A wind crinkled the white tents
hiding her dearest as she hung gazing.
What’s he up to . . . ? Is war so bad?
Maybe it’s good. Minos is attacking
me, who loves him more than anyone,
but if this war weren’t happening
I’d never get a chance to know his beauty.
If I became his hostage, it would halt the fighting—
then his partner and a peace pledge.
Oh, if Europa was as ravishing as you,
then the blank bull who bore her to Crete
was right to burn. I would be happy—
at last!—if wings could whisk me down there
and I’d stand before you and confess this burning
and ask what Nisos would need to pay you—
anything you long for, just let the old man
keep Megara!—But I’d give up our love—
let no one say Scylla’s a traitor!
The wind brisked on her bronzed shoulders.
Being conquered has benefited
many countries that succumbed to merciful
invaders like Minos. We murdered the boy—
that’s his reason, a righteous cause.
We must lose . . . If my love breaches
these walls before the war drops them,
what’s the difference? If he wins without
additional delays, deaths, and maimings,
that’s the best outcome for both parties.
And I won’t have to fear some fool will spear
your magnificent body—no one, Minos,
would cut you unless he were a careless loser.
If the war tarries it could tempt fate.