then King Eteocles came to a bold resolve. He sent his herald to the Argives, who had again approached and were camped near the city moat. He had him call for silence, and then he himself, standing on the highest tower of his palace, cried to his own men within and to the Argives without the walls. “Danai and Argives,” he said in ringing tones, “all of you who have come to beset this city, and you, the people of Thebes: do not sacrifice so many lives for me and Polynices! Rather let me bear the brunt of this feud and fight with my brother in single combat. If I slay him, let me rule the land. But should I fall by his hand, the scepter shall be his, and my foes shall lower their weapons and return home without wasting more blood.”
Then from the ranks of the Argives sprang Polynices, declaring his willingness to accept these conditions. Both sides were already more than tired of a war which could benefit only one of two, and so the opposing hosts applauded Eteocles’ proposal. An agreement was drawn up, and both leaders confirmed it with solemn oath. And now the sons of Oedipus armed themselves from head to foot. The noblest of the Thebans accoutred their king, and the most powerful among the Argives fitted out Polynices, the exile from his realm. They confronted each other sheathed in bronze, and brother measured brother with strong and steadfast gaze. “Remember,” the friends of Polynices called to him, “remember that Zeus expects you to rear him a monument in Argos, in gratitude for the victory he is about to grant you!” And the Thebans urged on Prince Eteocles. “You are fighting for your city and your throne,” they said. “Let the thought of this double prize spur you on to win!”
Before the combat began, the soothsayers from both sides came together and made sacrifice, to discover from the shapes of the flames what the outcome would be. But the signs were uncertain; they could be read as victory or defeat for the one side or the other. When the offerings had been made and the brothers stood ready, Polynices lifted his hands in supplication, turned his head toward the land of the Argives, and prayed: “Hera, sovereign over Argos, from your country I chose my wife, in your country I live. Let me, your citizen, win, and dye my right hand in the blood of my foe!”
Eteocles, the while, looked toward Athene’s temple in Thebes. “O daughter of Zeus,” he pleaded, “guide my lance straight to its mark, to the breast of him who came to destroy my fatherland!” As the last word left his lips, a fanfare of trumpets proclaimed the beginning of the combat, and the two brothers ran forward and hurled themselves upon each other like savage boars who have whetted their tusks for the fight. Their lances crossed in mid-air and rebounded from the shields. And now they aimed their spears at each other’s faces and eyes, but again the shields caught the thrusts. As for the spectators, the sweat broke out over their bodies in great drops at the sight of so grim a struggle. And now Eteocles put out his right foot to push aside a stone lying in his way and incautiously allowed his left to protrude from under his shield. At once Polynices reached forward with his spear and pierced his shin, while the entire Argive host shouted with joy as if this one wound had decided the victory. But even when Eteocles felt the point enter his flesh, he did not allow his senses to blur with the pain and, keeping a sharp lookout, saw his opponent’s shoulder exposed. He launched his spear and it struck, but not deeply, so that only the point broke off, and the Thebans exclaimed only a little in halfhearted joy. Eteocles recoiled, picked up a fragment of marble, and casting it, split his brother’s lance in half. And now they were even again since each had lost one of his weapons. They took a firm grip on their swords and fought breast to breast. Shield rang on shield, and the air quivered with the clash of battle. Then Eteocles remembered a trick he had learned in Thessaly. He suddenly shifted his position, drew backward, throwing his weight on his left foot, covered the lower part of his body with great care, and then leaped forward with his right foot and pierced his brother, who was unprepared for so sudden a change in position, through the stomach, just above the hips. Polynices leaned to one side and then sank to the ground in a pool of blood. Eteocles, sure of victory, cast aside his sword and bent over his dying brother to take his arms from him, but this was his undoing. For, in his fall, Polynices had not loosed his grasp on his sword, and now, though his breath came in feeble gasps, he still had strength enough to thrust the blade into the very liver of Eteocles, bending above him. Dying, he fell beside his dying brother.
And now the gates of Thebes were flung wide, and the women and slaves poured out to lament their dead ruler. But Antigone leaned over her brother Polynices whom she loved, to catch a last word from his lips. Eteocles had died almost immediately. A single long rattling sigh, and he was no more. But Polynices still breathed. He turned his dimming eyes toward his sister and said: “How I mourn your lot, my sister, and that of my dead brother, who was once my friend and became my foe! Only now that I am dying do I know how much I loved him! As for you, I beg you to bury me in the earth of my native land. Do not let the city of Thebes deny me this. And now close my eyes with your hand, for already the shadow of death lies cold upon my forehead.”
He died in his sister’s arms, and at once both sides began to wrangle aloud in bitter disagreement. The Thebans credited Eteocles, their lord, with the victory, while the Argives claimed it for Polynices. The friends of the fallen were also at cross purposes. “Polynices was the first to strike with the lance!” cried some. “But he was also the first to fall!” countered others. So heated grew the quarrel that they took to arms. Fortunately for the Thebans, they were ranged for battle, since they had flocked forth fully armed both during and after the combat between the brothers, while the Argives had laid aside their weapons, too certain of victory to observe caution. And so when the Thebans suddenly threw themselves upon their foes, giving them no time to gird on their armor, they met with no resistance. The unarmed Argives scattered over the plain in disorderly flight, and Theban lances slew them by the hundreds.
This was the occasion on which Periclymenus of Thebes pursued Amphiaraus, the soothsayer, to the shore of the river Ismenus. Amphiaraus was fleeing in a chariot, and the horses balked at the swirling waters. With the Theban at his heels, however, he had no choice but bid his charioteer ford the stream. Before the horses even wetted their hooves, however, his enemy had reached the bank, and his spear almost touched the neck of the seer. But Zeus did not wish one whom he had lent the gift of prophecy to perish ingloriously. He cracked open the earth with a thunderbolt. It yawned like a black cave and swallowed up both chariot and soothsayer.
Soon the enemies of Thebes were swept from the surrounding countryside. From all sides swarmed the Thebans, bringing the shields of the foes they had slain and spoils from the fugitives they had overtaken. Laden with plunder, they made a triumphant entry into their city.
CREON’S RESOLVE
After the first outburst of jubilation was over, they thought about burying their dead. Since both the sons of Oedipus had fallen, Creon, their uncle, became king of Thebes, and as such it was his duty to see to the burial of his nephews. He at once arranged a solemn funeral for Eteocles, the defender of the city, and had him
borne to his grave with the honors due to a king. All the citizens of Thebes walked in the funeral procession, but the body of Polynices lay unburied and abandoned. Creon had a herald proclaim throughout Thebes that the enemy of his country, who had come to destroy the city with fire, to sate himself with the blood of his people, to drive the gods from the land, and enslave all those who had not been slain, was not to be mourned; that he was to be denied a grave; that his body should be left for the birds and beasts to devour. He also commanded the citizens to have a care that his wishes were obeyed, and set special guards near the corpse, so that none might steal or bury it. The penalty for attempting either was death, death by stoning in a public place of the city.
Antigone heard these orders, which seemed so cruel to her, and remembered the promise she had given her dying brother. With a heavy heart she went to her sister Ismene and tried to persuade her to help remove the body of Polynices. But Ismene was all soft and delicate, with no drop of heroic blood in her veins. “Sister,” she answered, and her eyes swam in tears, “have you forgotten the terrible death of our father and mother? Has the memory of our brothers’ destruction already faded from your mind, that you want to drag us, who are left, to a like end?”
Coldly Antigone turned from her timid sister. “I do not want your help,” she said. “I shall bury my brother unaided, and when this is done I shall gladly die and lie beside him whom I loved in life.”
Soon after, one of the guards approached King Creon with hesitant step and troubled face. “The body you had us watch has been buried,” he cried. “We do not know who did this, and whoever it was has escaped. We cannot understand how it was possible! When the guard on day duty told us what had happened, we were stunned at the thought. Only a thin layer of dust covered the body, only just enough to be accepted as burial by the gods of the underworld. There was no sign that a shovel had been plied, no trace of wagon wheels. We began to quarrel about it, each accusing the other of the deed, and finally it came to blows. But in the end we decided it would be best, O king, to tell you what had occurred, and the lot of being messenger fell upon me!”
Gods and Heroes of Ancient Greece Page 28