Tecmessa, a captive with whom Ajax lives as his wife, tells the Chorus of Salaminian mariners what has befallen their chieftain.
LINES 284-330.
TECMESSA.
Thou shalt hear all as one that shares our lot.
It was the dead of night, and now no more
The camp fires shone, when Ajax took his sword,
Uncalled, and was in act to leave the tent,
And I reproved him. "Ajax," I exclaimed,
"What errand is it upon which you go
Unbidden, summoned by no messenger,
No trumpet call; the host is all asleep?"
Brief was his answer in a well-known strain:
"Peace, woman; silence best beseems thy sex."
I said no more. He sallied forth alone.
What may have there befallen I cannot say.
Back to the tent he came, leading along
As captives bulls and herdsmen's dogs and sheep,
Of which a part he strangled, others felled
And cleft in twain; others again he lashed,
Treating those beasts like human prisoners.
Then rushing out, he with some phantom talked,
Launching against the sons of Atreus now,
Now 'gainst Ulysses, ravings void of sense,
Boasting how he had paid their insults home.
Then once more rushing back into the tent,
By slow degrees to his right mind he came.
But when he saw the tent with carnage heaped,
Crying aloud, he smote his head, and then
Flung himself down amid the gory wreck,
And with clenched fingers grasped and tore his hair.
So a long time he sat and spoke no word.
At last, with imprecations terrible
If I refused, he bade me tell him all,
What had befallen and how it came about.
And I, my friends, o'erwhelmed with terror, told
All that I knew of that which he had done.
Thereat he uttered piercing cries of grief,
Such as had never come from him before,
For in loud lamentations to indulge
He ever held a craven weakling's part,
And, stifling outcries, moaned not loud but deep,
Like the deep roaring of a wounded bull.
But in this plight, prostrate and desperate,
Refusing food and drink, my hero lies
Amidst the mangled bodies, motionless.
That he is brooding on some fell design,
His wails and exclamations plainly show.
But, O kind friends, 'twas to this end I came,
Enter the tent and aid me if ye can;
The words of friends are desperate sorrow's cure.
* * * * *
REMORSE.
Ajax bewails his own fall. Tecmessa tries to comfort him, and turn him from violent courses.
LINES 430-595.
CHORUS.
I know not how, in case so desperate,
To bid thee speak, or bid thee to refrain.