A Victor of Salamis Part 7

" 'Well begun is half done,' my lad; but the hottest battle is still before," said he, trying to cover his own consuming dread.

"Faint heart never won a city," smiled Glaucon, as if never more at ease; and Pytheas drew back happier, seeing the calm light in the athlete's eyes.

"Ay," he muttered to his fellow-trainer, "all is well. The boy has wakened."

But now the heralds marched the champions again to the judges. The president proclaimed the rules of the wrestling,-two casts out of three gave victory. In lower tone he addressed the scowling Spartan:-

"Lycon, I warn you: earn the crown only fairly, if you would earn it. Had that blow in the foot-race struck home, I would have refused you victory, though you finished all alone."

A surly nod was the sole answer.

The heralds led the twain a little way from the judges' stand, and set them ten paces asunder and in sight of all the thousands. The heralds stood, crossing their myrtle wands between. The president rose on his pulpit, and called through the absolute hush:-

"Prepared, Spartan?"

"Yes."

"Prepared, Athenian?"

"Yes."

"Then Poseidon shed glory on the best!"

His uplifted wand fell. A clear shrill trumpet pealed. The heralds bounded back in a twinkling. In that twinkling the combatants leaped into each other's arms. A short grapple; again a sand cloud; and both were rising from the ground. They had fallen together. Heated by conflict, they were locked again ere the heralds could proclaim a tie. Cimon saw the great arms of the Spartan twine around the Athenian's chest in fair grapple, but even as Lycon strove with all his bull-like might to lift and throw, Glaucon's slim hand glided down beneath his opponent's thigh. Twice the Spartan put forth all his powers. Those nearest watched the veins of the athletes swell and heard their hard muscles crack. The stadium was in succession hushed and tumultuous. Then, at the third trial, even as Lycon seemed to have won his end, the Athenian smote out with one foot. The sands were slippery. The huge Laconian lunged forward, and as he lunged, his opponent by a masterly effort tore himself loose. The Spartan fell heavily,-vanquished by a trick, though fairly used.

The stadium thundered its applause. More vows, prayers, exhortations.

Glaucon stood and received all the homage in silence. A little flush was on his forehead. His arms and shoulders were very red. Lycon rose slowly.

All could hear his rage and curses. The heralds ordered him to contain himself.

"Now, fox of Athens," rang his shout, "I will kill you!"

Pytheas, beholding his fury, tore out a handful of hair in his mingled hope and dread. No man knew better than the trainer that no trick would conquer Lycon this second time; and Glaucon the Fair might be nearer the fields of Asphodel than the pleasant hills by Athens. More than one man had died in the last ordeal of the pentathlon.

The silence was perfect. Even the breeze had hushed while Glaucon and Lycon faced again. The twenty thousand sat still as in their sepulchres, each saying in his heart one word-"Now!" If in the first wrestling the attack had been impetuous, it was now painfully deliberate. When the heralds' wands fell, the two crept like mighty cats across the narrow sands, frames bent, hands outstretched, watching from the corners of their eyes a fair chance to rush in and grapple. Then Lycon, whose raging spirit had the least control, charged. Another dust cloud. When it cleared, the two were locked together as by iron.

For an instant they swayed, whilst the Spartan tried again his brute power. It failed him. Glaucon drew strength from the earth like Antaeus.

The hushed stadium could hear the pants of the athletes as they locked closer, closer. Strength failing, the Spartan s.n.a.t.c.hed at his enemy's throat; but the Athenian had his wrist gripped fast before the clasp could tighten, and in the melee Glaucon's other hand pa.s.sed beneath Lycon's thigh. The two seemed deadlocked. For a moment they grinned face to face, almost close enough to bite each other's lips. But breath was too precious for curses. The Spartan flung his ponderous weight downward. A slip in the gliding sand would have ruined the Athenian instantly; but Poseidon or Apollo was with him. His feet dug deep, and found footing. Lycon drew back baffled, though the clutches of their hands were tightening like vices of steel. Then again face to face, swaying to and fro, panting, muttering, while the veins in the bare backs swelled still more.

"He cannot endure it. He cannot! Ah! Athena Polias, pity him! Lycon is wearing him down," moaned Pytheas, beside himself with fear, almost running to Glaucon's aid.

The stadium resumed its roaring. A thousand conflicting prayers, hopes, counsels, went forth to the combatants. The G.o.ds of Olympus and Hades; all demiG.o.ds, heroes, satyrs, were invoked for them. They were besought to conquer in the name of parents, friends, and native land. Athenians and Laconians, sitting side by side, took up the combat, grappling fiercely.

And all this time the two strove face to face.

How long had it lasted? Who knew? Least of all that pair who wrestled perchance for life and for death. Twice again the Spartan strove with his weight to crush his opponent down. Twice vainly. He could not close his grip around the Athenian's throat. He had looked to see Glaucon sink exhausted; but his foe still looked on him with steadfast, unweakening eyes. The president was just bidding the heralds, "Pluck them asunder and declare a tie!" when the stadium gave a shrill long shout. Lycon had turned to his final resource. Reckless of his own hurt, he dashed his iron forehead against the Athenian's, as bull charges bull. Twice and three times, and the blood leaped out over Glaucon's fair skin. Again-the rush of blood was almost blinding. Again-Pytheas screamed with agony-the Athenian's clutch seemed weakening. Again-flesh and blood could not stand such battering long. If Lycon could endure this, there was only one end to the pentathlon.

"Help thou me, Athena of the Gray Eyes! For the glory of Athens, my father, my wife!"

The cry of Glaucon-half prayer, half battle-shout-pealed above the bellowing stadium. Even as he cried it, all saw his form draw upward as might Prometheus's unchained. They saw the fingers of the Spartan unclasp.

They saw his b.l.o.o.d.y face upturned and torn with helpless agony. They saw his great form totter, topple, fall. The last dust cloud, and into it the mult.i.tude seemed rushing together....

... They caught Glaucon just as he fell himself. Themistocles was the first to kiss him. Little Simonides wept. Cimon, trying to embrace the victor, hugged in the confusion a dirty Plataean. Democrates seemed lost in the whirlpool, and came with greetings later. Perhaps he had stopped to watch that Oriental who had given Glaucon good wishes in the foot-race.

The fairest praise, however, was from a burly man, who merely held out his hand and muttered, "Good!" But this was from Leonidas.

Very late a runner crowned with pink oleanders panted up to the Athenian watch by Mount Icarus at the custom-house on the Megarian frontier.

"_Nika!_-He conquers."

The man fell breathless; but in a moment a clear beacon blazed upon the height. From a peak in Salamis another answered. In Eleusis, Hermippus the n.o.ble was running to his daughter. In Peiraeus, the harbour-town, the sailor folk were dancing about the market-place. In Athens, archons, generals, and elders were accompanying Conon to the Acropolis to give thanks to Athena. Conon had forgotten how he had disowned his son. Another beacon glittered from the Acropolis. Another flashed from the lordly crest of Pentelicus, telling the news to all Attica. There was singing in the fishers' boats far out upon the bay. In the goat-herds' huts on dark Hymethus the pan-pipes blew right merrily. Athens spent the night in almost drunken joy. One name was everywhere:-

"Glaucon the Beautiful who honours us all! Glaucon the Fortunate whom the High G.o.ds love!"

BOOK I

THE SHADOW OF THE PERSIAN

CHAPTER V

HERMIONE OF ELEUSIS

A cl.u.s.ter of white stuccoed houses with a craggy hill behind, and before them a blue bay girt in by the rocky isle of Salamis-that is Eleusis-by-the-Sea. Eastward and westward spreads the teeming Thrasian plain, richest in Attica. Behind the plain the encircling mountain wall fades away into a purple haze. One can look southward toward Salamis; then to the left rises the rounded slope of brown Pcilon sundering Eleusis from its greater neighbour, Athens. Look behind: there is a glimpse of the long violet crests of Cithaeron and Parnes, the barrier mountains against Botia. Look to right: beyond the summits of Megara lifts a n.o.ble cone. It is an old friend, Acro-Corinthus. The plain within the hills is sprinkled with thriving farmsteads, green vineyards, darker olive groves. The stony hill-slopes are painted red by countless poppies. One hears the tinkling of the bells of roving goats. Thus the more distant view; while at the very foot of the hill of vision rises a temple with proud columns and pediments,-the fane of Demeter the "Earth Mother" and the seat of her Mysteries, renowned through h.e.l.las.

The house of Hermippus the Eumolpid, first citizen of Eleusis, stood to the east of the temple. On three sides gnarled trunks and sombre leaves of the sacred olives almost hid the white low walls of the rambling buildings. On the fourth side, facing the sea, the dusty road wound east toward Megara. Here, by the gate, were gathered a rustic company: brown-faced village lads and la.s.ses, toothless graybeards, cackling old wives. Above the barred gate swung a festoon of ivy, whilst from within the court came the squeaking of pipes, the tuning of citharas, and shouted orders-signs of a mighty bustling. Then even while the company grew, a half-stripped courier flew up the road and into the gate.

"They come," ran the wiseacre's comment; but their buzzing ceased, as again the gate swung back to suffer two ladies to peer forth. Ladies, in the truth, for the twain had little in common with the ogling village maids, and whispers were soon busy with them.

"Look-his wife and her mother! How would you, Praxin, like to marry an Isthmionices?"

"Excellently well, but your Hermas won't so honour you."

"_Eu!_ see, she lifts her pretty blue veil; I'm glad she's handsome. Some beautiful men wed regular hags."

The two ladies were clearly mother and daughter, of the same n.o.ble height, and dressed alike in white. Both faces were framed in a flutter of Amorgos gauze: the mother's was saffron, crowned with a wreath of golden wheat-ears; the daughter's blue with a circlet of violets. And now as they stood with arms entwined the younger brushed aside her veil. The gossips were right. The robe and the crown hid all but the face and tress of the l.u.s.trous brown hair,-but that face! Had not King Hephaestos wrought every line of clear Phnician gla.s.s, then touched them with snow and rose, and shot through all the ichor of life? Perhaps there was a fitful fire in the dark eyes that awaited the husband's coming, or a slight twitching of the impatient lips. But nothing disturbed the high-born repose of face and figure. Hermione was indeed the worthy daughter of a n.o.ble house, and happy the man who was faring homeward to Eleusis!

Another messenger. Louder bustle in the court, and the voice of Hermippus arraying his musicians. Now a sharp-faced man, who hid his bald pate under a crown of lilies, joined the ladies,-Conon, father of the victor. He had ended his life-feud with Hermippus the night the message flashed from Corinth. Then a third runner; this time in his hand a triumphant palm branch, and his one word-"Here!" A crash of music answered from the court, while Hermippus, a stately n.o.bleman, his fine head just sprinkled with gray, led out his unmartial army.

Single pipes and double pipes, tinkling lyres and many-stringed citharas, not to forget herdsmen's reed flutes, cymbals, and tambours, all made melody and noise together. An imposing procession that must have crammed the courtyard wound out into the Corinth road.