CHAPTER II
THE ATHLETE
There was ceaseless coming and going outside the Precinct of Poseidon.Following much the same path just taken by Simonides and his new friends,two other men were walking, so deep in talk that they hardly heeded howmany made respectful way for them, or how many greeted them. The tallerand younger man, to be sure, returned every salute with a gracefulflourish of his hands, but in a mechanical way, and with eye fixed on hiscompanion.
The pair were markedly contrasted. The younger was in his early prime,strong, well developed, and daintily dressed. His gestures were quick andeloquent. His brown beard and hair were trimmed short to reveal a clearolive face--hardly regular, but expressive and tinged with an extremesubtilty. When he laughed, in a strange, silent way, it was to reveal fineteeth, while his musical tongue ran on, never waiting for answer.
His comrade, however, answered little. He barely rose to the other'sshoulder, but he had the chest and sinews of an ox. Graces there werenone. His face was a scarred ravine, half covered by scanty stubble. Theforehead was low. The eyes, gray and wise, twinkled from tufted eyebrows.The long gray hair was tied about his forehead in a braid and held by agolden circlet. The "chlamys" around his hips was purple but dirty. To hiscompanion's glib Attic he returned only Doric monosyllables.
"Thus I have explained: if my plans prosper; if Corcyra and Syracuse sendaid; if Xerxes has trouble in provisioning his army, not merely can weresist Persia, but conquer with ease. Am I too sanguine, Leonidas?"
"We shall see."
"No doubt Xerxes will find his fleet untrustworthy. The Egyptian sailorshate the Phoenicians. Therefore we can risk a sea fight."
"No rashness, Themistocles."
"Yes--it is dicing against the Fates, and the stake is the freedom ofHellas. Still a battle must be risked. If we quit ourselves bravely, ournames shall be remembered as long as Agamemnon's."
"Or Priam's?--his Troy was sacked."
"And you, my dear king of Sparta, will of course move heaven and earth tohave your Ephors and Council somewhat more forward than of late inpreparing for war? We all count on you."
"I will try."
"Who can ask more? But now make an end to statecraft. We were speakingabout the pentathlon and the chances of--"
Here the same brawling voices that had arrested Simonides broke uponThemistocles and Leonidas also. The cry "A fight!" was producing itsinevitable result. Scores of men, and those not the most aristocratic,were running pell-mell whither so many had thronged already. In theconfusion scant reverence was paid the king of Sparta and the firststatesman of Athens, who were thrust unceremoniously aside and were barelywitnesses of what followed.
The outcry was begun, after-report had it, by a Sicyonian bronze-dealerfinding a small but valuable lamp missing from the table whereon he showedhis wares. Among the dozen odd persons pressing about the booth his eyesingled out a slight, handsome boy in Oriental dress; and since Syrianserving-lads were proverbially light-fingered, the Sicyonian jumpedquickly at his conclusion.
"Seize the Barbarian thief!" had been his shout as he leaped and snatchedthe alleged culprit's mantle. The boy escaped easily by the frailness ofhis dress, which tore in the merchant's hands; but a score of bystandersseized the fugitive and dragged him back to the Sicyonian, whose order to"search!" would have been promptly obeyed; but at this instant he stumbledover the missing lamp on the ground before the table, whence probably ithad fallen. The bronze-dealer was now mollified, and would willingly havereleased the lad, but a Spartan bystander was more zealous.
"Here's a Barbarian thief and spy!" he began bellowing; "he dropped thelamp when he was detected! Have him to the temple and to the wardens ofthe games!"
The magic word "spy" let loose the tongues and passions of every manwithin hearing. The unfortunate lad was seized again and jostled rudely,while questions rattled over him like hailstones.
"Whose slave are you? Why here? Where's your master? Where did you getthat outlandish dress and gold-laced turban? Confess, confess,--or it'll bewhipped out of you! What villany are you up to?"
If the prisoner had understood Greek,--which was doubtful,--he could scarcehave comprehended this babel. He struggled vainly; tears started to hiseyes. Then he committed a blunder. Not attempting a protest, he thrust asmall hand into his crimson belt and drew forth a handful of gold as bribefor release.
"A slave with ten darics!" bawled the officious Spartan, never relaxinghis grip. "Hark you, friends, it's plain as day. Dexippus of Corinth has aSyrian lad like this. The young scoundrel's robbed his master and isrunning away."
"That's it! A runaway! To the temple with him!" chimed a dozen. Theprisoner's outcries were drowned. He would have been swept off in ungentlecustody had not a strong hand intervened in his favor.
"A moment, good citizens," called a voice in clear Attic. "Release thislad. I know Dexippus's slave; he's no such fellow."
The others, low-browed Spartans mostly, turned, ill-pleased at theinterruption of an Athenian, but shrank a step as a name went among them.
"Castor and Pollux--it's Glaucon the Beautiful!"
With two thrusts of impetuous elbows, the young man was at the assailedlad's side. The newcomer was indeed a sight for gods. Beauty and powerseemed wholly met in a figure of perfect symmetry and strength. A face offine regularity, a chiselled profile, smooth cheeks, deep blue eyes, acrown of closely cropped auburn hair, a chin neither weak nor stern, askin burnt brown by the sun of the wrestling schools--these were parts ofthe picture, and the whole was how much fairer than any part! Aroused now,he stood with head cast back and a scarlet cloak shaking gracefully fromhis shoulders.
"Unhand the lad!" he repeated.
For a moment, compelled by his beauty, the Spartans yielded. The Orientalpressed against his protector; but the affair was not to end so easily.
"Hark you, Sir Athenian," rejoined the Spartan leader, "don't presume onyour good looks. Our Lycon will mar them all to-morrow. Here's Dexippus'sslave or else a Barbarian spy: in either case to the temple with him, anddon't you hinder."
He plucked at the boy's girdle; but the athlete extended one slim hand,seized the Spartan's arm, and with lightning dexterity laid the busybodyflat on Mother Earth. He staggered upward, raging and calling on hisfellows.
"Sparta insulted by Athens! Vengeance, men of Lacedaemon! Fists! Fists!"
The fate of the Oriental was forgotten in the storm of patriotic fury thatfollowed. Fortunately no one had a weapon. Half a dozen burly Laconiansprecipitated themselves without concert or order upon the athlete. He washidden a moment in the rush of flapping gowns and tossing arms. Then likea rock out of the angry sea shone his golden head, as he shook off theattack. Two men were on their backs, howling. The others stood atrespectful distance, cursing and meditating another rush. An Athenianpottery merchant from a neighbouring booth began trumpeting through hishands.
"Men of Athens, this way!"
His numerous countrymen came scampering from far and wide. Men snatched upstones and commenced snapping off pine boughs for clubs. The athlete,centre of all this din, stood smiling, with his glorious head held high,his eyes alight with the mere joy of battle. He held out his arms. Bothpose and face spoke as clearly as words,--"Prove me!"
"Sparta is insulted. Away with the braggart!" the Laconians wereclamouring. The Athenians answered in kind. Already a dark sailor wasdrawing a dirk. Everything promised broken heads, and perhaps blood, whenLeonidas and his friend,--by laying about them with their staves,--won theirway to the front. The king dashed his staff upon the shoulder of astrapping Laconian who was just hurling himself on Glaucon.
"Fools! Hold!" roared Leonidas, and the moment the throng saw whatnewcomers they faced, Athenian and Spartan let their arms drop and stoodsheepish and silent. Themistocles instantly stepped forward and held uphis hand. His voice, trumpet-clear, rang out among the pines. In threesentences he dissolved the tumult.
 
; "Fellow-Hellenes, do not let Dame Discord make sport of you. I saw allthat befell. It is only an unlucky misunderstanding. You are quitesatisfied, I am sure, Master Bronze-Dealer?"
The Sicyonian, who saw in a riot the ruin of his evening's trade, noddedgladly.
"He says there was no thieving, and he is entirely satisfied. He thanksyou for your friendly zeal. The Oriental was not Dexippus's slave, andXerxes does not need such boys for spies. I am certain Glaucon would notinsult Sparta. So let us part without bad blood, and await the judgment ofthe god in the contest to-morrow."
Not a voice answered him. The crash of music from the sacrificial embassyof Syracuse diverted everybody's attention; most of the company streamedaway to follow the flower-decked chariots and cattle back to the temple.Themistocles and Leonidas were left almost alone to approach the athlete.
"You are ever Glaucon the Fortunate," laughed Themistocles; "had we notchanced this way, what would not have befallen?"
"Ah, it was delightful," rejoined the athlete, his eyes still kindled;"the shock, the striving, the putting one's own strength and will againstmany and feeling 'I am the stronger.' "
"Delightful, no doubt" replied the statesman, "though Zeus spare mefighting one against ten! But what god possessed you to meddle in thisbrawl, and imperil all chances for to-morrow?"
"I was returning from practice at the palaestra. I saw the lad beset andknew he was not Dexippus's slave. I ran to help him. I thought no moreabout it."
"And risked everything for a sly-eyed Oriental. Where is the rascal?"
But the lad--author of the commotion--had disappeared completely.
"Behold his fair gratitude to his rescuer," cried Themistocles, sourly,and then he turned to Leonidas. "Well, very noble king of Sparta, you wereasking to see Glaucon and judge his chances in the pentathlon. YourLaconians have just proved him; are you satisfied?"
But the king, without a word of greeting, ran his eyes over the athletefrom head to heel, then blurted out his verdict:
"Too pretty."
Glaucon blushed like a maid. Themistocles threw up his hands indeprecation.
"But were not Achilles and many another hero beautiful as brave? Does notHomer call them so many times 'godlike'?"
"Poetry doesn't win the pentathlon," retorted the king; then suddenly heseized the athlete's right arm near the shoulder. The muscles cracked.Glaucon did not wince. The king dropped the arm with a "_Euge!_" thenextended his own hand, the fingers half closed, and ordered, "Open."
One long minute, just as Simonides and his companions approached, Athenianand Spartan stood face to face, hand locked in hand, while Glaucon'sforehead grew redder, not with blushing. Then blood rushed to the king'sbrow also. His fingers were crimson. They had been forced open.
"_Euge!_" cried the king, again; then, to Themistocles, "He will do."
Whereupon, as if satisfied in his object and averse to further dalliance,he gave Cimon and his companions the stiffest of nods and deliberatelyturned on his heel. Speech was too precious coin for him to be wasted onmere adieus. Only over his shoulder he cast at Glaucon a curt mandate.
"I hate Lycon. Grind his bones."
Themistocles, however, lingered a moment to greet Simonides. The littlepoet was delighted, despite overweening hopes, at the manly beauty yetmodesty of the athlete, and being a man who kept his thoughts always nearhis tongue, made Glaucon blush more manfully than ever.
"Master Simonides is overkind," had ventured the athlete; "but I am surehis praise is only polite compliment."
"What misunderstanding!" ran on the poet. "How you pain me! I trulydesired to ask a question. Is it not a great delight to know that so manypeople are gladdened just by looking on you?"
"How dare I answer? If 'no,' I contradict you--very rude. If 'yes,' Ipraise myself--far ruder."
"Cleverly turned. The face of Paris, the strength of Achilles, the wit ofPeriander, all met in one body;" but seeing the athlete's confusion moreprofound than ever, the Cean cut short. "Heracles! if my tongue woundsyou, lo! it's clapped back in its sheath; I'll be revenged in an ode offifty iambs on your victory. For that you will conquer, neither I nor anysane man in Hellas has the least doubt. Are you not confident, dearAthenian?"
"I am confident in the justice of the gods, noble Simonides," said theathlete, half childishly, half in deep seriousness.
"Well you may be. The gods are usually 'just' to such as you. It's wegraybeards that Tyche, 'Lady Fortune,' grows tired of helping."
"Perhaps!" Glaucon passed his hand across his eyes with a dreamy gesture."Yet sometimes I almost say, 'Welcome a misfortune, if not too terrible,'just to ward off the god's jealousy of too great prosperity. In allthings, save my father's anger, I have prospered. To-morrow I can appeasethat, too. Yet you know Solon's saying, 'Call no man fortunate till he isdead.' "
Simonides was charmed at this frank confession on first acquaintance."Yes, but even one of the Seven Sages can err."
"I do not know. I only hope--"
"Hush, Glaucon," admonished Democrates. "There's no worse dinner before acontest than one of flighty thoughts. When safe in Athens--"
"In Eleusis you mean," corrected the athlete.
"Pest take you," cried Cimon; "you say Eleusis because there is Hermione.But make this day-dreaming end ere you come to grips with Lycon."
"He will awaken," smiled Themistocles. Then, with another gracious nod toSimonides, the statesman hastened after Leonidas, leaving the three youngmen and the poet to go to Glaucon's tent in the pine grove.
"And why should Leonidas wish Glaucon to grind the bones of the championof Sparta?" asked Cimon, curiously.
"Quickly answered," replied Simonides, who knew half the persons of thenobility in Hellas; "first, Lycon is of the rival kingly house at Sparta;second, he's suspected of 'Medizing,' of favouring Persia."
"I've heard that story of 'Medizing,' " interrupted Democrates, promptly;"I can assure you it is not true."
"Enough if he's suspected," cried the uncompromising son of Miltiades;"honest Hellenes should not even be blown upon in times like this. Anotherreason then for hating him--"
"Peace!" ordered Glaucon, as if starting from a long revery, and with asweep of his wonderful hands; "let the Medes, the Persians, and their warwait. For me the only war is the pentathlon,--and then by Zeus's favour thevictory, the glory, the return to Eleusis! Ah--wish me joy!"
"Verily, the man is mad," reflected the poet; "he lives in his own brightworld, sufficient to himself. May Zeus never send storms to darken it! Forto bear disaster his soul seems never made."
* * * * * * *
At the tent Manes, the athlete's body-servant, came running to his master,with a small box firmly bound.
"A strange dark man brought this only a moment since. It is for MasterGlaucon."
On opening there was revealed a bracelet of Egyptian turquoise; the pricethereof Simonides wisely set at two minae. Nothing betrayed the identity ofthe giver save a slip of papyrus written in Greek, but in very uncertainhand. "_To the Beautiful Champion of Athens: from one he has greatlyserved._"
Cimon held the bracelet on high, admiring its perfect lustre.
"Themistocles was wrong," he remarked; "the Oriental was not ungrateful.But what 'slave' or 'lad' was this that Glaucon succoured?"
"Perhaps," insinuated Simonides, "Themistocles was wrong yet again. Whoknows if a stranger giving such gifts be not sent forth by Xerxes?"
"Don't chatter foolishness," commanded Democrates, almost peevishly; butGlaucon replaced the bracelet in the casket.
"Since the god sends this, I will rejoice in it," he declared lightly. "Afair omen for to-morrow, and it will shine rarely on Hermione's arm." Themention of that lady called forth new protests from Cimon, but he in turnwas interrupted, for a half-grown boy had entered the tent and stoodbeckoning to Democrates.