Nonnus of Panopolis, Dionysiaca 29.0–77: Book 29: Hera inspires Deriades; Hymenaios is wounded

In the twenty-ninth, Ares retreats from the battle, being urged to another wedding by Cythereia.

When Hera saw the companies of Indians being destroyed, she threw on proud Deriades courage invincible. The terrible king felt the pride of an intenser ardour for strife. He went about through the whole black army rank by rank, pouring forth his frenzied voice among the forefighters, and rallying all the fugitive host back into the fray, changing one man’s mind by gentle words, one by threats. He grew bolder still, and the Indians themselves recovered and rushed into battle at the summons of their king. Then farshooting Morrheus cut through the whole body of Satyrs: now he discharged a cloud of arrows through the air from his backbending bow against his adversaries ; now he cast his furious spear again and again, and disordered the horned generation of Seilenoi.

Longhaired Hymenaios fought swinging his sword, out of reach on the back of his Thessalian horse, and cut down black Indians with his rosy hand. He blazed in radiance: you might see him in the midst of the Indians, like the bright morning star against ugly darkness. He drove the enemy to flight, since for his beauty’s sake Dionysos inspired him fighting with strength divine.

And Iobacchos was glad when he saw him a champion in the battle ; he would not have chosen Cronion’s lightning for ally in his war rather than the ashplant of Hymenaios. If he drove his colt into the throng of escaping Indians, Dionysos flicked the neck of his motley wild beasts, and brought up his car to the horse; he kept close to the youth, and took him as his boy, as Phoibos with Atymnios. He was always to be seen by his side, and desired the youth to notice him as lovely and valiant at once ; in the conflict he touched the clouds with pride to be Hymenaios’s comrade in arms. One thing only incensed him, that the boy’s father was earthborn Phlegyas and not Cronides. He was always near him, like a father guarding his son, for fear that some farshooter might let fly an arrow and hit the boy: as the shafts came, he held out his right hand to protect Hymenaios as with a shield. He encouraged the young champion with such words as these :

“Shoot your shot, dear boy, and Ares will cease to rage! Your beauty was the shot which hit Bacchos, whose arrows bring down the Giants. Shoot Deriades also with your shots, that foolish king of our enemies, that enemy of God; that men may say, ‘Hymenaios hit two marks with one arrow, the body of Deriades and the heart of Dionysos !

At this speech of Bromios, the lovely farshooter Hymenaios attacked the battle with more vigour than before ; and Dionysos enamoured, rejoicing in him, rushed in with more fury and scattered the whole black nation out and out. One who saw Dionysos like a merciless tornado in the field, piercing Indian heads insatiate with his arrows, said something like this to avaricious Melaneus:

“Archer, where is your bow, where are your windswift arrows? Women in dainty dress are shooting their arrows at us! Come, aim a shot at short-lived Dionysos! Let not the legend of his Olympian name mislead you. Never fear Bacchos, who has in him the mortal blood of a quickfated father, and lies when he calls himself son of Zeus. Here—let fly your shot, and if you can hit the mark, accept infinite gifts from our wealthy king, if he sees Dionysos, Thyone’s haughty son, brought down by your shaft and laid on a pyre. One shot would finish all our troubles. Pray to both—stretch out your hands to the Water and pray to Mother Earth, and with truthful lips vow to both sacrifice after victory ; at the altar let bullshaped Hydaspes hold a hornstrong bull, and let black Earth receive a black ram.”

With these words he persuaded Melaneus the archer, a man with a passion for mindbeguiling riches. Silently he took off the cap of his quiver and chose a long arrow; then drew back the bowstring as he knew how to do, until the bow was rounded by a backward pull of his hand: he brought the deadly oxgut close to his breast till the steel point touched the bow, and the shaft sped straight —but Zeus made it swerve aside from Dionysos, and the winged arrow pierced the bloodbathed thigh of garlanded Hymenaios.