With his fleet mares, and he began the flexure, as we thought.
Now all the field I search, and find nowhere his view; hath nought
Befall’n amiss to him? Perhaps he hath not with success
Perform’d his flexure, his reins lost, or seat, or with the tress
His chariot fail’d him, and his mares have outraid with affright:
Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine hold with the second sight.
This seems to me th’ Aetolian king, the Tydean Diomed.’
‘To you it seems so,’ rusticly Ajax Oïleus said;
‘Your words are suited to your eyes. Those mares lead still that led;
Eumelus owes them; and he still holds reins and place that did,
Not fall’n as you hoped: you must prate before us all, though last
In judgment of all: y’are too old, your tongue goes still too fast;
You must not talk so. Here are those that better thee, and look
For first place in the censure.’ This Idomeneus took
In much disdain, and thus replied: ‘Thou best in speeches worst,
Barbarous languag’d; others here might have reprov’d me first,
Not thou, unfitt’st of all. I hold a tripod with thee here,
Or cauldron, and our general make our equal arbiter,
Those horse are first, that when thou pay’st thou then mayst know.’ This fir’d
Oileades more, and more than words this quarrel had inspir’d,
Had not Achilles rose, and us’d this pacifying speech:
‘No more: away with words in war. It toucheth both with breach
Of that which fits ye. Your deserts should others reprehend,
That give such foul terms: sit ye still, the men themselves will end
The strife betwixt you instantly; and either’s own load bear
On his own shoulders. Then to both the first horse will appear,
And which is second.’ These words us’d, Tydides was at hand.
His horse ran high, glanc’d on the way, and up they toss’d the sand
Thick on their coachman; on their pace their chariot deck’d with gold
Swiftly attended, no wheel seen, nor wheel’s print in the mould
Impress’d behind them. These horse flew a flight, not ran a race.
Arriv’d, amidst the lists they stood, sweat trickling down apace
Their high manes and their prominent breast; and down jump’d Diomed,
Laid up his scourge aloft the seat, and straight his prize was led
Home to his tent: rough Sthenelus laid quick hand on the dame,
And handled trivet, and sent both home by his men. Next came
Antilochus, that won with wiles, not swiftness of his horse,
Precedence of the gold-lock’d king, who yet maintain’d the course
So close, that not the king’s own horse gat more before the wheel
Of his rich chariot, that might still the insecution feel
With the extreme hairs of his tail (and that sufficient close
Held to his leader: no great space it let him interpose,
Consider’d in so great a field) than Nestor’s wily son
Gat of the king, now at his heels, though at the breach he won
A quoit’s cast of him, which the king again at th’ instant gain’d.
Aethe Agamemnonides that was so richly man’d
Gat strength still as she spent, which words her worth had prov’d with deeds,
Had more ground been allow’d the race, and coted far his steeds,
No question leaving for the prize. And now Meriones
A dart’s cast came behind the king, his horse of speed much less,
Himself less skill’d t’importune them, and give a chariot wing.
Admetus’ son was last, whose plight Achilles pitying,
Thus spake: ‘Best man comes last, yet right must see his prize not least:
The second his deserts must bear, and Diomed the best.’
He said, and all allow’d, and sure the mare had been his own,
Had not Antilochus stood forth, and in his answer shown
Good reason for his interest. ‘Achilles,’ he replied,
‘I should be angry with you much to see this ratified.
Ought you to take from me my right, because his horse had wrong,
Himself being good? He should have us’d (as good men do) his tongue
In pray’r to their pow’rs that bless good (not trusting to his own)
Not to have been in this good last. His chariot overthrown
O’erthrew not me. Who’s last? Who’s first? Men’s goodness without these
Is not our question. If his good you pity yet, and please
Princely to grace it, your tents hold a goodly deal of gold,
Brass, horse, sheep, women; out of these your bounty may be bold
To take a much more worthy prize than my poor merit seeks,
And give it here before my face, and all these, that the Greeks
May glorify your liberal hands. This prize I will not yield;
Who bears this (whatsoever man) he bears a tried field.
His hand and mine must change some blows.’ Achilles laugh’d, and said:
‘If thy will be, Antilochus, I’ll see Eumelus paid
Out of my tents; I’ll give him th’ arms which late I conquer’d in
Asteropaeus, forg’d of brass, and wav’d about with tin;
’Twill be a present worthy him.’ This said, Automedon
He sent for them. He went, and brought, and to Admetus’ son
Achilles gave them. He, well pleas’d, received. Then arose
Wrong’d Menelaus, much incens’d with young Antilochus.
He bent to speak, a herald took his sceptre, and gave charge
Of silence to the other Greeks; then did the king enlarge
The spleen he prison’d, uttering this: ‘Antilochus! Till now
We grant thee wise, but in this act what wisdom utter’st thou?
Thou hast disgrac’d my virtue, wrong’d my horse, preferring thine,
Much their inferiors. But go to, princes, nor his nor mine
Judge of with favour; him nor me, lest any Grecian use
This scandal: “Menelaus won with Nestor’s son’s abuse
The prize in question; his horse worst, himself yet won the best
By pow’r and greatness. Yet because I would not thus contest,
To make parts taking, I’ll be judge, and I suppose none here
Will blame my judgment; I’ll do right: Antilochus, come near.
Come, noble gentleman, ’tis your place; swear by th’ earth-circling god
(Standing before your chariot and horse, and that self rod
With which you scourged them in your hand) if both with will and wile
You did not cross my chariot.’ He thus did reconcile
Grace with his disgrace, and with wit restor’d him to his wit.
‘Now crave I patience, O king. Whatever was unfit,
Ascribe to much more youth in me than you; you more in age,
And more in excellence, know well the outraies that engage
All young men’s actions; sharper wits, but duller wisdoms still
From us flow than from you; for which, curb with your wisdom, will.
The prize I thought mine, I yield yours; and, if you please, a prize
Of greater value to my tent I’ll send for, and suffice
Your will at full, and instantly; for in this point of time,
I rather wish to be enjoin’d your favour’s top to climb
Than to be falling all my time from height of such a grace,
O Jove-lov’d king, and of the gods receive a curse in place.’
This said, he fetch’d his prize to him, and it rejoic’d him so,
That as corn-ears shine with the dew, yet having time to grow,
When fields set all their bristles up: in such a ruff wert thou,
O Menelaus, answering thus: ‘Antilochus, I now
(Though I were angry) yield to thee, because I see th’ hast wit,
When I thought not; thy youth hath got the mastery of thy spirit.
And yet for all this, ’tis more safe not to abuse at all
Great men, than, vent’ring, trust to wit to take up what may fall.
For no man in our host beside had easily calm’d my spleen,
Stirr’d with like tempest. But thyself hast a sustainer been
Of much affliction in my cause: so thy good father too,
And so thy brother, at thy suit; I therefore let all go,
Give thee the game here, though mine own, that all these may discern
King Menelaus bears a mind at no part proud or stern.’
The king thus calm’d, Antilochus receiv’d, and gave the steed
To lov’d Noëmon to lead thence, and then receiv’d beside
The cauldron. Next, Meriones, for fourth game, was to have
Two talents gold. The fifth (unwon) renown’d Achilles gave
To reverend Nestor, being a bowl to set on either end,
Which through the press he carried him. ‘Receive,’ said he, ‘old friend,
This gift, as funeral monument of my dear friend deceas’d,
Whom never you must see again. I make it his bequest
To you, as without any strife obtaining it from all.
Your shoulders must not undergo the churlish whorlbat’s fall,
Wrestling is past you, strife in darts, the foot’s celerity;
Harsh age in his years fetters you, and honour sets you free.’
Thus gave he it; he took and joy’d, but ere he thank’d, he said:
‘Now sure, my honourable son, in all points thou hast play’d
The comely orator. No more must I contend with nerves;
Feet fail, and hands; arms want that strength, that this and that swinge serves
Under your shoulders. Would to heav’n I were so young-chinn’d now,
And strength threw such a many of bones, to celebrate this show,
As when the Epians brought to fire (actively honouring thus)
King Amarynces’ funerals in fair Buprasius.
His sons put prizes down for him, where not a man match’d me
Of all the Epians, or the sons of great-soul’d Aetolie;
No, nor the Pylians themselves, my countrymen. I beat
Great Clydomedeus, Enops’ son, at buffets; at the feat
Of wrestling I laid under me one that against me rose,
Ancaeus, call’d Pleuronius. I made Iphiclus lose
The foot-game to me. At the spear I conquer’d Polidore
And strong Phyleus. Actor’s sons (of all men) only bore
The palm at horse-race, conquering with lashing on more horse,
And envying my victory, because (before their course)
All the best games were gone with me. These men were twins; one was
A most sure guide, a most sure guide. The other gave the pass
With rod and metal. This was then. But now, young men must wage
These works, and my joints undergo the sad defects of age,
Though then I was another man; at that time I excell’d
Amongst th’ heroës. But forth now, let th’ other rites be held
For thy deceas’d friend; this thy gift in all kind part I take,
And much it joys my heart that still, for my true kindness’ sake,
You give me memory. You perceive in what fit grace I stand
Amongst the Grecians; and to theirs, you set your graceful hand.
The gods give ample recompense of grace again to thee,
For this and all thy favours.’ Thus back through the thrust drave he,
When he had stay’d out all the praise of old Neleides.
And now for buffets (that rough game) he order’d passages,
Proposing a laborious mule, of six years old, untam’d
And fierce in handling, brought and bound in that place where they gam’d,
And to the conquer’d a round cup; both which he thus proclaims:
‘Atrides, and all friends of Greece, two men for these two games
I bid stand forth: who best can strike with high contracted fists
(Apollo giving him the wreath), know all about these lists,
Shall win a mule, patient of toil; the vanquish’d, this round cup.’
This utter’d, Panopeus’ son, Epeus, straight stood up,
A tall huge man, that to the nail knew that rude sport of hand;
And (seizing the tough mule) thus spake: ‘Now let some other stand
Forth for the cup; this mule is mine; at cuffs I boast me best:
Is ’t not enough I am no soldier? Who is worthiest
At all works? None – not possible. At this yet this I say,
And will perform this: who stands forth, I’ll burst him, I will bray
His bones as in a mortar; fetch surgeons enow to take
His corse from under me.’ This speech did all men silent make;
At last stood forth Euryalus, a man god-like, and son
To king Mecisteus, the grandchild of honour’d Talaon.
He was so strong, that (coming once to Thebes, when Oedipus
Had like rites solemniz’d for him) he went victorious
From all the Thebans. This rare man Tydides would prepare,
Put on his girdle, oxhide cords, fair wrought, and spent much care
That he might conquer, heart’ned him, and taught him tricks. Both dress’d
Fit for th’ affair, both forth were brought, then breast oppos’d to breast,
Fists against fists rose, and they join’d, rattling of jaws was there,
Gnashing of teeth, and heavy blows, dash’d blood out every where.
At length, Epeus spied clear way, rush’d in, and such a blow
Drave underneath the other’s ear, that his neat limbs did strow
The knock’d earth; no more legs had he, but as a huge fish laid
Near to the cold-weed-gathering shore, is with a north flaw fraid,
Shoots back, and in the black deep hides: so, sent against the ground,
Was foil’d Euryalus, his strength so hid in more profound
Deeps of Epeus; who took up the intranc’d competitor,
About whom rush’d a crowd of friends, that through the blusters bore
His falt’ring knees, he spitting up thick clots of blood, his head
Totter’d of one side, his sense gone – when (to a by-place led)
Thither they brought him the round cup. Pelides then set forth
Prize for a wrestling: to the best a trivet that was worth
Twelve oxen, great and fit for fire; the conquer’d was t’ obtain
A woman excellent in works, her beauty and her gain
Priz’d at four oxen. Up he stood, and thus proclaim’d: ‘Arise,