Do not be afraid, the Argives will do you no harm. They have sworn that they will bring you in one piece to Delphi, for by consecrating you as a priestess there, they expect to obtain the benefits which they suppose that city is likely to reward them for having come with the daughter of famous Tiresias. Agenor, who now sits by my side and puts my words into writing, will tomorrow relate to you the complete account that I, for lack of time and opportunity, have failed to give you. For the last two days, I have not done other things but taken care of the sick and wounded. Yesterday morning, a group of drunken Argive archers, disobeying their own chiefs, shot their arrows at our wagons as they rode past the Theban convoy. Earlier this afternoon, I spent several hours in an attempt to heal a little girl with an arrow wounding her thigh. The barbs were deep in the flesh and someone, while trying to get the arrow out, had left the wound in such a bad state that her leg will certainly have to be removed. She was so much in pain that I could not find it in my heart to leave her, although I could not really relieve her, and there were so many others requiring my presence.

The people in this convoy will settle in Hestiaeotis near Mount Pindus and the land of the Illyrians. They should consider themselves lucky, for even if many among them are wounded and sick, and they will meet further hardships in the roads, they do not have to fear—as those remaining in Thebes—, executions, revenge, plunder, and many other outrages that usually fall upon the defeated. For that reason, I was glad to learn that the Argives themselves are willing to take you away from the city, and their plans indicate that they do not have any intention of outraging you in any way.

My dear child, try to forget the city where you grew up, for many generations will pass before the name of Thebes is restored to its former greatness. Prosperity and power demand forethought and, when this one fails, the others leave, being afterwards reluctant to return. That is why for the remainder of your life you will hear talk about Thebes in the same words that are used for places like Haliartus or Aulis, where mostly idle minds and lazy dogs dwell.

And yet, I never thought better of Haliartus and other sleepy places in Boeotia than during this infamous war. For whereas other Boeotian dogs find the ground under an olive-tree good enough to provide a refreshing rest, those of the Theban stock would only lie on ivory and accept nothing coarser than gold for a roof, believing that good sleep comes from the materials of their beds and chambers. And even this little convoy witnesses both theft and murder among its own wagons. For these miserable Thebans, whom the Argives granted exile instead of death, neither rejoice for having at least saved their lives nor help one another in their hardships, but instead rob their neighbours, and look at each other with envy and hatred, thus adding new pains to those decreed by fate.

But these are the ways of common citizens, who can hardly think of anything but wealth, and so spend their lives following visions of riches, which recede as they approach them, like those phantoms that are said to appear in the deserts of Libya and other places. That is why they are the easy prey of unscrupulous rulers, who constantly fashion new visions of prosperity and glory, which they put before their subjects' eyes. And for the sake of these, they may lie and rob their fellow citizens, make revolutions or go to terrible wars as the one we have just witnessed, believing that beyond the valley of deceit and its river of blood they will find the mountain of happiness.

And if a man of harsh and violent disposition would ever hear you say that those phantoms are unsubstantial, he, caring nothing about the truth, may even kill you, believing that your words are preventing him from reaching his dream. And if your listener happens to be of a peaceful nature, he, on hearing your words about the true nature of the phantom, will become so gloomy that you will conclude that you do more harm by telling the truth than by letting him live in the midst of his nonsensical dreams. For seeing how his enthusiasm fades away along with the vision, leaving not a single spark of hope in his eyes, you may even wish he had never believed you. Remember therefore—when you are at Delphi—, that truth is for many a powerful poison. Your father, my dear child, has not paid silence its due, and in the course of his many years, he has let the wind snatch too many words out of his mouth. But the visions of a prophet are as compelling as the phantoms of the Libyan desert. And this must be so, for it has been established by fate that truth must always be visible and audible in the world of mortal men, and yet never acknowledged ...

... As I now say farewell to you, my dear child, I recall once more the sunny days we spent in Aulis, when we both discovered that you were a prophetess through signs I will not here disclose, but which I know you remember well. Good Agenor, whom the Argives have allowed to accompany you to Delphi, needs sleep and rest. For a dying man these have no significance. May the gods be with you.

Carlos Parada
Lund, March 1999