This was bad enough, but Fortune cruelly exposed me to fresh trials-I suppose with the idea of allowing me to boast later on of 'distinguished conduct at home and in the field,' as the phrase is. The bailiff had remembered his instructions, none too soon, and turned me loose for awhile with the horses at pasture. Free at last, I frisked joyfully about and ambled up to the mares, reviewing them carefully to see which would be the most voluptuous to mount. But my hopes were utterly dashed when the stallions, who were in fine stud-condition from having been so long at grass and would in any case have been more than a match for a poor ass like myself, grew alarmed at the prospect of my tainting the purity of their stock. Disregarding the duty they owed their guest, they ran furiously at me and treated me like a hated rival. One reared up his huge forequarters and battered me with his hooves, another wheeled about and gave me a terrible kick with the full force of his hindquarters, a third let out a threatening whinny, laid back his ears and bit me all over with his sharp white teeth. I was reminded of the legend of King Diomede of Thrace, a powerful tyrant who, apparently in the cause of thrift, exposed his unfortunate guests to the rage of wild horses; he wanted to save barley by feeding the voracious creatures on raw meat. Yes, the stallions gave me such a rough time that I would have given a great deal to find myself safely back at the corn-mill, going giddily round and round.
Fortune seemed insatiable; now she thought out a new torment for me. I was detailed by the bailiff to fetch down wood from the top of a high mountain and the boy he put in charge of me must have been the wickedest ever born. He not only tired me out by making me sweat up and down that mountain and wear out my hooves on the sharp stones, but beat me cruelly and persistently until my bones ached to the marrow. He always hit me on the same spot, the off haunch, until he made the hide fester and break; a great gaping hole, or trench, appeared in it and though the blood ran down he continued to plant his blows there. He used to pile such a huge load on my back that anyone would have thought it was intended for an elephant. It was badly balanced too and whenever it tipped over on one side, he trimmed it by piling stones on the lighter side instead of moving some of the faggots across from the heavier one. Even these miseries of mine did not satisfy him; when we had to cross a stream he kept his feet dry by jumping on my back, as if his weight were only a trifling addition to the dreadful load already piled on me. Then, if I happened to fall on the slippery bank, instead of helping me, as he ought to have done-either by pulling me up by my headstall or tail or by removing part of my load at least until I had regained my feet-this exemplary ass-boy did nothing at all, however weary I might be, but thrash the hair off my hide with a big stick, beginning with my eyes and working towards my tail, until the blows had the effect of a stimulating drug.
Another malicious trick that he used to play on me was to tie up a bunch of the sharpest and most poisonous thorns he could find and attach them to my tail; as I walked they swung against me and gave me almost unbearable torture. I was in a hideous dilemma: if I ran away to escape his beatings, I was pulled up short by the violent stabbing of the thorns; if I stood still to avoid the pain, his blows forced me mercilessly on once more. This detestable child seemed to think of nothing else except how to kill me in one way or another, and used to swear that in the end he really would. Then something happened that provoked his beastly mind to still greater beastliness: which was that one day I lost my temper, lifted up my heels and kicked him to some purpose. His retaliation was truly criminal; he took me out into the road with a heavy load of coarse flax, securely corded to my back, then as we passed through a shepherds' village he stole a live coal from the kitchen outside a cottage and put it in the middle of the flax. A fire soon broke out in the dry stalks, and blazed up dangerously, scorching my whole back. I saw no way to avoid being burned to death. To stand still and think out a plan for fighting the fire was impossible; but Fortune came to my rescue, if only to reserve me for greater dangers. I noticed a big, muddy puddle left over from the previous day's downpour, rushed towards it and rolled over. The flames were extinguished at once, and I got up again without my load and not seriously hurt. But the young fiend threw the whole blame for his own wickedness on me; he told the shepherds that I had purposely stumbled against one of their cooking fires to set the flax ablaze. Then he asked laughing: 'How long are we going to waste fodder on this fiery creature?'
A few days later he thought out a master scheme. He stopped at the first cottage he came to and sold the load of wood I was carrying; then led me home with nothing on my back, saying that he couldn't control my vicious ways and that he refused ever again to take me up the mountain for wood. 'Do you see this lazy, slow-footed beast? A real ass, he is! Besides all his other dirty tricks, he's now frightening the life out of me with newly invented ones. Whenever he sees a good-looking woman coming along the road, or a pretty girl-or a boy, it's all the same to him-he rushes madly at her, tossing off his load, saddle and all very often, and throws her down on the ground. Then he makes an indecent assault on her, panting lustfully and trying to force her to commit bestiality with him. He even puckers up his sinful old mouth into a kiss and gives her little love-bites. You may think that very amusing, but I get mixed up in all sorts of quarrels and fusses and one of these days I may find myself had up on a criminal charge. Half-an-hour ago we met a respectable young woman in the road, and this lecherous beast scattered his load of wood all over the place and knocked her down on the dirty ground. He would have raped her in public, if she hadn't shrieked for help from between his hooves and been rescued just in time by some passers-by. It would have been a hanging matter for me if the poor young woman had been smashed up and torn open and died of her injuries.'
He told several other lies of the same indecent sort, which offended me all the more because I had to keep silence. At last he worked the shepherds up into such excitement that they agreed I ought to be destroyed. One of them shouted: 'Yes, what about executing the promiscuous beast? He doesn't deserve to live. Hey, boy, cut off the head of this universal adulterer-that's what I call him-then throw his guts to our dogs. But keep the meat, it will do for supper. We can rub dust into his hide and take it back to the bailiff and say that the wolves got him. Simple, eh?'
The boy sharpened his knife on a whetstone, grinning evilly when he remembered the kick I had given him. But before he could carry out the sentence, another shepherd said; 'No, it would be a crime to kill so fine an ass and lose his services, just because he happens to be a bit frolicsome and randy. What's wrong with gelding him? That will cure the trouble and make him sweet-tempered and perfectly safe to handle. He'll grow fat and better-conditioned, too. I've known a great many cattle in my day, not only sulky asses but fiery horses, which were perfect rogues until the cause was removed. Then they became as mild and tractable as you please-warranted quiet to ride or drive. So if you don't object, I'll first go to the market (but that needn't take long) and then home to fetch my gelding irons, bring them straight back here and castrate this old satyr of yours in next to no time. I undertake to return him to you as gentle a beast as any wether in my flock.'
When I saw that I had been snatched from the jaws of death only to suffer the worst imaginable punishment, I began to weep silently. With that part of me removed, I might just as well be dead, I thought. Once more I contemplated suicide, either by starving myself to death or by throwing myself over some cliff; I was resolved that I would at least die unmutilated. But I had come to no practical decision by the next morning when the horrible boy took me out again for my usual trudge up the mountain. He tied me to the branch of a huge oak and went off with his axe for a little distance to chop my load of wood. Suddenly a she-bear popped her great head out of a near-by cave. The unexpected sight frightened me nearly out of my wits. I flung myself violently back on my haunches. The halter gave way, and I dashed off, not trusting to my hooves, but hurling myself bodily down the mountain slopes until I reached the plain at the foot; with no thought in my mind except how to escape from that frightful bear and from the still more frightful boy.
A traveller happened to be passing. He saw that I was a stray, caught me, jumped on my back and with the stick he was carrying whacked me along an unfamiliar lane. I carried him carefully in the hope of getting away from the gelders and cared little for his blows; I was used to blows by now. But Fortune, mischievous as ever, prevented me from escaping so easily and quickly caught me in a fresh trap; for our cattlemen who were out searching for a runaway cow happened to meet us. They caught me by my headstall, which they recognized at once, and began to drag me off.
My rider resisted boldly. 'Why are you pulling me about in this rude way?' he asked. 'Hands off, please! You seem to have no manners and no respect for the Law!'
'The Law!' shouted a cattleman scornfully. 'You're stealing our ass. Tell me where you have hidden the body of the boy who was driving him. You killed him, didn't you?'
They knocked him off the saddle and then kicked and punched him as he lay on the ground, though he protested with oaths that he had seen nobody with me. He said now that I had been straying and that he had caught me and ridden me off with the idea of restoring me to my owner and claiming a reward.
'By God,' he said, 'I wish that I'd never set eyes on this cursed ass! Or that he could speak and testify to my innocence. If he could tell you all he knows you'd be ashamed of the way you're treating me.'
The angry cattlemen paid no attention to his protests, but marched him along with a noose around his neck to the part of the mountain where the boy had been chopping wood. He was nowhere to be found, but at last they came across his remains, scraps of human flesh strewn all over the place. I knew that this was the bear's work and should certainly have said so, had I been able to speak; but all I could do was to rejoice in silence over my long-delayed revenge. They collected the pieces of boy and fitted them roughly together into a corpse, which they buried then and there. As for my gallant rider, they called him a bloody assassin, insisting that he had killed the boy and that they had caught him in the act of stealing me; they marched him to their hamlet and tied him up there, intending to hand him over to the magistrates next day on a charge of murder. Then the boy's parents appeared and started wailing and groaning, and the noise was at its height when up came the shepherd who had promised to geld me, eager to get the job done.
This was not at all a suitable moment for the operation. Someone told him: 'No, this wicked ass isn't responsible for today's tragedy; but come along tomorrow by all means and cut off his head or his privates, or whatever else you please. We'll be delighted to lend a hand.'
So disaster was again postponed and I felt grateful to the ass-boy whose timely death had won me a day's grace at least. But I was not allowed to spend even that short time in rest and gratitude. The boy's mother, in deep mourning, burst into my stable. She had been screaming and shrieking about her poor son's violent end, tearing out her white hair with both hands and sprinkling it with wood ash. Now she thumped her breast and howled out dismally: 'Look at him! Look at him, that heartless beast, that glutton, with his head stuck in the manger! Is it right that he should go on stuffing his guts with food and drink with never a thought for the awful fate that has overtaken his driver? He cares nothing at all for an old woman like me. He even has the audacity to think that he'll pass for innocent and escape being punished for all his sins. Criminals are like that; however deeply their consciences may reproach them, they never expect to be caught. Now in the name of the blessed gods, you vilest of four footed creatures-even if you could learn to talk, do you really think that you could persuade the biggest fool alive that you aren't responsible for my darling's murder? You could have fought for him with your teeth and hooves. You often used them to attack him; why couldn't you do the same in his defence? You should have galloped off with him on your back and saved him from that bandit's bloody hands. It was downright wicked of you to throw your rider-your fellow-servant, your guide, your comrade, the kind friend who fed you. Don't you know that it's against all moral principle and a punishable offence, too, to desert anyone who's in danger of death? All right, you murderer, you shan't stand there much longer, gloating on my grief. I'll show you on what reserves of strength people in grief can fall back.' She untied her apron and used the strings to knot my legs together, each to each, as tightly as she could to prevent me from retaliating. Next, she snatched up a great bar which was used to secure the stable door, and banged me with it until she had to let it drop in exhaustion. Then, complaining that her arms had got tired before she had fully avenged her son, she ran back into the house and took a burning faggot from the hearth, to thrust between my thighs. I had no means of defence but what I had used after my first attempt to escape: I squirted a volley of liquid excrement into her face and drove her off, blinded and stinking. If I had not done so, all would have been over with me, as it was with Meleager when his angry mother Althaea caught up the burning brand in revenge for the murder of her other sons.
***
About cockcrow, a household slave employed by my mistress and former fellow-sufferer, the Lady Charitë, arrived with the news that she and her husband Tlepolemus were both dead. It was a very strange and terrible tale that he declaimed there, by the fireside. 'Grooms, shepherds and herdsmen,' he said, 'our poor mistress Charitë has died in dreadful circumstances; but she did not go down to the Underworld without proper escort, as you shall hear. I'll tell you the whole story from the beginning; it really deserves to be recorded by someone more gifted than I am, some great historian with the happy knack of writing easy and elegant prose.'
This was his version:
'In the next town from ours lived a wealthy knight named Thrasyllus, a debauched young fellow who was always drinking and whoring in the public brothels; you may have heard of him. He was on terms of friendship with a company of bandits and sometimes even took part in their murders. Yes, that was the sort of man he was; and everyone knew it. When our mistress was old enough to be married, Thrasyllus was one of her most persistent suitors, and set his heart on winning her. But though he was better bred than any of his rivals and brought her parents magnificent presents, he was turned down ignominiously because of his bad reputation. As you know, the Lady Charitë then married Tlepolemus, a very worthy young gentleman; but Thrasyllus, furious at having been rejected and more in love with Charitë than ever, refused to abandon all hope of winning her, and waited for the opportunity of committing a bloody crime. He thought of nothing else, but it was some time before he had the chance of putting his plans into action. On the day that Tlepolemus had managed, by courage and cunning, to rescue our mistress Charitë from that robbers' den, Thrasyllus was spokesman for the crowd of people who offered their congratulations. He said that he had come to express the joy of his fellow-townsmen that the young pair were safely re-united, and their hope that the marriage would be blessed with children. My master and mistress admitted him to the house and showed him the hospitality that his rank demanded; and he hid his wicked designs so cleverly that he passed for the most loyal of friends, worming himself into their intimacy by frequent calls. He was often asked to dinner, with the result that he fell more deeply in love with our poor mistress than ever. There's nothing so remarkable in that, because the fire of love burns small at first and gives out a pleasant warmth; but fan it with the wind of the loved one's presence and the flames shoot up and scorch you cruelly. Thrasyllus spent a long time wondering how to begin a secret love affair with our mistress. He found that too many eyes were on the watch to make adultery practicable; that even if he could persuade her to give him what he wanted, she knew nothing of the art of deceiving a husband; and that Tlepolemus and she were so deeply and increasingly devoted to each other that it would be impossible to separate them. He could achieve nothing. But he was desperate to possess her and refused to regard the case as hopeless, despite these apparently in-surmountable obstacles. You know that what looks difficult when one first falls in love, after a time looks easy enough. This, by the way, is a most instructive story, all about the lengths to which a man's violent passion can drive him.
'One day Tlepolemus rode out with Thrasyllus to hunt wild beasts-that is, if you can call a doe a wild beast-because the Lady Charitë refused to let him hunt anything that had either tusks or horns. Hunting nets were spread around a thickly wooded hill and pedigree hounds put in to dislodge the quarry. Anyone could have seen that it was a well-trained pack because they fanned out at once and allowed no creature any chance to slip past them. For a time they followed the scent silently until at last one of them gave tongue and then the music broke out excitedly, making the whole wood ring. But it was no sort of gentle doe they had started, neither roe, nor red, nor fallow-but an enormous wild boar, the biggest ever seen, a brawny, thick-skinned, filthy beast with bristles like a hedgehog's and fiery eyes. Out he came like a thunderbolt, foaming at the mouth and gnashing his tusks. The leading hounds tried to get a grip on him but were torn open and tossed aside; then he broke the nets at his first rush and got clear away.
'We beaters were unused to such dangerous sport, and having no weapons or other means of defence, we scattered in panic and hid ourselves in thick bushes or behind trees. Here was Thrasyllus's chance for playing his treacherous trick. He said to Tlepolemus: "Why are we standing here and letting that wonderful beast escape? Is it just surprise? Or are we as frightened as those wretched slaves who have run off trembling like a lot of old women? Why not mount and go after him? You take a javelin; I'll take a boar-spear."
'So off they galloped in pursuit; but the boar was confident that he was a match for them both. He wheeled round and stood glaring at them, with a horribly ferocious look, making up his mind which of them to charge first. Tlepolemus let fly his javelin, which lodged in the boar's back; but Thrasyllus, instead of following up this advantage, charged Tlepolemus's horse with his lance and hamstrung it. The horse sank in a pool of its own blood, rolled over and threw Tlepolemus. The boar attacked him at once, ripping off his clothes and wounding him in several places as he tried to rise. Thrasyllus-what a fiend!-so far from feeling remorse for what he had just done, ran at Tlepolemus who was shouting for help and trying to protect his gored legs, and drove his lance into him. He aimed at the right thigh, which was the safest place to choose, because the thrust would be indistinguishable, he knew, from a tusk-wound. Only then did he run the boar through, and killed him without difficulty.
'When all was over, Thrasyllus called us from our hiding places and we ran up, to find that our master was already lifeless. Thrasyllus was elated at the death of the man he loathed: but he disguised his feelings and taking his cue from us-we were all lamenting in deep and genuine grief-hugged and kissed his victim's corpse and played the part of mourner in realistic detail, except that he couldn't squeeze out a single tear.
'The news of Tlepolemus's death spread quickly and reached his own family first. The moment the Lady Charitë heard of it-she will never hear bad news again, poor woman-she went frantic. She ran through the crowded streets of the town and across the fields, like a Bacchanal, shrieking out her dead husband's name. Everyone she met turned and followed her with cries of sympathy, and soon the whole town was streaming after her to the scene of the murder. At last she reached the spot, fell prostrate on his dead body and then and there all but gasped out the life that she had made one with his. However, her friends succeeded in dragging her away and, greatly against her will, she remained alive.
'Well, the corpse was carried to the tomb and the whole town formed the funeral procession. Thrasyllus was there. He wailed aloud, roared, beat his breast and even managed to weep; you see, the tears that he had been unable to force out in the first pretence of grief were now supplied by the joy of the occasion. He hid his true feelings with all sorts of affectionate phrases, pitifully apostrophizing Tlepolemus as "My friend, my dear old playmate, my comrade, my brother… alas, my poor brother Tlepolemus!" Every now and then he caught at the Lady Charitë's hands to prevent her from beating her breast, and tried to blunt her distress with vibrating words of sympathy, quoting numerous historical instances of the uncertainty of fate. But of course this was only an excuse for laying his murderous hands on our poor mistress and titillating his odious lust.
'As soon as the funeral was over she tried to follow Tlepolemus to the grave. She did not care how, so she fixed on the easiest and least violent way, the one that comes closest to quiet sleep; that is to say, refusing to eat, neglecting herself, hiding herself away in a dark room and leaving the light of day for good and all. Thrasyllus would have none of this, and by pleading with her himself and then persuading her friends and servants, and lastly her parents to plead in the same sense, forced her to refresh her poor body, now nearly wasted away by the ill-usage she had given it, with a bath and a little food. She would have refused even this but for the respect she felt for her parents, and though her looks were calmer now, they were still very sorrowful, and she went through the daily round of her life in inward torment. Day and night, longing for Tlepolemus ate at her heart; she ordered an image of the God Dionysus to be carved with his features, and paid it divine honours, so that even the comforts of religion became pure misery to her.
'The impatient Thrasyllus, true to his name-it means "rashness"-couldn't bear to wait until the madness of her grief had gradually dulled into resignation, and her tears had stopped flowing. She was still at the stage of tearing her clothes and pulling out strands of her hair, when he began to discuss marriage with her; his indecent haste was almost a blurted confession of his unspeakable treachery. The Lady Charitë was so shocked by his proposal, which came on her like a thunderclap, that she fell down in a faint, as though lightning-struck or blasted by the rays of some malignant star. When she came to herself and remembered what had happened, she screamed aloud; but refrained from giving the villain his answer until she had time to consider carefully. Meanwhile the ghost of the murdered man visited her lonely bed as she slept and displayed its ghastly blood-stained face. It said: "My own wife-nobody else will ever call you that, unless the bonds that united us have been severed by my terrible death, and my image is gradually dimming in your memory-ah, if this is so, marry again by all means, be happy, take any husband you please, but only not that traitor Thrasyllus. Have nothing to do with him: do not eat at the same table with him, do not even talk to him, let alone share one bed with him. His hands are stained with my blood, the blood of the man he called his best friend. These gory wounds that you have bathed with your tears were not all of them made by the boar's tusks; the deepest and most mortal one came from the lance of Thrasyllus!" The ghost then explained in detail what had happened. When she had first gone to sleep the tears had been trickling down her beautiful checks, wetting the pillow; now, roused from this nightmare as though by the wrench of the rack, she broke again into a loud wail of grief, ripped open her nightgown and tore her pretty arms with her nails until they bled.
'Well, at the time she told nobody about the apparition and pretended to have no knowledge of the murder; but she decided in secret to punish the odious Thrasyllus before finally freeing herself from the intolerable burden of life. He came again to renew his pleas, and though her ears were deaf to them, she was a far finer actress than he had given her credit for being and let him go on and on unchecked, until at last she gently begged him to say no more. "Please, Thrasyllus!" she said. "You must remember that the face of my dear husband, who was like a brother to you, is still vivid in my mind; I seem to smell the lovely scent of his body; he is alive in my heart. It would be a kindness if you gave me time to recover from the shock of his death, letting the remaining months of the year run out before you say anything more. You see, if we married too soon, that would damage my reputation and also be dangerous for you: my husband's ghost would have the right to feel resentful and might bring about your death."
'She undertook to marry him when the time of mourning was over; but even this was not enough to check his greed and impatience. He began to make indecent proposals and would not be refused. At last she pretended to give in and said: "At any rate, there's one thing upon which I must insist: that if we sleep together before our marriage, nobody in this household must know anything about it."
'She completely deceived him. He agreed at once to the secret love affair, but said that he could hardly wait until darkness fell; nothing in the world mattered more to him now than possessing her.
'"Listen," she said, "you must come to my suite about midnight alone, well muffled up. Make no noise at all until you are outside the door, then give a single low whistle, and wait. My old nurse will be sitting just inside to let you in. She'll guide you through the darkness to my bedroom."
'How long the day seemed to Thrasyllus, who was greatly intrigued by this combination of mourning and secret passion! But the sun went down at last and he came to her suite as she had instructed him and stumbled expectantly towards her bedroom. "Hush," said the old woman, who had been ordered to treat him with obsequious politeness. "Hush, my Lord!" She noiselessly produced wine cups and a flagon of wine doctored with a sleeping draught. "Your Lordship must please wait a little while," she said. "My mistress has been called to her father, who is ill. She won't keep you waiting long. Drink this, and be ready for her when she comes." He suspected nothing, drank cup after cup and was soon fast asleep.
'As soon as he was lying helplessly on his back, the nurse ran for the Lady Charitë, who came quickly in with a determined step and bent quivering with rage over him. "Look at him," she said, "Look at him, my husband's faithful comrade, this bold hunter who thinks he's going to marry me! Look at his hand, the hand that shed my blood; look at his breast, in which so many stratagems were hatched to my ruin; look at his eyes, which I have been unfortunate enough to please. It seems he had some intuition of the fate prepared for him when he said that he was impatient for darkness to fall. Sleep soundly, murderer, sleep without fear! I have not come with a sword or a lance: do you think I would honour you with a death like my husband's? No, your eyes shall die in your living head, you will never see me again except in dreams. Oh, I'll make you envy Tlepolemus in his death I You shall never look at the sun again; you shall need a hand to guide you wherever you go. You shall never put your arms around me, nor consummate the marriage which you have promised yourself. You shall experience neither the restfulness of death nor the pleasure of being alive, but wander like a lost ghost between the Underworld and the Upper. And you'll search for the hand that blinded you, but never know-this you'll find the hardest thing of all to bear-whom to accuse of the deed. For now I owe my noble husband's ghost a drink-offering of the blood that flows from your eyes. That will satisfy his vengeance."
'After a pause she began again: "Why do I delay, I wonder? Why allow you this short grace before the torture begins? Perhaps you are dreaming that you are in bed with me? That is dangerous; my name is Poison. Come, it is time to wake from the darkness of sleep to a worse darkness; to lift up your blind face and know that I am avenged, to realize your misfortune and reckon up the full sum of your afflictions.
'"A bashful bride, am I? Your eyes charm me, eh? How prettily the wedding torches flare! The Furies shall be your bridesmaids; and your best man shall be Blindness, the dark keeper of your unquiet conscience."
'After this burst of eloquence, she pulled a bronze pin from her hair and plunged it again and again into Thrasyllus's eyes. Then, leaving him there to awake in pain and blindness from hit drugged sleep, she caught up a sword which had been Tlepolemus's and rushed madly off with it through the town towards hit tomb. We slaves streamed out after her, shouting for her to stop, because we were certain that she was about to perform some desperate act. We cried to one another: "She's mad, she's mad! Disarm her, for God's sake!" A great crowd of townspeople tumbled out of their beds and joined us. But she stood by her dead husband's tomb and kept us off with the naked sword.
'We were all weeping and lamenting, but she reproved us. "This is not the time for tears or mourning. Why mourn when I have just done a great deed? I have avenged my husband's death; I have punished the man who destroyed our marriage, punished him as he deserved. Now I must find my way back with this sword to my darling Tlepolemus."
'She told us all about her husband's apparition, and how she had deceived Thrasyllus; then plunged the sword in beneath her right breast. She fell spouting blood, babbled a few incoherent words and died as nobly as she had lived. Her relatives at once took up the corpse, washed it carefully and laid it by the side of her beloved Tlepolemus; so the two are now reunited for all time.
'When the news of her death came to Thrasyllus he could think of no form of suicide dismal enough to atone for the catastrophe he had caused; his guilty heart told him that merely to die by the sword would be to clean a way out. So he asked to be carried to the tomb, where he stood crying repeatedly: "Here I am, ghosts whom I wronged! I have come, unsummoned, to await your vengeance."
'He allowed himself to die there of starvation.'
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