The Thebaid
Page 28
the object in his fingers to discern
which side felt best, which fit his middle arm.
He knew the art; this game had been his love,
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not only in his country’s festivals,
but when he would connect the banks of Alpheos,
however wide apart, and never sink
his discus when his throw traversed that stream.
Trusting his prowess, with his right hand he
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now measured not the nearby mountainside
but heaven as he drove his flexed knees down,
BOOK Π ∞ΠΣ
twisting with all his force. He hid the disk
up in the clouds. It sought the height with speeds
that grew like something falling, then returned,
after a pause, more slowly to the earth
and buried in the field. Thus falls the moon,
the sun’s dark sister, when it is removed
from the astonished stars, as distant people
rattle bronze instruments to stay her course
(senselessly scared) while the Thessalian witch
laughs at the panting steeds that bide her charms.
Danaans cheered, but not Hippomedon,
as Phlegyas tried a flatter, longer throw.
Suddenly Fortune intervened, for she
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delights in disappointing undue hope.
What claims has anyone against the gods?
As Phlegyas prepared substantial space,
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he bent his neck, his side was turning back,
but the weight tumbled at his feet; his hand
fell forward, empty, and the throw was useless.
Everyone groaned, although to some the sight
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was pleasing. Then Menestheus, di≈dent,
made his attempt with care and skill and prayed
continually to you, o son of Maia!
He dusted his slick disk so it won’t slip.
It flew from his huge hand with better luck
and covered no small portion of the circuit.
A cry went up. An arrow marked the spot.
Hippomedon, the third in this sti√ contest,
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moved with slow steps, and bore in mind the fate
of Phlegyas, the fortune of Menestheus.
He raised his burden with familiar ease
from warfare and sustained it, drawing strength
into his rigid side and brawny arm.
He coiled and hurled the weight. His body followed.
With a tremendous bound the discus flew
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through empty air, and even at a distance
recalled his hand and held its path. It passed
∞ΠΠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
beyond Menestheus’ mark and landed far
distant—an envious throw—not even close!
It shook the theater’s dark heights, its green banks,
as if the whole mass fell in widespread ruin,
as if blind Polyphemus threw a stone
from smoke-filled Aetna at Ulysses’ ship,
guided by enemy sounds, and nearly hit it,
or like the sons of Aloeus when they
made Ossa tread Olympus and then piled
Pelion on top to conquer trembling heaven.
Talaus’ son, Adrastus, ordered that
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a tiger skin be given to the victor.
A yellow border hemmed its brilliant surface;
gold smoothed the edges of its long, sharp claws.
• Uncertain arrows and a Cnosian bow
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were given to Menetheus. ‘‘But to you,’’
he said to Phlegyas, ‘‘because of your ill luck,
we give this sword, the glory of our own
Pelasgus. We are sure Hippomedon
will not feel envy! Now we look for bravery:
strap on the deadly gauntlets, pugilists!
Fight hand to hand, for no sport is more warlike.’’
–?–?–?–
The Argive Capaneus was enormous,
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tremendous to behold, a fearful sight,
and while he bound raw leather, black with lead,
about his arms, hard as his gloves, he said,
‘‘Select from all these thousands of young men
someone Aonian as my opponent,
someone I can legitimately kill,
so civil blood won’t stain my reputation!’’
All were astonished, silent in their terror,
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when suddenly, unsought, Alcidamas
stepped forward from the nude Laconians.
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The Doric leaders wondered, but his friends
knew he relied on Pollux, his instructor.
• He’d grown up in the god’s gymnasium.
Pollux, the deity, had taught him how
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to hold his hands, and he had trained his arms.
Both of them loved the sport and often sparred.
Pollux would proudly seize Alcidamas
when he discerned in him his own ill-temper
and hug his naked strength against his chest.
As if in pity, Capaneus taunted
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and called for someone else. He scorned this challenge,
but when he saw Alcidamas determined,
he felt provoked and swelled his long neck’s tendons.
Both stood up tall, feet firm, heads back, and raised
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their lightning hands, their arms in mirror stances
to guard against attack. This one was large,
big-boned and savage, long of limb, as if
the gruesome vultures had let Tityos
ascend from Stygian fields. The other was
a boy till recently, but he was strong,
more than his years. His young enthusiasm
promised a famous future. Nobody
wanted to see him beaten up and bloody;
they feared the outcome, and they prayed for him.
The boxers eyed each other, seeking advantage.
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They did not throw wild punches; they restrained
their eagerness; they showed some fear and caution.
They leaned their arms against quick jabs and tested
their leather gloves by rubbing them together.
Alcidamas, more skilled, postponed attack;
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worried about the future, he delayed;
he saved his strength. However, Capaneus
was prodigal, unmindful of his safety;
he hurried in with everything; both hands
∞Π∫ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
flailed uncontrollably; he ground his teeth—
to no e√ect; he only harmed himself.
Alcidamas was prudent, dexterous,
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skilled in his homeland’s art (Laconia: Sparta).
He blocked some blows; he dodged some; some he ducked.
He sped away from danger, bobbed his head,
lifted his hands to parry jabs, stepped forward,
yet he held back his head. His strength was in
his skill; he had so much experience
in his right hand, that often, though his foe
was strong beyond all reason, he made bold
to step in, block him out, and strike high blows.
Just as a wave precipitates its mass
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on threatening rocks and breaks and then retreats,
so he attacked that madman. He raised up
his hand and kept it forward, menacing
his face and ribs; then as his rigid arm
held the attention of his wary foe,
he threw a skillful, unexpected punch
that hit him on the brow and left a mark
.
A flowing stream of warm gore streaked his temples,
and Capaneus, unaware of it,
was wondering why those watching suddenly gasped
until by chance he drew his flagging hand
across his face and saw the blood-stained leather.
No lion or speared tiger ever raged
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as he did as he pushed Alcidamas
backward until the youth lay on the ground.
His teeth made awful noises as he spun
and multiplied his blows, although the air
absorbed his e√orts, while the Spartan caught
some on his gloves with sharp moves and avoided
a thousand deaths directed at his temples.
He showed quick footwork. He recalled his skills
even in flight and parried many punches.
And now they both were weary from their e√orts
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and breathed in pain; now Capaneus pressed
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more slowly, and Alcidamas retreated
less skillfully. Knees buckled. They craved rest.
They were like wandering sailors whom long seas
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have wearied, who relax their arms a minute
after they hear a signal from the stern,
before a voice recalls them to their oars.
And so Alcidamas again eluded
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the furious onslaught; he dropped back and ducked,
hunching his shoulders, while the other fell
over his head, and as he tried to rise,
the gallant young man landed one more blow
and Capaneus paled at this surprise.
The shouts of the Inachidae were louder
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than noises from the seacoasts or the forests,
but when Adrastus noticed Capaneus
rising and tightening his fist, preparing
what could not be endured, he cried, ‘‘I pray,
o comrades, hurry! Go and stop his rage!
He is convulsed! Bring him the palm and prizes!
The Argive will not spare Alcidamus
until he breaks his head and spills his brains!
Seize the Laconian, or he will die!’’
Tydeus leaped forth at once; Hippomedon
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did not ignore the order, but they both
could hardly hold resisting Capaneus.
They gripped his hands and spoke to quiet him.
‘‘You are the winner here, so stop! It is
a noble thing to spare this young man’s life!
He’s one of us, our comrade in the wars!’’
But nothing calmed that warrior, who shoved
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their pro√ered palm and cuirass back and shouted,
‘‘Let me alone! Let me destroy those cheeks
with which that sissy curries minions! I’ll
turn them to bloody pulp, and I will make
a gift for his instructor back in Sparta,
where I’ll send his maimed body to its grave!’’
∞π≠ STATIUS, THE THEBAID
Friends led him o√. Meanwhile the pupil of
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famous Taygetus was congratulated
by the Laconians. They mocked the words
of Capaneus as he called for more.
–?–?–?–
Self-conscious of his prowess, having heard
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other men lauded, Tydeus ventured forward.
He could throw disks with skill, compete in racing,
or hold his own in boxing but preferred
before all other sports the oil of wrestling.
He spent his leisure from the war this way.
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It was his custom to relax his weapons
and, on the banks of Achelous, compete
against the strongest in a pleasant school
where Mercury instructed in the art.
So, when ambition for achievement called
the young men to that contest, the Aetolian
do√ed his great cloak, the skin of native boar.
Agylleus, a tall braggart, rose against him;
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• his limbs were long, his homeland was Cleonae,
and he, not less than Hercules in size,
possessed enormous shoulders, and he towered
high over other men, beyond all measure,
but he lacked tone; he did not have the strength
of Hercules; his limbs were loose and flabby;
blood bloated them and therefore Tydeus had
enormous confidence that he would beat him.
He was a little man, but strongly built,
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with bundled muscles that belied his size.
Nature had never put such spirit in—
or dared to give such strength to—someone small.
After their skin enjoyed a bout of oiling,
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each sought the center ring and scooped up dust
and dried his limbs in turn, then raised his shoulders
and, hunching forward, bent his outstretched arms.
BOOK Π ∞π∞
Tydeus had skill enough to draw Agylleus
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down to his height by stooping till his knees
were almost in the sand, but his opponent
was like a cypress tree, queen of some mountain,
that when the wind blows lowers down its head—
its roots can hardly hold—to graze the earth,
until at last it springs back through the air.
Not otherwise does tall Agylleus bend
his mighty limbs above his smaller foe
and as he does so, groans. Both alternated
quick hand assaults at brows, necks, shoulders, sides,
chests, and retreating legs; sometimes they leaned
their arms against each other for support;
sometimes they locked their hands then struggled free.
Two bulls, the leaders of two herds, do not
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make fiercer war when one white heifer waits,
expectant, in the field where they confront
and crash their chests together goaded by
love—that same love that numbs and heals their wounds.
Thus do two boars clash lightning tusks, or two
rude bears compete and tear each other’s fur.
Tydeus had strength that never failed; his limbs
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did not grow faint from sun or dust; his skin
was firm and well conditioned from hard work,
his muscles hard, but his foe was unsound,
his breathing labored, he was weak, he panted,
and sticky sand rolled o√ in streams of sweat
as furtively he grasped the ground to rise.
Tydeus took action, crowded him, then faked
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and—threatening his neck—he grabbed both legs
but could not stretch his short arms where he wanted.