
Feasting on the shore while the Cicones gather
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ἔνθα δὲ πολλὸν μὲν μέθυ πίνετο, πολλὰ δὲ μῆλα ἔσφαζον παρὰ θῖνα καὶ εἰλίποδας ἕλικας βοῦς· τόφρα δʼ ἄρʼ οἰχόμενοι Κίκονες Κικόνεσσι γεγώνευν, οἵ σφιν γείτονες ἦσαν, ἅμα πλέονες καὶ ἀρείους, ἤπειρον ναίοντες ἐπιστάμενοι μὲν ἀφʼ ἵππων ἀνδράσι μάρνασθαι καὶ ὅθι χρὴ πεζὸν ἐόντα.
There much wine was drunk, and many sheep they slaughtered along the shore, and shambling, crook-horned oxen; but meanwhile the Cicones, gone off, called out to Cicones, who were their neighbors, at once more numerous and braver, dwelling on the mainland, skilled to fight men from horses, and where it was needful, on foot.
The men who refused to flee stay to feast on the plunder. Meanwhile the survivors of the raid summon their kin — the inland Cicones, a larger and more warlike force, skilled cavalry and infantry both.
The crew that would not leave settles in to feast. Much wine is drunk, sheep and shambling cattle are slaughtered along the beach. And while they eat, the Cicones who escaped are calling in their neighbours from inland — more men, and better fighters, at home on horse or on foot.
Homer cuts the leisurely feast against the gathering enemy in a single breath. The disobedience of the last lines is already ripening: the time spent drinking on the shore is exactly the time the Cicones use to raise an army. The reader sees the reckoning coming before the men on the beach do.
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