 Book 10, Part 2 of Pharsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Phil Schemf. Pharsalia by Lucan. Translated by J.D. Duff. Book 10, Caesar in Egypt, Part 2. Pothonus did they pass, as though in peace profound the nightly watches. But Pothonus' mind, once with a cursed butchery imbued, was frenzied still. Since great Pompeus fell, no deed to him was crime. His rabid soul, the avenging goddess, and Magnus' shade stirred to fresh horrors. And a farion hand no less was worthy, as he deemed to shed that blood, which Fortune proposed, should be due the conquered fathers. And the fell revenge, due to the Senate for the Civil War, this hireling almost snatched. A vert, he fates, far hints the shame that not by Brutus' hand this blow be struck. Shall thus the tyrants fall, just at our hands, become a farion crime, reft of example? To prepare a plan, fated to fail, he dares. Surveils in fraud a plot for murder, but with open war attacks the unconquered chieftain. From his crimes he gains such courage as to send command to lop the head of Caesar, and to join in death the kinsmen chiefs. These words by night his faithful servants to a chilisbear, his foul associate, whom the boy had made chief of his armies, and who ruled alone, or Egypt's land, and or himself, her king. Now lay thy limbs upon the sumptuous couch, and sleep in luxury, for the queen has seized the palace. Nor alone by her betrayed, but Caesar's gift is ferocious. Dust the lay, nor hasten to the chamber of thy queen, thou only, married to the Latian chief, the impious sister now her brother-weds, and hurrying from rival spouse to spouse hath Egypt won, and plays the bod for Rome. By amorous potions she has won the man, then trusts the boy. Yet give him but a knight in her enfondling arms, and drunk with love thy life and mine heal barter for a kiss. Be for his sister's charms by cross and flame shall pay the penalty. Nor hope of aid, here stands adulterous Caesar, here the king her spouse. How hope we, from so'd stern a judge to gain acquittal, shall she not condemn those who ne'er sought her favors? By the deed we dared together, and lost, by Magus's blood, which wrought the bond between us. Be thou swift with hasty tumult to arouse the war. Shin with nightly band, and mar with death their shameless nuptials, on the very bed with either lover smite the ruthless queen. Nor let the fortunes of the western chief make pause our enterprise. We share with him the glory of his empire or the world. Pompeus fallen makes us too sublime. There lies the shore that bids us hope success. Ask of our power from the polluted wave, and gaze upon the scanty tomb, which holds not all Pompeus's ashes. Peer to him was he whom now thou fearst. Noble blood, true, is not ours. What boots it? Nor are realms nor wealth of peoples given to our command. Yet we have risen to a height of power, for deeds of blood, and fortune to our hands attracts her victims. Lo, a nobler now lies in our compass, and a second death, asperia shall appease. For Caesar's blood, shed by these hands, shall give us this. That Rome shall love us, guilty of Pompeus's fall, by fear these titles. Why this chieftain's strength? For shorn of these, before your sorority lies, a common soldier. To the civil war this night shall bring completion, and shall give to people slain fit offerings, and send that life the world demands beneath the shades. Rise then, in all your hardy-hood, and smite this Caesar down, and let the Roman youths strike for themselves, and logos for its king. Nor do thou tarry, full of wine and feasts, thoualt fall upon him in the lists of love. Then dare the venture, and the heavenly gods shall grant of Katoes and of Brutus' prayers to thee fulfillment. Nor was Achilles slow to hear the voice that counseled him to crime. No sounding clarion summoned, as his want, his troops to arms. Nor trumpet-blair betrayed their nightly march, but rapidly he seized all needed instruments of blood and war. Of Latian race the most part of his train, yet to barbarian customs were their minds by long forgetfulness of Rome debased. Rome's had it shamed to serve the Faryon king, but now his vassal and his Minion's word compel obedience. Those who serve in camps lose faith and love of kin. Their pittance earned makes just the deed, and for their sordid pay, not for themselves, they threaten Caesar's life. Where finds the piteous destiny of the realm, Rome with herself at peace. The host withdrawn from dread the sallia raves on Nylis's banks as all the race of Rome. What more had dared with Magnus welcomed, and legion house. Each hand a must render to the gods their due, nor son of Rome may cease from civil war. By Heaven's command our state was rent in twain. Nor love for husband, nor regard for sire parted our peoples. To as a slave who stirred afresh the conflict, and a chillest grasp to in turn the sort of Rome, nay more had one had not the fates at burst restrained his hand from Caesar's slaughter. For the murderous pair, ripe for their plot, were met. The spacious hall still busied with the feast. So might have flowed into the kingly cups a stream of gore, and in mid banquet fallen Caesar's head. But did they fear, lest in the nightly strife, the fates permitting, some in cautious hand? So did they trust the sword. Might slay the king, thus stayed the deed. For in the minds of slaves the chance of doing Caesar to the death might bear postponement. When the day arose, then should he suffer. And a night of life, thus by Pothinus, was to Caesar given. Now from the Cation Rock look forth the sun, flooding the land of Egypt with a day warm from its earliest dawn. When from the walls, not wandering in disorder, are they seen, but drowned in close array, as though to meet a foe opposing, ready to receive, or to give the battle. Caesar, in the town placing no trust, within the palace courts lay in ignoble hiding place, the gates close barred. For all the kingly rooms possessed. But in the narrowest portion of the space he drew his band together. There in arms they stood, with dread and fury in their souls. He feared attack, indignant at his fear. Thus will a noble beast, in little cage, imprisoned, fume and break upon the bars his teeth enfrenzied wrath, nor more would rage the flames of Vulcan in Sicilian depths should Etna's top be closed. He whom but now, by Hamas's mount against Pompeya's chief, Italia's leaders and the Senate line, his cause forbidding hope. Looked at the fates he knew were hostile, with unfaltering gaze now fears before the crime of hireling slaves. And in mid-palice trembles at the blow. She whom, nor Scythian, nor Alon, had dared to violate, nor the Moor, who aims the dart upon his victim's slain, to prove his skill. The Roman world but now did not suffice to hold him, nor the realms from furthest end to terri and gateys. Now as puny boy or woman, trembling when a town is sacked, within the narrow corners of a house he seeks for safety. On the portals closed his hope of life, and with uncertain gait he treads the halls, yet not without the king, in purpose tolemeus that thy life for his shall give atonement, and to hurl thy severed head among the sermon throng, should darts and porches fail. So story tells the colquian princess, with sword in hand and with her brother's neck bared to the blow, waited her sire, a venture of his realm despoiled, and of her flight. In the imminent risk, Caesar in hopes of peace, an envoy sent to the fierce vassals from their absent lord, bearing a message thus. At whose command wage ye the war? But not the laws which bind all nations upon earth, nor sacred rights avail to save or messenger of peace, or king's ambassador, or thee from crime such as befitted thee, thou land of nile, fruitful in monstrous deeds, not Juba's realm, vast though it be, nor Pontus, nor the land, the salient, nor the arms of Farnaces, nor yet the tracks which chill Iberius grids, nor Libyan coasts such wickedness have dared, as thou with all thy luxuries. Closer now war hem the men, and weapons in the courts, shaking the innermost recesses, fell. It did no ram, fatal with single stroke assail the portal, nor machine of war, nor flame they called in aid. But blind of plan they wandered purposeless, in separate bands around the circuit, nor at any spot, with strength combined, attempt to breach the wall. The fates for bad, and fortune from their hands held fast the palace as a battlement. Nor fail they to attack from ships of war, the regal dwelling where its frontage bold made stand apart the waters of the deep. There too was Caesar's all-protecting arm. For these at point of sword, and those with fire he forces back. And though besieged, he dares to storm the assailants, and as lay the ships adjoined rank to rank, bids drop upon their sides, lamps drenched with reeking tar, nor slow the fire to seize the hempen cables and the decks oozing with melting pitch. The oarsman's bench, all in one moment, and the topmost yards burst into flame. Half merged the vessel's lay, while swam the foemen, all in arms the wave. Nor fell the blaze upon the ships alone, but seized with writhing tongues the neighbouring homes, and fanned to fury by the southern breeze tempestuous it let from roof to roof. Not otherwise than on its heavenly track, unfed by matter, glides the ball of light, by air alone aflame. This past recalled some of the forces to the city's aid from the besieged walls, nor Caesar gave to sleep its season, swifter than all else to seize the crucial moment of the war. Quick in the darkest watches of the night, he leaped upon his ships, and Pharaoh seized, gate of the main, an island in the days of Proteus Sear, now bordering the walls of Alexander's city. Thus he gained a double vantage, for his foes were pent within the narrow entrance, which for him and for his aides gave access to the sea. Nor longer was Pothonus's doom delayed, yet not with cross or flame, nor with the wrath his crime demanded, nor by savage beasts torn did he suffer, but by Magnus's death, alas the shame. He fell, his head by sword hacked from his shoulders. Next by frauds prepared by Ganymede, her base attendant, fled Arseno from the court to Caesar's foes. There in the absence of the king she ruled as of legion blood. There at her hands, the savage minion of the tyrant boy, Achilles, fell by just a venging sword. Thus did another victim to thy shade atone, Pompeus, but the gods forbid that this be all thy vengeance, not the king, nor all the stock of Legos, for thy death would make fit sacrifice. So fortune deemed, and not till patriot swords shall drink the blood of Caesar, Magnus, shall thou be appeased. Still though was slain the author of the strife, sank not their rage. With Ganymede for chief again they rushed to arms, in deeds of fight again they conquer. So might that one day have witnessed Caesar's fate. So might its fame have lived through ages. As the Roman chief, crushed on the narrow surface of the mole, prepared to throw his troops upon the ships, sudden upon him the surrounding foes with all their terrors came. Intense array their navy-line the shores. While on the rear the footmen ceaselessly charged. No hope was left, for flight was not, nor could the brave man's arm achieve or safety or a glorious death. Not now were needed for great Caesar's fall. Caught in the toils of nature, routed host or mighty heaps of slain, his only doubt to fear, or hope for death, while on his brain Bravescae was imaged flashed, now vainly sought, who on the wall by epidemis' fields earned fame immortal, and with single arm drove back Pompeus as he trod the breach. End of Book 10, Part 2. End of Farsalia, Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars, by Lucan, translated by J. D. Duff.