Authors: Virgil
The long-awaited day had come and the horses of Phaethon
were now drawing the ninth dawn through a cloudless sky.
Rumour and the famous name of Acestes had brought out all
the surrounding peoples and a joyful crowd had filled the shore,
some coming only to see Aeneas and his men, some also to
110 compete. First the prizes were displayed before their eyes in the
middle of the arena, sacred tripods, crowns of green, palm leaves
for the victors, arms, purple-dyed garments and talents of silver
and gold. The trumpet gave the signal from a mound of earth
in the middle. The games had started.
The first event was for four heavy-oared ships of the same
class picked out of the fleet. The
Pristis
was a fast ship with a
keen crew commanded by Mnestheus. He was soon to become
the Italian Mnestheus, from whom the family of the Memmii
take their name. The huge
Chimaera
was a great hulk of a ship
120 the size of a city, commanded by Gyas, and to drive her through
the water the Trojans sat in three tiers and plied three banks of
oars one above the other. Sergestus sailed the great
Centaur
(he
it was who gave his name to the Sergii), and Cloanthus, the
founder of the Roman Cluentii, was in the blue-green
Scylla
.
Well out to sea off a wave-beaten shore there stands a rock
which in winter, when the north-westerly winds are darkening
the stars, is often submerged and battered by the swell. But in
calm weather all is quiet and the level top of it stands up from
130 a glassy sea and gulls love to bask on it. Here Father Aeneas set
up a green branch of holm-oak as a mark round which the
sailors would know they had to turn to begin the long row
home. They then drew lots for their starting positions, and the
captains stood on the high sterns gleaming in the splendour of
purple and gold. The crews wore garlands of poplar leaves and
the oil they had poured on their shoulders glistened on the naked
skin. There they sat at the thwarts, straining their arms at
the oars and their ears to hear the starting signal. They were
shuddering with fear and their hearts were leaping and pumping
the blood for the sheer love of glory. When the shrill trumpet
140 sounded, in that one instant the ships all surged forward from
the line and the shouting of the sailors rose and struck the
heavens. Their arms drew the oars back and the water was
churned to foam. Side by side they ploughed their furrows and
tore open the whole sea to its depths with their oars and triple
beaks, like two-horse chariots streaming full-pelt from the starting
gates and racing over the ground, or like charioteers at full
gallop cracking the rippling reins on their horses’ backs and
hanging forward over them to use the whip. All the woods
resounded with the din and cheers and roars of encouragement.
150 The echo of the shouting rolled round the curve of the shore
and bounced back off the hills.
In all this noise and excitement Gyas shot out in front and
took the lead over the first stretch of water. Cloanthus was next.
His rowers were better but he was slowed down by the weight of
his ship. Behind them the
Pristis
and the
Centaur
were contesting
third place. Now the
Pristis
has it. Now the huge
Centaur
moves
into the lead, and now they are level, bow by bow, ploughing
the salt sea with their long keels. They were soon getting near
160 the rock, almost at the turning point, when Gyas, still in the
lead at this half-way stage, called out to his helmsman: ‘Where
are you going, Menoetes? Who told you to steer to starboard?
Your line is over here, to port! Hug the shore. The oars on the
port side should be scraping the rocks. Leave the deep water to
the others!’ These were his orders, but Menoetes was afraid of
hidden rocks and pulled the bows round to the open sea. ‘You’re
off course!’ shouted Gyas, correcting his line. ‘Where do you
think you’re going? Make for the rocks, Menoetes!’ and even
as he was shouting, he saw Cloanthus close behind him and
170 cutting in, just scraping past on the port side between Gyas’ ship
and the roaring rocks. He was past in a moment, safe in clear
water and sailing away from the mark. Young Gyas was
incensed. The rage burned in his bones and tears ran down his
cheeks. Without a thought for his own dignity or the safety of
his crew he took the sluggard Menoetes and threw him off the
high stern head first into the sea. He then took over the tiller
himself and became his own helmsman, urging on the rowers
and pulling the rudder round to make for the shore. Menoetes
was no lightweight and was no longer young. He went straight
180 to the bottom and it was some time before he surfaced. At last
he climbed to the top of the dry rock and sat there with the
water streaming out of his clothes. The Trojans had laughed as
he fell and as he swam and they laughed as he spewed up waves
of salt water from his stomach.
Sergestus and Mnestheus in the last two boats were both
delighted that Gyas was losing time and both saw a hope of
overtaking him. Sergestus took the lead as they came up to the
rock, but not by a whole ship’s length. His bow was out in front
but the
Pristis
was pressing him hard and her beak was ahead
of his stern. Her captain Mnestheus was pacing the gangway
between the rowers, urging them on on either side: ‘Now is the
190 time!’ he cried. ‘Now you must rise to your oars. You are the men
who stood with Hector. You are the men I chose as comrades in
the last hours of Troy. Now let us see the courage and the heart
you showed off Gaetulia in the shoals of the Syrtes and in the
Ionian sea when the waves were driving us on to Cape Malea. I
am no longer hoping to be first. It is not victory that Mnestheus
is fighting for, though who knows?…But let victory go to
whom Neptune has given it. The disgrace would be to be last.
Prevent that shame, my fellow-Trojans, and that will be our
victory.’ At this they bent to the oars and strove with all their
might. The bronzed ship shuddered at their great thrusts and the
surface of the water sped away beneath them. Their breathing
200 quickened, chests heaved, mouths dried and the sweat poured
off their bodies in rivers. It was pure chance that brought them
the honour they longed for. Sergestus was desperately forcing
the bow of his ship close to the rocks and cutting inside into
dangerous water when all ended in disaster as he ran aground
on a projecting reef. The rock quivered at the impact, the flailing
oars grated on its jagged edges and the shattered prow was left
hanging in mid-air. The crew leapt up and stood there shouting.
Some busied themselves with iron-tipped poles and their pointed
boat-hooks. Some were salvaging broken oars from the surf.
210 Mnestheus was exultant and success only made him more determined.
The oars pulled fast and true. He called upon the winds
and as he set course for the homeward stretch and ran shoreward
over the open sea, he was like a dove startled out of the cave
where it has its home and its beloved nestlings in the secret
honeycombs of the rock; it flies off in terror to the fields with a
great explosion of wings inside the cave, but it soon swoops
down through the quiet air and glides along in the bright light;
its wings are swift but they scarcely move – just so was Mnestheus.
Just so was the
Pristis
as she cut through the last stretch
of water. Just so did she fly along under her own impetus.
220 First Mnestheus left Sergestus struggling behind him, stuck
on his rock high out of the water. There he was in the shallows,
shouting in vain for help and learning how to row with broken
oars. Next Mnestheus went after Gyas and the huge
Chimaera
which soon fell behind for lack of its helmsman. Now, at
the very end of the race, only Cloanthus was in front of him.
He took up the pursuit and pressed him hard, straining every
nerve.
The shouting grew twice as loud. They all cheered him on as
he gave chase and the heavens rang with the noise. Cloanthus
and his men on the
Scylla
saw the honour as theirs by right.
230 They had already won the victory and had no intention of giving
it up. They would rather have lost their lives than lose the glory.
Mnestheus and his men on the
Pristis
were feeding on success.
They could win because they thought they could. They drew
level and would perhaps have taken the prize if Cloanthus had
not stretched out his arms to the sea, pouring out his prayers
and calling on the gods to witness his vows: ‘O you gods who
rule the sea and over whose waters I now race, this is my vow
and gladly will I keep it: I shall come to your altars on this shore
with a gleaming white bull. On the salt waves of the sea I shall
240 scatter its entrails and pour streams of wine.’ He spoke and was
heard by the sea nymph Panopaea and all the dancing bands of
the Nereids and of Phorcys. As he sailed on, Father Portunus
pushed the ship with his own great hand and it flew landward
swifter than the wind from the south or the flight of an arrow,
till it arrived safe in the deep waters of the harbour.
Then the son of Anchises called them all together in due order
and bade the herald loudly proclaim Cloanthus the victor, and
veiled his head with the green leaves of the laurel. For each ship
there was a gift of wine, three bullocks of their choice and a
great talent of silver. In addition the captains were singled out
250 for special honours. The victor received a cloak embroidered
with gold round which there ran a broad double meander of
Meliboean purple, and woven into it was the royal prince running
with his javelin and wearying the swift stags on the leafy
slopes of Mount Ida. There he was, eager and breathless, so it
seemed, and down from Ida plunged the bird that carries the
thunderbolt of Jupiter and carried him off in its hooked talons
high into the heavens while the old men who were there as his
guards stretched their hands in vain towards the stars and the
dogs barked furiously up into the air. To Mnestheus, whose
260 courage had in the end won him second place, Aeneas gave a
breastplate interwoven with burnished mail and triple threads
of gold, which he had stripped with his own hands from the
defeated Demoleos on the banks of the swift Simois under the
high walls of Troy. For Mnestheus this was to be a proud
possession and his protection in battle. His attendants Phegeus
and Sagaris hoisted it up on to their shoulders, all the many
layers of it, but they could hardly carry it away, yet Demoleos
used to wear it while running all over the battlefield in pursuit
of Trojans. The third prize was a pair of bronze drinking cauldrons
and some embossed drinking cups of solid silver.
At last they had all received rich gifts and were glorying in
them as they walked, their foreheads bound with purple ribbons,
when Sergestus appeared, taking in the boat that was the object
270 of all their laughter and had missed all the honours. He had
prised her off the cruel rock with great difficulty and no mean
skill, but she had lost oars and was limping in with only one
bank of them. Like a snake caught crossing a raised road, as
they often are, and run over by a bronze wheel or battered by a
traveller with a heavy stone and left mangled and half-dead, it
tries in vain to escape by twisting its body into long curves, part
of it still fierce, the blazing eyes, the hissing, high-uplifted head,
but the wounded part holds it back as it writhes and coils and
280 twines itself into knots – this is how the
Centaur
moved, rowing
slowly along. But she put up sails and came into the harbour
mouth under full canvas. Aeneas, delighted that Sergestus had
saved his ship and brought his men to port, gave him a prize, as
promised, the Cretan slave woman Pholoe, good with her hands
and with two sons at the breast.