Chapter XIII.
The banquets of soldiers are compared to a certain battle and spectacle; and their individual parts, and as it were a kind of exposition, rising action, and catastrophe, are described with the utmost diligence.
46. Remove therefore from here the slippery young men, we have come to the banquets of warriors. It is necessary to dine among weapons, these are the warlike attendants who serve, girded with gold, and supported by Babylonian belts: their necks shine with golden necklaces, they cover their waist with golden bulla, they enclose their knives in golden sheaths, with which they will fight while dividing the feasts. Boys with long hair standing by, chosen from a barbarian nation for these purposes, in turns according to the distances of their ages. You see the ranks of diverse peoples, you think it is an ordered battle line: silver vessels on display, you believe it to be a pompous procession: a horn in the midst full of wine, not an instrument for battle, but for feasting, which ignites the contest among those reclining.
47. First, in smaller cups, like jockeys, the fight is preluded. But this is not a sign of sobriety, but of drinking discipline. Just as tragedians gradually excite their voices at first, until they open a passage for a clear sound, so these people also exercise themselves in preluding cups at first, to provoke thirst; lest perhaps they quench it, and afterwards cannot drink when satiated. Therefore, when things begin to heat up, they demand larger cups: the March heat flames up, thirst blazes with food, and where it seems to diminish, it is replenished with stronger drink. They compete cups with dishes, and often pause between bites. Then, as the drink progresses further and more intently, there are different and great competitions, who excels in drinking? It is noteworthy and serious if someone excuses themselves, if someone thinks wine should be moderated. And this continues until second courses are reached at the tables.
48 But when the feasts are finished, you would think it is time to rise: then they renew their drinking; and when they have finished that, then they say they begin; then the cups are brought forth, then the great bowls are brought forth, as it were instruments of war. And lest you should think this an immoderate thing, there is a measure set, it is disputed under the umpire, it is determined according to law. The Agonothetae are to them but madness, weakness is their stipend, fault is the reward of victory. The issue of war hangs long and doubtful; for that fury is the fury of a battle. The hands of the servers giving wine yield, and the hot labors of the cooks serving out; the ones weighing out the very good measures exceedingly carefully, not allowing anything to overflow: the drinkers do not yield.
49. Only those contests are without excuse. In war, if someone sees themselves inferior, they turn their weapons and earn forgiveness; but here, if someone turns their cup, they are urged to drink. In a game, if someone raises their hand, they are indeed free from punishment, but immune to injury; but in social gatherings, even if someone withdraws their hand from wine, it is poured into their mouth. Everyone becomes drunk, both the victorious and the defeated lie drunk, many are asleep. They cannot be carried to the grave until the one who feeds them sees himself avenged on all, in order to punish the loss. But those who do not feel the losses consider this the glory of their table, if all the wounded and injured come out of it as if from the arena.
50. A sad spectacle for the eyes of Christians, and a pitiful sight. You see young men being carried out from the feast, terrible to look upon by their enemies, and then being carried back to the feast, filled so that they may empty, and emptied so that they may drink. If someone is more modest, they blush to rise; when they are no longer able to hold excessive drinking, they pant more heavily, sweat, groan, betray with signs what they are ashamed to confess. There, each person recounts their own fights, there they boast of their brave deeds, they narrate the triumphs soaked in wine, and in their sleepy minds they do not know what their tongues utter. Each one snores and drinks, sleeps and fights; and if ever they stand up, the warriors cannot stand, staggering when they exit. The servants laugh at the insults of their masters, carrying the bellicose soldier in their own hands, even putting him on their shoulders. And so they wander here and there like ships without a helmsman; and like those struck by a wound, they fall to the ground unless they are caught by the servants. Others are carried on shields, a mockery procession is made. Those whom you had seen in the morning, distinguished by their weapons and menacing in appearance, you may also see in the evening, even being laughed at by children with impunity, wounded without the use of a sword, killed without battle, disturbed without an enemy, trembling without old age, in the very bloom of their youth.