climbed out of the gully and up to the rim with a heavy heart, the last of all of them.
Diomedes came close: ‘How many?’ he asked. ‘How many comrades have we lost?’
‘Alcatous . . .’ began Myrsilus, ‘shattered on the bottom of one of those holes.’
‘Schedius and Alcandrus,’ added another, ‘crushed by their stones.’
Each of the men looked around, naming the companions he found missing. Agelaus drew close to the king, and pointed at the prisoner he had taken: ‘I got one of them alive, and tied him to that tree. Avenge their slaughter on him.’
But Diomedes said: ‘I’ve already killed so many of them . . . what would one more change? Let’s go now, back to the ships. Our comrades will be worried about us.’ He started off, but Telephus and the Chnan turned back first to retrieve the deer they had left down in the gorge, so that its meat would not go to waste.
Myrsilus, who had not taken part in the battle but had listened to the cries of his dying friends, lagged behind; he desired nothing but revenge. He waited until the others had gone on and he approached the prisoner. He was a vigorous man, and in trying to get away was shaking the whole tree to which he was tied. Myrsilus came close and tied him even tighter, and then he unsheathed his sword. The man stared at him without trembling, his head held high. Myrsilus cut the straps that held up the goatskin that covered his body, leaving him naked. Then with the tip of his sword he cut his skin just above his groin, making his blood drip copiously between his legs. The man understood the end he was meant for and widened his eyes in terror, trying desperately to twist free with all his remaining strength. He shouted and pleaded in an incomprehensible language but Myrsilus had already gone off to catch up with the others.
When he had walked for a good stretch, he turned back and saw that a wolf or a wild dog was approaching the prisoner, attracted by the smell of blood. It would stop, doubtfully looking around, before approaching again. The man was trying to scare it off, shouting and kicking, and the animal would draw back, only to reapproach a little more courageously each time, until it started to lick at the blood seeping into the earth. Myrsilus saw it go close to the man and lift its snout towards his groin, and he knew that his aim had been achieved. He turned and started to run down the slope, to join up with his comrades. Just then, an excruciating scream sounded through the valley and they all stopped short with a shudder. The scream echoed again, even louder and more frenzied, following them at length as it bounced again and again off the rocky cliffs, until it died away into a dreadful whimpering.
They started on their way again with heavy souls, eager to leave a land that could swallow up a live, glittering river and regurgitate it back into the sea, cold and black.
4
W HEN THEY REACHED THE beach and saw that the ships were all there, they felt relief but dared not abandon themselves to joy, for they had lost many companions.
Diomedes wanted a trophy erected nonetheless to commemorate victory over their enemies, and since they had neither spoils nor booty, he dedicated a suit of armour he had won in Ilium. He hung it on two crossed poles and had his name carved on to a stone, so that a memory would remain of his passage through that land.
They raised a lofty cairn on the shores of the sea and celebrated the funeral rites of their fallen comrades, so that they might find peace in Hades.
Telephus and the Chnan lit a fire and roasted the deer; when it was cooked, they carved it into portions and distributed them to everyone. Diomedes had wine brought from his ship and thus, as long as their cups were full and there was food to eat, their sadness was dispelled, although they all knew in their hearts that it would return, grim and oppressive, with the shadows of night.
They took to sea again and the ships sailed the whole day