by Nonnus
[137] “I am Pithos, named after the old one, and here beside the winepress I receive the sweet juice of the garden-grapes. I was the servant of Assyrian Staphylos and Botrys; I was the old nurse who cared for them both as children, and I still carry them both upon my hips, as if they were still alive.”
[142] But this Lord Bacchos was not to do for a long time to come. Now he marched past Tyros and Byblos, and the wedded water of the scented river of Adonis, and the rocks of Libanos where Cyprogeneia loves to linger. He climbed into Arabia, and under the frankincense trees he wondered at the ridge of Nysa with its dense forest, and the city built on the steep, the nurse of spearmen.
[149] There lived a bloodthirsty ruffian, the ferocious Lycurgos, a son of Ares and like his father in his own horrid customs. He used to drag innocent strangers to death against all right, and cut off with steel human heads, which he hung over his gateway in festoons. He was like Oinomaos and of the same age. Oinomaos kept his unhappy daughter unmarried in his house, without husband, growing old and yet unacquainted with wedded love, until Tantalides came scoring the highroad of the deep in Earth-shaker’s fourhorse chariot unwetted. Then came his race for a bride; then cunningminded Myrtilos got him a stolen victory, by making for the wheel a sham axle of wax to deceive — for he was himself in love with sorrowful Hippodameia and pitied her. So the race was useless: under the burning chariot of Helios the waxmoulded model grew warm in the heat, the shortlasting axle melted and shot off the wheel.
[166] Lycurgos was one of the same kind. Often when he met wandering wayfarers at the crossroads with loads on their backs, he had them bound and dragged to his house, and then sacrificed them to Enyalios his father; they were cut to pieces with knives, and he took their extremities to decorate his inhospitable gates. As a man who returns at last spear in hand from war with his enemies, and hangs up in the hall shields or helmets as trophies of a new victory, so on the blood-stained portals of Lycurgos the feet and hands of dead men were hung. It was massacre: at the neighbouring altar of Zeus, the Strangers God, groaning strangers were cut piecemeal like so many oxen and sheep, and the altars were drenched in the blood of the slain, the dust was spotted with red gore about the gates of the dwelling. The people under this tyranny made haste to sacrifice to Lycurgos instead of Zeus.
[182] But you, Dionysos, did not escape the jealousy of trickstitching Hera. Still resentful of your divine birth, she sent her messenger Iris on an evil errand, mingling treacherous persuasion with craft, to bewitch you and deceive your mind; and she gave her an impious poleaxe, that she might hand it to the king of Arabia, Lycurgos Dryas’ son.
[188] The goddess made no delay. She assumed a false pretended shape of Ares, and borrowed a face like his. She threw off her embroidered saffron robes, and put on her head a helmet with nodding plume, donned a delusive corselet, as the mother of battle, a corselet stained with blood, and sent forth from her grim countenance, like a man, battlestirring menaces, all delusion. Then with fluent speech she mimicked the voice of Enyalios:
[196] “My son, scion of invincible Ares, can it be that you too fear Bassarids and their tenderskin womanish threats? This is no new troop of Amazons from Thermodon, these are no warrior women of the Caucasos. They carry no swift arrows, they speed no shafts, they have no bold warhorse, nor over their shoulders do they hold the oxhide halfbuckler of the barbarians. I am ashamed to summon you to battle, when women cry havoc against Lycurgos who fears no havoc! Are you quiet, Lycurgos, while Dionysos is arming? He is a mortal abortion, not one sprung from heavenly stock. Son of Zeus — that is a fairytale of the Hellenes! I can’t believe all that about Cronion’s childbearing, how my father Zeus ruling on high brought forth a womanish son from his manly thigh! I believe no lying tales, that my Zeus who bore Athena has brought forth a mortal man! My Zeus never learnt how to give birth to a weakling son. Take the word of Ares your father. You have seen that Athena, the female child of Zeus, is stronger than Bacchos. —
[216] “My son, you possess your own strength; you need not your father Enyalios even if he is lord of war. Yet I will arm, if you wish, and I will not leave you in war alone; you shall have a goddess, if need be; Hera, sister and wife of Zeus, will go with you into battle to hold a shield before Lycurgos her grandson....”
[222] “I will set up in your divine temple the rods of the Bassarids, their bastard spears. I will shear off the long horns unshaken from the oxhorned Centaurs, and make stronghorn bows for Arab archers, as it ought to be. I will cut off the long stretching tail from the Seilenoi, and make a hairy whip to beat horses. All these I will bring for you after the battle. But the yellow shoes of unwarlike Bacchos, and his woman’s dress of purple, and the woman’s girdle that goes round his loins, these I will keep for your sister-consort the seafoamborn, proper gifts for a woman. All the troop of attendants about womanmad Lyaios I will mate with my slaves in forced wedlock, without asking a brideprice, as it ought to be with captives of the spear. Those worthless plants of the gardenvine, the gentle gifts of Lyaios, fires of Araby shall receive with its hottest sparks!
[238] “Let the sturdy Bassarid, who served Dionysos in the mazes of the dance, learn a new and unfamiliar art: leaving the hills for a house, dropping the dappled fawnskin and covering her body with a shift, grinding corn with a round millstone. Let her throw off her garlands and the fruitage as they call it; let her learn to combine two common services, as bond-slave both to Pallas and Cythereia, with work-basket by day and the bed by night, handling the shuttle instead of Rheia’s cymbals. Let the old Seilenoi sing Euoi beside my festal board, and instead of their usual Lyaios let them strike up a revel for Ares and Lycurgos.”
[251] So he spoke, and goldenwing Iris divine smiled to hear; then went her way, paddling in the false shape of a falcon.
[253] Lycurgos took this vision as an omen of his victory; for he recognized that the swift bird beating murderous wings knew how to scare away the feeble doves. For he had seen, he had seen another such dream, how a maned lion in the woods with ravening throat all ready gave chase to the horned generation of swift deer. With this dream in his mind he made ready against the frenzied Bacchants, thinking the Bassarids to be like prickets unacquainted with battle, and felt greater boldness than before. And Iris, by Hera’s command, put the winged shoe on her feet, and holding a rod like Hermes the messenger of Zeus, flew up to warn Lyaios of what was coming. To Bacchos in corselet of bronze she spoke deceitful words:
[266] “Brother, son of Zeus Allwise, put war aside, and celebrate your rites with Lycurgos, a willing host. Let battle be, slay not your friends, do not refuse peace! Be gracious to the gentle; who will vanquish a humble man? Do not stir up strife against those who ask you for mercy. Do not cover your body with a starspangled corselet; do not enclose your head in a crestlifting helmet; do not entwine your hair with a garland of serpents. Leave your bloodstained rods behind; take your familiar staff and a horn full of your delicious wine, and offer Euian gifts to Lycurgos who loves the grape! Now dress your body in your unblooded tunic, now let us make melody for a dance without corselet, and let your army remain quiet near the shady wood that it may not offer battle to a peaceful king. No, put on your head the garland that you love; go in joy to the open house of Lycurgos ready to welcome, go in revel like a bridegroom, and keep your Indian-slaying rods for disobedient Deriades. You know King Lycurgos has no coward soul. He is the son of Ares with the blood of Zeus in him; in battle he shows the inborn prowess of Enyalios his father, nor would he shrink from combat with your Cronion himself.”
[289] So she cajoled him, and the shoes carried her high into the air. Dionysos deceived by the goddess threw aside his battlestirring rods, and doffed the plumed helmet from his hair, and laid down his star-spangled shield. In one bare hand he carried a vessel full of the purple juice, his pointed horn with the cheerful grape; he twined his unplaited hair with vine-leaves and ivy. His host under arms and his battlestirring women he left near Mount Carmel with the team of lions, and h
imself walked on foot to the festival in holiday garb without weapon. The panspipes sounded a cheeryheart melody of banquet, the double pipes whistled a friendly note, the Bassarid waved the Euian tambourines of Lyaios and skipped before the gateway of Lycurgos.
[304] The bold king heard the jubilation of the dance, the hoboy’s note and the Berecynthian tune and the noise of the panspipes, he saw the round tambourine beaten on both sides, and he was furious. When he beheld the vinegod near his porch, he laughed in scorn, and hurled an implacable threat against the leader of the Bassarids, in mocking words:
[311] “Do you see these offerings hung up before my mansion? You too, my friend, give me some decoration for my house, your thyrsus or feet or hands or bloody head. If you have horned Satyrs at your command, horned Bacchos, I will strike you all down with my poleaxe like cattle! There is my hospitable gift for you, that gods and men may tell how the gates of Lycurgos were festooned with the mutilated limbs of Dionysos. I am no Boiotian king, this is not Thebes, this is not Semele’s house, where women have labour by thunderclap and bring forth their baseborn children by lightning. You brandish a vinebound thyrsus, I wield a poleaxe; and I will cleave your oxforehead down the middle, and break off your curved horns!”
[325] With these words, he beat the nurses of Dionysos with his poleaxe and chased them away; and the dancing women — one shook Rheia’s cymbals from her palm, one put down the tambourine from her rattle-loving hands, another shot away her bunches of grapes, another fell with the cups of nectar; many threw down melodious panspipes and Athena’s breathing hoboy to roll over each other in the dust. As after storm, near the peaceful woods, a shepherd sees the delightful season of cloudless Phaethon, and wakes a revel while the Nymphs join his dance; then suddenly the water comes rolling from the rocks and the waves are piled up as the river pours down from the mountains, the whistler throws the pipes out of his hands, fearing the bold flood of the river in torrent lest it overwhelm the sheep with swollen stream — so Lycurgos scattered the happy jubilant dancers, and drove the Bacchants unchapleted to the high hills; he pursued them in no dancing fashion, that disbanded army of women; and in his armour of bronze, carrying the sharp poleaxe, Hera’s treasure, he made war upon Bacchos unarmed. Now the cruel stepmother bore hard on Lyaios — invincible Hera thundered loud and made him quake; the knees of Bacchos trembled, as the jealous resentful goddess armed herself on high. For he thought Cronion was fighting for Lycurgos, when he heard the thunderclaps rolling in the heavens. He took to his heels in fear and ran too fast for pursuit, until he plunged into the gray water of the Erythraian sea.
[354] But Thetis in the deeps embraced him with friendly arm, and Arabian Nereus received him with hospitable hands, when he entered within the loud-resounding hall. Then he comforted him with friendly words, and said:
[358] “Tell me, Dionysos, why are your looks despondent? No army of earthborn Arabs has conquered you, no pursuing mortal man, you fled from no human spear; but Hera, sister and consort of Zeus Cronides, has armed herself in heaven and fought on the side of Lycurgos — Hera and stubborn Ares and the brazen sky: Lycurgos the mighty was only a fourth. Often enough your father himself, the lord of heaven ruling on high, had to give way to Hera! You will have all the more to boast of, when one of the Blessed shall say — Hera consort and sister of mighty Zeus took arms herself against Dionysos unarmed!”
[369] So speaking, Nereus tried to console Bacchos. And while Dionysos was hiding in the bright waves, Lycurgos indignant shouted aloud to the water —
[372] “I wish my father had taught me not war alone, but how to deal with the sea! Then I would take a turn at the fishermen’s game, and fish for Dionysos, and drag this Lydian out of the bosom of the deep to land again for my servant! But since I have not learnt the work of seafaring fishers, and know nothing of the tricks of hunting in the deep with a cunning mesh of nets, you may have Leucothea’s house in the watery deep, until I can dislodge both you and Melicertes as they call him, another of your kin. I want no steel for that, or this merciless poleaxe which belongs to the land. I want fishermen, to dive into the depth of the Erythraian brine and drag Dionysos from his refuge in the sea.
[384] “Ho Fishermen! searchers of the haunts of Nereus! Spread not your nets for the denizens of the deep, but haul out Dionysos in the meshes! Let Leucothea be caught along with Lyaios, and let her come back to the land; let bold Palaimonc come with them to my house, let him dry his body and be slave to Lycurgos! Then he may leave the courses of his seabred horses round Ephyreia, and yoke my car beside a terrestrial manger, he and Bacchos grooms together. Let there be one house — one house for both, Palaimon and Dionysos.”
[394] Thus full of fury he railed at the sea, and hoary Nereus, and wished to flog the deep. But Father Zeus cried aloud to Lycurgos in his raging —
[397] “You are mad, Lycurgos, you challenge the winds in vain! Away on your feet, while your eyes can still see! You have heard how a while ago by a trickling spring in the mountains Teiresias only saw Athena naked — he lifted no furious spear and made no attack on the goddess, he only saw, and yet lost the sight of his eyes.”
[403] Such was the rebuke of Zeus who rules on high, spoken through the air when he saw the outrageous impiety of Lycurgos.
BOOK XXI
The twenty-first contains Earthshaker’s wrath, and the man-breaking battle of Ambrosia, and the Indian ambush.
NOR did Dryas’ son forget the first combat. He seized the poleaxe, and a second time went in search of the troops of Bassarids in the forest. But heavenly Zeus gave courage and warlike boldness to Ambrosia, and then possessed of a wave of wild madness she raised a stone and hurled it at Lycurgos, knocking off the ponderous helmet from his locks. But he boldly attacked with a larger stone all jagged, and drove at the chest of the soft-eyed nymph. He did not overthrow her however, and he cried out in rage —
[11] “Ares, lord of war, father of strong Lycurgos! Can you see without shame your son attacking a weak unarmed woman, instead of Lyaios? The sea is too strong for my poleaxe, for Dionysos was hidden in the waves; I have had my journey in vain, and I will return to my own city, and leave my task unfinished.”
[17] He spoke, and seizing Ambrosia round the waist he held her fast in his limb-compressing hands; he wished to throw her into bonds and to drag her to his house like a captive foreigner, to drive off a nymph from the company of Bromios’s nurses, pricking her slave’s back with the doubleheaded poleaxe. But she stood, and he could not drag her away, nor could he smash her skull in a mess of blood. Saffronrobe Ambrosia fled the bold man and prayed to Mother Earth to save her from Lycurgos. And the Earth, mother of all fruits, opened a gulf, and received Ambrosia the nurse of Bromios alive in a loving embrace. The nymph disappeared and changed her shape to a plant — she became a vine-shoot, which of itself coiled its winding cord round the neck of Lycurgos and throttled him with a tight noose, battling now with threatening clusters as once with the thyrsus.
[33] Rheia indignant gave a voice to the plant, that she might show her favour to Dionysos king of gardenvines; so Ambrosia uttered a breathing voice and shrilled high and loud:
[36] “Never will I cease to fight with you, plant though I am! Even as one of the world of plants I will wound you! I have no brazen chain, but I will choke you with inextricable leaves! I will attack you although a vine, that people may say —
‘Bassarids kill murderers, even when they are part of the world of leaves!’ You have to fear even vegetable warriors, for vines can shoot their enemies, and grapes can stab them! I fought you alive, and dead I will vanquish you. See how the nurses of Dionysos play the heroes! Have you heard of the seafish called hold the ship, how in the sea a little weak creature has often attacked a crew, pulls back their vessels, and with a small gaping mouth holds up a long freightship firm and fast? Here I am, your hold the ship on land! Here are my leaves, with a selfacting fetter not made of steel, for the battle of the valiant vine! Stand, I say, stand and wait for the son o
f Thyone, when he shall return from the bosom of the sea!”
[53] So cried Ambrosia out of the vine with her grapy voice, whipping Lycurgos with her long foliage; and the wild man caught in the fresh green bonds, immovable, smothered all round in the galling fetters of leaves which he could not tear, roared defiance against Dionysos. He had no strength to escape; in vain he shook his throat wound about with the tiny tendrils in strong constraint. His voice could find no ferry through the gullet throttled with wreathing growths. The Bacchant women thronged round him, his neck confined in the middle of the stifling clusters.
[63] Spearmaster Ares caught up his son’s frightful axe; for he feared that the mad Bacchants might strike the body of Lycurgos with that bloody poleaxe; but he did not release Dryas’ son from the leafy bonds, much as he desired to do it — he gave way on hearing the threatening sound of Zeus’s thunder, and at the flash of his father’s lightning.
[69] Polyxo threw herself upon the head of the raving man, and tore out long locks of hair by the roots. She laid a furious hand on the belly of her foe, seized the corselet, wrenched it off with predatory force, burst it in her rage — declare, O warrior Muses! what a wonder that a woman’s nails should tear apart this gear, made of steel though it was! — Cleite with hair flowing free had plaited a twining rope of withies, and Gigarto of the vines, with the whip of twigs, scored the body of Lycurgos with red bleeding weals over the torn shoulders. Phleio scratched the sole of his foot with bunches of thorns, maddened dreadfully. Eriphe the companion of Eiraphiotes clutched at the man’s hairy throat, with a mind to throw him back on the ground. Phasyleia the leader of the Bacchanal dance, fought and scratched the enemy’s flank with a sharp spike. Theope Lyaios’s nurse armed herself with a skintearing fennel. Bromie, who bore the name of Bromios, also beat the body of Lycurgos; and with them Cisseis, that grapeloving nymph, flogged the man with ivy.
