Newsletter
by Robin Hunter Blake
5th - 7th September
C/ dels Codols, 16 08002 Barcelona
“Let him draw nigh who dares: for no Achaean shall overcome me in boxing. Whosoever standeth against me, him will I rend in the flesh; and let his companions be ready to bear him hence.”
Thus he spake, and all were silent. Only Antilochus, a man like unto a god, arose. They girt him with the belt, they gave him thongs of wild ox-hide, and he went down into the arena. Both champions stood forth. Their mighty arms were locked, and sweat bound them together. Then godlike Epeus smote his foe upon the cheek; and Antilochus abode not long upon his feet, for his fair limbs gave way.
As when Boreas scourgeth the sand, and a beast leapeth once ere it sinketh into the dust, so the vanquished, once stricken, hung suspended betwixt instants. Soul and flesh seemed parted, each beholding the other, and became a statue in motion.
Great-hearted Epeus, with care, upheld the fallen, that his companions might bear him forth from the ring. The king commanded that the cup be given unto the victor. Yet knew they not that Antilochus deemed himself the true victor: for even he that striketh not, being stricken, knoweth that he yet liveth.
A. Belli