The rumor had reached the city that the boar had been killed, but not without loss among the gallant band that had gone out against him, and with a heavy heart Althæa was waiting to know who it was that had fallen. In time she saw them returning home, and in their midst four litters carried on the shoulders of some. When she saw them, her heart stood still with fear, and as they came up and laid down the litters before the doorway she was as one turned to marble, and moved neither hand nor foot. When Œneus the king saw her, he took her gently by the hand. “Come within, lady,” he said; “the hunting of the boar has cost us dear.”
“Ah! tell me the worst at once,” she cried. “I can bear it better so. The suspense is maddening me.”
“Two of those who lie before thee are strangers who have given themselves for us,” he said. “One of them is sore wounded, and the other is gone beyond recovery. The other two, Althæa, are very near and dear to us—Toxeus and Plexippus, thy brothers.”
And he pointed to two of the bodies which lay side by side before her, with their faces covered. With a cry she drew back the coverings, and gazed upon the faces that she loved so well. As she looked, she saw the wounds that had killed them, and she knew now that it was no wild beast that had slain them, but the hand of man. Drawing herself up to her full height, she looked round on those who stood by, and the gleam of her eyes was terrible to see. “Deceive me no more,” she said, “but tell me how these two came to fall by the hand of man.”
“Lady,” said Œneus, “they sought a quarrel with one of our company, and in anger he slew them both.”
For a moment she was silent, then in a low voice, yet one that all could hear, she spoke. “My curse be upon him, whosoe’er he be. O Daughters of Destruction, wingless Furies, I bid you track his footsteps night and day. May no roof cover his head nor any man give him food or drink, but let him be a vagabond on the face of the earth till just vengeance overtake him. On thee, Œneus, do I lay this charge, and on my son Meleager, to avenge the death of these my kinsmen, who have been foully slain.”
In vain did Œneus try to stop her. She was as one deaf to his entreaties. When she had finished, she looked round for Meleager, and when she could not see him, she cried—“where is my son?”
“Lady,” said Œneus, “even now the wingless bearers of thy curse are hunting him through the forest.”
For a moment she swayed to and fro as though she would fall. “Ye gods, what have I done?” she muttered.