So Lord Dionysos marshalled these for the Indian War. But Astraéis went unpursued to Orontes, and told him the Indian tribes were enslaved, speaking with sorrowful voice :
“Hear me, battle-staunch goodfather of spearbold Deriades ! and while you listen be not angry ; and I will tell you the drugged victory of Dionysos unarmed! Indians and Satyrs came to blows : bang went the Bassarids’ hands, and my people armed them against Lyaios with flashing shields. The cunning man of Lydia shivered to see my warriors lance in hand ; he stood at the head of his unwarlike Satyrs, bearing no warspear in his hand, holding no naked sword, no arrow on string drawn at the mark to fly straight through the air. What he held was an oxhorn, and in the hollow of that horn a distilled drug ; he lifted it and poured out all the deceitful dew into the stream of the silvery river, and turned the water sweet and red with the juice. The swarthy Indians thirsting in the heat of the battle drank, and all that drank went mad, though still in their senses, and struck up a dance. Then a fatal sleep came over them : unrouted, after the wild revel they fell asleep on their leathern shields. Others lay along the unbedded earth, committing their sluggish bodies to unresting sleep, at the mercy of Dionysos and his weak women. These, without war and the sharp blade, were dragged captive with loaded limbs by the women to fetters and slavery with heavy limbs. Warriors were slung over the shoulders of their foes like living corpses; others, still sputtering the deceitful sap of Bacchos, unwarlike Satyrs made their slaves by main force when maddened by the drugged river. From the battle I alone was left; for I had not touched the deadly dew, I left the deceitful water with unwetted lips. Eschew that potion, my shakespear! After this cheating victory of Lyaios without a blow, without blood, let not some other trick in the war capture what is left of the Indians!”
Orontes furious already was more angry than ever at these words, and quickly returned to the battlefield ; for the conflict was only half done, and the foundations were being laid for a second combat.
While Ares was arming the Indian host along the mountains, the Bassarids up in the winding glens of Tauros were hastening to the battle, and with them marched Bacchoi with arms and the Pheres without arms. These last began the battle by attacking the enemy; they tore up the foundations of the ravines and cast them, or some crag from the top of the hills. Showers of splintered rocks were hurled rolling on the heads of the Indians. The Pans madly made battle skipping with light foot over the peaks. One of them gript an enemy’s neck tight in encircling hands, and ript him with his goat’s-hooves, tearing through flank and strong corselet together. Another caught a fugitive Indian and ran him through his middle where he stood, then lifting him on the curved points of his two longbranching antlers, sent him flying high through the airy ways, rolling over himself like a tumbler. Another waved in his hand the strawcutting sickle of sheafbearing Deo, and reaped the enemy crops with clawcurved blade, like cornears of conflict, like gavels of the battlefield . There was a revel for Ares, there was harvesthome for Dionysos, when the enemy’s heads were cut! He offered the curved blade to watching Bacchos, dabbled with human dew, and so poured a bloodlibation to Dionysos, and made the Fates drunken with the battlecup he filled for them. Another man was standing, when one goatfoot Pan twined both hands interlacing about his neck, and struck his wellcorseleted enemy with his horn, tearing his flank with the double point. Another met a fellow rushing on him with a blow from his cudgel, and smashed his forehead right between the ends of his eyebrows.
Now bold Orontes encouraged his Indian army, and with proud voice poured out these threatening words :
“This way, friends, open fight against the Satyrs! Fear not the warfare of Shirkbattle Dionysos! Not a man of you must drink of the yellow water, not one be tricked by the sweet fountains of madness with its maddening drug! Or sleep will destroy you also, after the cruel fate of our Indians, after so many heads have been brought low by Lyaios’s hand! This way! Let us fight again and fear not! Could unwarlike Bacchos ever hold front against me in open field? If he is able, let the runaway champion stand up to me, that I may teach him what champions Deriades arms for the fray! Let him fight with leaves, I will use flashing steel! While I hold a metal spear, what can a Lydian do to me with a bunch of twigs, a volley of vegetables? This warrior ! I will truss up the feeble coward in heavy fetters and drag him along, this womanmad Dionysos, to be a lackey for Deriades. You there, you with the soft skin of a woman! Leave all those Indians and fight a duel with one, Orontes. Simple soul! how he waves those long flowing locks round and round ! A simple soul is the charming champion of the Bassarids ! yes, the women do just the same—pretty looks are the shafts in their quiver. I will match your championesses with amorous Indians—they shall be hauled off to bed as brides won by the spear !”
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