The day of infamy soon came… 170 the sacred rites were all performed for the victim, the salted meal strewn, the bands tied round my head. But I broke free of death, I tell you, burst my shackles, yes, and hid all night in the reeds of a marshy lake, waiting for them to sail—if only they would sail! Well, no hope now of seeing the land where I was born or my sweet children, the father I longed for all these years. Maybe they’ll wring from them the price for my escape, avenge my guilt with my loved ones’ blood, poor things. I beg you, king, by the Powers who know the truth, 180 by any trust
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