Civil War by Lucan

Author:Lucan [Lucan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101575000
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2012-01-30T16:00:00+00:00

CORDUS BURIES POMPEY

But before the victor reached the sands of Pharos,

Fortune granted Pompey a hasty burial, lest

he have a better tomb, or none at all.

Out of fearful hiding Cordus runs down

to the sea; as quaestor he had come with Magnus

under evil omens from the Idalian shore 880

of Cinyras’ Cyprus. Under shadows he risks

approach, devotion overcoming his fear,

to search out the body amid the waves, lead it

landward, and haul Magnus up on the beach.

Mournful Cynthia gives too little light

through thick cloud cover, but the torso’s color

stands out against the gray sea. He holds his leader

against the clutching grip of riptide hauling

him back out, but when he’s beaten by the weight

he watches for a wave and lets the ocean 890

help drive the body in. Once he’s seated

on dry sand he falls down over Magnus;

shedding tears on all his wounds he calls out

to gods above, in the darkness of the stars:

“Your dear Pompey, Fortune, does not ask for

a costly burial, a mountain of incense wafting

rich smoke of Eastern odors from his body

to the stars, for pious Romans to carry

on their shoulders their dear parent, while

a funeral march presents his ancient triumphs, 900

a sad song resounds throughout the forums,

the whole army, disarmed in mourning, forms

a circle round the fire. No, give Magnus

a cheap box for a commoner’s funeral

to place his mangled body on parched flames,

give the wretched man some logs to burn

and a squalid undertaker to ignite them.

Gods above, may it be enough for you

that Cornelia is not lying here, her hair

flowing over her husband in embraces, 910

insisting that the torch be cast below them—

unhappy wife, still not far from shore

but missing the final service of burial.”

The young man’s words. Off in the distance he sees

a small fire, cremating a poor man’s body

with no guardian. From there he snatches flames

and, stealing some half-burned logs out from under

the limbs, says, “Whoever you are, so neglected

by your own, unloved, but still a happier shade

than Pompey, please forgive this stranger’s hand 920

which violates your grave after it’s arranged.

If any awareness survives death, you yourself

would give up your pyre and accept these losses

from your mound, you would feel the shame

of being burned while Pompey’s spirits scatter.”

He spoke, and filling his tunic’s folds with hot embers

dashes back to the mangled body on the beach

before the surf can wash it out again. He digs down

into the sand, then gathers some ragged wreckage

of a keel that lies some way away and, trembling, 930

places it in the shallow trench. No framework

of strong timbers supports that noble corpse at rest.

With no space to slip the flames up underneath,

he simply sets fire to Magnus, and it takes him.

Seated beside the flames, he says, “O mightiest

commander, single majesty of Hesperia’s name,

if this burial distresses you more than being

cast off at sea, or having no grave at all,

turn your spirit and powerful soul away

from the rites I offer. Fate’s insult 940

makes this right by force….

“Lest a sea monster,

beast or birds, or the wrath of savage Caesar

venture anything, take what you can get,

a meager flame, lit by a Roman hand.

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