Book 21

21. The twenty-first holds first the wrath of the Earth-shaker and the man-breaking battle of Ambrosia and the ambush of the Indians.

Nor did the son of Dryas forget his former fight; but taking up the ox-cleaver a second time within the thicket . . . seeking the tribes of the Bassarids. And on Ambrosia heavenly Zeus bestowed might and war-mad courage, and she then, frenzied, possessed by the swell of madness, lifted a stone, hurling it at Lycurgus, and dashed the heavy helmet from his hair. But he, full of courage, fought back with a larger stone, rough, and struck the breast of the ox-eyed Nymph; yet he did not lay her low, and in wrath he raised his voice: "Ares, lord of war, father of mighty Lycurgus, look in shame upon your offspring, who in place of Lyaeus shoots at a worthless, ironless woman. The sea does violence to my ox-cleaver; for in the surges Dionysus was hidden, and I, journeying baffled, shall come to my own city, and give up the unfinished toil." He spoke; and Ambrosia, seizing her about the middle with a limb-strong grip in his hand, he pressed; and he wished to fasten bonds upon her, as though dragging a spear-won captive to an alien house, bearing the thiasos-loving Nymph, the nurse of Bromios, pricking her servile back with the two-edged ox-cleaver. But he did not check her as she stood, nor did he redden her with fresh-poured gore as he struck at her head; but she fled the bold man, and prayed to her mother Earth, saffron-robed Ambrosia, that she might escape Lycurgus. And Earth, fruit-bearing, opening her hollow, received the handmaid of Bromios into her loving bosom, Ambrosia living; and the vanished Nymph changed her form into a plant and became a vine-shoot; and twining a self-coiling cord about Lycurgus she throttled his yoked neck with a strangling bond, fighting after the thyrsus with a threatening cluster. And vehement Rhea made the plant gifted with voice, granting it as a grace to Dionysus, king of the vines; and Ambrosia cried aloud and uttered a living voice: "Not even as a plant shall I ever escape strife with you, I will wound your body even among my shoots, and in place of a chain of bronze I will gird you tight with unbreakable leaves; against you, vine-clad, I arm myself, that one may say: 'The Bassarids slay murderers even with their leaves.' Beware the warlike vineyards; for the vines strike their foes, and the fruits hurl their spears. Living I fought you, and dying I will subdue you; so do the nurses of Dionysus prove their valour. You have heard of the sea-ship-stopper, how in the deep a small, feeble fish has often beset sailors, checking them back, and with the little gulf of its throat has stopped the long ship, held fast by a bond? Receive me, the land ship-stopper, receive of my leaves the self-fetter, ironless, of the cluster-strong war. Wait for me, here wait, awaiting the son of Thyone, until he returns from the bays of the sea." Such things the long-leaved vine-clad Ambrosia spoke with cluster-bearing voice, as Lycurgus was struck; and held fast by the green bonds, the wild man, unshaken by the unbreakable inescapable fetters of leaves, fastened all around, shouted, threatening Dionysus; nor had he strength to flee, but in vain by compulsion he shook his throat entangled with worthless coils; nor through his windpipe was a voice carried in the midst as he was squeezed in a garland; and the Bacchants encircled his neck, girdled in the midst by a throttling cluster. And spear-wielding Ares snatched away the dread axe of his own son; for he feared the raging Bacchant of Bromios, lest with the murderous ox-cleaver she should strike the body of Lycurgus; nor did he free the son of Dryas from the green bonds, much though he longed to, but he yielded to his father's lightning, hearing the threatening thunderous crash of Zeus. And falling forward upon the head, full upon it, Polyxo tore the hair of the irresistible man; and casting her maddened hand upon the belly of her foe, gripping his breastplate, she wrenched with a snatching jerk, and in wrath she rent it—warlike Muses, tell, what a marvel it was then, of the tunic torn apart by female nails, iron though it was—; and weaving a coiling cord of long withies loose-haired Cleite and vine-clad Gigarto with a leafy lash reddened the body of Lycurgus, with bloody welts upon his furrowed back; and Phleio scored his foot with broader thorns, raging madly; and Erphe, fellow-traveller of the Vine-god, gripping the middle of his shaggy chin, strove to throw the man to the ground; and fighting, Phasyleia, steerer of the Bacchic dance, scored her foe's belly with a sharp goad; and Theope armed herself, the nurse of Lyaeus, with a skin-piercing fennel-stalk; and she struck the body of Lycurgus, and Bromie, named after Bromios; and with them the Nymph Cisseis, lover of clusters, lashed the man with ivy. And as Lycurgus was overpowered in the woody war, another and worse calamity appeared again; for against Arabia mountain Rhea armed the sea Earth-shaker, the spear-hurler of foundations split with a crash; and the deep-bosomed bar of the ground the sea-ruling Earth-shaker dislodged, wielding his trident, its hollows lashed by winds within, earth-toiling winds, since with a guiding heave the lurking blasts hollow out the gaping chasms; and the unshaken bosom of Arabia's soil was shaken, and the cloud-near halls were loosed by the quaking heave; and oaks fell to the ground, and struck by the trident the Nysaean Arabian floor danced, writhing about; and the elm lay on the ground, and the laurel dusted its foliage, and the pine, self-uprooted, leaned upon the neighbouring fir. While the Earth-shaker, a furious wind beneath the earth, uprooted the recess of the nether haunts, meanwhile there came another, newer evil; for the wood-dwelling Nysaean women, smitten by the lash of serpent-haired Megaera, bellowed like bulls, destroyers of their own children; and rushing, one hurled into the air a wandering boy who from the air slipped headlong into the dust, another dragged her own babe, and remembered not the breast; another reddened her hand with child-slaying iron, having carved up her son, and became a maenad like Agave. And they ran upon their own children, and the newborn sons, whom they had borne, they cut up with the knife . . . another, cowering beneath the maddening lash of Pan, an Arabian shepherd raved into the field-dwelling battle-cry. Such things the herdsman, surging with frenzied guile, carved up his own children, and feasted on his sons with child-devouring jaws; and of the mind-shaken herdsmen the belly entombed the unnursed male offspring . . . by the hands of the Nymphs. And by the much-bending leaves fastened all around he was fettered, and bent no knee to Lyaeus, stretched no hand to Zeus, the warder-off of necessity, held no fear of thunder; but threatening with his face he raged against the Bassarids; and as it rushed upon his head he marked the lightning, and yielded not to Lyaeus. He was struck here and there, and against the scattered volleys he stood, awaiting their counter-onset so great, having Ares alone for helper, alone contending with Zeus, Poseidon, Rhea, Earth, Nereus, Bacchus. And toiling he hurled out an unbridled cry: "Kindle fire, let us burn the whole plant; into the fire let these Bacchic leaves be cast, and through the sea, ablaze, let us hurl the vines upon Dionysus beneath the waves, the token of Arabian manhood; but even Thetis herself, receiving on her wave the fire-burnt fruit, let her quench the vine-ash in the sea. Loose these phantoms and the shifting witchcraft of bonds; these I deem the Nereids' Poseidonian witchcraft; loose them, and bring me near the surges; for against the prophetic, sorcerous Proteus I arm myself; kindle the pine, that going beside the sea, with my avenging heart, I may burn down Melicertes, the host of Bromios." He spoke, threatening both Nereus and Dionysus . . . He came near to Arabia; and her son weary of the woody fray, the son of the War-god, she revived, holding the iron sword of Ares, and against the Bacchants she bared the gleaming back of the demonic knife, flashing it to terror against the female Cybelid war; and cutting through the leaves of Ambrosia with the iron she unbound the clustering bonds of Lycurgus. And she soothed the dark-haired shaker of the earth, her own brother, and Zeus her husband, and her mother Rhea, rescuing Lycurgus, that he might be numbered among the immortals; and the Arabs upon their savoury altars, as to a god, propitiated the son of Dryas with sacrifices, instead of Dionysus's honey-dropping fruit pouring gore in libation to unbacchic Lycurgus. And so old Time was destined to accomplish these things late; but Zeus the father, lest any proud mortal man, another bearing the likeness of spear-bold Lycurgus, should raise reproach against blameless Dionysus, made maddened Lycurgus a blind wanderer, a wayfarer turning back and forth through an unknown city, seeking a guide for his needful path, often stumbling against his own self with his sandals. And these things were among the crags. But in the Erythraean sea the daughters of Nereus within the deep-billowed court propitiated Dionysus at a sea-table; and casting off her envy of Semele's heaven-sent bed, striking up a bold hymn to wine-nurturing Lyaeus, the nurse of Dionysus sang, sea-dwelling Ino; and for Bromios, drawing sweet nectar from the bowl, his foster-brother, equal in years, Melicertes poured the wine. So he abode there within the deep-billowed court, holding the wide sea for his house, a wanderer beneath the waves; and poured out he reclined in the weed-grown bosom of Thetis; and unsated he embraced his Cadmean nurse, fair in children, the very sister of his mother Ino, and often clasped Palaemon with a friendly embrace, his foster-brother, equal in years. But with noiseless sandal, no longer striking up the much-coiling dance, since Bacchus was not present, the Mimallon was distraught, seeking the tracks of sea-faring Lyaeus; and the toil-loving Satyr, with an unlaughing face, wearied with a strange grief, and on mountain-roaming hooves the frenzied wandering Pans ran through the woods, the Pans, searchers for the unheralded Dionysus; and Silenus, undancing, casting away the heedless cymbals, lay downcast; and the Cronian Nymph Macris was distraught, the nurse of grief-free Dionysus, the chariot-mate of the well-greaved Bacchic wagon. So they were shaken, downcast; and to the grieving ones Scelmis, leaving the recess of the waveless sea, drove his father's wagon, untouched by water, heralding the return of the coming Dionysus. While Bacchus was busied with the sea-nourished feasts of the table, meanwhile through the Caucasian mountain to the city of the Indians the wind-footed herald of wine-nurturing Bromios came, bull-shaped, holding a counterfeit form in his horn-drawn shape, the answering likeness of the lunar horns, having fastened about his body the skin of a mountain-roaming goat, let down from the collarbone over one shoulder, hanging from the right side to the fold of his thigh, shaking the ears on either side of both cheeks, like a long-eared ass, shaggy of body; and from the middle of his loins a kindred tail trailed self-coiling. And around him laughing the swarthy Indians flocked, until he came near, where on a twin-yoked car sat towering Deriades, leader of men, checking the standing tread of his lofty elephants. And laughing at the Satyr he cried out a mocking voice: "What two-coloured men bull-shaped Dionysus sends to Deriades, the playthings of war, of strange nature, not men of wholly mortal form, but holding the shape of beasts, since with twin form they are mongrels, both bulls and men; for both the shape of an ox they hold and a man's face." He spoke, and displaying the forewarning signs of war he struck his dappled-backed shield with his unsparing knife upon the midmost circling boss; and from the oxhide the bronze, as it was struck, boomed a deadly echo. And loosing his lips, amazed before the grim king, the swift-running herald spoke the message of Bromios: "Deriades, sceptred lord, the god Dionysus commands that the Indians, receiving the wine of the care-banishing fruit, pour libation to the immortals, without wars, without toils; but if they will not receive it, he arms himself, until with his thyrsoi he bends the servile knee of Hydaspes to the Bassarids. You have heard the true message; speak also yourself to me who ask some word, that I may report it to Dionysus." So he spoke, and the sceptred king belched out a raging voice: "Alas, what a word the bold man-beast has spoken. I am ashamed to subdue a herald with warlike hand, who holds no rushing spear and touches no oxhide. I have heard all that your champion has suffered; Ganges has heard of the weakness of Bromios and the manhood of Lycurgus; I know your king, a bastard god, when fleeing he slipped into the deep of the evil-warding sea. And your Bacchus is reported fiery, since from his mother's flanks he rose, of thunder-stricken Thyone; and water is far stronger than fire; if he wishes, with his seething flood my father, the Indian Hydaspes, could quench the fire-breathing blast of Zeus's thunderbolt. And if you wish, bend your foot to the neighbouring land of the Medes; going there, proclaim the dancing-rounds of Dionysus. Plunge into the Bactrian soil, where the god Mithras arose, the Assyrian Phaethon in Persia; for Deriades has not learned the dance of the heavenly blessed ones, nor honours the sun and Zeus and the choir of bright-shining stars. Not Cronus, not Cronion the destroyer of his father did I learn of, not crooked-counselled Cronus, the devourer of his own children, who reaped the plant-sowing swarm of the Loves of heaven. I know not your gifts and what you have named the fruit; I receive no other drink after golden Hydaspes; my wine is the spear, and my drink in turn is the oxhide. Semele did not bear me in a fire-stricken wedding, receiving the murderous flame in her chamber, but bronze-clad Enyo, insatiable of battles, reared me. I care not for the blessed children of Zeus; for both alone are gods to me, both Earth and Water. Go and proclaim these things to war-shunning Dionysus; begone, fleeing unattainable, while I still hold back my bow, begone, fleeing my spear; and arming for battle your half-formed beasts and your unarmoured women make war against Deriades, and after the Indian victory I will in turn drag you as a runner-mate to spear-won Dionysus. Yet I will not make you my messenger; for you cannot hold a servile, house-keeping task; but with your long ears flapping at the feasts I will let you be." So speaking he sent him off with a threatening face; and scoring the middle hollow of a folded tablet the swift-tongued one wrote such a word on the two-leaved board: "If you can, Dionysus, arm yourself against Deriades." Hearing such things the loud herald ran back again. And he found the Silenoi rejoicing; for coming up from the surges Dionysus mingled with the mountain Nymphs; and the Satyrs leaped, and the Bacchants danced, and with aged feet Maron led the song, leaning his arm upon the neck of a double Bacchant, in the midst, gushing forth the fragrant pour of wine; and unveiled the Mimallon shouted out a song, singing of the track of homeward-returned Dionysus. And the vine-god cast off his former cares, and entered upon delight, since within the sea he had learned all things, hearing from Toronaean Proteus, the earth-shaking heave of the unhospitable Arabs' soil, and tottering Lycurgus, a blind wanderer on his own foot; he heard too of the death-bringing frenzy of the herdsman's compulsion, how the choir of the field-dwellers was driven raving, how in the glens the women carved up their own offspring; and he heard of the choir of the heavenly Hyades, he heard of Ambrosia herself, rising after earth to Olympus, Ambrosia arming herself against unwearying Lycurgus, and the leafy fray and the vine-clad war. And as they delighted the herald came running back, unharmed, much-prayed-for, to exulting Dionysus, telling of the high-necked folly of Deriades, holding the twofold tablet pregnant with war. Nor did the lord neglect it; and to battle the warriors he boldly summoned, knowing the forewarning signs of Deriades scored upon the witnessing tablet. And calling the wandering Rhadamanes, whom once from the soil of Crete Minos drove unwilling from the land to the shore of Arabia, he bade them at Rhea's nod fasten ship-timbers for a sea-war against the Indians. And swiftly he drove his Eastern car to the region of the land, flashing in his arms like the Morning Star; and around the rock Caucasian, passing through its crested hollow, he skirted the light-bearing shore of the Eastern soil, journeying to the noonday starting-post of the sun. While the voice of thyrsus-bearing battle was heard, and the near-marching army of mountain-dwelling Dionysus, meanwhile Deriades set a thick ambush of Indians, sending his army unyoked to the opposite land, entrusting all his guile-contrived hope of war to bronze-clad Ares; and he sailed high upon his ships, having oared his host across the Indian Hydaspes. And in two armies the war of the Indians was divided on either shore of the spear-bearing river: Thureus by the ankle of Zephyrus, and Deriades came near the opposite bank by the wing of swarthy Eurus. And there was a shady place there, where with thick shoots of every kind the wide-stretching ridge of the wood was girt, and there was a hollow cave; and flying never did the wandering arrow score those trees, if one should shoot, and never in the midst of the thickets was the sun carried, rushing down with a swift heave, scoring the close-woven leaves with its inmost rays, nor did the air-roaming flood sink through the shady wood from rainy Zeus, but scarcely, with a trailing of water, did Zeus's high-shining shower wet the tips of the leaves. There in the long-trunked groves thievish Ares was hidden among the green clusters of the lofty plants, unforeseen, unshaken, and in the woody bosom he held the guarded gait of his noiseless sandals, not raking through the leafy thicket with secret foot, holding no fear of a crouching foot, no chattering echo with stammering lip, and no pallor about his face; but he held a bold and steadfast mind, and on the ground-couch sleeping a measured armoured sleep upon his eyelids . . . awaiting the well-ordered battle-cry of the coming army.