The Thebaid
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of rugged forests and encircling mountains
that formed a crown, a soft embrace, a seat.
A berm marked out by pairs of boundary stones
embraced a long and level field. It sloped
up gently, winding, with no sudden drops,
and shaped a summit, soft with living turf.
Dawn, and the sun’s red rays traversed the field.
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Cohorts of soldiers sat there, pressed together,
and as they saw their numbers and each other’s
faces and uniforms, they felt some pleasure;
their confidence renewed, and they felt better.
One hundred black bulls, strongest of the herd,
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slowly paraded, then an equal number
of cows of that same color with their calves
whose brows were not yet crescented by horns.
• A series of amazing e≈gies
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was borne along, the likenesses
of high-souled ancient ancestors.
The first was Hercules, whose strong embrace
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crushes a gasping lion, breaks his bones.
The Argives found it frightening to view
that figure, not a real man, only bronze—
and they were his descendants! Next in order
was father Inachus, reclining on
his left side by a mound of brookside reeds.
They showed him pouring water from his urn.
Io was next, already on all fours, and she
• saw starry Argus, ever vigilant,
behind her, and her father grieved. But then
in Pharian fields in Egypt, Jupiter
lifted her kindly, and Aurora kissed her.
Now father Tantalus was drawn along,
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not he who hovers near deceiving waves
or snatches at the air when trees recede,
but the great Thunderer’s guest, a pious man.
Elsewhere triumphant Pelops drove the reins
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and car of Neptune, while the charioteer
• Myrtilos grappled for his swimming wheels
but fell behind the faster vehicle.
• Then came the grave Acrisius, and the harsh
face of Coroebus. They showed Danae,
• and rain poured on her lap. Amymone
appeared in sadness by the stream she’d found.
Alcmena held the infant Hercules,
her pride and joy, and three moons veiled her hair.
• The sons of Belus shook discordant hands,
a truce of enmity. Aegyptus stood
nearby with milder aspect, but the face
of Danaus revealed his treachery:
he planned a future evening of destruction!
Unnumbered pageants satisfied the soldiers,
but then their prowess called the best to contests.
–?–?–?–
The sweat of horses first. Recite, Apollo,296
the names of famous riders and their steeds.
∞Σ≤ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
There never was a gathering of more
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noble, wing-footed horses. These resembled
a flock of birds aligned in V-formation,
or Aeolus, whose mad winds clash on shore.
Leading the others, clearly visible
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because his red mane flamed, Arion pranced.
His lord, they say, was Neptune and the first
to hurt his tender mouth with his sharp curb:
he tamed that horse along a sandy shore
without a whip, for his desire to race
could not be satisfied—he was inconstant,
like winter waves, and joined with swimming steeds
he often drew his blue-haired master safely
through the Ionic and the Libyan seas
while storm clouds marveled to be left behind
and north and south winds struggled to pursue.
With equal speed he carried Hercules,
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son of Amphitryon, when he engaged
• in King Eurystheus’s toils and traced deep furrows
through meadowlands. Even to him he was
disorderly and di≈cult to hold,
but soon—a gift of heaven—he accepted
the rule of King Adrastus. He grew tame
with age till on this day the king permitted
his son-in-law to ride him—yet he gave
warning to Polynices not to raise
a stern hand should the horse bolt, but use skill,
the arts of riding. ‘‘Do not let him free
and o√ the bit!’’ he warned. ‘‘Urge other steeds
with whips and threats! This horse has all the speed
you’ll need!’’ In just that way, Apollo gave
• his happy son his fiery reins and car
but wept while he instructed him which stars
were treacherous, which zones could not be crossed,
and what was temperate between the poles.
His son was pious, duly cautious, but
young, and the harsh Fates would not let him learn.
The next contestant for the palm wore white,
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harnessed white horses, and wore bands of wool
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whose color matched his casque and crested plume:
Amphiaraus, guiding Spartan horses.
• These were your o√spring, Cyllarus, begotten
by stealth when Castor, by the shores of distant
• Scythia, traded Amyclean reins
for oars along the Black Sea where he sailed.
Admetus, blessed with steeds of Thessaly,
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could hardly curb his barren mares, o√spring
of Centaurs, it was said. They scorned their sex
and used their female heat to fashion strength.
They were like night and day, dark-grained and white,
so bright they could be easily believed
to stem from that same herd that would not eat
as long as they, enchanted and amazed,
could hear Apollo play Castalian reeds.
The next were sons of Jason, whom their mother
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Hypsipyle had recently discovered.
The name of Thoas was one’s mother’s father;
Euneos was a word derived from Argo.
Their faces, horses, chariots, and clothes
and equal and harmonious vows to win—
or come in second only to a brother—
made the twins similar in all they did.
Here were Hippodamus and Chromis—one
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descended from great Hercules, the other
from Oenomaus. Who could tell which one
handled his reins more fiercely? Getic steeds,
bred by Diomedes, for one; the other
had horses from his Pisan father. Stains
of blood marred both war carts—and foul remains.
One of the goalposts was a strong, bare oak,
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whose branches had been stripped; opposed, a stone
protuberance, the kind that limits fields.
It was the length four javelins could reach
or three times longer than an arrow’s flight.
–?–?–?–
∞Σ∂ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Meanwhile the singing of Apollo charmed
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the Muses, in their glorious assembly.
He touched his strings, and gazed down from Parnassus,
then sang the first beginnings of the gods,
for often he had sung of Jupiter,
• or Phlegra, or his own fight with the serpent,
• or told, with piety, his brothers’ d
eeds.
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He opened with what spirit moves the stars,
the bolts of lightning, what soul animates
the rivers, feeds the winds, provides the source
of life for oceans. He revealed the sun’s
pathways that hurry nightfall or delay it
and how the universe holds middle earth
deep down and bounded by an unseen world.
He finished, and although the Sisters wished
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to hear more, he dismissed them and removed
the laurel from his instrument, unwove
the chaplet from his bright head, and released
his waist’s embroidered girdle. Then he saw,
in Nemea, the land of Hercules,
commotion—not far o√—a great assembly
of four-horse chariots prepared for racing.
By chance Amphiaraus and Admetus
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stood in a nearby field. Apollo knew them
and asked himself, ‘‘What god put these two kings,
my loyal followers, in competition?
Both men are pious. Both are dear to me.
I do not know which one should be preferred!
When I served in the fields of Pelias,
as Jove ordained, and midnight Fates desired,
one o√ered incense—though I was a servant—
and never made me feel inferior.
The other is companion of the tripod,
a faithful student, skilled in augury.
The merits of the one should be preferred,
but then, the other’s thread of life is short.
• Admetus will receive old age, die late,
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but you, Amphiaraus, have no space
for joy between the dark abyss and Thebes.
• You know this; you have heard the sad birds sing!’’
He spoke, and his hard face, unused to tears,
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was moist. Then suddenly he bounded through
the brilliant air to Nemea, more swift
than his own arrows or his father’s lightning.
He landed as the skies retained his traces;
the winds revealed his brilliant path of flight.
–?–?–?–
Prothous tumbled markers in a bronze
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helmet to choose positions for the start.
Horses and drivers were their countries’ finest,
descendants of the gods. Their hearts unsettled,
with nervous confidence and hope, they waited.
Enclosed, they strained to be released as chills
ran through their limbs—not only fear but thrills.
The horses shared the passion of their masters.
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Flames filled their eyes. Bits rattled in their mouths.
Blood and saliva scalded bridle rings.
They pressed the posts and scarce-resisting gates
and exhaled rage like smoke. Distraught, they waited,
and lost a thousand steps before they started;
their heavy hooves upchurned the absent fields!
Trusted attendants smoothed their knotted manes,
settled their spirits, whispered, planned their race.
Tyrrhenian trumpets played; the steeds leaped forward.
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What sails at sea, what weaponry in battle,
what clouds so swiftly race across the sky?
There is less force in winter streams and fire;
stars fall more slowly, so do drops of rain
and rivers from high summits to the plains.
The Grecians watched them start but soon lost sight
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of separate horses in the blinding dust.
∞ΣΠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
A single cloud obscured them, one so dark
they scarcely saw or heard each other’s cries.
Then the pack thinned. The chariots formed lines.
The second circuit smoothed out former furrows.
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The eager drivers leaned and touched their yokes,
flexed with their knees, and doubled tight-held reins.
Neck muscles bulged. Winds combed the flying manes;
• wheels squealed; hooves pounded; parched earth drank white rain.
Hands never paused; whips whistled through the air.
Cold hail does not fall faster in north winds
nor water tumble from the horns of winter.
Astute Arion could detect the guilt
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of Polynices, son of Oedipus,
the dreadful foreigner who held his reins.
He felt his future, and he was afraid,
unruly from the start, as his oppression
angered him more than usual. The Greeks
thought him provoked by praise, but he was fleeing
his driver, running mad, his unrestraint
threatening his charioteer, while through the field
he searched for King Adrastus, his right master.
Amphiaraus came before the others,
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but he was far behind in second place.
Admetus, the Thessalian, raced with him.
Then came the twins; now Euneos was first,
now Thoas. One advanced; one fell behind.
• Though each desired to win, they never clashed.
Desperate Chromis and Hippodamus
followed, slowed by their horses’ weight, not lack
of talent, and Hippodamas, out front,
could feel the heat of panting mouths behind him.
The auger of Apollo hoped to take
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the shorter, inside path around the goal
by drawing in his reins so he could pass,
and the Thessalian hero, too, perceived
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an opportunity because Arion
ran unrestrained in circles to the right.
Amphiaraus was first, Admetus now
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no longer third, but they were passed, their joy
short-lived, as Neptune’s horse rejoined the circuit
from which he’d strayed. The crowd rose to its feet;
the heavens shook and tumult struck the stars.
No longer could the Theban Polynices
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manage his reins or dare to use his whip,
like an exhausted helmsman who no longer
looks to the stars but only hopes for luck
while sea waves sweep his ship against black rocks.
Again they circled right in full career
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and strove to hold their course around the field.
Axles collided; treacherous spokes struck wheels;
a thousand horsehooves pounded on the plain.
The riders feared, and also threatened, murder.
Their craving for renown was unrelenting.
Their violence was equally intense