But we were all on fire to hear him further. Pelasgian craft meant nothing to our folly. Trembling and nervous, he resumed his lying: ‘The Greeks were tired of the long war; they often Wanted to sail from Troy for home. Oh, would That they had only done it! But a storm Would cut them off, or the wrong wind terrify them. Especially, just after the horse was finished, With the joined planks of maple, all the heaven Roared loud with storm-clouds. In suspense and terror We sent Eurypylus to ask Apollo What could be done; the oracle was gloomy, Foreboding: “Blood, O Greeks, and a slain virgin Appeased the winds when first you came here; blood Must pay for your return, a life be given, An Argive life.” The word came to our ears With terror in it, our blood ran cold in our veins, For whom was fate preparing? who would be The victim of Apollo? Then Ulysses Dragged Calchas into our midst, with a great uproar, Trying his best to make the prophet tell us What the gods wanted. And there were many then Who told me what was coming, or kept silent Because they saw, and all too well, the scheme Ulysses had in mind. For ten days Calchas Said nothing at all, hid in his tent, refusing To have a word of his pronounce the sentence, And all the time Ulysses kept on shouting, Till Calchas broke, and doomed me to the altar. And all assented; what each man had feared In his own case, he bore with great composure When turned another way. The terrible day was almost on me; fillets Were ready for my temples, the salted meal Prepared, the altars standing. But I fled, I tore myself away from death, I admit it, I hid all night in sedge and muddy water At the edge of the lake, hoping, forever hoping, They might set sail. And now I hope no longer To see my home, my parents, or my children, Poor things, whom they will kill because I fled them, Whom they will murder for my sacrilege. But oh, by the gods above, by any power That values truth, by any uncorrupted Remnant of faith in all the world, have pity, Have pity on a soul that bears such sorrow, More than I ever deserved.’ He had no need to ask us. Priam said, _Untie him_, and we did so with a promise To spare his life. Our king, with friendly words, Addressed him, saying, ‘Whoever you are, forget The Greeks, from now on. You are ours; but tell me Why they have built this monstrous horse? who made it, Who thought of it? What is it, war-machine, Religious offering?’ And he, instructed In every trick and artifice, made answer, Lifting his hands, now free: ‘Eternal fires, Inviolable godhead, be my witness, You altars, you accursèd swords, you fillets Which I as victim wore, I had the right To break those solemn bonds, I had the right To hate those men, to bring whatever they hide Into the light and air; I am bound no longer To any country, any laws, but, Trojans, Keep to the promise, if I tell the truth, If I pay back with interest. All the Greek hope, since first the war began, Rested in Pallas, always. But Ulysses, The crime-contriver, and the son of Tydeus Attacked Minerva’s temple, stole her image Out of the holy shrine, and slew the guards, And laid their bloody hands upon the goddess, And from that time the Danaan hopes were broken, Faltered and failed. It was no doubtful anger Pallas revealed; she gave them signs and portents. From her image in the camp the upraised eyes Shot fire, and sweat ran salty down the limbs, Thrice from the ground she seemed to flash and leap With vibrant spear and clashing shield. The priest, Calchas, made prophecy: they must take to flight Over the sea, and Troy could not be taken Without new omens; they must go to Argos, Bring back the goddess again, whom they have taken In curved ships over the sea. And if they have gone, They are bound for home, Mycenae, for new arms, New gods, new soldiers; they will be here again When least expected. Calchas’ message warned them, And so they built this image, to replace The one they had stolen, a gigantic offering For a tremendous sacrilege. It was Calchas, Again, who bade them build a mass so mighty It almost reached the stars, too big to enter Through any gate, or be brought inside the walls. For if your hands should damage it, destruction, (May God avert it) would come upon the city, But if your hands helped bring it home, then Asia Would be invading Greece, and doom await Our children’s children.’