Pythia—­when she went into the shrine, after her custom, in the morning, saw therein a dreadful sight.  For by the very seat of the God there sat a man, a suppliant, whose hands were dripping with blood, and he bare a bloody sword, and on his head there was a garland of olive leaves, cunningly twined with snow-white wool.  And behind there sat a strange company of women sleeping, if indeed they could be called women, that were more hideous than the Gorgons, on which if a man looks he is turned to stone, or the Harpies, of which they say that they have the faces of women and the bodies of vultures.  Now this man was Orestes, and the blood that was upon his hands was the blood of his mother Clytaemnestra, whom he slew, taking vengeance for his father King Agamemnon, and the women were the Furies, who pursue them that shed the blood of kindred, and torment them even unto death.  But the priestess when she saw this sight fell down for fear and crawled forth from the temple.  And when she was gone there appeared Apollo himself.  Now Apollo had counselled Orestes that he should slay his mother, and so avenge his father’s blood that had been shed.  And now he spake, saying, “Fear not, I will not betray thee, but will keep to thee to the end.  But now thou must flee from this place; and know that these, the hateful ones, with whom neither God nor man nor beast consorts, will pursue thee both over the sea and over the land; but do thou not grow weary or faint, but haste to the city of Pallas, and sit in the temple of the goddess, throwing thy arms about the image, and there will I contrive that which shall loose thee from this guilt.”

[Illustration:  The birthday gifts of Phoebus.]

And when the God had said this, he bade his brother Hermes (for he also stood near) to guide the man by the way in which he should go.

So Orestes went his way.  And straightway, when he was gone, rose up the spirit of Queen Clytaemnestra, clad in garments of black, and on her neck was the wound where her son smote her.  And the spirit spake to the Furies, for these were yet fast asleep, saying, “Sleep ye?  What profit is there in them that sleep?  Shamefully do ye dishonour me among the dead; for they whom I slew reproach me, and my cause, though I was slain by my own son, no one taketh in hand.  Do ye not mind with what sufferings, with what midnight sacrifices upon the hearth in old time I honoured you, and now, while ye sleep, this wretch hath escaped from the net.”

[Illustration:  Orestes suppliant to Apollo.]

Then they began to stir and rouse themselves, the spirit still goading them with angry words till they were now fully awake and ready to pursue.  Then there appeared the God Apollo with his silver bow in his hand, and cried, “Depart from this place, ye accursed ones.  Depart with all speed, lest an arrow leap forth from this string and smite you so that ye vomit forth the blood of men that ye have drunk.  This is no fit halting-place for you; in the habitations of cruelty is your best abode, or in some lion’s den, dripping with blood, not, verily, where men come to hear the oracles of truth.  Depart ye, therefore, with all speed.”