 CHAPTER 11 THE STORY OF IFIDGINIA King Agamemnon sat in his tent at Orlis, where the army of the Greeks was gathered together, being about to sail against the great city of Troy. And it was now past midnight, but the king slept not, for he was careful and troubled about many things. And he had a lamp before him, and in his hand a tablet of pine wood whereon he wrote. But he seemed not to remain in the same mind about that which he wrote, for now he would blot out the letters, and then would write them again, and now he fastened the seal upon the tablet, and then break it. And as he did this he wept, and was like to a man distracted. But after a while he called to an old man, his attendant, the man had been given in time-pass by Tindarius to his daughter, Queen Clytemnestra, and said, Old man, thou knowest how Calcas, the soothsayer, bade me offer for a sacrifice to Artemis, who is goddess of this place, my daughter, Ifigenia, saying that so only should the army have a prosperous voyage from this place to Troy, and should take the city and destroy it. And how, when I heard these words, I bade Tel Thibias the Herald go throughout the army and bid them depart, every man to his own country, for that I would not do this thing. And how my brother King Menelaus persuaded me so that I consented to it. Now therefore hearken to this, for what I am about to tell the three men only know, namely Calcas, the soothsayer, and Menelaus, and Ulysses, King of Ithica. I wrote a letter to my wife, the queen, that she should send her daughter to this place, that she might be married to King Achilles, and I magnified the man to her, saying that he would in no wise sail with us, unless I would give him my daughter in marriage. But now I have changed my purpose, and have written another letter after this fashion, as I will now set forth to thee. Daughter of Lida, send not thy child to the land of Euboea, for I will give her in marriage at another time. I, said the old man, but how wilt thou deal with King Achilles? Will he not be wroth, hearing that he hath been cheated of his wife? Not so, answered the king, for we have indeed used his name, but he knoweth nothing of this marriage. And now make haste, sit not now down by any fountain in the woods, and suffer not thine eyes to sleep, and beware lest the chariot bearing the queen and her daughter past thee where the roads divide, and see that thou keep the seal upon this letter unbroken. So the old man departed with the letter, but scarcely had he left the tent when King Menelaus spied him, and laid hands on him, taking the letter and breaking the seal. And the old man cried out, Help my lord, here is one hath taken thy letter. Then King Agamemnon came forth from his tent, saying, What meaneth this uproar and disputing that I hear? And Menelaus answered, Seeest thou this letter that I hold in my hand? I see it, it is mine, give it to me. I give it not till I have read that which is written therein to all the army of the Greeks. Where didst thou find it? I found it while I waited for thy daughter till she should come to the camp. What hast thou to do with that? May I not rule my own household? Then Menelaus reproached his brother, because he did not continue in one mind. For first, he said, Before thou wasst chosen captain of the host, thou wasst all things to all men, greeting every man courteously, and taking him by the hand, and talking with him, and leaving thy doors open to any that would enter. But afterwards, being now chosen, thou wasst haughty and hard of access. And next when this trouble came upon the army, and thou wasst sore afraid lest thou shouldst lose thy office, and so miss renown, didst thou not hearken to Calcas the soothsayer, and promise thy daughter for sacrifice, and send for her to the camp making pretence of giving her in marriage to Achilles? And now thou art gone back from thy word. Surely this is an evil day for Greece that is troubled because thou wantest wisdom. Then answered King Agamemnon, What is thy quarrel with me? Why blamest thou me if thou couldst not rule thy wife? And now to win back this woman, because for sooth she is fair, thou castest aside both reason and honour. And I, if I had an ill purpose, and now have changed it for that which is wiser, dost now charge me with folly? Let them that swear the oath to Tindarius go with thee on this errand. Why should I slay my child, and work for myself sorrow and remorse without end, that thou mayest have vengeance for thy wicked wife? Then many layers turned away in a rage, crying, Betray me if thou wilt, I will betake myself to other councils and other friends. But even as he spake there came a messenger saying, King Agamemnon, I am come as thou badest me with thy daughter Refidgenia. Also her mother, Queen Clytemnestra, is come, bringing with her her little son Arestes. And now they are resting themselves and their horses by the side of a spring, for indeed the way is long and weary. And all the army is gathered about them to see them and greet them. And men question much, wherefore they are come, saying, Doth the king make a marriage for his daughter, or hath he sent for her desiring to see her? But I know thy purpose, my lord, wherefore we will dance and shout and make merry, for this is a happy day for the maiden. But the King Agamemnon was so dismayed when he knew that the queen was come, and spake to himself, Now what shall I say to my wife, for that she is rightly come to the marriage of her daughter, who can deny? But what will she say when she knoweth my purpose? And of the maiden what shall I say? Unhappy maiden, whose bridegroom shall be death, for she will cry to me, Wilt thou kill me, my father? And the little Arestes will wail not knowing what he doeth, seeing he is but a babe, cursed be Paris, who hath wrought this woe. And now King Menelaus came back, saying that it repented him of what he had said. For why should thy child die for me? What hath she to do with Helin? Let the army be scattered so that this wrong be not done. Then said King Agamemnon, but how shall I escape from this straight, for the whole host will compel me to this deed? Not so, said King Menelaus, if thou wilt send back the maiden to Argos. But what shall that prophet, said the King, for Calcas will cause the matter to be known, or Ulysses, saying that I have failed of my promise? And if I fly to Argos they will come and destroy my city, and lay waste my land. Woe is me, in what a straight am I set! But take thou care, my brother, that Clytemnestra hear nothing of these things. And when he had ended speaking, the queen herself came unto the tent, riding in a chariot, having her daughter by her side. And she bade one of the attendants take out with care the caskets which she had brought for her daughter, and bade others help her daughter to a light and herself also, and to a fourth she said that he should take the young Orestes. Then if Eugenia greeted her father, saying, Thou hast done well to send for me, my father. Tis true, and yet not true, my child. Thou locus not well pleased to see me, my father. He that is a king and commandeth a host hath many cares. Out away thy cares a while, and give thyself to me. I am glad beyond measure to see thee. Glad art thou, then why dost thou weep? I weep because thou must be long time absent from me. Perish all these fightings and troubles. They will cause many to perish, and me most miserably of all. Art thou going a journey from me, my father? I, and thou also hast a journey to make. Must I make it alone, or with my mother? Alone, neither father nor mother may be with thee. Sendest thou me to dwell elsewhere? Hold thy peace, such things are not for maidens to inquire. Well my father, order matters with the Phrygians, and then make haste to return. I must first make a sacrifice to the gods. Tis well the gods should have due honour. I, and thou wilt stand close to the altar. Shall I lead the dances, my father? O my child, how I envy thee that thou knowest naught! And now go into the tent, but first kiss me, and give me thy hand, for thou shalt be parted from thy father for many days. And when she was gone within, he cried, O fair bosom, and very lovely cheeks, and yellow hair of my child, O city of Priam, what woe thou bringest on me! But I must say no more. Then he turned to the queen, and excused himself that he wept when he should rather have rejoiced for the marriage of his daughter. And when the queen would know of the estate of the bridegroom, he told her that his name was Achilles, and that he was the son of Pilius, by his wife Thetis, the daughter of Narius of the sea, and that he dwelt in Thea. And when she inquired of the time of the marriage, he said that it should be in the same moon on the first lucky day, and as to the place, that it must be where the bridegroom was sojourning, that is to say, in the camp. And I, said the king, will give the maiden to her husband. But where, answered the queen, is it your pleasure that I should be? Thou must return to Argos and care for the maidens there. Today is thou that I must return, who then will hold up the torch for the bride? I will do that which is needful, for it is not seemly that thou shouldst be present where the whole army is gathered together. I, but it is seemly that a mother should give her daughter in marriage. But the maidens at home should not be left alone. They are well kept in their chambers. Be persuaded, lady. Not so. Thou shalt order that which is without the house, but I that which is within. But now came Achilles to tell the king that the army was growing impatient, saying that unless they might sail speedily to Troy, they would return each man to his home. And when the queen heard his name, for he had said to the attendant, Tell thy master that Achilles, the son of Pilius, would speak with him, she came forth from the tent and greeted him, and bade him give her his right hand. And when the young man was ashamed, for it was not counted a seemly thing that men should speak with women, she said, But why art thou ashamed, seeing that thou art about to marry my daughter? And he answered, Fought sayest thou, lady, I cannot speak for wonder at thy words. Often men are ashamed when they see new friends, and the talk is of marriage. But lady, I never was suitor for thy daughter, nor have the sons of Achilles said ought to me of the matter. But the queen was beyond measure astonished, and cried, Now this is shameful indeed that I should seek a bridegroom for my daughter in such fashion. But when Achilles would have departed to inquire of the king what this thing might mean, the old man that had at the first carried the letter came forth and bade him stay. And when he had assurance that he should receive no harm for what he should tell them, he unfolded the whole matter. And when the queen had heard it, she cried to Achilles, O son of Thetis of the sea, help me now in this straight, and help this maiden that hath been called thy bride, though this indeed be false. Twill be ashamed to thee if such wrong be done under thy name, for it is thy name that hath undone us. Nor have I any altar to which I may flee, nor any friend but thee only in this army. Then Achilles made answer, Lady, I learned from Chiron who was the most righteous of men to be true and honest, and if the sons of Atreus govern according to right I obey them, and if not not. Know then that thy daughter, seeing that she hath been given, though but in word only to me, shall not be slain by her father, for if she so die, then shall my name be brought to great dishonour, seeing that through it thou hast been persuaded to come with her to this place. This sword shall see right soon whether anyone will dare to take this maiden from me. But now King Agamemnon came forth, saying that all things were ready for the marriage, and that they waited for the maiden, not knowing that the whole matter had been revealed to the queen. Then she said, Tell me now, dost thou purpose to slay thy daughter and mine? And when he was silent, not knowing indeed what to say, she reproached him with many words that she had been a loving and faithful wife to him, for which he made her an ill recompense slaying her child. And when she had made an end of speaking, the maiden came forth from the tent, holding the young child resties in her arms, and cast herself upon her knees before her father, and besought him, saying, I would, my father, that I had the voice of Orpheus, who made even the rocks to follow him, that I might persuade thee. But now all that I have I give, even these tears. O my father, I am thy child, slay me not before my time. This light is sweet to look upon, drive me not from it to the land of darkness. I was the first to call thee, father, and the first to whom thou did say, my child, and thou would say to me, Someday my child I shall see thee a happy wife in the home of a good husband, and I would answer, and I will receive thee with all love when thou art old, and pay thee back for all the benefits thou hast done unto me. This I indeed remember, but thou forgettest, for thou art ready to slay me. Do it not I beseech thee by Pellops, thy Grandsire, and Atreus, thy father, and this my mother, who travelled in childbirth of me, and now traveleth again in her sorrow. And thou, O my brother, though thou art but a babe, help me, weep with me, beseech thy father that he slay not thy sister. O my father, though he be silent, yet indeed he beseecheth thee. For his sake, therefore, yea, and for mine own, have pity upon me, and slay me not. But the king was so distracted, knowing not what he should say or do, for a terrible necessity was upon him, seeing that the army could not make their journey to Troy unless this deed should first be done. And while he doubted came Achilles, saying that there was a horrible tumult in the camp, the men crying out that the maiden must be sacrificed, and that when he would have stayed them from their purpose the people had stoned him with stones, and that his own murmidons helped him not, but rather were the first to assail him. Nevertheless he said that he would fight for the maiden, even to the utmost, and that there were faithful men who would stand with him and help him. But when the maiden heard these words, she stood forth and said, Harken to me, my mother, be not wroth with my father, for we cannot fight against fate. Also we must take thought that this young man suffer not, for his help will avail naught, and he himself will perish. Therefore I am resolved to die, for all Greece looketh to me, for without me the ships cannot make their voyage, nor the city of Troy be taken. Thou didst bear me, my mother, not for thyself only, but for this whole people, wherefore I will give myself for them, offer me for an offering, and let the Greeks take the city of Troy, for this shall be my memorial for ever. Then said Achilles, Lady, I should count myself most happy if the gods would grant thee to be my wife, for I love thee well when I see how noble thou art, and if thou wilt I will carry thee to my home, and I doubt not that I shall save thee, though all the men of Greece be against me. But the maiden answered, for what I say I say with full purpose, nor will I that any man should die for me, but rather will I save this land of Greece. And Achilles said, if this be thy will, Lady, I cannot say nay, for it is a noble thing that thou doest. Nor was the maiden turned from her purpose, though her mother besought her with many tears. So they that were appointed led her to the grove of Artemis, where there was built an altar, and the whole army of the Greeks gathered about it. But when the king saw her going to her death, he covered his face with his mantle. But she stood by him and said, I give my body with a willing heart to die for my country, and for the whole land of Greece. I pray the gods that ye may prosper and win the victory in this war, and come back safe to your homes, and now let no man touch me, for I will die with a good heart. And all men marveled to see the maiden of what a good courage she was, and all the armies stood regarding the maiden and the priest and the altar. Then there befell a marvellous thing, for suddenly the maiden was not there. Whether she had gone, no one knew. But in her stead there lay gasping a great hind, and all the altar was red with the blood thereof. And Calcas said, See ye this men of Greece, how the goddess hath provided this offering in the place of the maiden, for she would not that her altar should be defiled with innocent blood. See of good courage, therefore, and depart every man to his ship, for this day ye shall sail across the sea to the land of Troy. Then the goddess carried away the maiden to the land of the Torians, where she had a temple and an altar. Now on this altar the king of the land was wont to sacrifice any stranger, being Greek by nation, who was driven by stress of weather to the place. For none went thither willingly. And the name of the king was Thoas, which signified in the Greek tongue, swift of foot. Now when the maiden had been there many years, she dreamed a dream. And in the dream she seemed to have departed from the land of the Torians and to dwell in the city of Argos, wherein she had been born. And as she slept in the women's chamber there befell a great earthquake and cast to the ground the palace of her fathers, so that there was left one pillar only which stood upright. And as she looked on this pillar yellow hair seemed to grow upon it as the hair of a man, and it spake with a man's voice. And she did to it as she was wont to do to the strangers that were sacrificed upon the altar, purifying it with water and weeping the while. And the interpretation of the dream she judged to be that her brother Orestes was dead, for that male children are the pillars of a house, and that she only was left to the house of her father. Now it chanced that at this same time Orestes, with Pilates that was his friend, came in a ship to the land of the Torians, and the cause of his coming was this. After that he had slain his mother, taking vengeance for the death of King Agamemnon, his father, the Furies pursued him. Then Apollo, who had commanded him to do this deed, bade him go to the land of Athens that he might be judged. And when he had been judged and loosed, yet the Furies left him not. For Apollo commanded that he should sail for the land of the Torians, and carry thence the image of Artemis, and bring it to the land of the Athenians, and that after this he should have rest. Now when the two were come to the place, they saw the altar that it was read with the blood of them that had been slain thereon. And Orestes doubted how they might accomplish the things for which he was come, for the walls of the temple were high, and the gates not easy to be broken through. Therefore he would have fled to the ship, but Pilates consented not, seeing that they were not wont to go back from that to which they had set their hand, but counseled that they should hide themselves during the day in a cave that was hard by the seashore, not near to the ship, lest search should be made for them, and that by night they should creep into the temple by a space that there was between the pillars, and carry off the image and so depart. So they hid themselves in a cavern by the sea, but it chanced that certain herdsmen were feeding their oxen in pastures hard by the shore. One of these coming near to the cavern spied the young men as they sat therein, and stealing back to his fellows said, See, not them that sit yonder, surely they are gods, for they were exceeding tall and fair to look upon. And some began to pray to them, thinking that they might be the twin brethren, or of the sons of Nureus. But another laughed, and said, Not so! These are shipwrecked men who hide themselves, knowing that it is our custom to sacrifice strangers to our gods. To him the others gave consent, and said that they should take them in prisoners that they might be sacrificed to the gods. But while they delayed, arrestees ran forth from the cave, for the madness was come upon him, crying out, Pilatees, seeest thou not that dragon from hell, and that who would kill me with the serpents of her mouth, and this again that breatheth out fire, holding my mother in her arms to cast her upon me. And first he bellowed as a bull, and then howled as a dog. For the furies, he said, did so. But the herdsmen, when they saw this, gathered together in great fear, and sat down. But when arrestees drew his sword, and leapt as a lion might leap into the midst of the herd, slaying the beasts, for he thought in his madness that he was contending with the furies, then the herdsmen, blowing on shells, called to the people of the land. For they feared the young men, so strong they seemed, and valiant. And when no small number was gathered together, they began to cast stones and javelins at the two. And now the madness of arrestees began to abate, and Pilatees tended him carefully, wiping away the foam from his mouth, and holding his garments before him that he should not be wounded by the stones. But when arrestees came to himself, and beheld in what straits they were, he groaned aloud, and cried, We must die, O Pilatees, only let us die as befitteth brave men, draw thy sword, and follow me. And the people of the land dared not to stand before them. Yet while some fled, others would cast stones at them. For all that no man wounded them. But at the last, coming about them with a great multitude, they smote the swords out of their hands with stones, and so bound them, and took them to King Thoas. And the king commanded that they should be taken to the temple, that the priestess might deal with them according to the custom of the place. So they brought the young men bound to the temple. Now the name of the one they knew, for they had heard his companion call to him. But the name of the other they knew not. And when Iphigenia saw them, she bade the people loose their bonds, for that being holy to the goddess they were free. And then, for she took the two for brothers, she asked them, saying, Who is your mother and your father and your sister, if a sister you have? She will be bereaved of noble brothers this day. And whence come ye? To her arrest he's answered, What meanest thou, lady, by lamenting in this fashion over us? I hold it folly in him who must die that he should bemoan himself. Pity us not, we know what manner of sacrifices ye have in this land. Tell me now which of ye two is called Pilates? Not I, but this, my companion. Of what city and the land of Greece are ye? And are ye brothers born of one mother? Brothers we are, but in friendship not in blood. And what is thy name? But I tell thee not, thou hast power over my body, but not over my name. Wilt thou not tell me thy country? And when he told her that his country was Argos, she asked him many things, as about Troy and Helin and Calcas the prophet, and Ulysses, and at last she said, And Achilles, son of Thetis of the sea, is he yet alive? He is dead, and his marriage that was made at Ulysses is of no effect. A false marriage it was, as some know full well. Who art thou that inquirest thus about matters in Greece? I am of the land of Greece, and was brought thence yet being a child. But there was a certain Agamemnon, son of Atreus, thought of him. I know not. She leave all talk of him. Say not so, but do me a pleasure and tell me. He is dead. Woe is me, how died he? What meaneth thy sorrow, art thou of his kindred? Tis a pity to think how great he was, and now he hath perished. He was slain in a most miserable fashion by a woman, but ask no more. Only this one thing, is his wife yet alive? Nay, for the son whom she bear slew her, taking vengeance for his father. A dreadful deed, but righteous with all. Righteous indeed he is, but the gods love him not. And did the king leave any other child behind him? One daughter, Electra by name. And is his son yet alive? He is alive, but no man more miserable. Now when Ephigeniah heard that he was alive, and knew that she had been deceived by the dreams which she had dreamt, she conceived a thought in her heart, and said to Arestes, Harkon now, for I have somewhat to say to thee, that shall bring profit both to thee and to me. Wilt thou, if I save thee from this death, carry tidings of me to Argos, to my friends, and bear a tablet from me to them? For such a tablet I have with me, which one who was brought captive to this place wrote for me, pitying me. For he knew that I caused not his death, but the law of the goddess in this place. Nor have I yet found a man who should carry this thing to Argos. But thou I judge art of noble birth, and knowest the city, and those with whom I would have communication. Take then this tablet and thy life as a reward, and let this man be sacrificed to the goddess. When Arestes made answer, thou hast said well, Lady, save in one thing only, that this man should be sacrificed in my stead, pleaseth me not at all. For I am he that brought this voyage to pass, and this man came with me, that he might help me in my troubles. Wherefore it would be a grievous wrong that he should suffer in my stead, and I escape. Give then the tablet to him. He shall take it to the city of Argos, and thou shalt have what thou wilt. But as for me let them slay me if they will. Tis well-spoken young man, thou art calm I know of a noble stock. The gods grant that my brother, for I have a brother, though he be far hence, may be such as thou. It shall be as thou wilt. This man shall depart with the tablet, and thou shalt die. Then Arestes would know the manner of the death by which he must die, and she told him that she slew not the victims with her own hand, but that there were ministers in the temple appointed to this office, she preparing them for sacrifice beforehand. So she said that his body would be burned with fire. And when Arestes had wished that the hand of his sister might pay due honour to him in his death, she said, This may not be, for she is far away from this strange land. But yet seeing that thou art a man of Argos, I myself will adorn thy tomb and pour oil of olives and honey on thy ashes. Then she departed, that she might fetch the tablet from her dwelling, bidding the attendants keep the young men fast, but without bonds. But when she was gone, Arestes said to Pilates, Pilates, what thinkest thou? Who is this maiden? She had great knowledge of things in Troy and Argos, and of Calcas, the wise soothsayer, and of Achilles and the rest, and she made lamentation over King Agamemnon. She must be of Argos. And Pilates answered, This I cannot say. All men have knowledge of what befell the king, but hearken to this. It were shame to me to live if thou dyest. I sailed with thee and will die with thee, for otherwise men will account lightly of me both in Argos and in Phosis, which is my own land, thinking that I betrayed thee or baseless slew thee, that I might have thy kingdom, marrying thy sister, who shall inherit it in thy stead. Not so. I will die with thee, and my body shall be burnt together with thine. But Arestes answered, I must bear my own troubles. This indeed would be a shameful thing, that when thou seekest to help me I should destroy thee. But as for me, seeing how the gods deal with me, it is well that I should die. Thou indeed art happy, and thy house is blessed, but my house is accursed. Though therefore, and my sister, whom I have given thee to wife, shall bear thee children, and the house of my father shall not perish. And I charge thee, that when thou art safe returned to the city of Argos, thou do these things. First, thou shall build a tomb for me, and my sister shall make an offering there of her hair, and of her tears also. And tell her that I died, slain by a woman of Argos, that offered me as an offering to her gods. And I charge thee, that thou leave not my sister, but be faithful to her. And now farewell, true friend and companion in my toils, for indeed I die, and fevers hath lied unto me prophesying falsely. And Pilatees swore to him that he would build him a tomb, and be a true husband to his sister. After this, if a junire came forth, holding a tablet in her hand, and she said, Here is the tablet of which I spake, but I fear lest he to whom I shall give it shall happily take no account of it when he is returned to the land. Therefore I would feign bind him with an oath that he will deliver it to them that should have it in the city of Argos, and Orestes consented, saying that she also should bind herself with an oath that she would deliver one of the two from death. So she swore by Artemis that she would persuade the king and deliver Pilatees from death. And Pilatees swore on his part by Zeus, the father of heaven, that he would give the tablet to those whom it should concern. And having sworn it, he said, But what if a storm overtake me, and the tablet be lost, and I only be saved? I will tell thee what hath been written in the tablet, and if it perish thou shalt tell them again. But if not, then thou shalt give it as I bid thee. And to whom shall I give it? Thou shalt give it to Orestes, son of Agamemnon. And that which is written therein is this, I that was sacrificed in allest, even Iphigenia, who am alive and yet dead to my own people, bid thee. But when Orestes heard this, he break in, Where is this Iphigenia, hath the dead come back among the living? Thou seest her in me, but interrupt me not. I bid thee fetch me before I die, to Argos from a strange land, taking me from the altar that is red with the blood of strangers whereat I serve. And if Orestes asked by what means I am alive, thou shalt say that Artemis put a hind in my stead, and that the priest thinking that he smote me with the knife slew the beast, and that the goddess brought me to this land. Then said Pilatees, My oath is easy to keep, Orestes, take thou this tablet from thy sister. Then Orestes embraced his sister, crying, For she turned from him not knowing what she should think. O my sister, turn not from me, for I am thy brother whom thou didst not think to see. And when she yet doubted, he told her of certain things by which she might know him to be Orestes, how that she had woven a tapestry wherein was set forth the strife between Atreus and Thyestes concerning the golden lamb, and that she had given a lock of her hair at Orlis to be a memorial of her, and that there was laid in her chamber at Argos the ancient spear of Pellops, her father's grand sire, with which she slew Inomaeus and won Hippodamia to be his wife. And when she heard this she knew that he was indeed Orestes, whom, being an infant and the latest born of his mother, she had in time past held in her arms. But when the two had talked together for a space rejoicing over each other and telling the things that had befallen them, Pylides said, Greetings of friends after long parting are well, but we must needs consider how best we shall escape from this land of the barbarians. But if Igenia answered, yet nothing shall hinder me from knowing how fair is my sister Electra, she is married, said Orestes, to this Pylides whom thou seeest. And of what country is he, and who is his father? His father is Strophius, the Potion, and he is a kinsman, for his mother was the daughter of Atreus, and a friend also, such as none other, is to me. Then Orestes set forth to his sister the cause of his coming to the land of the Torians, and he said, Now help me in this, my sister, that we may bear away the image of the goddess, for so doing I shall be quit of my madness, and thou wilt be brought to thy native country, and the house of thy father shall prosper. But if we do it not, then shall we perish altogether. And if Igenia doubted much how this thing might be done. But at the last she said, I have a device whereby I shall compass the matter. I will say that thou art come hither, having murdered thy mother, and that thou canst not be offered for a sacrifice till thou art purified with the water of the sea. Also that thou hast touched the image, and that this also must be purified in like manner, and the image I myself will bear to the sea, for indeed I only may touch it with my hands. And of this Pilates also I will say that he is polluted in like manner with thee. So shall we three win our way to the ship, and that this be ready it will be thy care to provide. And when she had so said, she prayed to Artemis, Great Goddess, that didst bring me safe in days past from all this, bring me now also, and these that are with me safe to the land of Greece, so that men may count thy brother Apollo to be a true prophet. Nor shouldst thou be unwilling to depart from this barbarous land, and to dwell in the fair city of Athens. After this came King Thoas, inquiring whether they had offered the strangers for sacrifice, and had duly burnt their bodies with fire. To him, if Eugenia made answer, these were unclean sacrifices that thou broughtest to me, O King. How didst thou learn this? The image of the goddess turned upon her place of her own accord, and covered also her face with her hands. What wickedness then had these strangers wrought! They slew their mother, and had been banished, therefore, from the land of Greece. O monstrous! Such deeds we barbarians never do, and now what dost thou purpose? We must purify these strangers before we offer them for a sacrifice, with water from the river or in the sea. In the sea, the sea cleanseth away all that is evil among men. Well, thou hast it here by the very walls of the temple. I, but I must seek a place apart from men. So be it, go where thou wilt, I would not look on things forbidden. The image also must be purified. Surely if the pollution from these murderers of their mother hath touched it, this is well thought of in thee. Then she instructed the king that he should bring the strangers out of the temple, having first bound them, and veiled their heads. Also that certain of his guards should go with her, but that all the people of the city should be straightly commanded to stay within doors, so that they might not be defiled. And that he himself should abide in the temple, and purify it with fire, covering his head with his garments, when the strangers should pass by. And be not troubled, she said, if I seem to be long doing these things. Take what time thou wilt, he said, so that thou do all things in order. So certain of the king's guards brought the two young men from out of the temple, and Ifigenaya led them towards the place where the ship of Orestes lay at anchor. But when they were come near to the shore, she bade them halt, nor come over near, for that she had that to do in which they must have no part. And she took the chain wherewith the young men were bound in her hands, and set up a strange song as of one that sought enchantments. And after that the guards sat where she bade them for a long time, they began to fear lest the strangers should have slain the priestess, and so fled. Yet they moved not, fearing to see that which was forbidden. But at the last, with one consent, they rose up. And when they were come to the sea, they saw the ship trimmed to set forth, and fifty sailors on the benches having oars in their hands ready for rowing. And the two young men were standing unbound upon the shore near to the stern, and other sailors were dragging the ship by the cable to the shore that the young men might embark. Then the guards laid hold of the rudder, and sought to take it from its place, crying, Who are ye that carry away priestesses and the images of our gods? Then arestes said, I am arestes, and I carry away my sister. But the guards laid hold of Iphigenia, and when the sailors saw this they leapt from the ship, and neither the one nor the other had swords in their hands, but they fought with their fists and their feet also. And as the sailors were strong and skillful, the king's men were driven back sorely bruised and wounded. And when they fled to a bank that was hard by and cast stones at the ship, the archers standing on the stern shot at them with arrows. Then for his sister feared to come farther, arestes leapt into the sea, and raised her upon his shoulder, and so lifted her into the ship, and the image of the goddess with her. And Pilates cried, Lay hold of your orgy sailors, and smite the sea, for we have that for the which we came to this land. So the sailors rode with all their might, and while the ship was in the harbour it went well with them, but when it was come to the open sea a great wave took it, for a violent wind blew against it and drove it backwards to the shore. And one of the guards, when he saw this, ran to King Thoas and told him, and the king made haste and sent messengers mounted upon horses to call the men of the land that they might do battle with arestes and his comrade. But while he was yet sending them, there appeared in the air above his head the goddess Athenie, who spake saying, Cease King Thoas from pursuing this man and his companions, for he hath come hither on this errand by the command of Apollo, and I have persuaded Poseidon that he make the sea smooth for him to depart. And King Thoas answered, It shall be as thou wilt, O goddess, and though arestes hath borne away his sister and the image, I dismiss my anger, for who can fight against the gods? So arestes departed and came to his own country, and dwelt in peace, being set free from his madness according to the word of Apollo. End of CHAPTER XI THE STORY OF IFFIGINIA CHAPTER XII OF MYTHS AND LEGIONS OF ALL NATIONS CHAPTER XII THE SACK OF TROY THE TROJAN HORSE For ten years King Agamemnon and the men of Greece laid siege to Troy, but those sentents had gone forth against the city, yet the day of its fall tarried, because certain of the gods loved it well and defended it, as Apollo and Mars, the God of war, and Father Jupiter himself. Wherefore Minerva put it into the heart of Epeus, Lord of the Isles, that he should make a cunning device wherewith to take the city. Now the device was this. He made a great horse of wood, feigning it to be a peace offering to Minerva, that the Greeks might have a safe return to their homes. In the belly of this they hid themselves certain of the bravest of the chiefs, as Menelaus and Ulysses, and Theos of Aetolian, and Macheon, the great physician, and Pyrrhus son of Achilles, but Achilles himself was dead, slain by Pyrrhus, Apollo helping, even as he was about to take the city, and others also, and with them Epeus himself, but the rest of the people made as if they had departed to their homes, only they went not further than Tenedos, which was an island near to the coast. Great joy was there in Troy when it was noised abroad that the men of Greece had departed. The gates were opened, and the people went forth to see the plain and the camp. And one said to another as they went, Here they set the battle in Array, and there were the tents of the fierce Achilles, and there lay the ships. And some stood and marveled at the great peace offering to Minerva, even the horse of wood. And Thyometes, who was one of the elders of the city, was the first to advise that it should be brought within the walls and set in the citadel. Now whether he gave this council out of a false heart, or because the gods would have it so, no man knows. But Capus and others with him said that it should be drowned in water or burned with fire, or that men should pierce it and see whether they were ought within. And the people were divided, some crying one thing and some another. Men came forward the priests of Leocune, and a great company with him, crying, What madness is this? Think ye that the men of Greece are indeed departed, or that there is any prophet in their gifts? Surely there are armed men in this mighty horse, or happily they have made it that they may look down upon our walls. Touch it not! For as for these men of Greece, I fear them. Even though they bring gifts in their hands. And as he spake, he cast his great spear at the horse so that it sounded again. But the gods would not that Troy should be saved. Meanwhile there came certain shepherds dragging with them one whose hands were bound behind his back. He had come forth to them, they said, of his own accord when they were in the field. At first the young men gathered about him mocking him. But when he cried aloud, What place is left for me? For the Greeks suffer me not to live, and the men of Troy cry for vengeance upon me. They rather pitted him, and made him speak, and say whence he came, and what he had to tell. Then the man spake, turning to King Priam, I will speak the truth whatever before me. My name is Sinon, and I deny not that I am a Greek. Happily thou hast heard the name of Palometes, whom the Greeks slew. But now, being dead, lament. And the cause was that because he counseled peace, men falsely accused him of treason. Now of this Palometes I was a poor kinsman, and followed him to Troy. And when he was dead, through the false witness of Ulysses, I lived in great grief and trouble. Nor could I hold my peace, but swear that if I ever came back to Argos, I would avenge me of him that had done this deed. Then did Ulysses seek occasion against me, whispering evil things. More rested, too, at the last, Kalkas the Susaer helping him. But what profit it that I should tell these things? For doubtless ye hold one Greek to be even as another, wherefore slay me, and doubtless ye will do a pleasure to Ulysses and the sons of Atreus. Then they bade him tell on, and he said, often would the Greeks have fled to their homes, being weary of the war, but still the stormy sea hinted them. And when this horse that ye see had been built, most of all did the dreadful thunder-roll from the one end of the heaven to the other. Then the Greeks sent one who should inquire of Apollo, and Apollo answered them thus. Men of Greece, even as ye appease the winds with blood when ye came to Troy, so must ye appease them with blood now that ye would go from thence. Then did men tremble to think on whom the dream should fall, and Ulysses, with much clamour, drew forth Kalkas the Susaer into the midst, and bade him say who it was that the gods would have as a sacrifice. Then did many forebode evil for me. Even days did the Susaer keep silence, saying that he would not give any man to death. But then, for in truth the two had planned the matter beforehand, he spake, appointing me to die. And to this thing they all agreed, each being glad to turn to another, that which he feared for himself. But when the day was come, and all things were ready, the salted meal for the sacrifice and the garlands, lo I burst my bonds and fled, and hid myself in the sedges of a pool, waiting till they should have sail, if happily that might be. But never shall I see country, or father, or children again. For doubtless on these will they take vengeance for my flight. Only do thou, O King, have pity on me, who have suffered many things, not having harmed any man. And King Priam had pity on him, and bade them loose his bonds, saying, Whoever thou art, forget now thy country, henceforth thou art one of us. But tell me true, why made they this huge horse, who contrived it, what seek they buy it, to please the gods, or to further their siege? Then said Sinan, and as he spake he stretched his hands to the sky. I call you to witness, ye everlasting fires of heaven, that with good right I now break my oath of faulty, and reveal the secrets of my countrymen. Listen then, O King, all our hope has ever been in the help of Minerva. But from the day when Diamond and Ulysses dead, having bloody hands, to snatch her image from her holy place in Troy, her face was turned from us. Well do I remember how the eyes of the image, well nigh before they had said it in the camp, blazed with wrath, and how the salt sweat stood upon its limbs, eye, and how it thrice leapt from the ground, shaking shield and spear. Then Kalkas told us that we must cross the seas again, and seek at home fresh omens for our war. And this indeed they are doing even now, and will return anon. Also, the soothsayers said, meanwhile ye must make the likeness of a horse, to be a peace offering to Minerva, and take heed that ye make it huge of bulk, so that the men of Troy may not receive it into their gates, nor bring it within their walls and get safety for themselves thereby. For if, he said, the men of Troy harm this image at all, they shall surely perish. But if they bring it into their city, then shall Asia lay siege hereafter to the city of Pelops, and our children shall suffer the doom which we would feign have brought on Troy. These words brought much on the men of Troy, and as they pondered on them, lo, the gods sent another marvel to deceive them. For while Leocoon, the priest of Neptune, was slaying a bull at the altar of his god, there came two serpents across the sea from Tenedos, whose heads and necks, whereon were thick manes of hair, were high above the waves, and many scaly coils trailing behind in the waters. And when they reached the land, they still sped forward, their eyes were red as blood, and blazed with fire, and their forked tongues hissed loud for rage. Then all the men of Troy grew pale with fear, and fled away. But these turned not aside this way, or that, seeking Leocoon where he stood, and first they wrapped themselves about his little sons, one serpent about each, and began to devour them. And when the father would have given help to his children, having a sword in his hand, they seized upon himself and bound him fast with their folds. Twice they compassed him about his body, and twice about his neck, lifting their heads far above him. And all the while he strove to tear them away with his hands, his priests scarlin' stripping with blood. Nor did he cease to cry horribly aloud, even as a bull bellows when after an ill stroke of the axe it flees from the altar. But when their work was done, the two glided to the citadel of Minerva, and hid themselves beneath the feet and the shield of the goddess. And men said one to another, Lo, the priests Leocoon has been judged according to his deeds, for he casts his spear against this holy thing, and now the gods have slain him. Then all cried out together that the horse of wood must be drawn into the citadel, whereupon they opened the Saiyan gate and pulled down the wall that was thereby, and put rollers under the feet of the horse, and joined ropes there too. So in much joy they drew it into the city, youths and maidens singing about it the while, and laying their hands on the ropes with great gladness. And yet there wanted no signs and tokens of evil to come. All times it halted on the threshold of the gate, and men might have heard a clashing of arms within. Cassandra also opened her mouth, prophesying evil, but no man heeded her, for that was ever the doom upon her, not to be believed, though speaking truth. So the men of Troy drew the horse into the city, and that night they kept a feast to all the gods with great joy, not knowing that the last day of the great city had come. But when night was now fully come, and the men of Troy lay asleep, low from the ship of King Agamemnon there rose up a flame for a signal to the Greeks. And these straightway manned their ships, and made across the sea from Tenedos, there being a great calm, and the moon also giving them light. Sinon likewise opened a secret door that was in the great horse, and the chiefs issued forth therefrom, and opened the gates of the city, slaying those that kept watch. Meanwhile there came a vision to Aenys, who now, Hector being dead, was the chief hope and say of the men of Troy. It was Hector's self that he seemed to see, but not such as he had seen him coming back rejoicing with the arms of Achilles, or setting fire to the ships. But even as he lay after that, Achilles dragged him at his chariot wheels, covered with dust and blood, his feet swollen and pierced through with thongs. After him, said Aenys, not knowing what he said, why has thou tarried so long? Much have we suffered waiting for thee. And what grief hath marked thy face? And whence these wounds? But to this the spirit answered nothing, but said, groaning the while, Fly, son of Venus! Fly and save thee from these flames! The enemy is in the walls, and Troy hath utterly perished. If any hand could have saved our city, this hand had done so. Thou art now the hope of Troy. Take then her gods, and flee with them for company, seeking the city that thou shalt one day build across the sea. And now the alarm of battle came nearer and nearer, and Aenys waking from sleep climbed upon the roof and looked on the city. As a shepherd stands and sees a fierce flame sweeping before the south wind over the cornfields, or a flood rushing down from the mountains, so he stood. And as he looked, the great palace of dophobus sank down in the fire, and the house of Eucalagon, that was hard by, blazed forth, till the sea of Sygium shone with the light. Then, scarce knowing what he sought, he girded on his armour, thinking perchance that he might yet win some place of vantage, or at the least might avenge himself on the enemy, or find honour in his death. But as he passed from out of his house there met with Panthus, the priest of Apollo, that was on the citadel, who cried to him, O Aenys, the glory is departed from Troy, and the Greeks have the mastery in the city, for armed men are coming forth from the great horse of wood, and thousands also swarming at the gates, which Simon hath treacherously opened. And as he spake others came up under the light of the moon. As Hypanus and Dymus, and young Coriobus, who had but newly come to Troy, seeking Cassandra to be his wife, to whom Aenys spake, if ye are minded, my brethren, to follow me to the death, come on, for how things fare this night ye see, the gods who were the stay of this city have departed from it, nor is ought remaining to which we may bring Suka. Yet can we die as brave men in battle, and happily that he counts his life to be lost, may yet save it? Then even as ravening wolves hastened through the mist, seeking for prey, so they went through the city, doing dreadful deeds. And for a while the men of Greece fled before them. First of all, they met them androgyous, with a great company following him, who, thinking them to be friends, said, Haste comrades, why are you so late? We are spoiling this city of Troy, and ye are but newly come from the ships. But forthwith, for they answered him not, as he had looked for, he knew that he had fallen among enemies. Then even as one who treads upon a snake unawares among thorns, and flies from it, when it rises angrily against him with swivelling neck, so androgyous would have fled. But the men of Troy rushed on, and seeing that they knew all the place, and that great fear was upon the Greeks, slew many men. Then said Corriobus, we have good luck in this matter, my friends, come now, let us change our shields, and put upon us the armor of these Greeks. For whether we deal with our enemy by craft, or by force, who will ask? Then he took to himself the helmet and shield of androgyous, and also girded the sword upon him. In like manner did the others, and thus going disguised among the Greeks, slew many, so that some again fled to the ships, and some were feigned to climb into the horse of wood. But lo, men came dragging by the hair from the temple of Benerva, the virgin Cassandra, whom, when Corriobus beheld, and how she lifted up her eyes to heaven, but as for her hands they were bound with iron. He endured not the sight, but threw himself upon those that dragged her, the others following him. Then did a grievous mischance before them. For the men of Troy that stood upon the roof of the temple cast spears against them, judging them to be enemies. The Greeks also, being rough that the virgins should be taken from them, fought them more fiercely, and many who had before been put to flight in the city, came against them and prevailed, being indeed many against few. Then, first of all, fell Corriobus, being slain by Penelius the Boetian, and Ripius also, the most righteous of all the sons of Troy. But the gods dot not with him after his righteousness. Hippannus also was slain and dimus, and Panthus escaped not for all but more than other men, he feared the gods, and was also the priest of Apollo. Then was Aeneas severed from the rest, having with him two only, Iphetus and Pellius. Iphetus being an old man, and Pellius sorely wounded by Ulysses, and these, hearing a great shouting, hastened to the palace of King Priam, where the battle was fiercer than in any place beside. For some of the Greeks were seeking to climb the walls, laying ladders there too, whereon they stood, holding forth their shields with their left hands, and with their right grasping the roofs. And the men of Troy, on the other hand, being in the last extremity, tore down the battlements, and the gilded beams, wherewith the men of old had adorned the palace. Then Aeneas, knowing of a secret door, whereby the unhappy Andromache, in past days, had been want to enter, bringing her son Asteannex to his grandfather, climbed onto the roof, and joined himself to those that fought therefrom. Now upon this roof there was a tower, whence all Troy could be seen, and the camp of the Greeks and the ships. This the men of Troy loosened from its foundations, with bars of iron, and thrust it over, so that it fell upon the enemy, slaying many of them. But not the less did others press forward, casting the wild stones, and javelins, and all that came to their hands. Meanwhile others sought to break down the gates of the palace, Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, being foremost among them, clad in shining armour of bronze. Like to a serpent was he, which sleeps during the winter, but in the spring comes forth into the light, full-fed on evil herbs, and, having cast his skin, and renewed his youth, lifts his head into the light of the sun, and hisses with forked tongue. And with Pyrrhus were tall Perifas and Automeden, who had been armour-bearer to his father Achilles, and following them the youth of Skyros, which was the kingdom of his grandfather Lycomedes. With a great battle-axe hewed through the doors, breaking down also the doorposts, though they were plated with bronze, making, as it were, a great window through which a man might see the palace within, the hall of King Priam, and of the kings who had reigned a foretime in Troy. But when they that were within perceived it, there arose a great cry of women wailing aloud and clinging to the doors and kissing them. But ever Pyrrhus pressed on, fierce and strong as ever was his father Achilles, nor could Aut stand against him, either the doors or they that guarded them. Then as a river burst its banks and overflows the plains, so did the sons of Greece rush into the palace. But old Priam, when he saw the enemy in his hall, girded on him his armour, which now, by reason of old age, he had long laid aside and took a spear in his hand and would have gone against the adversary. Only Queen Hercuba called to him from where she sat. For she and her daughters had fled to the great altar of the household gods, and sat crowded about it like unto doves that are driven by a storm. Now the altar stood in an open court that was in the midst of the palace, with a great bay-tree above it. So when she saw Priam, how he had girded himself with armour as a youth, she cried to him and said, What hath bewitched thee that thou girdest thyself with armour? It is not the sword that shall help us this day? No, not though my own Hector were here, but rather the gods and their altars. Come hither to us, for here thou will be safe, all at the least will die with us. So she made the old man sit down in the midst, but lo, there came flying through the palace, polities his son, wounded to death by the spear of Pyrrhus, and Pyrrhus close behind him. And he, even as he came into the sight of his father and his mother, fell dead upon the ground. But when King Priam saw it, he contained not himself, but cried aloud, Now may the gods, if there be any justice in heaven, recompense thee for this wickedness, seeing that thou hast not spared to slay the son before his father's eyes. Great Achilles, whom thou falsely callest thysire, did not thus to Priam, though he was an enemy, but reverenced right and truth, and gave the body of Hector for burial, and sent me back to my city. And as he spake the old man cast a spear, but aimless and without force, which pierced not even the boss of the shield. Then said the son of Achilles, Go thou and tell my father of his unworthy son and all these evil deeds, and that thou mayest tell him die. And as he spake he caught in his left hand the old man's white hair and dragged him, slipping the while in the blood of his own son to the altar. And then, lifting his sword high for a blow, drove it to the hilt in the old man's side. So King Priam, who had ruled mightily over many peoples and countries in the land of Asia, was slain that night, having first seen Troy burning about him, and his citadel laid even with the ground. So was his carcass cast out upon the earth, headless and without a name. Some legends of all nations by Logan Marshall, Beowulf and Grendel. Long ago they ruled over the Danes a king called Rothgar. He gained success and glory in war, so that his loyal kinsmen willingly obeyed him, and everything prospered in his land. One day it came into his mind that he would build a princely banquet hall, where he might entertain both the young and old of his kingdom, and he had the work widely made known to many a tribe over the earth, so that they might bring rich gifts to beautify the hall. In course of time the banquet house was built and towered aloft, high and battle-mounted. Then Rothgar gave it the name of Herot, and called his guests to the banquet, and gave them gifts of rings and other treasures, and afterwards every day the joyous sound of revelry rang loud in the hall, with the music of the harp and the clear notes of the singers. But it was not long before the pleasure of the king's men was broken, for a wicked demon began to work mischief against them. This cruel spirit was called Grendel, and he dwelt on the moors and among the fens. One night he came to Herot, when the noble guests lay at rest after the feast, and seizing thirty thanes as they slept, set off on his homeward journey, exalting in his booty. At break of day his deed was known to all men, and great was the grief among the thanes. The good king Rothgar also sat in sorrow, suffering heavy distress for the death of his warriors. Not long afterwards Grendel appeared again, and wrought a yet worse deed of murder. After that the warriors no longer dared to sleep at Herot, and sought out secret resting-places, leaving the great house empty. A long time passed, for the space of twelve winters Grendel waged a perpetual feud against Rothgar and his people. The live-long night he roamed over the misty moors, visiting Herot and destroying both the tired warriors and the young men whenever he was able. Rothgar was broken-hearted, and many were the council's held in secret, to deliberate what it were best to do against these fearful terrors, but nothing availed to stop the fiend's ravages. Now the tale of Grendel's deeds went forth into many lands, and among those who heard of it were the gates, whose king was Higalak. Chief of his thanes was a noble and powerful warrior named Beowulf, who resolved to go to the help of the Danes. He bade his men make ready a good sea-boat, that he might go across the wild swan's path to seek out Rothgar and date him, and his people encouraged him to go on that dangerous errand, even though he was dear to them. So Beowulf chose fourteen of his keenest warriors, and sailed away over the wades in his well-equipped vessel, till he came within sight of the cliffs and mountains of Rothgar's kingdom. The Danish warder, who kept guard over the coast, saw them as they were making their ship fast and carrying their bright weapons on shore, so he mounted his horse and rode to meet them, bearing in his hand his staff of office, and he questioned them closely as to whence they came and what their business was. Then Beowulf explained their errand, and the warder, when he heard of it, bade them pass onwards, bearing their weapons, and gave orders that their ship should be safely guarded. Soon they came within sight of the fair palace Hirot, and the warder showed them the way to Rothgar's court, and then bade them farewell, and returned to keep watch upon the coast. Then the bold thanes marched forward to Hirot, their armor and their weapons glittering as they went. Entering the hall, they set their shields and bucklers against the walls, placed their spears upright in a sheaf together, and sat down on the benches, weary with their seafaring. Then a proud legeman of Rothgar stepped forward and asked, whence bring here your shield, your gray war-shirts, and frowning helmets, and this sheaf of spears? Never saw I men of more valiant aspect. We are Higalax Boon companions. Answer, Beowulf. Beowulf is my name, and I desire to declare my errand to the great prince thy lord, if you all grant us leave to approach him. So Rothgar, another of Rothgar's chieftains, went out to the king where he sat with the assembly of his elves, and told him of the arrival of the strangers. And Rothgar received the news with joy, for he had known Beowulf when he was a boy, and had heard of his fame as a warrior. Therefore he bade Rothgar bring him to his presence, and soon Beowulf stood before him and cried, Hail to thee, Rothgar! I have heard the tale of Grendel, and my people who know my strength and prowess, have counted me to seek thee out, for I have wrought great deeds in the past, and now I shall do battle against this monster. Men say that so thick is his tawny hide that no weapon can injure him. I therefore disdain to carry sword or shield into the combat, but will fight with the strength of my arm only, and either I will conquer the fiend, or he will bear away my dead body to the moor. Send Higliac, if I fall in the fight to my beautiful breastplate, I have no fear of death, for destiny must ever be obeyed. Then Rothgar told Beowulf the great sorrow caused to him by Grendel's terrible deeds, and of the failure of all the attempts are to be made by the warriors to overcome him, and afterwards he bade him sit down with his followers to partake of a meal. So a bench was cleared for the geese, and a thane waited upon them, and all the noble warriors gathered together, and a great feast was held once more in Herot with song and revelry. Walthew, Rothgar's queen, came forth also, and handed the wine-cup to each of the thanes, pledging the king in joyful mood and thanking Beowulf for his offer of help. At last all the company arose to go to rest, and Rothgar entrusted the guardianship of Herot to Beowulf with cheering words, and so bade him good night. Then all left the hall, save only a watch appointed by Rothgar, and Beowulf himself with his followers who laid themselves down to rest. No long time passed before Grendel came prowling from his home on the moors under the misty slopes. Full of his evil purpose he burst with fury into the hall and strode forward raging, a hideous fiery light gleaming from his eyes. In the hall lay the warriors asleep, and Grendel laughed in his heart as he gazed at them, thinking to feast upon them all. Quickly he seized a sleeping warrior and devoured him. Then, stepping forward, he reached out his hand towards Beowulf as he lay at rest. But the hero was ready for him, and seized his arm in a deadly grip such as Grendel had never felt before. Terror arose in the monster's heart, and his mind was bent on flight, but he could not get away. Then Beowulf stood upright and grappled with him firmly, and the two rocked to and fro in the struggle, knocking over benches and shaking the hall with the violence of their fight. Suddenly a new and terrible cry arose, the cry of Grendel in fear and pain, for never once did Beowulf relax his hold upon him. Then many of Beowulf's earls drew their swords and rushed to aid their master. But no blade could pierce him, and nothing but Beowulf's mighty strength could prevail. At last the monster's arm was torn off at the shoulder, and sickened to death he fled to the fens, there to end his joyless life. Then Beowulf rejoiced at his night's work, wherein he had freed Herod forever from the fiend's ravages. Now on the morrow the warriors flocked to the hall, and when they heard what had taken place they went out and followed Grendel's tracks to a mirror upon the moors into which he had plunged and given up his life. Then, sure of his death, they returned rejoicing to Herod, talking of Beowulf's glorious deed, and there they found the king and queen and a great company of people awaiting them. And now there was a great rejoicing and happiness. Fair and gracious were the thanks that Frothgar gave to Beowulf, and great was the feast prepared at Herod. Cloths embroidered with gold were hung along the walls, and the hole was decked in every possible way. When all was seated at the feast, Frothgar bade the attendants bring forth his gifts to Beowulf as a reward of victory. He gave him an embroidered banner, a helmet and a breastplate, and a valuable sword, all adorned with gold and richly ornamented. Also he gave orders to the servants to bring into the court eight horses, on one of which was a curiously adorned and very precious saddle, which the king was want to use himself when he rode to practice the sword game. These also he gave to Beowulf, thus like a true man reciting his valiant deeds with horses and other precious gifts. He bestowed treasures also on each of Beowulf's followers, and gave orders at a price to be paid in gold for the man whom the wicked Grendel had slain. After this there arose in the hall the din of voices and the sound of song. The instruments also were brought out, and Frothgar's minstrel sang a ballad for the delight of the warriors. Wolfeo, too, came forward, bearing in her train presents for Beowulf, a cup, two armlets, raiment and rings, and the largest and richest collar that could be found in all the world. Now, when evening came, Frothgar departed to his rest, and the warriors cleared the hall and lay down to sleep once more, with their shield and armor beside them as was their custom. But Beowulf was not with them, for another resting place had been assigned to him that night, for all thought that there was now no longer any danger to be feared. But in this they were mistaken, as they soon learnt to their cost. For no sooner were they all asleep than Grendel's mother, a monstrous witch who dwelt at the bottom of a cold mirror, came to Herot to avenge her son and burst into the hall. The thanes started up in terror, hastily grasping their swords, but she seized upon Asher the most beloved of Frothgar's warriors, who still lay sleeping, and bore him off with her to the fens, carrying also with her Grendel's arm, which lay at one end of the hall. Then there arose an uproar and the sound of mourning in Herot. In fierce and gloomy mood Frothgar summoned Beowulf and told him the ghastly tale, begging him, if he dared, to go forth to seek out the monster and destroy it. Full of courage Beowulf answered with cheerful words, promising that Grendel's mother should not escape him, and soon he was riding forth fully equipped on his quest, accompanied by Frothgar and many a good warrior. They were able to follow the witch's tracks right through the forest glades and across the gloomy moor, till they came to a spot where some mountain trees bent over a hoar rock, beneath which lay a dreary and troubled lake. And there beside the water's edge lay the head of Asher, and they knew that the witch must be at the bottom of the water. Full of grief the warrior sat down, while Beowulf arrayed himself in his cunningly fashioned coat of mail and his richly ornamented helmet. Then he turned to Frothgar and spoke a last word to him, if the fight go against me, great chieftain, be thou a guardian to my thanes, my kinsmen and my trusty comrades, and send thou to Higalak, these treasures that thou gaveest me, that ye may know thy kindness to me. Now, while I earn glory for myself, or death shall take me away. So saying, he plunged into the gloomy lake, at the bottom of which was Grendel's mother. Very soon she perceived his approach, and rushing forth grappled with him and dragged him down to her den, where many horrible sea beasts joined in the fight against him. This den was so fashioned that the water could not enter it, and it was lit by the light of a fire that shone brightly in the midst of it. And now Beowulf drew his sword and thrust at his terrible foe. But the weapon could not injure her, and he was forced to fling it away and trust in the powerful grip of his arms as he had done with Grendel. Seizing the witch, he shook her till she sank down on the ground. But she quickly rose again, and requited him with a terrible hand-clutch, which caused Beowulf to stagger and then fall. Throwing herself upon him, she seized a dagger to strike him. But he wrenched himself free, and once more stood upright. Then he suddenly perceived an ancient sword hanging upon the wall of the den, and seized it as a last resource. Fierce and savage, but well my hopeless, he struck the monster heavily upon the neck with it. Then, to his joy, the blade pierced right through her body, and she sank down, dying. At that moment the flames of the fire leapt up, throwing a brilliant light over the den. And there against the wall Beowulf beheld the dead body of Grendel lying on a couch. With one swinging blow of the powerful sword, he struck off his head as a trophy to carry to Hrothgar. But now a strange thing happened. For the blade of the sword began to melt away, even as ice melts, and soon nothing was left of it save the hilt. Carrying this and Grendel's head, Beowulf now left the den, and swam upwards to the surface of the lake. There the thanes met him with great rejoicings, and some quickly helped him to undo his armour, while others prepared to carry the great head of Grendel back to Herot. It took four men to carry it, and ghastly though wonderful was the sight of it. And now, once more, the warriors assembled at Herot, and Beowulf recounted to Hrothgar the full tale of his adventure, and presented to him the hilt of this wonderful sword. Again the king thanked him from the depth of his heart for his valiant deeds, and as before a fair feast was prepared, and the warriors made merry till night came, and they repaired to rest, certain this time of their safety. Now on the morrow Beowulf and his nobles made ready to depart to their own land, and when they were fully equipped they went to bid farewell to Hrothgar. Then Beowulf spoke, saying, Now we voyage is eager to return to our Lord Higalach. We have been right well and heartily entertained, O king, and if there is ought further that I can ever do for thee, then I shall be ready for thy service. If ever I hear that thy neighbours are again persecuting thee, I will bring a thousand thanes to thy aid, and I know that Higalach will uphold me in this. Dear are thy words to me, O Beowulf, Hrothgar may dancer, and great is thy wisdom. If fate should take away the life of Higalach, the gates could have no better king than thou. And hereafter there shall never more be feuds between the Danes and the gates, for thou, by their great deeds, has made a lasting bond of friendship between them. Then Hrothgar gave more gifts to Beowulf, and bade him seek his beloved people, and afterwards come back again to visit him, for so dearly had he grown to love him that he longed to see him again. So the two embraced and bade each other farewell with great affection, and then at last Beowulf went down to where his ship rode at anchor, and sailed away with his followers to his own country, taking with him the many gifts that Hrothgar has made to him. And coming to Higalach's court, he told him of his adventures, and having shown him the treasure gave it all up to him, so loyal and true was he. But Higalach in return gave Beowulf a goodly sword, and seven thousand pieces of gold and a manor house, also a princely seat for him to dwell in. There Beowulf lived in peace, and not for many years was he called to fresh adventures. Beowulf and the Fire Dragon After his return to the land of the gates, Beowulf served Higalach faithfully till the day of the king's death, which befell in an expedition that he made to Friesland. Beowulf was with him on this disastrous journey, and only with difficulty did he escape with his life. But when he returned as a poor solitary fugitive to his people, Higalach's wife offered him the kingdom and the king's treasures, for she feared that her young son Heardrid was not strong enough to hold the throne of his fathers against invading foes. Beowulf, however, would not accept the kingdom, but rather chose to uphold Heardrid among the people, giving him friendly counsel and serving him faithfully and honorably. But before very long Heardrid was killed in battle, and then at last Beowulf consented to become the king of the gates. For fifty years he ruled well and wisely, and his people prospered, but at last trouble came in the ravages of a terrible dragon, and once more Beowulf was called forth to a terrific combat. The three hundred years the dragon had kept watch over a horde of treasure, on a mountain by the seashore in the country of the gates. The treasure had been hidden in a cave under the mountain by a band of sea robbers, and when the last of them was dead the dragon took possession of the cave and of the treasure and kept fierce watch over them. But one day a poor man came to the spot while the dragon was fast asleep, and carried off part of the treasure to his master. When the dragon awoke he soon discovered the man's footprints, and on examining the cave he found that part of the gold and splendid jewels had disappeared. In wrathful and savage mood he sought all around the mountain for the robber, but could find no one. So when evening came he went forth eager for revenge, and throwing out flashes of fire in every direction he began to set fire to all the land. Beowulf's own princely manor house was burnt down, and terrible destruction was wrought on every hand, till day broke and the fire dragon returned to his den. Great was Beowulf's grief at this dire misfortune, and eager was his desire for vengeance. He scorned to seek the foe with a great host behind him, nor did he dread the combat in any way, for he called to his mind many feats of war, and especially his fight with Grendel. So he quickly had fashioned a mighty battle-shield, made entirely of iron, for he knew that the wooden one that he was want to use would be burnt up by the flames of the fire dragon. Then he chose out eleven of his elves, and together they set out for the mountain, led thither by the man who had stolen the treasure. When they came to the mouth of the cave, Beowulf bade farewell to his companions, for he was resolved to fight single-handed against the foe. Many a fight have I fought in my youth, he said, and now once more will I, the guardian of my people, seek the combat. I will not bear any sword or other weapon against the dragon, if I thought that I could grapple with him as I did with the monster Grendel, but I fear that I shall not be able to approach so close to this foe, for he will send forth hot, raging fire and venomous breath. Yet to my resolute in mood, fearless and resolved not to yield one foot's breath to the monster. Terri ye here on the hill, my warriors, and watch which of us two will survive the deadly combat, for this is no enterprise for you. I can only attempt it, because such great strength has been given me, therefore I will do battle alone, and will either slay the dragon and win the treasure for my people, or fall in the fight, as destiny shall appoint. When he had spoken thus, Beowulf strode forward to the fight, armed with his iron shield, his sword, and his dagger. A stone arch spanned the mouth of the cave, and on one side a boiling stream, hot as though with raging fires rushed forth. Undaunted by it, Beowulf uttered a shout to summon the dragon to the fight, immediately a burning breath from the monster came out of the rock, the earth rumbled, and then the dragon rushed forth to meet his fate. Standing with his huge shield held well before him, Beowulf received the attack, and struck from beneath his shield at the monster's side. But his blade failed him and turned aside, and the blow but served to enrage the dragon, so that he darted forth such blasting rays of deadly fire, that Beowulf was well nigh overwhelmed, and the fight went hard with him. Now his eleven chosen comrades could see the combat from where they stood, and one of them, Beowulf's kinsman, Wiglaf, was moved to great sorrow at the sight of his lord's distress. At last he could bear it no longer, but grasped his wooden shield and his sword, and cried to the other thanes. Remember how we promised our lord and the banquet hall, when he gave us our helmets and swords and battle gear, that we would one day repay him for his gifts? Now is the day come that our lead lord has need of the strength of good warriors. We must go help him, even though he thought to accomplish his mighty work alone, for we can never return to our homes if we have not slain the enemy, and saved king's life. Rather than live when he is dead, I will perish with him in this deadly fire. Then he rushed through the noisome smoke to his lord's side, crying, Dear Beowulf, take courage. Remember thy boast that thy valour shall never fail thee in thy lifetime, and defend thyself now with all thy might, and I will help thee. But the other warriors were afraid to follow him, so that Beowulf and Wiglaf stood alone to face the dragon. As soon as the monster advanced upon them, Wiglaf's wooden shield was burnt away by the flames, so that he was forced to take refuge behind Beowulf's iron shield. And this time when Beowulf struck with his sword, it was shivered to pieces. Then the dragon flung himself upon him and caught him up in his arms, crushing him till he lay senseless and covered with wounds. But now Wiglaf showed his valour and strength, and smote the monster with such mighty blows that at last the fire coming forth from him began to abate somewhat. Then Beowulf came once more to his senses, and drawing his deadly knife stuck with it from beneath. And at last the force of the blows from the two noble kinsmen fell, the fierce fire-dragon, and he sank down dead beside them. But Beowulf's wounds were very great, and he knew that the joys of life were ended for him, and the death was very near. So while Wiglaf, with wonderful tenderness, unfastened his helmet for him and refreshed him with water, he spoke, saying, Though I am sick with mortal wounds, there is yet some comfort remaining for me. For I have governed my people for fifty winters, and kept them safe from invading foes. Yet have not sought out quarrels, nor led my kinsmen to die a slaughter when there was no need. Therefore the ruler of all men will not blame me when my life departs from my body. And now go thou quickly, dear Wiglaf, to spy out the treasure within the cave, so that I may see what wealth I have won for my people before I die. So Wiglaf went into the cave, and there he saw many precious jewels, old vessels, helmets, gold armlets, and other treasures, which excelled in beauty and number any that mankind has ever known. Moreover, high above the treasure, fluttered marvellous gilded standard, from which came a ray of light which lit up all the cave. Then Wiglaf saw it as much as he could carry over the precious spoils, and taken the standard also hastened back to his lord, dreading lest he should find him already dead. Beowulf was very near his life's end, but when Wiglaf had again revived him with water, he had strength to speak once more. Glad am I, he said, that I have been able before my death to gain so much for my people, but now I may no longer abide here. But the gallant warriors burn my body on the headland here which juts into the sea, and afterwards raise a huge mound on the same spot, that the sailors who drive their vessels over the misty floods may call it Beowulf's mound. Then the Dauntless Prince undid the golden collar from his neck, and gave it to Wiglaf with his helmet and coat of mail, saying, Thou art the last of our race, for fate has swept away all my kindred save thee to their doom, and now I also must join them. And with these words the aged king fell back dead. Now as Wiglaf sat by his lord, grieving sorely at his death, the other ten thanes, who had shown themselves to be faithless and cowardly, approached with shame to his side. Then Wiglaf turned to them crying bitterly, truly our lead lord flung away utterly in vain the battlegear that he gave ye. Little could he boast of his comrades when the hour of need came. I myself was able to give him some succour in the fight, but ye should have stood by him also to defend him. But now the giving of treasure shall cease for ye, and ye will be shamed, and will lose your land right when the nobles learn of your inglorious deed. Death is better for every earl than ignominious life. After this Wiglaf summoned the other earls, and told them of all that had happened, and of the mound that Beowulf wished them to build. Then they gathered together at the mound of the cave, and gazed with tears upon the lifeless lord, and looked with awe upon the huge dragon as it lay stiff in death, besides its conqueror. Afterwards, led by Wiglaf, seven chosen earls entered the cave, and brought forth all the treasure, while others busied themselves in preparing the funeral pile. When all was ready and the huge pile of wood had been hung with the helmets, war shields, and bright coats of mail, as befitted the funeral pyre of a noble warrior, the earls brought their beloved lord's body to the spot, and laid it on the wood. Then they kindled the fire, and stood by mourning and uttering sorrowful chants, while the smoke rose up and the fire roared, and the body was consumed away. Afterwards they built a mound on the hill, making it high and broad, so that it could be seen from very far away. Ten days they spent in building it, and because they desired to pay the highest of honors to Beowulf, they buried in it the whole of the treasure that the dragon had guarded, for no price was too heavy to pay as a token of their love for their lord. So the treasure even now remains in the earth, as useless as it was before. When its last the mound was completed, the noble warriors gathered together and rode around it, lamenting their king, and singing the praise of his valour and mighty deeds. Thus mourned the people of the gates for the fall of Beowulf, who of all kings in the world was the mildest and kindest, the most gracious to his people, and the most eager to win their praise.