thous would willingly give.

"The only satisfaction which I desire," answered Pirithous, "is that you
instead of my enemy become my friend and comrade in arms."

Then the two heroes embraced each other and swore eternal friendship.

Soon after this Pirithous chose the Thessalian princess, Hippodamia,
from the race of Lapithae, for his bride, and invited Theseus to the
wedding. The Lapithae, among whom the ceremony took place, were a famous
family of Thessalians, rugged mountaineers, in some respects resembling
animals--the first mortals who had learned to manage a horse. But the
bride, who had sprung from this race, was not at all like the men of her
people. She was of noble form, with delicate, youthful face, so
beautiful that all the guests praised Pirithous for his good fortune.

The assembled princes of Thessaly were at the wedding feast, and also
the Centaurs, relatives of Pirithous. The Centaurs were half men; the
offspring which a cloud, assuming the form of the goddess Hera, had born
to Ixion, the father of Pirithous. They were the eternal enemies of the
Lapithae. Upon this occasion, however, and for the sake of the bride,
they had forgotten past grudges and come together to the joyful
celebration. The noble castle of Pirithous resounded with glad tumult;
bridal songs were sung; wine and food abounded. Indeed, there were so
many guests that the palace would not accommodate all. The Lapithae and
Centaurs sat at a special table in a grotto shaded by trees.

For a long time the festivities went on with undisturbed happiness. Then
the wine began to stir the heart of the wildest of the Centaurs,
Eurytion, and the beauty of the Princess Hippodamia awoke in him the mad
desire of robbing the bridegroom of his bride. Nobody knew how it came
to pass; nobody noticed the beginning of the unthinkable act; but
suddenly the guests saw the wild Eurytion lifting Hippodamia from her
feet, while she struggled and cried for help. His deed was the signal
for the rest of the drunken Centaurs to do likewise, and before the
strange heroes and the Lapithae could leave their places, every one of
the Centaurs had roughly seized one of the Thessalian princesses who
served at the court of the king or who had assembled as guests at the
wedding.

The castle and the grotto resembled a besieged city; the cry of the
women sounded far and wide. Quickly friends and relatives sprang from
their places.

"What delusion is this, Eurytion," crie