Book 37

37. The thirty-seventh book, where for the sake of victory funeral contests are held for prize-winning men.

So they, the thoughtful Indians, busy with this duty of love, having entrusted the warfare of Bacchus to the winds, with tearless eyes performed the rites for their dead, who had escaped, as it were, the earthen bonds of mortal life, their souls sent back, by the circling chain, to where they came from, to the ancient starting-post; and the host of Bacchus rested. And Dionysus, seeing the friendly calm after the war, early in the morning, urging on the mules and the men who marched with them, gave the order to bring dry, mountain-bred timber, that he might consume in fire the fallen corpse of Opheltes. Their guide along the way, into the pine-clad wood, was Faunus, at home in the lonely, familiar thicket, schooled in the mountain haunts of his mother Circe. And in rows the trees were cut down with the woodman's iron: many an elm was felled by the long-edged bronze, many a high-leaved oak rang as it was hewn, and many a pine was laid out, and the fir bowed down with its parched leaves; and from the scattered trees cut away little by little the cliffs were stripped bare; and some Hamadryad Nymph went into exile as she walked, and, homeless, mingled with the unfamiliar maiden of the spring. And many a mountain-roaming man went with the comers, keeping a winding mountain path of another kind; and one could see the towering crag and the slanting traveler descending on far-wandering feet; and binding the timber close with a well-plaited rope in a firm-fitted knot they set it upon the backs of the mules; and as the mules hurried in line the mountain-running hoof rang out as they sped, and their backs, dragging the trees behind, were burdened with the load of much-sanded dust. And Satyrs and Pans were busy; one of them with woodcutting . . . hands, from tree after tree . . . lifting the logs upon their tireless arms, clattered with dance-loving feet upon the cliff; and these the wood-rangers set down on the ground, where Euios marked out on the plain the spot to make the tomb for Opheltes. And a great crowd was there from many a city; and round the corpse in grief each man cut his mourning lock with the iron; and groaning round him they flowed on, one after another, shadowing the whole corpse with their hair in turn. And Bacchus too mourned the dead from a face that knew no grief, with tearless eyes, and from his unshorn head cutting one tress he laid it as a gift on Opheltes. A pyre a hundred feet across they made on either side, the Idaean servants of mountain-bred Dionysus; and in the middle of the pyre they laid the corpse. And round the corpse Asterius of Dicte, drawing his uplifted sword, cut the throats of twelve dark Indians and set them in a wreath, an ornament close-ranked; and he placed there jars of honey and of oil. And many oxen were slain, and flocks of the fold before the pyre; and from the slaughtered oxen he heaped upon the corpse the bodies ringed around, and rows of fresh-cut horses, and taking from each in order all the fat, he spread it round the corpse and wound a rich girdle about it.

There was now need of fire; and lover of the crags, Circe's son, Faunus the dweller in solitude, a citizen of the Tyrrhenian land, as the child of a wild mother schooled in her works, brought fire-bearing flints, the tools of the mountain craft, from the rock; and where the tokens of Victory, the thunderbolts falling from the air, had set their seal, he brought the relics of that divine fire, that he might kindle the pyre of the dead; and with brimstone struck from Zeus's bolt he anointed and smeared the hollows of both stones, the fire-bearers; and scraping a slender shred from a tuft of Erythraean fern he mixed it with the twin stones; and rubbing this way and that, striking the female on the male, he drew forth the hidden, self-born fire from the stone, and set it beneath the pyre, wherever the wild wood lay. Yet the kindled fire did not run round the pyre of the dead, but the god, stretching his eyes against the face of Phaethon, standing near, called upon the Eastern wind, the Euros, to bring a counter-blowing breeze to help the pyre. And at Bromios's call the Morning Star, his neighbor, heard the prayer, and sent his own brother to Lyaios, to kindle the fiery blaze with a thicker breath. And leaving the rosy chamber of his mother Dawn the wind fanned the flaming pyre all night long, rousing the wind-fed leaping fire; and the raging dry blasts shot up a glare into the air, the neighbors of the Sun. And with grieving Lyaios Asterius of Dicte, bringing kindred blood, holding the two-handled Cnossian cup of sweet wine, fragrant, made drunk the loose dust of the ground, honoring the wind-faring soul of the son of Arestor.

But when the herald of dewy Dawn's chariot, the reddening morning, gleamed and scored the night, then all sprang up, and with the cup passed from hand to hand they quenched their comrade's pyre with the moisture of Bacchus. And on dappled wings the hot wind withdrew to the light-bearing house of the Sun. And Asterius, gathering the bones wrapped in a double layer of fat, laid the relics of the dead in a golden bowl. And the running Corybantes, since their lot was the dell of Ida, performed the rites for the dead, a dweller of one fatherland with them, the true blood of Crete; and with deep-dug foundations they rounded out a tomb through the hollow trench dug in the earth; and they poured the last alien dust over Opheltes, and raised over it a barrow with towering courses, inscribing such a verse on the fresh-grieving tomb: "Here lies the short-lived dead, the son of Arestor, of Cnossus, the slayer of Indians, comrade of Bromios in the games, Opheltes."

And the vine-god, bringing funeral gifts, held the people there, and sat them down for a broad contest, having marked out the turning-point for the driving of chariots; and on the ground there was a stone, a fathom's measure in its broad span, bearing the shape of a half-cut circle, the image of the moon, finely smoothed on its answering flanks, such as some old craftsman, weaving with his work-toiling hands, had rounded out, longing to fashion an inspired image; this then the Cyclops, the monster, lifting it lightly in his hands, set up in the ground as the counterpoise of the stone turning-post, equal to that one, fixing another matching stone in the earth facing it. And the prizes were of many kinds: a cauldron, a tripod, shields, horses, silver, Indian metals, oxen, the silt of Pactolus. And the god set out prizes of victory for the horsemen: for the first he placed a bow and an Amazonian quiver and a half-finished shield and a war-loving woman, whom once, traveling on foot beneath the brows of Thermodon, he had taken alive as she bathed, and brought to the city of the Indians; for the second he set a horse that ran with the North wind, golden-natured, its neck shadowed with long manes, still carrying a half-formed foal; and with its burden the mare's belly swelled, holding the horse-shaped bulk of its young; and for the third a breastplate, and for the fourth he set a shield; the breastplate the noblest-working Lemnian anvil had wrought, fashioning it with golden craft, and in the middle of the shield a rounded boss was patterned with a silver ornament; for the fifth, two talents, a gift from the bank of Pactolus. And rising up he spoke, urging on the drivers:

"My friends, whom Ares taught the city-sacking war, to whom the dark-haired god gave the running of horsemanship, I am not driving on men who know nothing of toils, but men used to mighty labors; for my warriors are skilled in every kind of valor. If a Lydian man has his race from Tmolus, he will achieve deeds worthy of a Pelopian victory in horsemanship; if a man of the plain of Pisa, the nurse of horses, holds Elis of fine chariots, citizen of Oenomaus, he knows the wild-olive branch of Olympia that bears the crown. But here is no race of Oenomaus, nor have the drivers the goad of marriages cruel to guests, but this is a race of valor, free of the foam-born goddess. If a man brings the soil of Aonia or the blood of Phocis, he knows the Pythian contest honored for Apollo; if he tends the wise land of olive-clad Marathon, he knows the pitcher swollen with rich dew; if he is a citizen of the well-laboring Achaean field, he has learned Pellene, where men contend in the chill contest for the cloak-loving victory, binding their unwarmed limbs with a wintry tunic; if a dweller has sprung from sea-girt Corinth, he knows the Isthmian contest of our Palaemon."

So he spoke, and the leaders ran out eagerly, wheeling their cars in turn. And swift-footed Xanthus first of all Erechtheus brought and bound beneath the yoke, the male, and yoked the female Podarce beside, whom Boreas begot upon his swift-winged bed when he drew the storm-footed Sithonian Harpy to his marriage, and gave them, when he had carried off Oreithyia the Attic bride, as a love-gift to Erechtheus from his son-in-law the wind. Second, Actaeon brandished the Ismenian whip; and third was the offspring of the watery Earth-shaker, Scelmis, swift with horses, who often wrote upon the water guiding his father's Poseidonian chariot of the sea. Fourth sprang up Faunus, who came into the midst of the contest alone, bearing the very likeness of his mother's parent, holding, in the image of the Sun, his four-yoked team; and fifth Achates mounted his Sicilian car, carrying the Pisaean gadfly of the olive-clad river, insatiable of horsemanship, since he dwelt in the land of the nymph of love-sick Alpheus, who comes to Arethusa bringing the garland-bearing water, an unwetted love-gift.

And taking bold Actaeon apart from the throng, the father spoke loving words to his eager son: "Child of Aristaeus your most thoughtful father, I know that you carry the best strength, that you bring the flower of youth blended with inborn manliness, carrying the ancestral Phoebean blood; yet our Arcadian horses rush more strongly to the race. But all this is in vain, and neither strength nor the running of horses knows how to win as much as the mind of the driver does. You lack only craft; for horsemanship needs a shrewd and knowing driver. But listen to your father, and the cunning skills of the art, all the many turns I have learned in time, I will teach you too. Hurry, child, to honor your father by your prowess; the race of horsemanship attends on glory, as much as does War; hurry to honor me in the lists too, as well as in battles; having conquered Ares, put on yourself another victory, that I may call you a prize-winner as well as a spearman. O child, do deeds worthy of your brother Dionysus, worthy too of Phoebus and of skillful Cyrene, and conquer the labors of your father Aristaeus; show your horsemanship, bringing a skillful victory, your cunning wit, since in the middle of the contest another man, untaught, letting his car break loose, wanders this way and that, and the rival race of his horses, unsteady, is not forced by the whip, nor obeys the bridle, and the driver, turned aside, is dragged outside the post, wherever the disobedient, snatching horses carry him. But whoever is a driver of many wiles, busy with cunning craft, even with weaker horses, keeps a straight course, watching the driver ahead of him, always driving his car close around the turning-post, and bends his car riding around the goal and never grazing the goal. Look to it, I tell you, and tighten with a guiding rein, turning your whole horse sideways, untwisting, near the post, slanting on its flanks, weighing your car aslant, close at hand yet untouching, with some necessary measure steering your course, on your guard, until the hub of your wheeling car may seem, as it were, to touch the very top of the goal with the neighboring rim of its wheel; but beware the stone, lest by striking the post with your axle you wreck in one moment both your car and your horses. And guiding your car this way and that along the course, be wholly like a helmsman; and do both, urging on with the goad, pouring out a driver's threat, drive on the right-hand horse, drawing it into a swifter run as it follows the slackened reins of the unchafing bridle; be wholly like a helmsman, steering your car into a straight-coursing run, since by skillful counsel the mind of the driver is the rudder of the car."

So speaking he withdrew again backward, having taught his son the various cunning skills of the familiar art. And within the customary helmet, one after another, each stretched out a blind hand, his face turned away, wishing to draw a different lot, as some man casts far-flung fingers for the changeful die. And the drivers drew their lots in turn; and horse-mad Faunus, the blood of the sung Phaethontian line, was first by lot, and second was Achates, and after him the brother of Damnameneus, and beside him Actaeon drew his place; and the best for the race stood having got the last lot, horse-driving Erechtheus. And the drivers lifted up their ox-hide whips, standing in rows on their several cars. And Aeacus was the true watcher, that, taking note of the crown-loving drivers as they bent round the goal, a witness of the truth, he might settle their discordant quarrels, distinguishing the running of the horses with unwavering eyes.

For these the race was from the starting-line; and as they sped, one was in front, another longed to overtake the one running before him, another pursued in the middle, and another close behind strove eagerly to scratch the hindmost driver. And one in the course, having caught up the driver, fouled his car with his chariot, and shaking the reins in his hands he scared the horses with the curving bit; another, a fellow-traveler with the charging driver, held an even course in disputed strife, crouching aslant, stretched out, upright by necessity, his loin bent, and driving his willing horse, plying the lash but lightly with a sparing, skillful hand, turning the circle of his backward-glancing eye, on guard against the car of the driver behind him; and now, as the horses sprang with a swift play of their feet, the hoof of the horses might have slipped into the self-rolling wheel, had not the driver checked his still-hurrying onset, holding back the car that came up behind. And one in front held his rival course against the driver behind on the cars driven with equal zeal, unsteady, here and there shutting in the driver close beside him. And Scelmis, the offspring of the Earth-shaker, whirling the sea-going whip of Poseidon, guided in his father's fashion the breed of sea-roaming horses; not so far did high-flying Pegasus fly, cutting the air with broad wings, as the feet of those horses of the deep made their dry-land course, beyond overtaking. And the peoples, coming together in one place, on some high-crested ground, seated in rows as watchers of the contest, gazed from afar at the running of the hurrying horses; of whom one stood frightened, another shaking the tip of his finger urged on the driver, another, stirred by his contending longing for the horses, kept his horse-mad mind running with the driver; and one, seeing the running of his own driver in front, clapped his hands and cried out with a grieving voice, taking heart, laughing, trembling, calling on his driver. And the well-made cars, swifter than the raging bear, now flew aloft on high, now upon the earth were borne with only their tops showing, scarcely touching the dust; and with its swift wheeling circle the wandering track of the straight-coursing car scored the sandy ground. And the strife was a mingled one; and rising of itself the dust was lifted up against the breasts of the horses, and their manes streamed back in the airy gusts; and the busy drivers from their tongues all alike sent forth from their throats a cry sharper than the whip.

But when they had finished the last lap, swiftly rushing Scelmis was first, stretching his sea-running car; and Erechtheus, coming up beside him, lashed his horse, close at hand, and you might soon have said the car behind belonged to the sea-Telchine, the rider of the car; for the high-flying proud horse of Erechtheus, straining its panting, recurring breath through its double nostrils, warmed the back of the stranger driver, and now might have seized with its mouth the mane of his neck, watching the driver with backward-rolling eyes, and now, as its jaws shook in a quick whirl, the foaming standing horse might have spat out the tip of its bit, had not Erechtheus turned aside and reined back his car, and pulled down the well-made reins with a snatching jerk, tightening little by little the jaw of his horses at hand; and again he drove close, escaping the unbridled compulsion. And Scelmis, watching him charging on his car, sent forth a threatening cry: "Stop your vain contending with horses of the sea; once another car of my father's, when Pelops drove it, conquered the race of Oenomaus's unconquered horses. Of horsemanship I would call as governor the horse-lord, the ruler of the waters; but you, lasher of horses, stretch all your hope of victory toward Athena who finishes the loom. And there is no need of your little olive-tree, for I bring another crown of the vine, and no scant olive."

So he spoke, and Erechtheus, quick of counsel, grew angrier, and weaving a deceiving trick and a thoughtful scheme with his hands he drove his own course, but in his heart, calling on his helper Athena, guardian of horsemanship and of the city, he uttered swift Attic speech: "Lady of the Cecropian land, horse-rousing Pallas the motherless, as you conquered Poseidon in your contest, so may your dweller Erechtheus, driving the Marathonian horse, conquer the son of Poseidon." Crying out such a word he lashed the haunches of his colts, and brought car level with even-yoked car; and on his rival's left tightening the heavy-bound jaw of the horses, and again drawing back the running car, forced by the bridle, with his right hand he lashed his own high-necked horses as they rushed onward; and turning him from the course he set the driver behind to whirl back to the rear. And pouring from his quick lips a mocking sound he taunted the son of Poseidon with answering voice, keeping his backward-glancing face that laughed: "Scelmis, you are beaten; Erechtheus is the better man than you, for your Balios, the blood of the Zephyr's line, a male and young, a wayfaring horse unwetted by the brine, my aged female Podarce has conquered. If you are proud for the sake of the Pelopian craft, honoring your father's sea-running car, crafty-minded Myrtilus won a thievish victory, finishing the deceitful axle with imitating wax; but if you boast greatly for the sake of the Earth-shaker's line, him whom you call horse-lord, the rider of cars of the deep, the sea-king himself, the steerer of the trident, your male helper female Athena has conquered."

So speaking, the citizen of Athens ran past the Telchine. After him Faunus drove, lashing the four-horse team of his car; and Actaeon the crafty followed fourth behind Faunus, still mindful of the cunning words of his father Aristaeus; and last was Tyrrhenian Achates. And bold Actaeon devised a cunning plan; catching up Faunus still running ahead on his car, with a sharper whip turning the running of his horses he drove alongside, robbing the driver of his place, gaining a little ground; and fixing his knees against the rail he scored his rival's car with his own slanting chariot, grazing the horses' feet with his wheeling track. And the car fell on the ground; and as the chariot shook three horses lay fallen upon the ground, one on its flanks, another on its belly, another on its neck, and one stood upright, aslant, and on the earth rooted the tips of its feet, and shaking its unsteady neck the yoke-mate propped the whole foot of its neighbor horse, lightening the yoke-bonds, and dragging the car aloft. These lay poured out upon the ground; and grimy the driver had rolled beside the wheel, close to the car; the tips of his forehead were bruised, and as his chin was fouled his pointed elbow was scratched and covered with dust on the ground. But the driver leaped up the quicker; and swiftly he stood beside his neighbor car fallen to the earth, with shamed hand pulling up his stretched-out horse, and lashing the downcast colt with the dappled whip. And bold Actaeon, looking at Faunus toiling near his car, broke out in a playful voice: "Stop vainly urging on your unwilling horses, stop in vain; for, getting in first, I will announce to Dionysus that Faunus, leaving behind all the drivers running ahead, will come home last on the road, dragging his car; spare your whip, since with the flesh-cutting goad seeing your horses' bodies scored, I pitied them." So he spoke, driving on his unsteady car in front with a swifter whip; and Faunus grieved to hear it. And scarcely, gripping the shaggy tail on the ground, he raised up the dust-covered body of his fallen horses, and a colt that had slipped past as the trace was loosened he brought back and bound fast with the bridle; and setting in place the feet of his horses as they sped this way and that he stepped high upon his car, and fixing his foot on the chariot with the dread whip he lashed his horse a second time; and Faunus drove on more, urging the running of his horses, and pursued the driver ahead more swiftly; and he overtook those in front, since strength was put into his horses by the horse-lord Earth-shaker honoring his own bold son; and seeing a narrow path beside a hollow rock he wove a thoughtful, crafty scheme, that, catching up, he might run past Achates with his skillful car. There was a deep-hollowed cleft, which the rain of Zeus, poured from the air, had broken from the road with its wintry lash, a wandering flood; and as the stream of rain that cuts the earth was held in, the ridge of the ground was hollowed out, where Achates came unwilling and reined back his car, fleeing the close-coursing approach of the driver; and to him charging on he raised a trembling voice: "Still, foolish Faunus, your tunics are filthy, still the rims of your car are sandy, not yet have you shaken off the dust of your disordered horses; cleanse your filth; why must you drive so great a horse? Let me not see you again falling and gasping. Beware of bold Actaeon, lest, catching you, he score your back with his ox-hide lash, lest he hurl you head-first again into the dust. Still you bear the scored circles of your cheek; Faunus, why do you rage, fastening a shared reproach upon your father Poseidon and your grandfather the Sun? Have respect, I tell you, for the mocking throat of the Satyrs. Beware the Seileni and the attendants of Dionysus, lest they laugh at you and your grimy car. Where are your charms? where your herbs? where Circe's many drugs? Everything, everything has left you, when you came to the contest's race. Who could announce to your haughty mother both your overturned car and your dusty whip?" Such a haughty speech Achates sent forth, mocking; and Nemesis wrote down so great a word. And Faunus came near, driving his car alongside; and car drew close to car, and striking the pin against the axle he broke the wedge fixed in the middle, hitting it with his wheeling wheel; and the self-rolling wheel rolled twisting on the ground, just like the cars of Oenomaus, when, as the wax warmed by Phaethon, the deceitful axle came loose and checked the horsemanship of the maddened driver. And holding the narrow path Achates waited, until, seated above the rail of his four horses, with a swifter whip Faunus passed Achates by, as though he did not hear; and he lifted his lash the more, lashing, beyond overtaking, the crest of his hurrying horses; and he was behind Actaeon by as far as the long-shadowed rush of a thrown discus, when it is sent flying, which a strong man hurls, whirling it with his mighty hand.

And madness took hold of the peoples; and they wrangled, one with another, making wagers about the unmarked victory that was to come; and the gifts, for the sake of the storm-footed horses, were a tripod, or a cauldron, or a sword, or an ox-hide; and townsman wrangled with townsman, and friend with friend, old man with old man, young with young, man with man. And the strife of both sides was discordant: one praising Achates, another reproaching the worse man Faunus fallen upon the ground, rolling from his car, another contending that Erechtheus was second behind the sea-Telchine driver; and another wrangled, that, ahead in the running of the horses, the cunning citizen of Athens close at hand had won, running past Scelmis the driver while he still led. The quarrel had not yet ceased, and Erechtheus drew near, ever lashing his horses, now this way now that, over the shoulder; and much sweat flowed down the horses' necks and shaggy breasts, and over the driver thick dry drops of dust streamed down; and his car ran on the close tracks of the horses with a leaping whirl; and with no iron of its wheel did it shake the untroubled backs of the fine dust. But after his flying course, high upon his car, he came into the midst of the contest; and with his tunic he wiped off the streaming sweat that dripped from his wet forehead; and swiftly he stepped down from his car; and his long whip he leaned against the well-made yoke; and Amphidamas his servant loosed the horses; and quicker, with delighting hand, he raised the first prizes of victory, the quiver and the bow and the fair-helmeted woman, brandishing the navel of the half-cut ox-hide. After him second came, upon his sea-horse car, Scelmis, urging on the Poseidonian car of the sea, by as much as a wheeling circle falls behind a swift horse, when, as the horse charges on, the tips of the rims barely touch the streaming tail's outstretched hair; and he took the second prize, and stretched out to Damnameneus to hold the pregnant mare, drawing it with envious hand. And third Actaeon raised up the tokens of victory, the gold-gleaming breastplate, the all-glittering work of Olympus. After him Faunus arrived; and there, reining in his car, he raised the silver-rimmed boss of the ox-hide, still keeping the relics of that dusty grime. And the Sicilian servant of the slow-wheeling man, near the car, showed the two talents of gold to downcast Achates, a pitiful thing for one so proud, before loving Dionysus.

Next he set up the contest of harsh boxing; for the first he placed a bull from an Indian stall to be led as a gift, and for the other a possession of the black-skinned Indians he set, the barbarian dappled-backed ox-hide that he had taken. And rising up he spoke, urging on the contenders, that two skillful-handed men should strive for victory: "This is the prize of unwearying boxing; and to the prize-winning man who conquers I will give the shaggy bull, and to the man defeated I will give the much-folded shield." So spoke Bromios, and the shield-wielding Melisseus rose, practiced in the customary boxing; and gripping the fine-horned bull he uttered such a word: "Let him come who desires the dappled shield; for I will not allow another the fat bull, while I still raise my hands." So he spoke, and silence sealed them all; and Eurymedon alone rose against him, to whom Hermes had given the tools of limb-strong boxing, who in time past always attended his father seated at his hearth, the son of Hephaestus, striking the hammered anvil. Him his startled brother Alcon tended, and set the loincloth on him, and fitted the girdle to his waist, and with long hands joining his brother's he bound the twined coil of the dry thongs tight. And the champion came into the midst, holding before his face his left hand, an inborn shield; and instead of a spear the flesh-cutting thongs were on the fashioned hand. Always he guarded against the hard-fighting onset of his rival, lest he should ever strike him on the brow or forehead, or make him bleed, tearing a stricken joint, or split him, hitting upon the temple, striking the very top of the thinking brain in its midst, or, stretching a rough hand upon his temples, strip bare the eyes of the eyeless face, or, as the bloodied chin was struck, drive a many-rowed furrow of the sharp teeth. There, as Eurymedon charged, Melisseus struck the top of his breast; and he, close before his face, stretched out his hand in vain, and missed, striking the air; and ever trembling he ran round him, shifting his ground, stretching his right hand down beneath the bare breast. Both came together as they advanced, one against another, with sparing steps shifting foot for foot a little; and they joined hand to hand; and with blows in quick succession the dreadful thud of the interlocking thongs droned about the very tip of the hand; and as the cheek was scored the thongs were reddened with bloody drops; and there was a thudding of jaws; and on the swelling of the face that grew broader the cheeks billowed, and the eyes on either side of the face were hollowed out. Eurymedon grew weary at the skillful craft of Melisseus, unable to bear the gleam of the sun full in his face, that dazzled his eye; and charging in, Melisseus with a sharper whirl, raising his foot aloft, suddenly struck his jaw beneath the ear; and he, growing faint, rolling backward, laid his back on the dust, his spirit failing, just like a drunken man; and he held his head leaning to one side, and spat out a froth of blood thinly thickening; and his brother Alcon, gloomy, took him outside the contest and led him over his shoulder, weighed down by the sense-robbing blow. And eagerly he raised up the huge Indian ox-hide.

And Dionysus, urging on two contenders, proclaimed for the prize-winning men a contest of wrestling; and a twenty-measure tripod stood as the prize of victory for the first wrestler; and lifting it into the midst he set a flowery cauldron, keeping it for the worse man. And rising up he cried again with a marshaling voice: "Come, friends, and rouse this fine contest too." He spoke; and as crown-loving Dionysus called, first Aristaeus rose, and after him second stood Aeacus, skilled in the works of well-handed wrestling. And covering with a loincloth the nature of unseen modesty, they stood stripped to wrestle; and both of them first wove both their hands about each other's wrists this way and that, dragging each other in turn onto the loose dust's surface, gripping with the very tips of their hands; and each man circled the other, leading him whirling round with shifting heave, dragging and dragged; for both bent low together with answering hands, and arched their necks, and propped their heads against the middle of each other's forehead unbending, leaning toward the ground; and from their foreheads as they were pressed flowed the sweat, herald of toil. And the bent backs of both, by the dragging of the forearm, were rubbed by the double clasp of the interlocking hand; and a self-made welt rose up with hot blood, flushing many-colored; and the bodies of the men were marked. And the changeful tricks of the wrestler's art they showed one another in turn; and his rival first Aristaeus held with his hand at the wrist, heaving him from the ground; but crafty Aeacus did not forget his cunning art, and with a stealthy foot striking the back of the knee of Aristaeus's left leg he flung him whole on his back, rolling on the ground, just like a towering crag; and round about the peoples gazed with astonished eyes upon the famed proud son of Phoebus falling, so great a man. Second, lifting him aloft above the ground, raising up without strain the giant son of Cyrene, Aeacus, keeping the valor that was to come for his sons, for tireless Peleus and broad-strength Telamon, holding him in his arms, bending neither his back nor his upright neck, carrying the man in the middle with both forearms, holding him in even balance with the changing winds, which a craftsman shaped, soothing the storm-driven force of the wind. And drawing near, the whole man spread out in the dust, Aeacus stepped upon the middle of his rival's back, and stretching his foot out through the spread belly, joining a curving bond about the very top of his knee, he set sole against sole, twisting it past the outermost ankle; and swiftly, stretched out above his rival's back, twisting his own hands like a crown upon each other, he cast a bond about his neck with his arm, bending his fingers; and with wet sweat he sprinkled the loose dust, cleansing the moist drops with the dry sand, lest he should slip, the clasp of his interlocked hands sending the hot moisture down the rubbed neck. And as the man was pressed, with sharp leap the chosen heralds, watchers of the contest, ran together, lest he kill him with the joined dragging of the forearm. For there was then no rule like that which later men of after times devised, when, as the bonds of the neck are stretched and a man, weighed down with the throttling toil, sues for the victory of his rival in thoughtful silence, striking the man who has won with a downcast hand. And taking up the twenty-measure tripod the Myrmidons embraced it, the servants of the prize-winning king; and Actaeon raised the cauldron with a quicker swing, carrying his father's second prize with a downcast hand.

And then Bacchus set up a contest of swiftness of foot; for the first runner placing the treasures of victory, a silver mixing-bowl and a spear-won woman, for the second he set a dapple-necked Thessalian horse, and for the last a sharp sword with a well-cut baldric. And rising up he spoke, urging on the swift-footed men: "Let these be the prizes for the swift-running men." So he spoke, and the man of Dicte, plying his accustomed knees . . . After him quick Erechtheus of varied counsel ran up, busy with Victorious Pallas; and after him swift-footed Priasos, citizen of Cybele's field. For these the race was from the starting-line; and Ocythous first was borne lightly with the storm-quick play of his feet, holding a straight course in front; and charging behind, second close behind was Erechtheus, striking his neighbor Ocythous's back with his breath, and warming his head; and as the rod of the spinning-loving girl's breast is the middle one, which by some measure the loom-working maiden stretches with skillful hand, so far behind Ocythous he was; and on the ground he struck his footprints with his feet before the dust could settle round. And now the race might have been even; but seeing the imitating, equal-measured course, he strained with a lighter sole, and ran past the man by a greater measure, as much as a man's footstep; and so, trembling for victory, crying out such a word, Erechtheus prayed to Boreas: "Son-in-law, help your Erechtheus and your bride, if you still keep the sweet sting of love for my daughter; give me the dappled running of your wings for one single hour, that I may pass swift-kneed Ocythous running ahead." So he spoke, and Boreas heard his suppliant voice, and made him swifter than a well-wheeling whirlwind. Three of them pressed on with the windy play of their feet, but not with equal balance; and by as much as, with swift sole, Erechtheus was behind Ocythous running ahead, by so much was proud Priasos, of Phrygian race, the neighbor of storm-footed Erechtheus. And as they sped, when the last lap was still being run with the leaping of feet, swift-kneed Ocythous slipped in the dust, where there was a boundless heap of ox-dung, which beside the tomb Dionysus had crushed with the Mygdonian knife; but with the swift-whirling spring of his returning foot Ocythous, leaping after, was carried on; and eagerly shifting his foot to overtake his rival running ahead, if then the race had been but a little longer, soon as he ran either it would have been even, or he would have outstripped the citizen of Athens. And swift Erechtheus raised the dapple-backed prize, the well-wrought Sidonian mixing-bowl; and Ocythous drew the Thessalian horse; and the third, going quietly, Priasos received the sword with the silver baldric. And the chorus of Satyrs laughed with playful heart, gazing at the Corybant fouled with loose dust, spitting out the dung that streamed down his chin.

And bringing a self-cast quoit he set it for a contest, urging on the discus-throwers, the javelin-men, Dionysus; for the first he set two spears with a horse-haired helmet, bringing them, and for the second a bright, rounded girdle, and for the third a bowl, and for the fourth he set a fawnskin, which a smith had pinned with a golden brooch of Zeus. And rising up in the midst he spoke with a mind-rousing voice: "This contest urges the throwers on to the discus." So he spoke, and the shield-wielding Melisseus of Bromios rose, and after him second came swift-footed Halimedes, and third Eurymedon, and fourth Acmon came; and four stood in a row, one after another. And taking the well-spun quoit Melisseus threw it; and the Seileni laughed at the man's lesser throw. Second Eurymedon set his hand to the discus . . . And taking the well-spun quoit with steering wrist fair-crested Acmon sent forth the heavy, rounded missile; and the air-faring missile sped on, running with the breezes, and overshot the mark of Eurymedon by a greater measure with its sharp whirl; and high-footed Halimedes hurled the wandering discus into the air toward the mark; and the quoit whistled on the airy gusts, borne from his strong hand, as from a bow a missile flies, shaken by the unsteady breezes, straight up; and falling from the air it rolled on the ground with a far-flung leap, still carried by the spin of his well-twisting hand, bearing a self-driven onset, until it passed all the marks; and gathering together all the watchers of the contest roared aloud, amazed at the unsteady onset of the leaping discus. And shaking two spears with the high-crested helmet proud Halimedes carried off the double gifts; and rolling-footed Acmon raised the gold-gleaming girdle; and third Eurymedon, lifting the unfired bowl, took the double-handled treasure; and downcast in face Melisseus raised up the dapple-backed fawnskin.

And for the champions Dionysus set up the prizes of the bow, the offering of good aim; and dragging out a seven-year-old hard-working mule, he set it in the contest, and a well-made cup stood as the prize of victory, kept for the lesser man. And Euryalus, setting up a tall ship's mast in the field, stood it above the sandy ground, and high in view he hung a dove bound and tied to the mast, twining a slender thread round its two feet. And the god cried to the gathered crowd with a contest-rousing voice, urging the archers toward the air-faring mark: "Whoever shoots the dove, piercing its top, let him carry off the much-feeding mule, the witness of victory; but whoever strays from his aim at the dove, leaving the bird unscored by the well-barbed arrow, yet hits the tip of the cord with his winged shaft, shoots as the lesser man and let him take the lesser gifts; for instead of the mule he shall carry off the cup, to pour libation to bow-bearing Phoebus and wine-pouring Dionysus." As wealthy Lyaios cried out such a word, fair-haired Hymenaeus the far-shooter stood in the midst . . . guiding his straight aim full against the mast, carrying his Cnossian bow stretched with curving string, Asterius shot his shaft, having got the lot, and hit the cord; and as it was cut by the shaft the wandering bird was carried up aloft into the air; and the thread fell to the ground. And through the high path turning his eye in circles, watching above the clouds, the archer Hymenaeus from his ready string, drawing a wind-swift shaft toward the air-faring mark, sent it forth more sharply, aiming straight at the dove; and the winged arrow flew wandering through the air, just showing, grazing the middle backs of the clouds, whistling with the winds; and Apollo guided the shaft, bearing faith to his love-sick brother Dionysus; and it struck the flying dove as it sped, and hit the top of its breast; and as its head grew heavy the storm-swift bird fell through the air to the ground; and half-dead the dove beat its wings in the dust, hopping about the feet of dance-weaving Dionysus. And the god, leaping up at the young man's victory, clapped his hands and shouted to Hymenaeus; and all together, as many as remained at the contest, marveled at the cloud-high archery of Hymenaeus. And laughing Dionysus drew with his own hands and gave the mule, the gift owed, to Hymenaeus; and his comrades raised the cup, the prize of Asterius.

And bringing on the javelin-men to friendly combat Bacchus set out Indian prizes beside the contest, a pair of greaves and a stone of the Indian salt-flat. And rising up he spoke, and bade two warriors that in playful battle, not slaying with the iron, they should make a mimic image of bloodless fight: "This contest, rousing two javelin-men, knows a gentle War and a fair-weather Enyo." So spoke Bromios, and brandishing iron weapons Asterius armed himself, and Aeacus stood in the midst holding a bronze spear, brandishing a richly-wrought shield, like a wild lion charging some bull or a shaggy boar; and in their iron tunics both rushed into the midst, having covered their bodies, the spearmen of Ares; and one, hurling his furious spear, Asterius, holding the ancestral might of Minos, wounded him, grazing the tip of his right arm; but the other, raising an iron spear against the throat, Aeacus, ready to do deeds worthy of his Zeus who rules on high, longed to pierce the very middle of his throat; but Bacchus checked him and snatched away the bloody point, lest he strike the neck with the javelin-man's iron. And he held both back and cried with a frenzied voice: "Throw down these weapons, having set up a friendly Enyo; this is a peaceful Ares, and these contests draw no blood." He spoke; and taking the chief prizes of the battle-rouser proud Aeacus, lifting the golden greaves, gave them to his servant; and carrying the latter gifts Asterius raised up the spear-won stone of the Indians.