The Rhesus of Euripides Part 11

This needs no surmise: 'tis disaster plain That comes. He speaketh of some ally slain.

THRACIAN.

Disaster, yea: and with disaster shame, Which lights Disaster to a twofold flame Of evil. For to die in soldier's wise, [vv. 757-787]

Since die we needs must . . . though the man who dies Hath pain . . . to all his house 'tis praise and pride; But we, like laggards and like fools we died!

When Hector's hand had showed us where to rest And told the watchword, down we lay, oppressed With weariness of that long march, and slept Just as we fell. No further watch was kept, Our arms not laid beside us; by the horse No yoke nor harness ordered. Hector's force Had victory, so my master heard, and lay Secure, just waiting for the dawn of day To attack. So thought we all, and our lines broke And slept. After a little time I woke, Thinking about my horses, that the morn Must see them yoked for war. I found the corn And gave them plenteously. Then in the deep Shadow I saw two men who seemed to creep Close by our line, but swiftly, as I stirred, Crouched and were seeking to make off unheard.

I shouted then, and bade them keep away: Two thieves, I thought, from the great host that lay Round us. They never answered, and, for me, I said no more but turned and presently Was sleeping. In my sleep there came a dream.

I seemed to see the horses--mine own team I had trained long since and drove at Rhesus' side-- But wolves were on their backs, wolves, couched astride, Who drove and scourged; I saw the horses rear And stagger with wide nostrils, stiff with fear, And, starting up to drive the beasts away, I woke.--A terror of great darkness lay [vv. 788-809]

About me, but I lifted up my head And listened. There was moaning, like the dead That moan at night, and over me there flowed, So soft, so warm--it was my master's blood, Who writhed beside me, dying! With a bound I sprang up, empty-handed, groping round For spear or sword, when, lo, a young strong man Was close to me and slashed, and the sword ran Deep through my flank. I felt its pa.s.sage well, So deep, so wide, so spreading . . . then I fell.

And they, they got the bridles in their hand And fled. . . . Ah! Ah! This pain. I cannot stand.

[_The Guards catch him as he reels, and lay him on the ground._ I know, I saw, thus much. But why or how Those dead men went to death I cannot know, Nor by whose work. But this I say; G.o.d send 'Tis not foul wrong wrought on us by a friend.

LEADER.

Good charioteer of that ill-fortuned king, Suspect us not. 'Tis Greeks have done this thing.

But yonder Hector comes. He hath been shown The foul deed, and thy sorrows are his own.

_Enter_ HECTOR _in wrath, with a band of Guards_.

HECTOR.

Ye workers of amazement! Have your eyes No sight? Ye watch and let these Argive spies Pa.s.s--and our friends are butchered in their sleep-- [vv. 810-834]

And then pa.s.s back unwounded, laughing deep Amid the galleys at the news they bring Of Trojan sluggards and the fool their king?

Great G.o.d, ye never baulked them as they came, Nor smote them as they went!

[_His eye falls on the_ CAPTAIN.

Who bears the blame Of this but thou? Thou wast the watcher set To guard this host till morn. I tell thee yet For this deed--I have sworn by Zeus our Lord!-- The scourge of torment or the headsman's sword Awaits thee. Else, be Hector in your thought Writ down a babbler and a man of nought.

LEADER (_grovelling before_ HECTOR).

Woe, woe! It was for thee, only for thee, I must have gone, O Help and Majesty, That time with message that the fires were burning.

Mine eye was keen; I swear by Simos river, It never drooped nor slumbered, never, never, From eve till morning!

My master, verily, I am innocent utterly, Build not such wrath against me, Lord, nor harden Thy heart; let Time be judge; and if in deed Or word I have offended, let me bleed!

Bury me here alive! I ask no pardon.

[HECTOR _is standing over him ready to strike when the_ CHARIOTEER _speaks_.

THRACIAN.

Why threaten them? Art thou a Greek to blind My barbarous wit so nimbly, in a wind Of words? This work was thine. And no man's head [vv. 835-861]

Is asked by us, the wounded and the dead, Save thine. It needs more play, and better feigned, To hide from me that thou hast slain thy friend By craft, to steal his horses.--That is why He stabs his friends. He prays them earnestly, Prays them to come; they came and they are dead.

A cleaner man was Paris, when he fled With his host's wife. He was no murderer.

Profess not thou that any Greek was there To fall on us. What Greek could pa.s.s the screen Of Trojan posts in front of us, unseen?

Thyself was stationed there, and all thy men.

What man of yours was slain or wounded when Your Greek spies came? Not one; 'tis we, behind, Are wounded, and some worse than wounded, blind Forever to the sunlight. When we seek Our vengeance, we shall go not to the Greek.

What stranger in that darkness could have trod Straight to where Rhesus lay--unless some G.o.d Pointed his path? They knew not, whispered not, Rhesus had ever come. . . . 'Tis all a plot.

HECTOR (_steadied and courteous again_).

Good allies I have had since first the Greek Set foot in Troy, and never heard them speak Complaint of Hector. Thou wilt be the first.

I have not, by G.o.d's mercy, such a thirst For horses as to murder for their sake.

[_He turns to his own men._ Odysseus! Yet again Odysseus! Take All the Greek armies, is there one but he Could have devised, or dared, this devilry? [vv. 862-876]

I fear him; yea, fear in mine own despite, Lest Dolon may have crossed him in the night And perished; 'tis so long he cometh not.

THRACIAN.

I know not who Odysseus is, nor what.

I know it was no Greek that wounded us.

HECTOR.

To think thus pleasures thee? Well, have it thus.

THRACIAN.

Home, home! To die at home and rest my head!

HECTOR.

Nay, die not, friend. We have enough of dead.

THRACIAN.

How can I live? Lost, and my master slain.

HECTOR.

My house will shelter thee and heal thy pain.

THRACIAN.

Thy house? Will murderers' nursing give me peace?

HECTOR.

Still the same tale! This man will never cease.

THRACIAN.

My curse rest--not on Hector, but on those Who stabbed us, as thou say'st.--Ah, Justice knows!

HECTOR. [vv. 877-891]

There, lift him.--Bear him to my house. Take pains, If care can do it, that the man complains No more of Troy.--Ye others, bear withal To Priam and the Elders of the Wall My charge, that, where the cart-road from the plain Branches, they make due burial for our slain.

[_One party of Guards lifts carefully the wounded_ THRACIAN _and goes off bearing him: another departs with the message to Troy_.

CHORUS.