Buried Cities: Pompeii, Olympia, Mycenae Part 8

As he turned away the judge gave him a palm in sign of victory. The boy walked back down the course with the palm waving over his shoulder. His body was glistening, his cheeks were flushed, his eyes were burning with joy. He was looking up at the crowd, hoping to see his father and brother. And at every step men reached out a hand to him or called to him, until at last Menon's own loving arms pulled him up upon the benches. Then there was such a noise that no one heard any one else, but everybody knew that everybody was happy. Men pushed their heads over other men's shoulders, and boys peeped between their fathers' legs to see the Olympic winner. And in that circle of faces Menon stood with his arms about Creon, laughing and crying. And Charmides clung to his brother's hand. But at last Creon whispered to his father:

"I must go and make ready. I am entered for the pentathlon, also."

Menon cried out in wonder.

"I kept that news for a surprise," laughed Creon. "Good-by, little one,"

he said to Charmides, and pushed through the crowd.

Menon sat down trembling. If his boy should win in the pentathlon also!

That would be too great glory. It could not happen. He began to mutter a hundred prayers. Another race was called--the double race, twice around the course. But Menon did not stand to see it. He could think of nothing but his glorious son. After the race was another great shout. Some other boy was carrying a palm. Some other father was proud. Then followed wrestling, bout after bout, and cheering from the crowd. But Menon cared little for it all.

It was now near noon. The sun shone down scorchingly. A wind whirled dust up from the race course into people's faces.

"My throat needs wetting," cried a man.

He pulled off a little vase of wine that hung from his girdle and pa.s.sed it to Menon, saying:

"I should be proud if the father of the victor would drink from my bottle."

And Menon took it, smiling proudly. Then he himself opened a little cloth bag and drew out figs and nuts.

"Here is something to munch, lad," he said to Charmides.

Other people, also, were eating and drinking. They walked about to visit their friends or sat down to rest. Menon's neighbor sank upon his seat with a sigh.

"This is the first time I have sat down since sunrise," he laughed.

Then the pentathlon was announced. Everyone leaped to his feet again. A group of boys stood ready behind a line. One of the judges was softening the ground with a pick. An umpire made a speech to the lads. Then, at a word, a boy took up the lead jumping weights. He swung his hands back and forth, swaying his graceful body with them. Then a backward jerk! He threw his weights behind him and leaped. The judges quickly measured and called the distance. Then another boy leaped, and another, and another--twenty or more. Last Creon took the weights and toed the line.

"Creon! Creon!" shouted the crowd: "The victor! Creon again!"

He swung and swayed and then sailed through the air.

"By Herakles!" shouted a man near Charmides. "He alights like a sea-gull."

There went up a great roar from the benches even before the judges called the distance. For any one could see that he had pa.s.sed the farthest mark. The first of the five games was over and Creon had won it.

Now the judges brought a discus. A boy took it and stepped behind the line. He fitted the lead plate into the crook of his hand. He swung it back and forth, bending his knees and turning his body. Then it flew into the air and down the course. Where it stopped rolling an umpire marked and called the distance.

"I like this game best of all," said a man behind Charmides. "The whole body is in it. Every movement is graceful. See the curve of the back, the beautiful bend of the legs, the muscles working over the chest! The body moves to and fro as if to music."

One after another the boys took their turn. But when Creon threw, Charmides cried out in sorrow, and Menon groaned. His disc fell short of the mark. He was third.

"It was gracefully done," Charmides heard some one say, "but his arms are not so good as his legs. See the arms and chest of that Timon. No one can throw against him."

After that a judge set up a shield in the middle of the course. Every boy s.n.a.t.c.hed a spear from a pile on the ground and threw at the central boss of the shield. Again Creon was beaten. Phormio of Corinth, son of a famous warrior, won.

Then they paired off for wrestling. Creon and Eudorus of Aegina were together. Each boy poured oil into his hand from a little vase and rubbed the body of his antagonist to limber his muscles. Then he took fine sand from a box and dusted it over his skin for the oiled body might slip out of his arms in the wrestling match. Then, at a signal, the pairs of wrestlers faced each other.

Creon held his hands out ready, bent his knees, thrust forward his head, and stood waiting. Eudorus leaped to and fro around him trying to get a hold. At last he rushed at him. Creon caught him around the waist and hurled him to the ground. Charmides laughed and shouted and clapped his hands. That was one throw. There must be three. Eudorus was up immediately and was circling around and around again. Suddenly Creon leaped low and caught him by the leg and threw him. He had won two bouts out of three and stood victor without a throw.

Soon all the pairs had finished. The eight victors stood forth and cast lots for new partners. Again they wrestled. This time, also, Creon won.

Then these four winners paired off and wrestled, and at the end Creon and Timon were left to try it together.

In the first bout the Spartan boy lifted Creon off the ground and threw him, back down. Then the men on the benches began shouting advice.

"Look out for his arms!"

"Don't let him grapple you!"

"Feint, feint!"

Creon leaped to his feet. He began circling around Timon as Eudorus had circled around him. He dodged out from under Timon's arms. He wriggled from between his hands. The benches rang with cheers and laughs.

"He is an eel," cried one man.

Suddenly Creon ducked under Timon's arms, caught him by his legs and tripped him. The two boys were even.

In the next bout Timon ran at Creon like a wild bull. He caught him around the waist in his strong arms to whirl him to the ground. But with a crook of his leg Creon tripped him and wriggled out of his arms before he fell.

Menon caught up Charmides and threw him to his shoulder laughing and stamping his feet.

"Do you see, lad?" he cried. "He has won two games. Only the race is left, and we know how he can run."

And how he did run! He threw back his head and leaped out like a deer, skimming over the ground in long strides and leaving his dust to the others. He had the three games out of five and was winner of the pentathlon.

Then there was no holding the crowd. They poured down off the seats and ran to Creon. Some lifted him upon their shoulders and carried him out of the stadion, for this was the end of the games for that day. And those who could not come near Creon and his waving palms crowded around Menon. So they went, shouting, out of the gate and among the statues and on to the river. There they put Creon down, and his father and Charmides led him away to camp.

That was the happiest night of Charmides' life. He heard his wonderful brother talk for hours of the life in the gymnasium. He heard new tales of Creon's favorite G.o.d, Hermes. He heard of the women's games that were held once a year at Olympia in honor of Hera. He heard a hundred new names of boys and cities, for there had been, athletes from every corner of Greece in training here. He held the victor's palms in his own hands.

He slept beside this double winner of Olympic crowns. He dreamed that Apollo and Hermes came hand in hand and gazed down at him and Creon as they lay sleeping and dropped a great garland over them both. It was twined of Olympic olive leaves and Apollo's own laurel.

On the next day there were games for the men, like those the boys had played. On the day after that there were chariot races in a wide place outside the walls. Every night there was still the gay noise of the fair. But instead of going to see it, Charmides stretched himself under the trees on Mount Kronion and gazed up at the moon and dreamed.

Then came the last day, with its great procession again and its sacrifices at every altar. The proud victors walked with their palm leaves in their hands. In the temple of Zeus, under the eyes of the glowing G.o.d, the priests put the precious olive crowns upon the winners'

heads. They were made from sacred olive leaves. They were cut with a golden sickle from the very tree that G.o.dlike Herakles had brought out of the far north. That wreath it was which should be more dear than a chest of gold to Creon's family and Creon's city. That was the crown which poets should sing about. When the priest set the crown upon Creon's head, Charmides thought he felt a G.o.d's hands upon his own brow.

Menon leaned upon a friend's shoulder and burst into tears.

"I could die happy now," he said. "I have done enough for Athens in giving her such a glorious son."

As the three walked back to camp, Menon said:

"Who shall write your chorus of triumph, Creon? Already my messengers have reached Athens, and the dancers are chosen who shall lead you home.

But the song is not yet made. It must be a glorious one!"

Then Charmides blushingly whispered,

"May I sing you something, father? Apollo helped me to make it."

His father smiled down in surprise. "So that is why you have been lying so quiet under the trees these moonlit nights!" he said.