to knock upon the door? Which one to use? What’s the local style of knocking here?

Stop wasting time. Try chewing on the door— act like Hercules. You’ve got his height and might.

You in there! Doorkeeper!

Who is it?

It's great Hercules!

O you abominable, you shameless reckless wretch—

villain, villain, damned smiling villain— the man who made off with Cerberus my dog! You grabbed him by the throat and throttled him,

then took off on the run, while I stood guard. Now you’re caught—black-hearted Stygian rocks,

and blood-dripping peaks of Acheron will hold you down. Roaming hounds of Cocytus will gnaw your guts to bits—Echnida, too, and she’s a hundred heads. The Tartesian eel will chew your lungs, your kidneys bleed

from entrails Tithrasian Gorgons rip apart. I’ll set out hot foot in their direction.

What have you done?

I’ve made an offering. Call the god.

You’re being ridiculous. Get up. Move it,

before some stranger spots you.

I’m going to faint. Bring the sponge here—set it on my heart.

I’ve found the sponge! Here—you can do it.

Where are you putting that sponge? O golden gods, you keep your heart in there?

It was scared— it ran off to my lower bowel.

Of all gods and men no one’s more cowardly than you.

Me? How can I be when I asked you for the sponge? Another man would not have asked, as I did.

What would he have done?

Well, a coward would have lain there and stunk up the place. But I stood up—what’s more, I wiped myself.

By Poseidon, a valiant act.

By Zeus. I think it was. Weren’t you scared shitless by his angry words, by all those threats?

By Zeus, I never thought of them.

All right then, since you’re so brave, so valiant,

you can be me. Take this club and lion skin. If you’re got the guts, I’ll trade places with you. I’ll carry all the baggage.

All right.

I’ve got no choice. Quick, give me that.

Now gaze upon the Xanthian Hercules— see if I turn coward and act like you.

No, by god, you’ll well deserve a whipping. Come on, then, I’ll pick up the bags.

Have you come back, my dearest Hercules. Come on in. Once the goddess heard you’d come

she had us baking bread loaves right away, boiling up pea soup—two or three cauldrons full, roasting an entire ox, baking honey cakes

and cookies. So do come in.

That’s really nice, but I’m afraid . . .

I won’t let you get away— by Apollo, no. She’s stewing bird meat,

toasting fresh desserts, mixing sweetest wines. Please come in.

I appreciate it, but . . .

You can’t be serious. I won’t let you leave. There’s a lovely flute girl in there, just for you—

two or three dancing girls, as well.

What’s that? Did you say dancing girls?

Young and in full bloom— all freshly plucked. So come on in. Right now

the cook’s all ready to produce the fish. The table’s being brought in.

You go on back. First, tell those dancing girls inside I’m coming.

You, slave, follow me. And bring the baggage.

Hey, hold on a minute. All this pretence, you can’t be taking it so seriously. The fact I dressed you up as Hercules—

that was just fun. Don’t play the fool with me. Pick up these bags again and bring them in.

What? You're not intending to take back from me

what you gave in person?

You bet I am. Take off that lion skin.

I want witnesses— I entrust my law suit to the gods.

What gods? To think that you, a slave and mortal, too,

could play Hercules, Alcmene’s son— so arrogant and stupid.

All right, all right. Have it your way, then. Take the costume.

Perhaps some day the gods'll make you need me.

There’s a man with brains, with keen intelligence—

someone who’s sailed about a bit and always rolls himself around to the right side of the ship. He’s not one to stand transfixed like some image made in paint or frozen solid like a stone. To move away from where one stands

to places much more comfortable— that indicates a clever man,

a born Theramenes.

Now that would be extremely funny to see Xanthias, my slave, lying at ease enjoying bed linen from Milesia, as he smooches with some dancing girl. He asks me for a pot to piss in— but I, looking at him straight, grab him hard right by his cucumber.

But then he’d see me and, being a rascal, sock me on the jaw. He’d knock my front teeth out for sure.

Plathane, Plathane, come out here.

That fellow’s back who came to our hotel and ate up all our bread, all sixteen loaves.

a born Theramenes.

Now that would be extremely funny to see Xanthias, my slave, lying at ease enjoying bed linen from Milesia, as he smooches with some dancing girl. He asks me for a pot to piss in— but I, looking at him straight, grab him hard right by his cucumber.

But then he’d see me and, being a rascal, sock me on the jaw. He’d knock my front teeth out for sure.

Plathane, Plathane, come out here.

That fellow’s back who came to our hotel and ate up all our bread, all sixteen loaves.

My god, that’s the one.

Oh, oh. Someone’s in trouble.

And twenty boiled hams afterwards as well— at half an obol each.

Now he’s in for it.

And lots of garlic, too.

My good women, you jest. You don’t know what you’re saying.

O yes, we do. You thought I wouldn’t know you any more because you’ve got those little booties on. What else was there? I haven’t said a word

about the pickled fish.

You left out all the fresh cheese, by god, the scoundrel ate. He gobbled up the baskets, too.

To top it all, when I tallied up his bill, he just looked at me and yelled, a massive roar right in my face.

That’s just like him. He does that everywhere.

Then he pulled out his sword—he looked insane.

My god, you poor dear!

We were both terrified. Somehow we ran up fast onto the shelf, and he took off, grabbing up the mats.

Well, that’s exactly how he operates.

We’ve got to deal with him somehow. I know— go call my patron Cleon.

If you meet him, get Hyperbolos, as well. We’ll fix this fellow.

You wretched greedy swine—I’d be so happy to smash your molars with a rock, those teeth which gobbled down my stuff.

That’s really nice— and I’d like to dump you in a deep ravine.

I could take a sickle and slice that gullet which wolfed down all my tripe. Instead of that,

I’ll get Cleon to draw up a charge, so we can fish food out of him right here.

Now, may I die the nastiest of deaths, my little Xanthias, if I’m not fond of you . . .

I know what you’re thinking. Just stop right there.

Don’t say a word. I’m Hercules again— but I won’t do it.

Dear little Xanthias,

don’t say such things.

How could I be Hercules— remember I’m a slave and mortal, too.

I know you’re angry—you’ve a right to be.

But even if you hit me, I won’t criticize. And if in future I take anything from you, may I be chopped down root and branch. Let me die in the worst way possible— me, my wife, and kids—and Archedemus, too— the man with clammy eyes.

On those conditions I accept your oath.

Since you’ve taken up the skin,

the one you had before, your task is now to start again,

to reinvigorate yourself— once more put on that dreadful stare, recall the god you imitate. If you get caught in foolish talk or squeak out squeals of fear, you’ll be compelled a second time to carry all the bags.

Men, the advice you give me is not bad. I was thinking the same thing myself. What’s more, if all this turns out a success,

he’ll try to take this back from me again.

the one you had before, your task is now to start again,

to reinvigorate yourself— once more put on that dreadful stare, recall the god you imitate. If you get caught in foolish talk or squeak out squeals of fear, you’ll be compelled a second time to carry all the bags.

Men, the advice you give me is not bad. I was thinking the same thing myself. What’s more, if all this turns out a success,

he’ll try to take this back from me again.

I know that for a fact. But I’ll make myself a manly man—with a gaze like mustard. I need to do that—for just as I thought I hear the sound of scraping by the door.

Tie up this dog thief. Get a move on, too— so we can punish him. Be quick about it.

Oh, oh. Someone’s in trouble now.

What the hell! You stay away from me!

O ho, you’re fighting back!

Ditylas, Sceblias, Pandocus—outside!—

come here and punch this fellow out.

It's shameful, a complete disgrace—

I know that for a fact. But I’ll make myself a manly man—with a gaze like mustard. I need to do that—for just as I thought I hear the sound of scraping by the door.

Tie up this dog thief. Get a move on, too— so we can punish him. Be quick about it.

Oh, oh. Someone’s in trouble now.

What the hell! You stay away from me!

O ho, you’re fighting back!

Ditylas, Sceblias, Pandocus—outside!—

come here and punch this fellow out.

It's shameful, a complete disgrace—

the way he hits them back—and more than that— he steals.

That’s shocking.

It’s even worse. It’s scandalous and dreadful.

Now, by god, I’m prepared to die if I was ever here before today, or stole a thing from you

that’s worth a hair. What’s more, I’ll make an offer, like a true gentleman—take this slave of mine and torture him. If you find out from him

I’ve done wrong, then take me out and kill me.

How should I torture him?

All the ways there are. Tie him to a ladder, hang him up, whip him with nails, twist him on the rack,

strip off skin, fill his nose with vinegar, load bricks on him—do everything you can. Just don’t flog him with fresh onions or a leek.

That offer's fair. So if I beat the slave and cripple him, I’ll pay for damages.

Not to me. Just take him off for torture.

No. I’ll torture him right here, so he’ll confess before your very eyes.

Put down that load. And hurry up. Don’t give me any lies.

I here proclaim no one should torture me. I’m an immortal god. If you do so, you’ll have yourself to blame.

What are you saying?

I'm saying I'm Dionysus, an immortal,

a son of Zeus—this man here’s a slave.

You hear that?

I hear what he claims to be— all the more good reason for flogging him.

If he’s a god, he won’t feel a thing.

You’re right. And since you also claim that you’re a god, why don’t you take as many blows as me?

Fair enough. Then whichever of the two you see bursting into tears or flinching as he’s whipped—you’ll know he’s not the god.

You’re a fine gentleman—that’s obvious.

I'm saying I'm Dionysus, an immortal,

a son of Zeus—this man here’s a slave.

You hear that?

I hear what he claims to be— all the more good reason for flogging him.

If he’s a god, he won’t feel a thing.

You’re right. And since you also claim that you’re a god, why don’t you take as many blows as me?

Fair enough. Then whichever of the two you see bursting into tears or flinching as he’s whipped—you’ll know he’s not the god.

You’re a fine gentleman—that’s obvious.

You stand for justice. All right—the two of you, take off your clothes.

How will you judge this? How will you keep it fair?

That’s easy.

I’ll alternate the blows.

A fine suggestion.

There!

Watch closely if I flinch or not.

But I just hit you.

By god, I didn’t feel a thing.

All right. Now I’ll lay into this one here.

When are you going to start my whipping?

I just did.

Why didn’t I sneeze?

I haven't a clue. Back to this one again.

Get on with it!

Ahhhh!!!

What’s that sound about? Did that blow hurt?

No, by god. I was just remembering

the feast for Hercules at Diomeia.

The man’s a saint. All right, now this one’s turn.

Oooowww! Ahhh!!

What was that cry?

I see men on horseback.

Why are your eyes full of tears?

I smell onions.

You didn’t feel a thing?

No, nothing— nothing that bothered me.

All right, then, back to this one here.

Aiiieeee!!

What was that?

A little prickle. Pull it out.

What’s going on? Now it’s this one’s turn.

Aaaiiii!! O Apollo, who presides at Delphi and at Delos . . .

You hear that—the man’s in pain.

No, I’m not.

the feast for Hercules at Diomeia.

The man’s a saint. All right, now this one’s turn.

Oooowww! Ahhh!!

What was that cry?

I see men on horseback.

Why are your eyes full of tears?

I smell onions.

You didn’t feel a thing?

No, nothing— nothing that bothered me.

All right, then, back to this one here.

Aiiieeee!!

What was that?

A little prickle. Pull it out.

What’s going on? Now it’s this one’s turn.

Aaaiiii!! O Apollo, who presides at Delphi and at Delos . . .

You hear that—the man’s in pain.

No, I’m not.

I was remembering some poetry, a verse from Hipponax.

You’re getting nowhere. Hit him on the ribs.

A good idea, by god. Stick out that pot of yours.

Aaaiii! O Poseidon . . .

Someone’s feeling pain.

. . . you who command Aegean headlands and the green-grey sea . . .

Holy Demeter, I can’t sort this out.

Which one's the god? You'd best come inside. My master Pluto will know who you are,

I was remembering some poetry, a verse from Hipponax.

You’re getting nowhere. Hit him on the ribs.

A good idea, by god. Stick out that pot of yours.

Aaaiii! O Poseidon . . .

Someone’s feeling pain.

. . . you who command Aegean headlands and the green-grey sea . . .

Holy Demeter, I can’t sort this out.

Which one's the god? You'd best come inside. My master Pluto will know who you are,

so will Persephone, his wife—they're gods.

Now you talking. I’d have liked it better if you’d thought of that before these whippings.

You Muses, enter now our sacred dance. Enjoy our songs and gaze upon the massive crowds of people here, thousands of clever thinkers in their seats, in love with honour more than Cleophon,

on whose snarling lips a Thracian swallow sits,