In the thirty-sixth, Bacchos, after his surges of madness, changes his shape and attacks Deriades.
With this speech he encouraged the glad leaders ; and Deriades on his part put his own soldiers under arms. The gods who dwell in Olympos ranged themselves in two parties to direct the warfare on both sides, these supporting Deriades, those Lyaios. Zeus Lord of the Blessed throned high on Cerne held the tilting balance of war. From heaven Seabluehair of the waters challenged fiery Helios, Ares challenged Brighteyes, Hephaistos Hydaspes ; highland Artemis stood facing Hera ; Hermes rod in hand came to conflict with Leto.
A double din of divine battle resounded for the two parties of the Blessed. As they rushed to conflict, sevenrood Ares joined battle with Tritogeneia and cast a valiant spear ; the goddess was untouched, but it struck full on the aegis, and ran through the snaky crop of hair on the Gorgon’s head, which none may look upon. So it wounded only the shaggy target of Pallas, and the sharpened point of the whizzing unbending spear scored the counterfeit hair of Medusa’s image. Then the battlestirring maiden, motherless Pallas, rushed forwards in her turn and raised her birthmate spear, the weapon as old as herself, with which at her birth she leapt out of her father’s pregnant head born in armour. Huge Ares was hit, and sank to the ground on one knee ; but Athena helped him up and sent him back to his dear mother Hera unwounded, when the duel was done.
Against Hera came highland Artemis as champion for hillranging Dionysos, and rounded her bow aiming straight. Hera as ready for conflict seized one of the clouds of Zeus, and compressed it across her shoulders where she held it as a shield proof against all ; and Artemis shot arrow after arrow moving through the airy vault in vain against that mark, until her quiver was empty, and the cloud still unbroken she covered thick with arrows all over. It was the very image of a flight of cranes moving in the air and circling one after another in the figure of a wreath : the arrows were stuck in the dark cloud, but the veil was untorn and the wounds without blood. Then Hera picked up a rough missile of the air, a frozen mass of hail, circled it and struck Artemis with the jagged mass. The sharp stony lump broke the curves of the bow. But the consort of Zeus did not stop the fight there, but struck Artemis flat on the skin of the breast, and Artemis smitten by the weapon of ice emptied her quiver upon the ground. Then the wife of Zeus mocked at her :
“Go and shoot wild beasts, Artemis ! Why do you quarrel with your betters ? Climb your crags — what is war to you ? Wear your trumpery shoes and let Athena wear the greaves. Stretch your cunning nets. Dogs, not winged arrows, hunt and kill your beasts. You handle no weapon to kill lions ; the sweats of your paltry labours are timid hares. Attend to your stags and your horned team, attend to your stags : why should you exalt the son of Zeus, the driver of panthers and the charioteer of lions ? Keep your bow, if you like, for Eros also bends a bow. What you ought to do, you virgin marriage-hater, you midwife, is to carry the cestus, love’s ferry, the helper of childbed, in company with Eros and the Paphian : for you have power over birth. Begone then to the bedchambers of women in labour of child, you the guide of creative birth, and shoot women with the arrows of childbirth ; be like a lion beside the young wife in labour, be midwife rather than warrior. Nay, cease to be chaste yourself because of your chaste girdle, since Zeus our Lord on High assumes your shape to woo virgins unwedded. The Arcadian woods still tell of that love-stealing copy of you which seduced unwedded Callisto ; the mountains lament still your bear who saw and understood, and reproached the false enamoured image of the Archeress, when a female paramour entered a woman’s bed. Come, throw away your useless quiver, and cease fighting with Hera who is stronger than you. Fight Cythereia, if you like, the childbed-nurse against the marriage-maker.”
So Hera spoke, and passed on, leaving Artemis discomfited and drunken with fear. Phoibos threw both his arms about her in pity, and brought her out of the turmoil ; he left her in a lonely coppice, and returned unnoticed to join the battle of the gods.
And now a fiery chief stood up to the champion of the deep, Phoibos, to fight with Poseidon. He set shaft on string, and also lifted a brand of Delphic fir in each hand doubledextrous, to use fire against the surging sweep of water, and arrows against the trident. Fiery lance and watery arrows crashed together : while Phoibos defended, his home the upper air rattled a thunderclap for a battlesong ; the stormy trumpet of the sea brayed in the ears of Phoibos — a broadbeard Triton boomed with his own proper conch, like a man half-finished, from the loins down a greeny fish — the Nereids shouted the battlecry — Arabian Nereus pushed up out of the sea and bellowed, shaking his trident.
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