Philoctetes (1-85)

This is the headland of sea-washed Lemnos, land untrodden by men and desolate. It was here, child bred of the man who was the noblest of the Greeks, Neoptolemus son of Achilles, that I exposed

long ago the native of Malis, Poeas’ son, on the express command of the two chieftains to do so, because his foot was all running with a gnawing disease. Neither libation nor burnt sacrifice could be attempted by us in peace, but with his wild, ill-omened cries

he filled the whole camp continually with shrieking, moaning. But what need is there to speak of that? The time is not ripe for too many words, lest he even learn that I am here, and I so waste the whole ruse whereby I think soon to take him.

Come, it is your task to serve as my ally in what remains, and to seek where in this region there is a cave with two mouths. During cold weather it provides two seats facing the sun, while in summer a breeze wafts sleep through the tunnelled chamber.

And a little below, on the left hand, perhaps, you will see water rising from a spring, if it has not failed. Go there silently, and signal to me whether he still dwells in this same place, or is to be found elsewhere, so that the rest of my plan may be explained by me, heard by you,

and sped by the joint effort of us both.

King Odysseus, the completion of the task that you set me is not far off, for I believe I see a cave like that which you have described.

Above you, or below? I do not see it.

Here, high up—and of footfalls there is not a sound.

See that he is not sheltered there asleep.

I see an empty dwelling, without occupants.

And is there no provision inside for human habitation?

There is—a bed of leaves, as if for some one who makes his lodging here.

And all else is bare? There is nothing else beneath the roof?

Just a cup of bare wood, the masterpiece of a sorry craftsman, and with it these tools for kindling.

His is the store that you describe.

Ha! Yes, and here besides are some rags drying in the sun, stained by some severe infection.

The man inhabits these regions, clearly, and is somewhere not far off. How could he go far afield when his foot is maimed by that old plague? No, he has gone out in quest of food, or of some soothing herb that he may have noted somewhere.

Send your attendant, therefore, to keep watch, lest he come upon me unawares, since he would rather take me than all the Greeks together.

The man is going, and the path will be watched. And now, if you need anything else, say so.Exit Attendant, on the spectators’ left.

Son of Achilles, you must be loyal to the goals of your mission—and not with your body alone. Should you hear some new plan unknown to you till now, you must serve it, since it is to serve that you are here.

Then what are your orders?

You must cheat the mind of Philoctetes by means of a story

told as you converse with him. When he asks you who and from where you are, say that you are the son of Achilles—it is not in that detail that you will cheat him. But tell him you are sailing homeward, and have left the fleet of the Achaean warriors, after coming to hate them with unbounded hatred.

Give him this reason: when, with no other hope of taking Ilium, they had summoned you by their prayers to come from home, they judged you not worthy of the arms of Achilles, not worthy to receive them—even though you had come and were claiming them by right—but instead handed them over to Odysseus. Say what you

will of me—even the vilest of vile insults. You will not harm me at all by that. But if you fail to do as I say, you will inflict pain on all the Argives, for if that man’s bow is not seized, you can never sack the realm of Dardanus.

And learn why your intercourse with him may be free from mistrust and danger, while mine cannot. You have sailed to Troy under no oath to any man, nor under any constraint. Neither did you have any part in the earlier expedition. I, however, can deny none of these things. Accordingly, if he

perceives me while he is still master of his bow, I am dead, and you, as my comrade, will share my doom. No, the thing for which we must devise a ruse is just this: how you may steal his invincible weapons. Well I know, my son, that by nature you are not apt

to utter or contrive such treachery. Yet knowing that victory is a sweet prize to gain, steel yourself to do it. Our honesty shall be displayed another time. Now, however, give yourself to me for one brief, shameless day, and then for the rest of time

may you be called the most righteous of all humankind.