the gates would be much safer. Breezes creased
the white tent where libations broached a feast
presided over by the king she loved,
who boasted of the day’s defeats and shoved
sops in a slave-girl’s mouth while Scylla hung
trying to hear his words. The slave-girl sung,
the north wind rang its coils, and Scylla thought:
I don’t know whether this long siege has taught
me more about despair or joy. The man
I love attacks my home, does all he can
to breach the walls, and wouldn’t hesitate
to sink this tower—my flesh no mercy bait,
virgin or not. The siege, however, showed
me what a real man is. My old life flowed
only for flowing’s sake. The siege can do
no more for me now. But if I could woo
King Minos and convince him to make peace
with daddy! Their belligerence would cease
once I became a hostage—hostage, friend,
friend, beloved—then betrothed—to end
as queen of Crete! To escape this boring town!
Minos! The bull who wore the blooming crown
around his horns was right to steal your mother
if she looked half as lovely as you. Another
day on these parapets will topple all
I’ve thought so hard to build. If I could crawl
like that spider safely down the wall,
I’d make my way inside your tent and tell
you I stood here so thrilled to watch you fell
my fellow citizens, who died to keep
me safe. Then we’ll work out how high a heap
of gold father must pay to compensate
you for your grief. If he would abdicate
and let us rule this town! . . . I won’t betray
father for all that. I’ll let no one say
Scylla’s a traitor. . . . No. . . . Yet treachery,
however painful, doesn’t guarantee
a city’s ruin. Conquest benefits
the conquered if the conqueror omits
the slaughter that’s his due and educates
his backward subjects. I’m sure Minos hates
injustice and will be as merciful
as we deserve. He’s borne unbearable
provocations: we killed his son, that’s why
he’s fighting us. It’s not to gratify
his love of loot or carnage. We are wrong!
We can’t defeat them, and it won’t be long
before the hair is lost. If love unlocks
the gates before predestination knocks,
wouldn’t that be the best—or least worst—end
this war can reach? I do not want to spend
another morning on this tower in fear
that some lucky Megaran fool will spear
my Minos in the chest—or his orange face!