Such was the tale that Nestor told; the war
between the Lapiths and half-human centaurs.
Tlepolemus, however, could not curb
his sorrow at the lack of any word
Latin [517–38]
from Nestor on the feats of Hercules
in that great battle; so he said: “My lord,
I am amazed that you did not record
the deeds my father, Hercules, performed.
He often used to tell me of the sons
of Cloud—the centaurs he had overcome.”
At this, the lord of Pylos said in sadness:
“Why must I bring old sufferings to mind?
Why must I open bitter wounds that time
had hidden, if not healed? I now confess
my hatred of your father, my deep sense
of harm and hurt he caused me. By the gods,
his deeds were glorious, beyond belief!
I would prefer to cancel—if I could—
the merits and just praise that he received,
the fame the world proclaimed (I can’t deny
the truth). But we don’t praise Deiphobus
or Polydamas; nor do we extol
even great Hector—who would praise a foe?
Your father was the culprit who laid low
Messene’s walls; he savaged my own home
with fire and sword, while devastating both
Elis and Pylos—cities without blame.
And not to speak of others whom he slew,
we sons of Neleus numbered twelve—fine youths:
and all of us were felled by him except
for one—myself. Though all the other deaths
may have to be borne patiently, there’s one
whose death still stirs astonishment—for he
was Periclymenus. The line of Neleus
begins with Neptune, and this gift he gave
to Periclymenus: the power to take,
and then to shed, at will, whatever shape
he pleased. When faced with Hercules’ assault,
my brother took, in turn, so many forms:
but all those forms were vain until he changed
into the bird the king of gods loves most,
the bird that, in its claws, grips thunderbolts.
Latin [538–61]
And, with the force that only eagles own,
my brother, with his wings and curving beak
and hooked claws, ripped the face of Hercules.
But then your father aimed his bow—far too
precise—against that bird; and as it flew
to height on height, then hovered in the sky,
the arrow struck the join of wing and side.
The wound was not that deep, and yet it sliced
the sinews—they cannot respond—all flight
and movement are denied. With weakened wings
he cannot ride the air; he falls to earth;
his body presses now against the shaft
that pierced—and still hangs—from the wing. At that,
the arrow is pushed through his upper breast,
then juts out near his throat, upon the left.
Now—splendid leader of the fleet of Rhodes—
do you in truth think that I must extol
your Hercules? The vengeance that I seek
for my dear brothers stops at this: my speech,
in telling of the Lapiths’ victory,
omitted the great deeds of Hercules.
This does not break the bond of amity,
Tleptolemus, between yourself and me.”
Such were the graceful words of Neleus’ son.
And when the old man’s speech was done, the Greeks
all shared in Bacchus’ precious gift once more,
then rose up from their couches. Any hours
of night that still were left belonged to sleep.