Liv Reads Statius: The Thebaid (Part 6)
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Fresh for everyone. Hello, this is Let's Talk About Myths, baby. And I am your host, Liv, back with more of the Thibbiad. Which, honestly, if you're anything like me, we are loving it more and more with every episode. But I'm going to tell you a little bit about myself.

I'm really excited that we're doing this play as, or rather this epic for this reading series, this next reading series, because I mean, I knew it was going to be good. I mean, it's just nice to have this kind of source that is so wide ranging and that just doesn't exist from the Greek world, you know, that covers all these Greek myths, but unfortunately is lost from that time. So we have to deal with a Roman, but he wrote it pretty well. It's really quite interesting. And yeah,

What I love about epics like these, particularly the types that are written in this way rather than, you know, oral storytelling, is that they kind of tried to jam in sort of every possible myth that they could, right? Because it was like,

I mean, there's a way of like touching on all of these cultural touch points. This way of like really bringing in all of the more the most famous stories and characters. Right. It's going to make your epic more appealing to an audience and to us. It's also just like so fun.

And it means that this epic is, you know, ostensibly about this battle between these two brothers, Polyneices and Ateocles, these two sons of Oedipus after that whole mess. Remember, Polyneices has gone and he has teamed up with the Argives. Amphiarius is their king and with Tydeus, this other famous hero, and

They've teamed up and they're going to wage war against Thebes. Thebes kind of knows that's happening. You know, they recently had their famed seer Tiresias to come see how it's all going to go down. Like they all know that's happening. It is going to happen. But before it happens, we're going to get an incredible swath of Greek mythology told in this really explicitly narrative way, in this way that just doesn't exist elsewhere because of

the way these stories and these sources, you know, are transmitted over time. And it's just, it's so fun. So last week we left off. The Argives are marching on their way to Thebes, but they got waylaid in Nemea, which is really not far from Argos, which is why this is funny. We're on book six. They're only in Nemea. Um,

And last book, we have that incredible story from Hypsipoli, which was about so much more than Jason and just the story of these Lemnian women and then her exile and her sons finding her. And of course, Hypsipoli has been working as this nurse for, I believe, either the king or just a wealthy family in Nemea. We'll get back into it anyway. But she was watching the child and this divine snake came and ate it. And oh my God, it's so dramatic.

But it's been really interesting. And we got absolutely loved last reading. But I'm excited. This one returns to some more of Hipsipoli's story as well as...

if I'm right when I read the recap, because I have not read it yet. It also includes, I think, the mythological story of the formation of the Nemean Games, which were one of many sort of Olympic-style games that would take place across the Greek world. And so I think we're also going to get some sports in here.

I'm excited. I hope you are too. Just a reminder, these are primarily Latin names and words because this was written by the Roman Statius, but it's really about Greek myths. So it can

It can be a little confusing. There is a link in the episode description to like real basic equivalencies with the names. And there's also this habit of naming the Furies and the Fates by their first names. And also I just love saying their names. So I'm going to remind you again what those are. So the Furies are...

He seems to be most obsessed with Tisiphone and Magira. Those are the two more famous ones. Electo is usually named as the third. And then there are the Fates, who we all know and love. Those ladies who, you know, cut that string. There's something they do with the string first and I've lost it. It's fine. Their names are Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos. And with that, let's get straight back in.

This is The Thebiad by Statius, translated by J. H. Mosley, book 6. Far-traveling rumor glides through the Danaean cities and tells that the Anachidae are ordaining sacred rites for the new tomb and games thereto, whereby their martial valor may be kindled and have foretaste of the sweat of war.

customary among the greeks is such a festival first did the dutiful alcides contest this honour with pelops in the fields of pisa and brush the dust of combat from his hair with the wild olive spray

Next is celebrated the freeing of Phocis from the serpent's coils, the battle of the boy Apollo's quiver. Then the dark cult of Polymon is solemnized about the gloomy altars. So often as undaunted, Leucothea renews her grief, and in the time of festival comes to the welcoming shores. From end to end, Ipsmus resounds with lamentation, and Achaeonian Thebes makes answering wail.

And now the peerless princes whose rearing links Argos with heaven, princes whose mighty names the Aeonian land and Tyrian mothers utter with sighs, meet in rivalry and arouse their naked vigor to the fray, just as the two banked galleys that must venture the unknown deep

Whether they provoke the stormy Tyrrhenian or the calm Aegean Sea, first prove on a smooth lake their tackling and rudder and nimble oars, and learn to face the real perils. But when their crews are trained, then confidently do they push further out into the main nor seek the vanished coast.

The bright consort of Typhonus had shown in heaven her toil-bringing car, and night and sleep with empty horn were fleeing from the pale goddess's wakeful reigns. Already the ways are loud with wailing and the palace with fearful lamentation. From afar the wild forests catch the sounds and scatter them in a thousand echoes—

the father himself sits stripped of the honour of the twined fillet his unkempt head and neglected beard sprinkled with dust of mourning more violent than he and passionate with more than a man's grief

The bereaved mother urges on her handmaidens by example and by speech, willing though they be, and yearns to cast herself upon the mangled remains of her child. And as often they tear her from them and bring her back, even the father too restrains her.

"'Soon, when the Anakian princes with royal bearing "'entered the sorrowful portals, "'then, as though the stroke were fresh "'and the baby but newly hurt, "'or the deadly serpent had burst into the palace, "'they smite their breasts, though wearied, "'and raise clamour upon clamour, "'and the doors re-echo with the new-kindled wailing. "'The Pelasgians feel their ill will "'and plead their innocence with streaming tears.'

Addressed as himself whensoever the tumult was quelled, and the distracted house fell silent, and opportunity was given, addressed the father unbidden with consoling words, reviewing now the cruel destiny of mankind and the inexorable thread of doom, now giving hope of other offspring and pledges that by heaven's favour would endure. But he had not ended when morning broke forth anew,

nor does the king more gently hear his friendly speech than the madness of the fierce ionian hears the sailors shouting prayers upon the deep or the wayward lightning heed the frail clouds

Meanwhile, the flame-appointed pyre and the infant byre are intertwined with bloomy boughs and shoots of cypress. Lowest of all is laid the green produce, oh, the countryside, then a space is more laboriously wrought with grassy chaplets and the mound is decked with flowers that soon must perish.

Third in order rises a heap of Arabian spices and the rich profusion of the east with lumps of hoary incense and cinnamon that has come down from Bellus of old. On the summit is set twinkling gold and a soft coverlet of Tyrian purple is raised high gleaming everywhere with polished gems and within a border of Acanthus is Linus Woven and the hounds that caused his death.

Hateful ever to his mother was the marvellous work, and ever did she turn her eyes from the omen. Arms, too, and spoils of ancestors of old are cast about the pyre, the pride and checkered glory of the afflicted house, as though the funeral train bore there the burden of some great warrior's limbs.

yet even empty and barren fame delights the mourners and the pomp magnifies the infant shade wherefore tears are held in high reverence and afford a mournful joy and gifts greater than his years are brought to feed the flames

for his father in haste for the fulfilment of his prayers had set apart for him quivers and tiny javelins and innocent arrows and even already in his arms was rearing proved horses of his stable's famous breed loud ringing belts too are brought and armour waiting for a mightier frame

Insatiable hopes! What garments did she not make for him? In eager haste, credulous woman! And robes of purple, emblems of royalty, and childish sceptre? Yet all does the father himself ruthlessly condemn to the murky flames, and bid his own signs of rank be borne withal, if by their loss he may sate his devouring grief.

in another region the army hastens at the bidding of the wise augur to raise an airy pile high as a mountain of tree-trunks and shattered forests to dark burnt offering for the ill-omened war

These labour to cut down Nemea and its shady glens and hurl them to the ground, and to lay the forests open to the sunlight. Straightway a wood that Axe has never shorn of its ancient boughs is felled, a wood that which none more rich in abundant shade between the veils of Argolis and Mount Lycaeus ever raised aloft its head above the stars.

In reverend sanctity of Eld it stands, and is said not only to reach back in years beyond the grandfathers of men, but to have seen nymphs pass, and flocking fauns, and yet be living. Upon the wood came pitiful destruction. The beasts are fled, and the birds, terror-driven, flutter forth from the warm nests. The towering beaches fall, and the Caeonian groves, and the cypress that the winter harms not.

spruces are flung prostrate that feed the funeral flames ash trees and trunks of holm oak and yews with poisonous sap and mountain ashes destined to drink the gore of cursed battle and oaks unconquerable by age

then the daring fir is cloven and the pine with fragrant wound alders that love the sea bow to their ground their unshorned summits and elms that give friendly shade to the vines

the earth groans not so are the woods of ismaris swept away uprooted when boreas breaks his prison cave and rears his head no swifter does the nightly flame tear through the forests before the south wind's onset

Whore pales in Sylvanus, lord of the shady glen, and the folk, half god, half animal, go forth weeping from leisure haunts they loved, and as they go the woodland groans in sympathy. Nor can the nymphs loose the trees from their embrace, as when a leader gives over to the greedy conquerors the captured towers to plunder, scarce is the signal heard, and the city is nowhere to be found.

they drive and carry take captive and strike down in fury unrestrained the din of battle was less loud two altars now of equal height had they with like toil erected one to the doleful shades the other to the gods above when the low braying of the pipe with curved horn gave signal for lament

The pipe that by Phrygia's mournful use was wont to escort the youthful dead. They say that Pelops ordained for infant shade this funeral rite and chant, to which Niobe, undone by the quivers, too, and dressed in mournful garb, but brought the twelve urns to Sipylus.

the grecian leaders bear the funeral gifts and offerings for the flame each by his titles witnessing to his race's honorable renown long after high upon the necks of youths chosen by the prince from all his host amid wild clamor comes the

the lernaean chieftains encircle lycurgus a female company are gathered about the queen nor does hypsipyle go unattended the anacidae not unmindful surround her close her sons support her bruised arms and suffer their new-found mother to lament

there as soon as eurydice came forth from her ill-starred palace she bared her breast and cried aloud and with beating of her bosom and prelude of long wailings thus began

i never thought my son to follow you with this encompassing train of argive matrons nor thus did i picture in my foolish prayers your infant years not cruel did i expect whence at my life's end should i have fear for you from a theban war whereof i knew not what god has taken delight in joining battle with our race who vowed this crime against our arms

but your house o cadmus has not suffered yet no infant does tyrian crowds lament it is i that have borne the first fruits of grief and untimely death before even trumpet's braid or sword was drawn while in indolent neglect i put faith in his nurse's bosom and entrusted to her my baby to suckle

Why should I not? She told a tale of cunning rescue of her father and her innocence. But look, this woman, who alone we must think, abjured the death-deadly deed she vowed, and alone of her race was free from the Lemnian madness. This woman here, and you believe her after her daring deed, so strong in her devotion, cast away in desolate fields no king or lord, but impious one, another's child, that is all.

and left him on a path in an ill-famed wood where not merely poisonous snakes but need alas if of so huge a slayer but a strong tempest only or a bough broken by the wind or groundless fright could have availed to cause his death nor you would i accuse in my stricken grief unalterable and sure came this curse upon the mother at his nurse's hands

yet her did you favour more my son her only did you know and heard when she called you me you knew not no joy had your mother of you but she the fiend she heard your cries and your laughter mixed with tears and caught the accents of your earliest speech

She was ever your mother, while life remained to you. I only now. But woe is me that I cannot punish her for her crime. Why bring you these gifts, you chieftains, to the pyre? Why these empty rights? Herself, I beg. No more does his shade demand. Herself, I pray you, offer, both to the dead and to the ruined parent. I'm

I beseech you by this first bloodshed of the war for which I bore him, so may the Ogygian mothers have deaths to mourn as sad as mine. She tears her hair and repeats her supplication. Yes, give her up, nor call me cruel or greedy of blood. I will die likewise, so be it that my eyes, full-stated by her just death, we fall upon the selfsame fire."

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Thus loudly crying, she beheld elsewhere afar, hypsipally lamenting, for she too spares nor hair nor bosom, and ill brooking a partner in her woe. This at least prevent, O princes, and you for whom the child of our own bed has been flung to ruin, remove that hated woman from the funeral rites. Why does she offend his mother with her accursed presence, and who herself thus in my ruin?"

Thus spoke she and fell silent, and her complainings ceased. Even so, when a wild beast has seized, or shepherd borne away to the cruel shrine, a bullock, cheated of its first milk, whose strength is yet but frail, and whose vigour is drawn but from the udder, the despoiled mother stirs now in the valley, now the stream, now the herds with her moaning, and questions the empty meads.

Then it irks her to go home, and she leaves the desolate fields the last of all, and turns unfed from the herbage spread before her.

but the father hurls with his own hand upon the pyre his glorious sceptre and the emblems of the thunderer and with the sword cuts short the hair that fell over back and breast and with the shorn tresses covers the frail features of the infant where he lies and mingles with tender tears such words as these

far otherwise treacherous jupiter did i once consecrate these locks to you and held me to my vow should you have granted me to offer therewith my son's ripe manhood at your shrine but the priest confirmed it not and my prayer was lost let his shade then who is worthier receive them already the torch is set to the pyre and the flame crackles in the lowest branches

hard is it to restrain the frenzied parents danaans are bid in stand and with the barrier raised of weapons shut out afar from their vision the awful scene the fire is richly fed never before was so sumptuous a blaze

Precious stones crack huge streams of molten silver run and gold oozes from the embroidered raiment. The boughs are fattened with Assyrian juices, pale saffron drops hissing in the burning honey, foaming bowls of wine are outpoured and beakers of black blood, and pleasant milk yet warm from the udder.

then squadrons seven in number a hundred tall knights in each led by the greek-born kings themselves with arms reversed circling leftward in due manner purify the pyre and quell with their dust the shooting flames thrice accomplished they their wheeling course then with resounding clash of arms on arms four times their weapons gave forth a terrible din

"'Four times the handmaids beat their breasts in womanly lament.'

The other fire receives half-dead animals and beasts yet living. Here the prophet bids them cease their wailing, ominous of fresh disaster, although he knows the signs are true. Rightward they wheel and so return with quivering spears and each throws some offering snatched from his own armor, be it rain or belt he is pleased to plunge into the flames, or javelin or helmet's shady crest.

"'Around the countryside is filled with the hoarse cries of wailing, and piercing trumpets rend the earth. Loud shouts affright the groves, even so do the bugles tear the Martian standards from the ground, while eager still is cool, and the sword unreddened with blood, and the first face of battle is made fair and glorious.'

high on a cloud stands mavors uncertain yet which host to favour the end was come and the weary fire was sinking now to crumbling ash they attacked the flames and doused the pyre with plenteous water till with the setting sun their toils were finished

Scarce did their labour yield to the late-coming shadows, and now nine times had Lucifer chased the dewy stars from heaven, and as often changed his steed, and nightly heralded the lunar fires. Yet he deceives not the conscious stars, but is found the same in his alternate risings.

It is marvellous how the work has sped. There stands a marble pile, a mighty temple to the departed shade, where a row of sculptured scenes tells all his story. Here Hypsipyle shows the river to the weary Danai. Here crawls the unhappy baby. Here lies he while the scaly snake writhes angry coils around the hillock's end. One would think to hear the dying hisses of his blood-stained mouth.

so too the serpent about the marble spear and now rumour is summoning a multitude eager to behold the unarmed battles called forth from every field and city they come they also gather together to whom the horror of war is yet unknown and they who through weary age or infant years had stayed behind never were such clamouring throngs on the strand of ephiri or in the circus of oenomaus

Set in a green ring of curving hills and embraced by woodland lies a veil, rough ridges stand about it, and the twin summits of a mound make a barrier and forbid issue from the plain, which running long and level rises with gentle slope to grassy brows and winding heights soft with living turf. There in dense crowds while the fields were still rosy in the dawn, the warrior company took their seats.

There the heroes delight to reckon the number of the motley multitude and scan the faces and the dress of their fellows, and they felt the glad confidence of a mighty host. There they drag a hundred black bulls, the strength of the herd slow-paced and straining, as many cows of similar hue and bullocks with foreheads not yet crescent-crowned.

Then the ancient line of great-hearted fathers is borne along, in images marvelously fashioned to living likeness. First, the Terinthian crushes the gasping lion against the strong pressure of his breast and breaks it upon his own bones. Him the Anacidae behold not without terror, though he be in bronze and their own famous hero.

Next, in order, is seen Father Inachus reclining leftward on the mound of a reedy bank and letting the streaming urn flow free. Io, already prone and the sorrow of her father, sees behind her back Argus, starred with eyes that know no setting. But kindlier Jupiter had raised her erect in the fairy and fields and already was Aurora giving her gracious welcome.

then father tantalus not he who hangs above the deceiving waters and snatches the empty wind of the elusive branch but the great thunderer's god-fearing guest is borne along elsewhere triumphant in his car pelops handles the reins of neptune and myrtilus the charioteer grasps at the bounding wheels as the swift axle leaves him far and farther behind

grave acrisius too and the dread likeness of caribius and danae's guilty bosom and a miminy in sadness by the stream she found and alcmini proud of the infant hercules a threefold moon about her hair

the sons of belus join their discordant right hands in a pledge of enmity but aegyptus with milder look stand near easy is it to mark on the feigned countenance of danaus the signs of a treacherous peace and of the coming night then follow shapes innumerable at length pleasure is sated and prowess summons the foremost heroes to its own rewards

First came the sweat of steeds. Tell, O Phoebus, the driver's famous names. Tell of the steeds themselves, for never did nobler array of wing-footed coursers meet in conflict. Even as serried ranks of birds compete in swift course, or on a single shore Aeolus appoints a contest for the wild winds. Before the rest, Arion, marked by his mane of fiery red, is led forth.

Neptune, if the fame of olden time be true, was his father. He first is said to have hurt his youthful mouth with the bit and tamed him on the sand of the seashore, sparing the lash for insatiable was his eagerness to run, and he was capricious as a winter sea. Often was he wont to go in harness with the steeds of ocean through the Libyan or Ionian deep and bring his dark blue father safe home to every shore.

The storm clouds marveled to be outstripped, and east and south winds strive and are left behind. Nor less swiftly on land had he borne Amphitryon's son when he waged Eurystheus's wars, in deep-pressured furrows over the mead, fierce to him also and impatient of control. Soon by the god's bounty he was deemed worthy to have Adrastus for his lord, and meanwhile had grown far gentler.

on that day the chieftain allows him to be driven by his son-in-law polonikes and much did he counsel him what arts would soothe the horse when enraged not to use too fierce a hand nor to let him gallop free of the rein urge other steeds said he with voice and goad but he will go yes faster than you wish

even so when the sun granted the fiery rains and set his son upon the whirling chariot with tears did he warn the rejoicing youth of treacherous stars and zones that would fain not be overrun and the temperate heat that lies midway between the poles obedient was he and cautious but the cruel fates would not suffer him to learn

Amphiarius, next favourite for the prize, aloft in his chariot drives Ebalian steeds, your progeny, Chilarus, stealthily begotten while far away by the mouth of Scythian Pontus, Castor was exchanging the ore, the Amiclean rain, Snow-white his own raiment, snow-white are the coursers that lend their necks to the yoke, his helm and fillet match the whiteness of his crested plume.

admetus too the fortunate from thessalian shores can scarce restrain his barren mares of centaur's seed as they tell so scornful methinks are they of their sex and their natural heat turns all to body's vigour

white with dark flecks they resembled day and night so strongly marked was each colour nor unfit were they to be deemed of that stock which stood spell-bound at the piping of the castalian reed and scorned their pasture when they heard apollo play

lo the sons of jason too their mother hypsipyle's new-found pride took stand upon the chariots wherein each rode thoas bearing the name of his grandfather proper to his race and eunios called from argo's omen in everything were the twins alike in looks in car and steeds in raiment and in the harmony of their wishes either to win or to lose only at a brother's hands

next ride chromis and hippodamus the one born of mighty hercules the other of oenomaus it were doubtful which drove more madly the one has horses bred by gedic diomedes the other a yoked pair of his piscean father both chariots are decked with cruel spoils and drip with ghastly blood

for turning points there stood here a bare oak trunk there a stone pillar arbiter of husbandmen between either bound there lay a space you might reach with four times a javelin's cast with thrice an arrow's flight meanwhile apollo was charming with his strains the muse's glorious company and his finger placed upon the strings was gazing down to earth from the airy summit of parnassus

First he recounts the deeds of the gods, for often in duty bound he had sung of Jove and Phlegra, and his own victory over the serpent and his brother's praises, and then reveals what spirit drives the thunderbolt or guides the stars, where comes the fury of the rivers, what feeds the winds, what founts supply the unmeasured ocean, what pathway of the sun hastens or draws out the course of night—

Where earth be lowest, or in midheaven and encompassed, by yet another world we view not.

there he ended and puts off the sisters eager though they are to listen and while he fastens bay around his lyre and the woven brilliance of his coronet and ungirds his breast of the pictured girdle he hears a clamour and beholds not far away nymia famed for hercules and there the mighty spectacle of a four-horsed chariot race

He recognizes all, and by chance Admetus and Amphiarius had taken their stand in a field hard by. Then to himself he spoke.

what god has set those two princes phoebus's most loyal names in mutual rivalry both are devoted to me and both are dear nor could i say which holds first place the one when i served as thrall on pelian ground such was jehov's command so the dark sisters willed burnt incense to his slave nor dared to deem me his inferior

the other is the companion of the tripods and the devout pupil of the wisdom of the air and though the first has preference by his deserts yet the other's thread is near its distaff's end for admetus is old age ordained and a late death to you no joys remain for thebes awaits you and the dark gulf you know it unhappy one long since have my own birds sung your doom

he spoke and tears bedewed the face that scarce any sorrow may profane then straightway he came to nymia bounding radiant through the air swifter than his father's fire and his own shafts long had he reached the earth yet still his tracks remain in heaven and still athwart the zephyrs his path gleams bright

and now prothous had shaken the lots in a brazen helmet and each had his place and order at the starting the heroes each his country's glorious boast and the coursers a match to them in glory all alike of blood divine stand penned by one barrier hopeful daring yet fearful anxious yet confident

All is confusion in their hearts. They strive, yet are afraid, to be gone, and a thrill of courage mixed with dread runs through them to the extremities of their limbs.

the steeds are as ardent as their masters their eyes dart flame they loudly champ the bits and blood and foam corrode the iron scarce do the confining posts resist their pressure they smoke and pant in stifled rage such misery is it to stand still a thousand steps are lost before they start and on the absent plain their hoofs ring loud

around stand trusty friends smoothing out the twisted tangled manes and speak heartening words and give much counsel the tyrrhenian blast rang in their ears and all leapt forward from their places what canvas on the deep what javelins in war what clouds so swiftly fly across the heavens

Lest violent, are winter streams or fire slower, fall stars or gather rains, more slowly flow the torrents from the mountain summits.

as they sped forth the pelasgai saw and marked them now are they lost to view now confused and hidden in one cloud of blinding dust they can see nothing for the press and scarce by shout of name can they recognize each other then some draw clear of the throng and each takes place according to his strength

the second lap blots out the former furrows and now stooping forward in their eagerness they touch the yoke now with straining knees they bend double tugging at the reins on the shaggy necks the muscles swell and the breeze combs back the erect manes while the dusty ground drinks up the white rain of foam

the thunder of hoofs and the gentler sound of running wheels are blended never idle are their arms the air hisses with the often plied lash no more densely spatters the hail from the cold north nor streams the rain from the olenian horns

By instinct had Arion guessed that another driver stood grasping the reins and feared, innocent as he was, the dire son of Oedipus. From the very start he rages more fiercely than his wont, fretting angrily against his burden. The sons of Anakis think him fired by praises, but it is the charioteer that he is flying, the charioteer that he threatens in maddened fury, and he looks round for his lord on all the plain.

Amphiarius follows him yet far before the rest and by a long space second, and level with him runs Thessalian Admetus. The twins are together now, Unius to the four now Thoas, and in turn give ground and go ahead. Nor ever does ambitious love of glory set at variance the devoted brothers. Last of all fierce Chromis and fierce Hippodamus contend, not lacking skill but the weight of their coursers retards them.

hippodamus leading feels the panting breath of the following steeds and their hot wind upon his shoulders the seer of phoebus hoped by drawing tight his rein and turning close around the goal to gain first place and the sicilian hero too feels hope glow nearer while arion defying control dashes here and there in circles and strays rightward from the course

Already Euclides was in front and Admetus no longer third, when the seaborne steed at last brought back form his wide circuit, overtakes and passes both. Their triumph, but short-lived, a loud crash rises to the sky and heaven trembles, and all the seats flashed bare as the crowd sprang to their feet.

but the son of labdacus in pale anxiety neither handles the rain nor dares the lash just as a steersman his skill exhausted rushes upon waves and rocks alike nor any more consults the stars but flings his baffled art to the mercy of chance

again at headlong speed they swerve right-handed from the track into the plain and strive to keep their course and again comes the shock of axle on axle wheel on wheel spokes no truce is there nor keeping faith a lighter task one would think were war savage war and bloodshed such furious will to victory is theirs such fears and threats of death

and many a hoof is struck as it runs crosswise over the plain neither goads nor lashes now suffice but with shouts of name does admetus urge iris and foloi and steaming thoi and the danaan augur chide fleet ascetus and cygnus well so called

Strymon to hear's Chromis son of Hercules and fiery Aethion Eunius and Hippodamus provokes slow Chidon, Thoas entreats piebald Podarches to greater speed. Only Echeon's son keeps gloomy silence in his erring car and fears to confess his plight by cries of alarm.

"'Scarce was the real struggle of the steeds begun, and yet now they are entering the fourth dusty lap, and now streaming sweat is pouring from their exhausted limbs and fiery thirst leaves and gasps forth the thick breath of the horn-footed steeds. And now their vigor flags and their flanks are racked with long-drawn pantings.'

Then, first, does fortune, long-time doubtful, dare to step in and make decision. Thoas, pressing madly on to pass Hymonian Admetus, falls, nor does his brother aid him. Fain would he, but Martian Hippodamus forestalled him and drove his team between them. Next, Chromis, by Herculean vigor and all his father's strength, holds Hippodamus with axles interlocked as he wheels inside him past the goal.

in vain the steeds struggle to get free and strain their sinewy necks and bridles as when the tide holds fast sicilian craft and a strong south wind impels them the swelling sails stand motionless in mid-sea

Then Chromis hurls his rival from the shattered car and had sped on the foremost, but when the Thracian horses saw Hippodamus lying on the ground, that awful hunger comes back upon them. And already they, had they shared in their mad lust his trembling frame, had not the Terinthian hero, forgetful of victory, taken their bridles and dragged away the neighing steeds, and left the field vanquished, but praised of all.

but phoebus has long desired for you amphiarius your promised honours at last deeming the moment fit to show you favour he visits the grim spaces of the dusty course

when now the race is nearing its end and for the last time victory hovers doubtful a snake-tressed monstrous phantom a visage terrible to behold whether he wrought it in erebus or for the cunning purpose of the moment certainly endowed with countless terrors this horrid plague he raises to the world above

The guardian of dusky Lethe could not beheld it, unterrified, nor the Eumenides themselves without a deep thrill of fear. It would have overturned the horses of the sun in mid-career and the team of Mars. When golden Arion saw it, his mane leapt up erect and he halts with upreared shoulders and holds high, suspended his yoke fellow and the steeds that shared his toil on either side.

Straightway the Ionian exile is flung backward, head over heels, he drops the reins and the chariot, freed from restraint, dashes far away. But past him, as he lies on the crumbling earth, sweep the Tainarian car and the Thessalian axle and the Lemnian hero, and just avoid him by swerving in their flight.

his friends rush up and at last he lifts his dazed head and reeling limbs from the ground and returns scarce hoped for by his father-in-law adrastus

How timely then, O Theban, had been your death, had not stern to Siphony forbidden. How grievous a war could you have prevented? Thebes had bewailed you, and your brother made show thereof, and Argos too had mourned, and Nymia, and Lerna, and Larissa had, in suppliant guise, shorn tresses for you. You had excelled Archimaurus in funeral pomp.

Then Polynices, although the prize was now sure for him, as he followed since masterless Arion held first place, yearned yet with keen desire to pass even the empty chariot.

the god lends strength and refreshment swifter than the east he flies and though the barrier were but just fallen and were starting on the race and calling aloud on nimble cyrus and snow-white cygnus plies their necks with blows and shakes the reins upon their backs

Now at least, when nobody is in front, the fiery Axel devours the course, and the scattered sand is thrown afar. The earth groans, and even then savagely threatens. And perchance Arion, too, had owned defeat and Cygnus taken first place, but his ocean father suffers him not to be defeated.

Thus, by a just division the glory remained for the horse, but the prophet gained the victory. His mead of triumph was a Herculean bowl, borne by two youths. The Terinthian on a time was wont to take it in one hand, and with head flung back quaff its foaming, whether victorious over a monster or in the field of Mars.

fierce centaurs has it cunningly wrought and fearful shapes in gold here amid slaughter of lapithae are stones and torches flying and again other bulls everywhere the furious anger of dying men he himself seizes the raging hylaeus and grips him by the beard and wields his club

but for you admetus is brought for your deserving a cloak with a flowing border of maionian dye stained many a time with purple here swims the youth contemptuous of phryxian waters and gleams with sea-blue body through the pictured wave

One sees the sideward sweep of his arm, and he seems about to make the alternate stroke. Nor would one think to find his hair dry in the woven fabric. Yonder high upon the tower sits anxiously watching all in vain the Sestian maid. Near her the conscious lamp droops and flickers. These rich rewards Adrastus bids to be given to the victors, but his son-in-law he consoles with an Achaean handmaid.

Then he incites those heroes who are speedliest of foot to strive for ample rewards, a contest of agility where prowess is frailest, fit pursuit for peace when sacred games invite, nor useless in war as a refuge should power of arm fail. Before all the rest, Idus leaps to the front, whose temples were late shaded by Olympian wreaths.

The youth of Pisa and the bands of Elis hail him with applause. Alcon of Sicyon follows, and Phaedmus, twice acclaimed the victor of the sands of Ithmus, and Demas, who once outstripped the flight of wing-footed steeds, but now they outran him by reasoning of age. Many to whom the ignorant multitude received in silence came forward from this side and from that,

but for parthenopius the arcadian they call aloud and arouse murmurs that roam through the close-packed circus well known is his parent for speed of foot who cannot tell of the peerless renown of atalanta and of those footprints that no suitor could overtake

the son bears all his mother's glory and he himself already known to fame is said to catch on foot the defenseless hinds in the open glades of mount lycaeus and as he runs to overtake the flung javelin

Long expected, at last he darts forward, leaping lightly over the companies, and unfastens the twisted golden clasp of his cloak. His limbs shine forth, and all his graceful frame is revealed, his fine shoulders and breast as smooth and comely as his cheeks, and his face was lost in his body's beauty. But he scorns the praise of his fairness, and suffers not admirers to come near him.

then he cunningly sets to work with draughts of pallas and makes his skin tawny with rich oil thus do idas and demas and the rest shine sleek and glossy so when the starlight glitters on a tranquil sea and the spangled heaven is mirrored tremulous in the deep brilliant as every star but more brilliant than the rest does hesperus shoot his beams and brightly as he flames in the high heavens

so bright is his reflection in the dark blue waves idas is next in beauty nor much slower in speed next older too in years but for him already has the palaestrous oil brought on the tender growth and the down is creeping over his cheeks nor yet confesses itself among the cloud of unshorn locks

then they duly try their speed and sharpen up their paces and by various arts and feigned excitement stir their languid limbs now they sink down with bended knees now smite with loud claps their slippery breasts now ply their fiery feet in short sprint and sudden stop

As soon as the bar fell and left the threshold level, they nimbly dashed away, and the naked forms gleamed upon the plain. More slowly seemed the swift coursers to move of late on the same ground. One might deem them so many arrows poured forth from Cydonian host or flying Parthians.

not otherwise speed the stags over hyrcanian wilds hearing or fancying that they hear a famished lion roar afar blind fear drives them in crowding panic-stricken flight amid the ceaseless noise of clashing horns

then swifter than the rapid breeze the menalian boy outstrips the sight and hard behind him fierce idas runs and breathes upon his shoulder and presses close upon his rear with panting breath and overshadowing form

"'After them Phaedimus and Demas strive in doubtful contest. "'Near them fleet Alcon. "'The yellow hair hung down from the Arcadian's unshorn head. "'This from his earliest years he cherished as a gift to Trivia, "'and vainly boasting had vowed it to his country's altars "'when he should return in triumph from the Ogygian war.'

at that time freed from his band and streaming loose behind it flies backward as it meets the wind at once hindering his own speed and spreading out in front of his rival idas

Thereat the youth bethought him of deceit and an opportunity for fraud, already close upon the goal. Even while Parthenopius is triumphantly crossing the threshold, he grasps his hair, and pulling him back, seizes his place, and is the first to breast the wide entrance of the goal.

the arcadians cry to arms and with arms they hasten to defend their prince if the lost prize and merited honour be not restored and make ready to descend on all the course others again were pleased by the ruse of idas parthenopias himself pours showers of earth upon his face and streaming eyes and the comeliness of tears is added to his beauty

In his grief he rends with bloody nails now his breast, now his innocent cheeks and guilty hair, while all around discordant clamour rages, and old Adrastus halts irresolute of counsel. At last he speaks. "'Cease quarrelling, youths! Your prowess must be tried again. But not, but run not in one track only. Idas has this side. Keep you apart yonder, and let there be no cheating in this race.'

They heard and abide his command. Then the youth of Tegia, with silent prayer, humbly entreats the gods. Goddess, queen of the woodlands, for to you and to your honour these locks of mine are vowed, and from this vow comes my disgrace. If my mother or I myself has deserved well of you in hunting, suffer me not, I pray you, to go ill-omened thus to Thebes, or to have one such bitter shame for Arcadia.

clear proof was given that he was heard the plain scarce feels him as he goes his feet tread tenuous air and the rare footsteps hover and leave the dust unbroken with a shout he dashes to the goal and with a shout he runs back to the chief and seizing the palm appeased his grief

The running was over, and prizes for their toils stand ready. The Arcadian is given a horse, the shameless Idus bears away a shield. The rest go contented with Lycian quivers.

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at his command goes pterilus and with all his body bent scarce lays down beside him the slippery weight of the bronze mass in silence the sons of anacus look on and estimate the toil

Soon a number rushed forward, two of Achaian race, three sons of Ephiri, one Pisaborn, the seventh an Arcanian man, and more was the love of glory urging on, had not tall Hippomadon, incited by the crowd, come forward and carrying another broad disc at his right side, said, "'Take this one, rather, you warriors who are marching to shatter the walls with stones and to overthrow the Tyrian towers, take this one!'

As for that other, any hand can toss that weight. And with no effort he caught it up and threw it to one side. They fell back in amazement and confessed themselves undone. Scarce Phlegius alone and eager Menestheus, compelled by sense of shame and noble ancestry, vouchsafed to try their strength. The rest of their own accord gave place and returned inglorious, marveling at the disc.

Even so, the shield of Mars on the Bastonian plain reflects an evil light on Mount Pangaeus, and shining strikes the sun with terror and deeply clangs beneath the spear of the god.

phlegius of pisa begins the toil straightway he drew all eyes upon himself when they beheld his frame such promise of great deeds was there and first with earth he roughens the discus and his own hand then shaking off the dust turns it right skilfully to see which side best suits his fingers or fits more surely the middle of his arm

this sport had he ever loved not only when he attended his country's famous festival but he was wont to reckon the space between alpheus's either bank and where they are most widely distant to clear the river nor ever wet the disk

At once then, confident in his powers, he measures not the rough acres of the plain but the sky's expanse with his right arm, and with either knee bent earthward, he gathers up his strength and whirls the disc above him and hides it in the clouds. Swiftly it speeds aloft, and as though falling grows faster as it mounts, at last exhausted, it returns to earth more slowly from the height and buries itself in the field.

So falls, whenever she is torn from the astonished stars, the darkened sister of the sun. Afar, the peoples beat the bronze for Sikor and indulge their fruitless fears. But the Thessalian hag, triumphant, laughs at the panting steeds who obey her spell. The Danai shout applause, though amid their frowns. Hippomadon, and he, hopes for a mightier throw along the level.

But thereupon fortune, whose pleasure it is to dash immoderate hopes, assails him. What power has man against the gods? Already he was prepping a mighty throw, his head was turned, and all his side was swinging back. The weight slipped and fell before his feet and baffled his throw, and his hand dropped empty and unavailing. All groaned, while to a few the sight brought pleasure.

Menestheus, then, more cautious, brings careful skill to the attempt, and uttering many a prayer to you, O son of Maya, corrects with dust the slippery surface of the powerful mass. With far better fortune it speeds from his huge hand, nor falls till it has covered no mean extent of the course. They applaud, and an arrow is fixed to mark the spot.

Third, Hippomodon, with slow and ponderous step, advances to the labours of the contest, for deep in his heart he takes warning from the fate of Phlegius and the good fortune of Menestheus. He lifts the instrument of combat from his hand, new well, and holding it aloft, summons all the strength of his unyielding side and vigorous arms, and flings it with a mighty whirl, springing forward after it himself.

with a terrific bound the disc flies through the empty air and even in its flight remembers the hand that flung it and keeps to its due path nor attains a doubtful or a neighbouring goal as it passes the defeated but far beyond the rival sign it falls to earth and makes tremble the green buttresses and shady heights of the theatre as though they were falling in vast and widespread ruin

even so from smoke emitting aetna did polyphemus hurl the rock though with hand untaught of vision yet on the very track of the ship he could but hear and close to his enemy thus too the aloedi when rigid ossa already trod olympus under foot bore icy pelion also and hoped to join it in frightened heaven

Then the son of Talius bids a tiger's skin to go as prize to the victor. All glossy it shone with a yellow border, and its sharp claws were tamed with gold. Menestheus receives a Gnosian bow and errant shafts. But to you, Phlegius, he cries, whom unlucky fortune foiled, we give this sword, once the glory and aid of our Pelasgus. Nor will Hippomodon grudge it to you.

and now his courage needed wield you the terrible kestis in close conflict valour here comes nighest to that of battle and the sword argive capaneus took his stand awful in aspect awful the terror he inspires and binding on his arms the raw ox-hide black with lumps of lead himself no softer

send me one he says from all those thousands of warriors and would rather that my rival were of aeonian stock whom it were right to slay and that my valour were not stained with kindred blood they stood aghast and terror made them silent

at last alcadamus unexpected leapt forth from the naked crowd of laconians while the dorian princes marvel but his comrades knew he relied on his master pollux and had grown up in the wrestling school of a god

Pollux himself guided his hands and moulded his arms. Love of the sport constrained him, and of the set him against himself, and admiring him as he stood up in like mood caught him up exultant and pressed his naked body to his breast. Capanius thinks scorn of him and mocks at his challenge, as though in pity, and demands another foe. At last, perforce, he faces him, and now his languid neck swells at anchor's prompting.

with bodies poised at their full height they lift their hands deadly as thunderbolts safe withdrawn are their faces on their shoulders ever watching enclosed is the approach to wounds the one is as great in broad expanse of every limb and terrible in size of bone as though tytius should rise up from the stygian fields

did the fierce birds allow him the other was so lately but a boy yet his strength is riper than his years and his youthful vigour gives promise of a mighty manhood he would none wish to see defeated nor stained with cruel gore but each man fears the spectacle with eager prayers

scanning each other with their gaze and each awaiting the first opening they fell not at once to angry blows but stayed awhile in mutual fear and mingled caution with their rage they but incline their arms against each other as they spar and make trial of their gloves dulling them with mere rubs

the one more skilfully trained puts by his fury and taking thought for the future delays and husbands up his strength but the other prodigal of harm and reckless of his powers rushes with all his might and in wild blows exhausts both arms and attacks with fruitless gnashing of teeth and injures his own cause

but the laconian prudent and crafty and with all his country's vigilance now parries now avoids the blow sometimes by the throwing back or rapid bending of his head he shuns all hurt now with his hands he beats off the aimed assault and advances with his feet while keeping his head drawn back

often again as his foe engages him with superior power such strength is in his cunning and such skill in his right hand with bold initiative he enters his guard and overshadows him and towering high assails him

just as a mass of water hurls itself headlong on a threatening rock and falls back broken so does he wheel round his angry foe breaking his defence look he lifts his hand and threatens a long time his face or side and thus by fear of his hard weapons diverts his guard and cunningly plants a sudden blow and marks the middle of his forehead with a wound

blood flows and the warm stream stains his temples capaneus yet ignorant wonders at the sudden murmur of the crowd but when as he chanced to draw his weary hand across his face he saw the stains upon the cowhide no lion nor tiger feeling the javelin smart was ever so mad

hotly he drives the youth before him in headlong retreat over the whole field and is forcing him on to his back terribly he grinds his teeth and whirls his fists in countless repeated blows

the strokes are wasted on the winds some fall on the gloves of his foe with active movement and aid of nimble feet the spartan eludes the thousand deaths that shower about his temples yet not unmindful of his art he flees still fighting and though fleeing meets blows with blows

and now both are wearied with the toil and their exhausted panting slower the one pursues nor is the other so swift to escape the knees of both fail them and alike they rest

Thus, when long wandering over the sea has wearied the mariners, the signal is given from the stern, and they rest their arms a while. But scarce have they taken repose, when another cry summons them to the oars again. Lo! a second time he makes a furious dash! But the other tricks him, and he goes at him with a rush of his own, and sinking into his shoulders. Forward he pitches on his head, and he rises, the merciless boy, smote him another blow, and himself grew pale at the success.

The Anacodi raise a shout, louder than the noise of shore or forest. But when Adrastus saw him struggling from the ground and lifting his hands, intent on hideous deeds, haste, friends, I pray you, he is mad. Haste, prevent him, he is out of his mind. Quick, bring the palm and the prizes. He will not cease, I see well, till he pounds the brain within the shattered skull. Rescue the doomed Laconian.

at once tydeus darts forth and hippomedon obedient to command then scares to the two with all their might master his two arms and bind them fast and forcefully urge him leave the field you are victorious it is noble to spare the vanquished he too is one of us in a war

but no wit is the hero's fury lessened he thrusts away the proffered branch and cuirass and shouts let me free shall i not smash in gore and clotted dust those cheeks whereby that eunuch boy gained favour and send his unsightly corpse to the tomb and give him cause for mourning to his ebalian masters

so says he but his friends force him away swelling with wrath and protesting that he is not conquered while the laconians praise the nursling of famed caigetus and laugh loud at the other's threats

long time have the varied deeds of valour and his own conscious worth provoked with urgent stings great-hearted tydeus both at the disc and in speed of foot did he excel nor less was he a champion of the boxing glove but before all other sports the anointed wrestling match was dear

thus had he been wont to spend the leisure intervals of fighting and relax his martial ire and with mighty heroes on the banks of achelous did he strive heaven-taught in many a victorious bout therefore when keen ambition called the youths to wrestle the etolian puts off the terrible covering of native boar-hide from his shoulders

Against him, Agalius, who boasts of Cleonian stock, raises his tall limbs, no less in bulk than Hercules. So loftily he towers, with huge shoulders and monstrously surpasses human measure. But he lacks his father's close-knit strength of body. Loose-limbed and overgrown is he, unsteady and soft of muscle.

hence is enides boldly confident to overthrow so mighty an antagonist though slight himself to look upon yet he is heavy of bone and hard and sinewy of arm never did nature dare enclose so fiery a spirit or so great a force in so small a frame when their skins had taken pleasure in the oil both ran forward to the middle of the plain and clad themselves in showers of sand

then with the dust they dry their wet limbs in turn and sink their necks into their shoulders and hold out their arms wide branching at once tydeus with cunning craft stoops his own body his knees near touching the sand and so draws down the tall agalias and makes him bend to his own level

But just as the cypress, queen of the alpine height, inclines her summit to the south wind's pressure, scarce holding by her root and nears the ground yet soon springs up again into the air,

Not otherwise does towering Agalias of his own will force down his huge limbs and groaning bend double over his little foe. And now, first one, then the other, their hands attack brow and shoulder and side and neck and breast and legs that evade the clutch. Sometimes they hang a long while locked in each other's grip.

Now savagely they seek to break the fingers' clasp. Less fiercely do two bulls, the leaders of the herd, make war. In the meadow stands the fair white heifer and awaits the victor, while their breasts are torn in the mad struggle, and love plies the goad and heals their wounds. So do boars fight with flashing tusks. So do ugly bears grasp shaggy hides in hairy conflict.

"'So violent is Tydeus. Neither dust nor heat of sun makes his limbs faint and weary, but his skin is close-knit and firm, and schooled by toil to hard muscle. But the other, unsound in wind, pants heavily and breathes sickly gasps in his exhaustion, and the caked sands runs off him in streams of sweat, while furtively he snatches support for his body from the ground.'

on him tydeus constantly presses and fainting at his neck catches at his legs but his arms were baffled by their shortness and failed in their design while all the other's towering height came down upon him and crushed and buried him under the huge falling mass

Just as when the Iberian miner burrows beneath a hill and leaves far behind the living day, then if the suspended ground is rocked and tunneled, earth crashes down with sudden roar, overwhelmed by the falling mount he lies within. Nor ever does his crushed and utterly broken corpse deliver up the indignant soul to its own skies.

More vigorous is Tydeus than his foe and superior in spirited valour. Nor is it long before he has slipped from the other's hold an unequal weight, and encompassing him, as he hesitates, fastens suddenly on his back, then swiftly enfolds sides and groin in a firm embrace, and grips his knees between his thighs, and relentlessly, as he struggles in vain to escape from the grasp, and forces his hands against his side,

A burden, wonderful and terrible to see, raises him aloft. So, fame tells, did Hercules hold fast in his arms the sweating, earth-born Libyan, when he found the trick and snatched him up on high and left him no hope of falling, nor suffered him to touch, even with his foot's extremity, his mother earth. A shout arises and glad applause from the multitude echoes.

then poising him aloft suddenly of his own will he loosened him and threw him sideways and following him as he fell seized his neck with his right hand and his middle between his legs thus beset his spirit fails and only shame drives him to struggle at last he lies extended with breast and belly prone on the ground and a long time after sadly rises leaving the marks of his disgrace on the imprinted earth

But Tydeus, bearing the palm in his right hand and in his left the prize of shining armor, says, "'What if the plain of Dyrke held not so small measure of my blood, as well you know, where of late these scars made treaty with Thebes?' So speaking, he displays the scars and gives to his comrades the glorious rewards that he had won, while the spurned corslet follows Agalius from the field."

There are some, too, who advance to combat with the naked sword, and already they are taking their stand. Fully armed, Agrius from Epidaurus and the Durkheian exile not yet doomed by fate, but the chieftain, the son of Iasis, forbids them.

Great store of death remains, O youths, preserve your warlike temper and your mad desire for a foeman's blood. And you, for whose sake we have laid bare our ancestral acres and our beloved cities, given not, I pray you, such power to chance before the fight begins, nor may the gods forfend it to your brother's prayers. Thus he speaks and enriches them both with a golden helm.

then lest his son-in-law lack praise he bids his lofty temples be garlanded and himself proclaimed aloud victor of thebes the dire fates echoed back the ominous sound

the monarch himself also do the prince's urge to dignify with some exploit of his own the festal contests and to confer this final honour on the tomb they bid him lest one victory be lacking to the number of the leaders to shoot lictian arrows from his bow or to cleave the clouds with the slender spear

Gladly he accedes and, thronged about by the foremost warriors, descends from the green mound to the level plain. His armor-bearer at command bears after him, his light quiver and his bow. He prepares to shoot the circus's mighty length and to plant wounds upon an appointed ash tree. Who will deny that omens flow from the hidden causes of things to come?

the fates lie open to mankind but we choose not to take heed and the proof foreshown is wasted thus turn we omens into chance and from hence fortune draws her power of harm the fateful arrow in a moment measured the plain and struck the tree and then awful to behold came back through the air it but now had traversed and turning homeward from the goal kept on its way

and fell by the mouth of its well-known quiver much talk the prince's interchange in error some say the clouds and the winds on high did meet and drive the shaft others that the impact of the wood repelled it deep hidden lies the mighty issue and the awful truth foretold to its master only did the arrow vouchsafe survival and a sad returning from the war

Well, that was so fun. Like last time, I really hope that that was as fun for you all as it was for me. It turns out reading Manly Naked Sports was real fun. And I was definitely respecting all of them the whole time, for sure. I'm excited to keep going with all of this. But for now, I have been talking too long. So thank you all so much for listening.

A delightful read, this one is. I'm so glad it just keeps getting more and more entertaining as we go. I'll be back soon with book seven. Let's Talk About Myths, Baby is written and produced by me, Liv Albert. Michaela Pangawish is the Hermes to my Olympians, my incredible producer. Select Music by Luke Chaos. The podcast is part of the Memory Collective Podcast Network, a group of creators and educators dedicated to sharing knowledge that is accessible, contextualized, socially conscious, and inclusive.

To find out more, visit collectivemem.com, which hopefully will be a functioning website by the time this one comes out. I'm recording this like a month out, so we'll see.

Either way, it's coming soon. Listen on Apple Podcasts or Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. I don't know. Be cool and hang out with me by listening to my show. If you are at all eager for every episode ad-free and or bonus material and or beautifully, like, little thank you notes that come on these cool little branded postcards with stickers, which, like, exclusive stickers, which are, like...

holographic and shimmery and cool or even a pin anyway all of that is available via the oracle edition on my patreon which is my latest attempt to get us outside of capitalism at least as much so that i am not entirely relying on the economics of ads in order to keep this going

If that made sense, go to patreon.com slash mythsbaby. Either way, thank you all so goddamn much for listening. I am Liv and I love this shit.

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