The Aeneid (25 page)

                After the boat race, dutiful Aeneas strode to a piece of grassy
                level ground. All around it stood wooded hills and in the middle
                of the valley there was a circle for a theatre. When he reached
290         this place – and many thousands went with him – Aeneas sat
                down on a raised platform in the middle of the concourse. Here
                he offered prizes for any men who might wish to take part in a
                foot race, whetting their ambition with rewards, and Trojans
                and Sicanians flocked in from all sides. Nisus and Euryalus were
                first, Euryalus standing out for the bloom of his youthful beauty
                and Nisus for the loving care he showed to him. Then came
                Diores, a prince of the noble line of Priam, and after him Salius
                and Patron together, one an Acarnanian, the other an Arcadian
300         of Tegean stock. Then came two young Sicilians, Helymus and
                Panopes, men of the woods, attendants of old Acestes, and many
                more whose names are buried in oblivion. When they had
                gathered, Aeneas spoke in the middle of them: ‘Give your minds
                to what I have to say. Mark it well and be of good cheer. No
                man of you will leave without winning a prize from my hand.
                Two Cretan arrows I shall give, their steel tips burnished and
                gleaming, and a two-headed axe embossed with silver. These
                rewards will be the same for all of you, but there will be other
                prizes for the first three in the race and crowns woven of golden
310         olive for their heads. The winner will have a horse with splendid
                trappings, the second an Amazonian quiver full of Thracian
                arrows, slung on a belt with a broad gold band and the clasp
                that fastens it is a polished jewel. The third can leave the field
                content with an Argive helmet.’

                When he had finished speaking, they took their places, the
                signal sounded and they were off, streaming away from the
                starting-point in one great cloud. But as soon as they came in
                sight of the finish, Nisus shot out a long way in front of all of
                them, swifter than the wind and the wings of the lightning.
320         Second, but a long way behind, was Salius. Then, after a gap,
                came Euryalus in third place. Behind him was Helymus, then,
                
immediately behind him and hard on his heels, was Diores
                leaning over his shoulder, and if there had been more course to
                run, he would have overtaken and passed him or they would
                have run a dead heat.

                They were soon almost at the end of the course and tiring as
                they came up to the line, when the unlucky Nisus slid and fell
330         on a slippery patch of blood that had been spilt where they had
                killed bullocks and wet the earth and the green grass that grew
                upon it. Here, as he pounded the track exulting in the very
                moment of victory, he lost his footing and fell on his face in the
                filthy dung and blood from the sacrifice. But he was not the man
                to forget Euryalus and the love he bore him. He rose from the
                slime and threw himself in the path of Salius and knocked him
                head over heels, sprawling on the hard-packed sand. Euryalus
                flashed past. Thanks to his friend he was in the lead and speeding
                along to loud applause and cheers, Helymus behind him with
340         Diores now winning the third prize. But Salius stood up before
                the faces of the fathers in the front rows and filled the whole
                bowl of the huge assembly with loud clamour, demanding the
                honour of which he had been cheated. On the side of Euryalus
                were the favour in which he was held, his beauty as he stood
                there weeping and the manly spirit growing in that lovely body.
                On his side too was Diores, protesting at the top of his voice.
                He had come in third but there would be no third prize for him
                if the first were to be given to Salius. Father Aeneas then spoke:
                ‘You young men will all keep your prizes. The awards have been
350         made and no one changes that. Let it be my task to offer
                consolation to our friend for the downfall he did nothing to
                deserve.’ With these words he gave Salius the hide of a huge
                Gaetulian lion, weighed down with gilded claws and mane. This
                was too much for Nisus, who burst out: ‘If losers win prizes like
                this and you take pity on people who fall, what gift will be
                enough to give to Nisus? I would have won the victor’s crown
                of glory and deserved it if the same bad luck as brought down
                Salius had not disposed of me,’ and as he spoke he pointed to
                the filthy wet dung on his face and body. Good Father Aeneas
                laughed and ordered them to bring out a shield made by the
360         hand of Didymaon which had been dedicated to Neptune and
                
taken down from the doorposts of his temple by Greeks, and he
                gave this superb gift to the noble young Nisus.

                The race was over and the prizes finally awarded. Then spoke
                Aeneas: ‘If there is any courage here, any man with a heart in
                his breast, now is the time for him to come forward with gloves
                on his hands and his guard up,’ and he set out two prizes for the
                fight, for the victor a bullock with its head shadowed by ribbons
                and its horns plated with gold, and a sword and splendid helmet
                as a consolation prize for the loser. Dares did not hesitate.
                Immediately that great face of his appeared and all his mighty
                strength, and the people murmured as he hoisted himself to his
370         feet. He had been the only man who used to stand against Paris.
                He was the man who had felled the huge Butes and stretched
                him out to die on the yellow sand by the mound where great
                Hector lay, when Butes came as champion from the Bebrycian
                race of Amycus. This was the Dares who stood there with his
                head held high to begin the battle, flexing his shoulders, throwing
                lefts and rights and thrashing the air. They looked around
                for an opponent, but no one in all that company dared go near
380         him or put on the gloves. Thinking that no one was challenging
                him for the prize, he went straight up to Aeneas and stood there
                in front of him. Without more ado he took one of the bull’s
                horns in his left hand and said: ‘Son of the goddess, if no one
                dares trust himself to battle, how long are we going to stand
                here? What is the point of keeping me waiting? Tell them I can
                take away my prize,’ and all the Trojans to a man murmured
                and told Aeneas to award the prize as promised.

                At this Acestes had hard words for Entellus, sitting next him
                on a bank of green turf. ‘Entellus,’ he said, ‘I have seen the day
                when you were the bravest of the heroes. Is it all in the past?
390         Are you going to sit there meekly when a prize like this is lifted
                and no opposition offered? Tell me, where is Eryx now, the god
                they say was once your teacher? Has all that come to nothing?
                What about that reputation of yours that used to ring round
                the whole island of Sicily? And what about the great trophies
                hanging in your house?’ ‘I am not afraid,’ replied Entellus. ‘I
                have still my pride and my love of honour. But old age is slowing
                me down. The blood is cold and sluggish. My strength is gone
                
and my body is worn out. But if I were what I once was, if I had
                the youth that makes that puppy so full of himself, prancing
                about there, I would not have needed the reward of a pretty
400         bullock to bring me to my feet. I am not interested in prizes.’ At
                these last words he threw into the middle the pair of prodigiously
                heavy gauntlets in which Eryx used to raise his guard, carrying
                them into battle with the hard leather stretched over his forearms.
                They were amazed. The hides of seven huge oxen were
                there, stiffened by lead and iron sewn into them. Dares was
                more amazed than anyone and stood well back at the sight of
                them, but the great-hearted son of Anchises picked them up and
                felt their weight, turning over the great folds of the jointed
                hides from one hand to another. Then spoke old Entellus, his
410         voicedeep in his chest: ‘What would you have thought, any of
                you, if you had seen the gauntlets that were the armour of
                Hercules himself and the cruel battle these two fought on this
                very shore? This, Aeneas, is the armour your brother Eryx used
                to wear. You see it is still caked with blood and spattered brains.
                With these he stood that day against great Hercules. With these
                I used to fight while there was still good blood in me to give me
                strength, before old age came to tangle with me and sprinkled
                both my temples with grey. But if Trojan Dares recoils from this
                armour of ours, and if good Aeneas is satisfied and my patron
                Acestes approves, let us level the odds. There’s nothing to be
420         afraid of, Dares. For you I give up the boxing leathers of Eryx,
                and you take off your Trojan gauntlets,’ and as he spoke he
                threw the double cloak off his shoulders and stripped to show
                the great joints of his limbs, the great bones and muscles on his
                arms, and stood there a giant in the middle of the arena.

                Then the son of Anchises took out two matching pairs of
                gauntlets, and tied armour of equal weight on the hands of both
                men. There was no more delay. Each man took up his stance,
                poised on his toes, stretching to his full height, guard held high
                in the air and no sign of fear. They kept their towering heads
                well back from the punches and fist struck fist as they warmed
430         to their work. Dares had youth on his side and speed of foot.
                Entellus had the reach and the weight, but his knees were going.
                He was slow and shaky and his whole huge body heaved with
                
the agony of breathing. Blow upon blow they threw at each
                other and missed. Blow upon blow drummed on the hollow rib
                cage, boomed on the chest and showered round the head and
                ears, and the cheekbones rattled with the weight of the punches.
                Entellus, being the heavier man, held firm in his stance, keeping
                watchful eyes on his opponent and swaying away from the
440         bombardment. For Dares it was like attacking some massive
                high-built city or besieging a mountain fortress. This way and
                that he tried, covering all the ground in his manoeuvres, pressing
                hard with all manner of assaults and all to no avail. Then
                Entellus drew himself up and showed his right hand raised for
                the blow, but Dares was quick to see it coming down and backed
                away smartly. Entellus’ full force was in the blow and it met the
                empty air. Great was his weight and great was the fall of that
                huge body. He fell as a hollow pine tree falls, torn up by
450         the roots on great Mount Ida or on Erymanthus. Trojans and
                Sicilians leapt to their feet as one man in their excitement and
                the shouting rose to high heaven. Acestes was the first to run to
                comfort his old friend and help him from the ground. But the
                hero Entellus did not slow down or lose heart because of a fall.
                He returned to the fray with his ferocity renewed and anger
                rousing him to new heights of violence. His strength was kindled
                by shame at his fall and pride in his prowess, and in a white
                heat of fury he drove Dares before him all over the arena,
                hammering him with rights and lefts and allowing him no rest
                or respite. Like hailstones from a dark cloud rattling down on
460         roofs, Entellus battered Dares with a shower of blows from
                both hands and sent him spinning.

                At this point Father Aeneas did not allow the anger of Entellus
                to go any further but checked his savage passion and put an end
                to the fight. As he rescued the exhausted Dares he comforted
                him with these words: ‘Unlucky Dares, what madness is this
                that has taken possession of you? Do you not see that your
                strength is not as his and the divine will has turned against you?
                Yield to God.’ He spoke and his voice parted the combatants,
                and Dares was led back to the ships by his faithful comrades,
                dragging his weary legs, shaking his head from side to side and
470         spitting out a mixture of gore and teeth. His men were then
                
called and given the helmet and the sword, leaving the palm of
                victory and the bull to Entellus. Then spoke the victor in all his
                pride of spirit, glorying in the bull he had won: ‘Son of the
                goddess, know this, and you too, men of Troy: this is the
                strength there used to be in my body when I was in my prime
                and this is the death from which you have rescued Dares.’ With
                these words he took up his stance in front of the bullock’s head
                as it stood there as the prize of battle, then, drawing back his
480         right hand and rising to his full height, he swung the brutal
                gauntlet straight down between its horns, shattering the brains
                and grinding them into the bone. The ox fell and lay full out on
                the ground, dead and twitching, and these are the words Entellus
                spoke and spoke them from the heart: ‘The life of this ox is
                worth more than the life of Dares, and with it, Eryx, I pay my
                debt to you in full, and here and now in the moment of victory,
                I lay down my gauntlets and my art.’