The Project Gutenberg eBook of "The Rhesus", by Gilbert Murray.

There, and then back! . . . And on this belt shall bleed
Odysseus' head—or why not Diomede?—
To prove my truth. Ere dawn can touch the land
I shall be here, and blood upon my hand.
[Exit Dolon.

Chorus.

      Thymbraean, Delian, Birth divine,
      That walkest Lycia's inmost shrine,
         Come, strong to guard, to guide, to follow,
            Come, bow in hand and girt with night,
      To help thy Dardans as of old,
      When stone by stone thy music rolled—
         O conquering Strength, O Sire Apollo!—
            Young Ilion into towers of light.

      Grant that he reach the shipyard, creep
      Keen-eyed through all that host asleep,
         Then back to home and hearth, yet living,
            Where now his father prays alone:
      Yea, grant that, when the Greeks are slain,
      Our wolf shall mount with scourge and rein
         Those coursers of the sea-god's giving,
            Whom Peleus drove in days foregone.

      Alone in those Greek ships to stake
      His life, for home and country's sake:
         'Tis wondrous! Few be hearts so true
      When seas across the bulwark break,
         And sunlight sickens o'er the crew.
      Ah, Phrygia still hath hearts of rock!
      The Phrygian spear flies fast and far!
      Where shall ye find the fool to mock
            Our works in war?

      Whom will he stab a-sleeping, whom,
      The quick grey wolf, the crawling doom?
         Grant that he slay the Spartan! Nay,
      Or Agamemnon's head and plume
         To Helen bear at dawn of day!
      A lightsome dawn to hear her wail
      Her brother sworn, her King who came
         To Ilion with his thousand sail,
             And swords, and flame!

[As the song ends Dolon reappears, in the disguise of a wolf. The Guards gather round him, bidding him godspeed as he crawls off in the dark towards the Greek camp. Meantime from the direction of Mount Ida has entered a Shepherd who goes to Hector's door and calls. The Guards seeing him return to their places.

Shepherd.

Ho, Master!
[Enter Hector from tent.
I would it ofttimes were my luck to share
As goodly news with thee as now I bear.

Hector.

What dulness hangs about these shepherds! Block,
Com'st thou to us with tidings of thy flock
Here in the field in arms? Who wants thee here?
Thou know'st my house; thou know'st my father's.
There
Tell all about thy lucky lambs.—Now go.

Shepherd.

Dull wits, we shepherds! Aye, 'twas alway so.
Yet still, there is some good news to be told.

Hector.

A truce there to thy gossip of the fold!
Our dealings are of war, of sword and spear.
[He turns to go.

Shepherd.

Aye; so were mine. That is what brought me here.
[Hector's manner changes.
A chief comes yonder, leading a great band
Of spears, with help to thee and all the land.

Hector.

From whence? How do his name and lineage run?

Shepherd.

He comes from Thrace, the River Strymon's son.

Hector.

Rhesus! Not Rhesus, here on Trojan soil?

Shepherd.

Thou hast guessed. That eases me of half my toil.

Hector.

What makes he there towards Ida? All astray
Thus from the plain and the broad waggon-way!

Shepherd.

I know not rightly, though one well may guess.
'Tis hard to land at night, with such a press
Of spears, on a strange coast, where rumours tell
Of foes through all the plain-land. We that dwell
On Ida, in the rock, Troy's ancient root
And hearth-stone, were well frighted, through the mute
And wolfish thickets thus to hear him break.
A great and rushing noise those Thracians make,
Marching. We, all astonied, ran to drive
Our sheep to the upmost heights. 'Twas some Argive,
We thought, who came to sweep the mountain clear
And waste thy folds; till suddenly our ear
Caught at their speech, and knew 'twas nothing Greek.
Then all our terror fled. I ran to seek
Some scout or pioneer who led the van
And called in Thracian: "Ho, what child of man
Doth lead you? From what nation do ye bring
This host with aid to Ilion and her king?"
He told me what I sought, and there I stood
Watching; and saw one gleaming like a God,
Tall in the darkness on a Thracian car.
A plate of red gold mated, like a bar,
His coursers' necks, white, white as fallen snow.
A carven targe, with golden shapes aglow,
Hung o'er his back. Before each courser's head
A Gorgon, to the frontlet riveted,
With bells set round—like stories that they tell
Of Pallas' shield—made music terrible.
The numbers of that host no pen could write
Nor reckon; 'tis a multitudinous sight,
Long lines of horsemen, lines of targeteers,
Archers abundant; and behind them veers
A wavering horde, light-armed, in Thracian weed.
A friend is come to Ilion in her need
'Gainst whom no Argive, let him fly or stand,
Shall aught avail nor 'scape his conquering hand.

Leader.

Lo, when the Gods breathe gently o'er a town,
All runs to good, as water-streams run down.

Hector (bitterly).

Aye, when my spear hath fortune, when God sends
His favour, I shall find abundant friends.
I need them not; who never came of yore
To help us, when we rolled to death before
The war-swell, and the wind had ripped our sail.
Then Rhesus taught us Trojans what avail
His words are.—He comes early to the feast;
Where was he when the hunters met the beast?
Where, when we sank beneath the Argive spear?

Leader.

Well may'st thou mock and blame thy friend. Yet here
He comes with help for Troy. Accept him thou.

Hector.

We are enough, who have held the wall till now.

Leader.

Master, dost think already that our foe
Is ta'en?

Hector.

I do. To-morrow's light will show.

Leader.

Have care. Fate often flings a backward cast.

Hector.

I hate the help that comes when need is past . . .
Howbeit, once come, I bid him welcome here
As guest—not war-friend; guest to share our cheer.
The thanks are lost, he might have won from us.

Leader.

My general, to reject an ally thus
Must needs make hatred.

Shepherd.

The mere sight of those
I saw would sure cast fear upon our foes.

Hector (yielding reluctantly, with a laugh).

Ah, well; thy words are prudent; and (To Shepherd) thine eyes
See glorious things. With all these panoplies
Of gold that filled our Shepherd's heart with joy,
Bid Rhesus welcome, as war-friend to Troy.

[Exit Shepherd; Hector returns to his tent, amid the joy of the soldiers.

Chorus.

        Now Adrasteia be near and guard
        Our lips from sin, lest the end be hard!
    But he cometh, he cometh, the Child of the River!
        The pride of my heart it shall roll unbarred.
        We craved thy coming; yea, need was strong
        In the Hall of thy lovers, O child of Song;
    Thy mother the Muse and her fair-bridged River
        They held thee from us so long, so long!

        By Strymon's torrent alone she sang,
        And Strymon shivered and coiled and sprang;
    And her arms went wide to the wild sweet water,
        And the love of the River around her rang.

        We hail thee, Fruit of the River's seed,
        Young Zeus of the Dawn, on thy starry steed!
    O ancient City, O Ida's daughter,
        Is God the Deliverer found indeed?

        And men shall tell of thee, Ilion mine,
        Once more a-harping at day's decline,
    'Mid laughing of lovers and lays and dances
        And challenge on challenge of circling wine?

        When the Greek is smitten that day shall be,
        And fled to Argolis over the sea:
    O mighty of hand, O leader of lances,
        Smite him, and heaven be good to thee!

        Thou Rider golden and swift and sheer,
        Achilles falters: appear! appear!
    The car like flame where the red shield leapeth,
        The fell white steeds and the burning spear!

        No Greek shall boast he hath seen thy face
        And danced again in the dancing place;
    And the land shall laugh for the sheaves she reapeth,
        Of spoilers dead by a sword from Thrace.

Enter Rhesus in dazzling white armour, followed by his Charioteer and Attendants. The Charioteer carries his golden shield. The Chorus break into a shout of "All Hail!"

Leader.

        All hail, great King! A whelp indeed
            Is born in Thracia's lion fold,
        Whose leap shall make strong cities bleed.
            Behold his body girt with gold,
        And hark the pride of bells along
            The frontlet of that targe's hold.

Chorus.

            A God, O Troy, a God and more!
        'Tis Ares' self, this issue strong
        Of Strymon and the Muse of song,
            Whose breath is fragrant on thy shore!

Re-enter Hector.

Rhesus.

Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, noble son
Of noble sires, all hail! Long years have run
Since last we greeted, and 'tis joy this day
To see thy fortunes firm and thine array
Camped at the foe's gate. Here am I to tame
That foe for thee, and wrap his ships in flame.

Hector.

Thou child of Music and the Thracian flood,
Strymonian Rhesus, truth is alway good
In Hector's eyes. I wear no double heart.
Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy part
In Ilion's labours, not have left us here,
For all thy help, to sink beneath the spear.
Why didst thou—not for lack of need made plain!—
Not come, not send, not think of us again?
What grave ambassadors prayed not before
Thy throne, what herald knelt not at thy door?
What pride of gifts did Troy not send to thee?
And thou, a lord of Barbary even as we,
Thou, brother of our blood, like one at sup
Who quaffs his fill and flings away the cup,
Hast flung to the Greeks my city! Yet, long since,
'Twas I that found thee but a little prince
And made thee mighty, I and this right hand;
When round Pangaion and the Paiôn's land,
Front against front, I burst upon the brood
Of Thrace and broke their targes, and subdued
Their power to thine. The grace whereof, not small,
Thou hast spurned, and when thy kinsmen, drowning, call,
Comest too late. Thou! Others there have been
These long years, not by nature of our kin . . .
Some under yon rough barrows thou canst see
Lie buried; they were true to Troy and me;
And others, yet here in the shielded line
Or mid the chariots, parching in the shine
Of noonday, starving in the winds that bite
Through Ilion's winter, still endure and fight
On at my side. 'Twas not their way, to lie
On a soft couch and, while the cups go by,
Pledge my good health, like thee, in Thracian wine.
I speak as a free man. With thee and thine
Hector is wroth, and tells thee to thy face.

Rhesus.

Thy way is mine, friend. Straight I run my race
In word and deed, and bear no double tongue.
I tell thee, more than thine my heart was wrung,
Yea, angered past all durance, thus to stay
Back from thy battles. 'Twas a folk that lay
Hard on my borders, Scythians of the north;
Just when my host for Troy had started forth,
They fell upon our homes. I had reached the coast
Of the Friendless Sea and purposed to have crossed
My Thracians there. We turned; and all that plain
Is trampled in a mire of Scythian slain
Ploughed by our spears, and blood of Thrace withal
Not stinted. This it was that drowned thy call
For help and held me back from Ilion's need.
I broke their power; the princes of their breed
I took to hostage, made their elders swear
To bring my house due tribute, year by year,
Then, never lagging, crossed the Pontus mouth,
Marched by long stages through Bithynia south
And here am come . . . not drunken with the feast,
As thou wouldst have me be, not lulled to rest
In golden chambers. In this harness hard
I have borne my nights of winter storm that starred
The Euxine into ice and scared the strong
Paionians.
Long I have been, but not too long
To save thee yet. Friend, this is the tenth year
Thou labourest on unceasing, with no clear
Vantage; day creeps by day, and Ares throws
The same red dice for thee and for thy foes.
Now, hear my vow. Before one day's eclipse
I swear to break their wall, to burn their ships
And slay their princes. On the second day
I leave this soil and take my homeward way,
Thy pains relieved. No Trojan of the land
Need move, nor turn the buckler in his hand.
Alone my late-comers will turn the tide
And smite your Greeks, for all their bitter pride.

Chorus.

[The Trojan soldiers, who have been listening with delight, here break out in irrepressible applause.

      All hail!
      Sweet words and faithful heart!
      Only may Zeus avert
From those proud lips the Wrath that none may bear!
      Never a galleon bore,
      Now, nor in days of yore,
Prince like to thee, so valiant and so fair.
      How shall Achilles, how
      Shall Ajax bear him now,
Or face thy lance? May I but stand that day
      Watching to see him reel
      Broken beneath thy steel,
And once in blood his many murders pay!

Rhesus.

Yea, more atonement thou shalt take from me
For this slow help.—May Adrasteia see
My heart and pardon!—When we two have set
Troy free from these who compass her with hate,
Soon as the Gods have had their first-fruits, I
With thee will sail—so help me Zeus on high!—
And sack all Hellas with the sword, till these
Doers of deeds shall know what suffering is.

Hector.

By heaven, could I once see this peril rolled
Past us, and live in Ilion as of old,
Untrembling, I would thank my gods! To seek
Argos and sack the cities of the Greek—
'Twere not such light work as thou fanciest.

Rhesus.

These Greeks that face thee, are they not their best?

Hector.

We seek not better. These do all we need.

Rhesus.

When these are beaten, then, we have done the deed.

Hector.

Lose not thy path watching a distant view.

Rhesus.

Thou seem'st content to suffer, not to do?

Hector.

I have a kingdom large by mine own right. . . .

What station will best please thee in this fight
To ground the targe and stablish thine array?
Right, left, or midmost in the allies? Say.

Rhesus.

'Twould please me best to fight these Greeks alone.
Yet, if 'twould irk thine honour not to have thrown
One firebrand on the ships with me, why, then
Set us to face Achilles and his men.

Hector.

Achilles? Nay, his spear ye cannot meet.

Rhesus.

How so? Fame said he sailed here with the fleet.

Hector.

He sailed, and he is here. But some despite
'Gainst the great King now keeps him from the fight.

Rhesus.

Who next to him hath honour in their host?

Hector.

Next, to my seeming, Ajax hath the most,
Or Diomede.—But Odysseus is a tough
And subtle fox, and brave; aye, brave enough.
No man of them hath harmed us more than he.
He climbed here to Athena's sanctuary
One night, and stole her image clean away
To the Argive ships. Yes, and another day,
Guised as a wandering priest, in rags, he came
And walked straight through the Gates, made loud acclaim
Of curses on the Greek, spied out alone
All that he sought in Ilion, and was gone—
Gone, and the watch and helpers of the Gate
Dead! And in every ambush they have set
By the old Altar, close to Troy, we know
He sits—a murderous reptile of a foe!

Rhesus.

No brave man seeks so dastardly to harm
His battle-foes; he meets them arm to arm.
This Greek of thine, this sitter like a thief
In ambush, I will make of him my chief
Care. I will take him living, drive a straight
Stake through him, and so star him at the Gate
To feed your wide-winged vultures. 'Tis the death
Most meet for a lewd thief, who pillageth
God's sanctuary, or so we hold in Thrace.

Hector (making no answer).

Seek first some sleep. There still remains a space
Of darkness.—I will show the spot that best
May suit you, somewhat sundered from the rest.
Should need arise, the password of the night
Is Phoebus: see your Thracians have it right.
[Turning to the Guards before he goes.Advance beyond your stations, men, at some
Distance, and stay on watch till Dolon come
With word of the Argives' counsel. If his vow
Prosper, he should be nearing us by now.

[Exeunt Hector and Rhesus and Attendants. The Guards, who have been below, come forward sleepily from the camp fire, and sit watching by Hector's tent.

Chorus.

      Say, whose is the watch? Who exchanges
          With us? The first planets to rise
      Are setting; the Pleiades seven
      Move low on the margin of heaven,
      And the Eagle is risen and ranges
             The mid-vault of the skies.

Another.

      No sleeping yet! Up from your couches
          And watch on, the sluggards ye are!
      The moon-maiden's lamp is yet burning.

Third Guard.

      Oh, the morning is near us, the morning!
      Even now his fore-runner approaches,
             Yon dim-shining star.

Divers Guards (talking).

Who drew the first night-watch?

Another.

'Twas one
Koroibos, called the Mygdon's Son.

The Guard.

And after?

The Other.

                            The Mount Taurus men
      Had second watch: from them again
      The Mysians took it. We came then.

A Guard.

      'Tis surely time. Who will go tell
      The fifth watch? 'Tis the Lycians' spell
      By now; 'twas thus the portions fell.

Another.

      Nay, hearken! Again she is crying
          Where death-laden Simoïs falls,
      Of the face of dead Itys that stunned her,
      Of grief grown to music and wonder:
      Most changeful and old and undying
          The nightingale calls.

Another.

      And on Ida the shepherds are waking
          Their flocks for the upland. I hear
      The skirl of a pipe very distant.

Another.

      And sleep, it falls slow and insistent.
      'Tis perilous sweet when the breaking
               Of dawn is so near.

Divers Guards (talking).

Why have we still no word nor sign
Of that scout in the Argive line?

Another.

I know not; he is long delayed.

Another.

God send he trip not on the blade
Of some Greek in an ambuscade!

Another.

It may be. I am half afraid.

Leader.

      Our time is past! Up, men, and tell
      The fifth watch. 'Tis the Lycians' spell
      Now, as the portions fairly fell.

[The Guards pass out to waken the Lycians. The stage is empty and dark except for the firelight, when a whisper is heard at the back. Presently enter Odysseus and Diomede in dull leather armour, Diomede carrying at his belt Dolon's wolf-skin and mask.

Odysseus.

Diomede, hist!—A little sound of arms
Clanking. . . or am I full of void alarms?

Diomede.

No. 'Tis some horse tied to the chariot rail
That clanks his chain.—My heart began to fail
A moment, till I heard the horse's champ.

[They steal on further, keeping in the shadow.

Odysseus.

Mind—in that shade—the watchers of the camp.

Diomede.

I keep in shadow, but I am staring hard.

Odysseus.

Thou know'st the watchword, if we stir some guard?

Diomede.

Phoebus. 'Twas the last sign that Dolon gave.

[They creep forward in silence to the entrance of Hector's tent.

Odysseus.

Now, forward!
[They dash into the tent, swords drawn; then return. God! All empty as the grave!

Diomede.

Yet Dolon told us Hector's couch was made
Just here. For none but him I drew this blade.

Odysseus.

What means it? To some ambush is he gone?

Diomede.

Maybe, to work some craft on us at dawn.

Odysseus.

He is hot with courage when he is winning, hot.

Diomede.

What must we do, Odysseus?—He was not
Laid where we thought him, and our hopes are lost.

Odysseus.

Back to our own ship-rampart at all cost!
The God who gave him victory saves him still.
We cannot force Fortune against her will.

Diomede.

Could we not find Aeneas? Or the bed
Of Paris the accurst, and have his head?

Odysseus.

Go by night searching through these lines of men
For chiefs to kill? 'Twere death and death again.

Diomede.

But to go empty back—what shame 'twill be!—
And not one blow struck home at the enemy!

Odysseus.

How not one blow? Did we not baulk and kill
Dolon, their spy, and bear his tokens still?
Dost think the whole camp should be thine to quell?

[Diomede takes Dolon's wolf-mask off his belt and hangs it in Hector's tent, then turns.

Diomede.

Good. Now for home! And may the end be well!

[As they turn there appears at the back a luminous and gigantic shape, the Goddess Athena.

Athena.

What make ye, from these sleepers thus to part
Desponding and with sorrow-wounded heart
If Hector be not granted you to slay
Nor Paris? Little know ye what great stay
Of help is found for Troy. This very night
Rhesus is come; who, if he see the light
Of morning, not Achilles nor the rack
Of Ajax' spear hath power to hold him back,
Ere wall and gate be shattered and inside
Your camp a spear-swept causeway builded wide
To where beached galleys flame above the dead.
Him slay, and all is won. Let Hector's head
Sleep where it lies and draw unvexèd breath;
Another's work, not thine, is Hector's death.

Odysseus.

Most high Athena, well I know the sound
Of that immortal voice. 'Tis ever found
My helper in great perils.—Where doth lie
Rhesus, mid all this host of Barbary?

Athena.

Full near he lies, not mingled with the host
Of Troy, but here beyond the lines—a post
Of quiet till the dawn, that Hector found.
And near him, by his Thracian chariot bound,
Two snow-white coursers gleam against the wan
Moon, like the white wing of a river swan.
Their master slain, take these to thine own hearth,
A wondrous spoil; there hides not upon earth
A chariot-team of war so swift and fair.

Odysseus.

Say, Diomede, wilt make the men thy share,
Or catch the steeds and leave the fight to me?

Diomede.

I take the killing, thou the stablery:
It needs keen wit and a neat hand. The post
A man should take is where he helpeth most.

Athena.

Behold, 'tis Paris, hasting there toward
This tent. Methinks he knoweth from the guard
Some noise of prowling Argives hither blown.

Diomede.

Comes he alone or with his guards?

Athena.

Alone;
Toward Hector's quarters, as I deem, he plies
His message. He hath heard some tale of spies.

Diomede.

Then he shall be the first dead Trojan!

Athena.

                                                                 No;
Beyond the ordainèd end thou canst not go.
Fate hath not willed that Paris by thy deed
Shall die; it is another who must bleed
To-night. Therefore be swift!
                           [Exeunt Odysseus and Diomede.
                                                 For me, my guise
Shall melt and change in Alexander's eyes,
Yea, till he dream 'tis Cypris, his delight
And help in need, that meets him in the night,
And soft shall be my words to him I hate.
So speak I; but on whom my spell is set
He hears not, sees not, though so near I stand.
                          [She becomes invisible where she stands.

Enter Paris.

Paris.

Ho, Hector! Brother! General of the land!
Sleepest thou still? We need thy waking sight.
Our guards have marked some prowler of the night,
We know not if a mere thief or a spy.

[Athena becomes visible again, but seems changed and her voice softer.

Athena.

Have comfort thou! Doth not the Cyprian's eye
Mark all thy peril and keep watch above
Thy battles? How shall I forget the love
I owe thee, and thy faithful offices?
To crown this day and all its victories,
Lo, I have guided here to Troy a strong
Helper, the scion of the Muse of song
And Strymon's flood, the crownèd stream of Thrace.

Paris (standing like one in a dream).

Indeed thy love is steadfast, and thy grace
Bounteous to Troy and me. Thou art the joy
And jewel of my days, which I to Troy
Have brought, and made thee hers.—O Cyprian,
I heard, not clearly,—'twas some talk that ran
Among the pickets—spies had passed some spot
Close by the camp. The men who saw them not
Talk much, and they who saw, or might have seen,
Can give no sign nor token. It had been
My purpose to find Hector where he lay.

Athena.

Fear nothing. All is well in Troy's array.
Hector is gone to help those Thracians sleep.

Paris.

Thy word doth rule me, Goddess. Yea, so deep
My trust is, that all thought of fear is lost
In comfort, and I turn me to my post.