Read Ebook: A Victor of Salamis by Davis William Stearns

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Ebook has 2742 lines and 131213 words, and 55 pages

"And yet her father gave her to the son of his bitter enemy?"

"Hermippus of Eleusis is sensible. It is a fine thing to have the handsomest man in Hellas for son-in-law."

"And now to the great marvel--did Glaucon truly seek her not for dowry, nor rank, but for sheer love?"

"Marriages for love are in fashion to-day," said Democrates, with a side glance at Cimon, whose sister Elpinice had just made a love match with Callias the Rich, to the scandal of all the prudes in Athens.

"Then I meet marvels even in my old age. Another Odysseus and his Penelope! And he is handsome, valiant, high-minded, with a wife his peer? You raise my hopes too high. They will be dashed."

"They will not," protested Democrates, with every sign of loyalty; "turn here: this lane in the pines leads to his tent. If we have praised too much, doom us to the labours of Tantalus."

But here their progress was stopped. A great knot of people were swarming about a statue under a pine tree, and shrill, angry voices proclaimed not trafficking, but a brawl.

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 how many made respectful way for them, or how many greeted them. The taller and younger man, to be sure, returned every salute with a graceful flourish of his hands, but in a mechanical way, and with eye fixed on his companion.

The pair were markedly contrasted. The younger was in his early prime, strong, well developed, and daintily dressed. His gestures were quick and eloquent. His brown beard and hair were trimmed short to reveal a clear olive face--hardly regular, but expressive and tinged with an extreme subtilty. When he laughed, in a strange, silent way, it was to reveal fine teeth, while his musical tongue ran on, never waiting for answer.

His comrade, however, answered little. He barely rose to the other's shoulder, but he had the chest and sinews of an ox. Graces there were none. His face was a scarred ravine, half covered by scanty stubble. The forehead 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 a golden circlet. The "chlamys" around his hips was purple but dirty. To his companion's glib Attic he returned only Doric monosyllables.

"Thus I have explained: if my plans prosper; if Corcyra and Syracuse send aid; if Xerxes has trouble in provisioning his army, not merely can we resist Persia, but conquer with ease. Am I too sanguine, Leonidas?"

"We shall see."

"No doubt Xerxes will find his fleet untrustworthy. The Egyptian sailors hate 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 of Hellas. Still a battle must be risked. If we quit ourselves bravely, our names 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 to have your Ephors and Council somewhat more forward than of late in preparing for war? We all count on you."

"I will try."

"Who can ask more? But now make an end to statecraft. We were speaking about the pentathlon and the chances of--"

Here the same brawling voices that had arrested Simonides broke upon Themistocles and Leonidas also. The cry "A fight!" was producing its inevitable result. Scores of men, and those not the most aristocratic, were running pell-mell whither so many had thronged already. In the confusion scant reverence was paid the king of Sparta and the first statesman of Athens, who were thrust unceremoniously aside and were barely witnesses of what followed.

The outcry was begun, after-report had it, by a Sicyonian bronze-dealer finding a small but valuable lamp missing from the table whereon he showed his wares. Among the dozen odd persons pressing about the booth his eye singled out a slight, handsome boy in Oriental dress; and since Syrian serving-lads were proverbially light-fingered, the Sicyonian jumped quickly at his conclusion.

"Seize the Barbarian thief!" had been his shout as he leaped and snatched the alleged culprit's mantle. The boy escaped easily by the frailness of his dress, which tore in the merchant's hands; but a score of bystanders seized the fugitive and dragged him back to the Sicyonian, whose order to "search!" would have been promptly obeyed; but at this instant he stumbled over the missing lamp on the ground before the table, whence probably it had fallen. The bronze-dealer was now mollified, and would willingly have released the lad, but a Spartan bystander was more zealous.

"Here's a Barbarian thief and spy!" he began bellowing; "he dropped the lamp when he was detected! Have him to the temple and to the wardens of the games!"

The magic word "spy" let loose the tongues and passions of every man within 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 get that outlandish dress and gold-laced turban? Confess, confess,--or it'll be whipped out of you! What villany are you up to?"

If the prisoner had understood Greek,--which was doubtful,--he could scarce have comprehended this babel. He struggled vainly; tears started to his eyes. Then he committed a blunder. Not attempting a protest, he thrust a small hand into his crimson belt and drew forth a handful of gold as bribe for release.

"A slave with ten darics!" bawled the officious Spartan, never relaxing his grip. "Hark you, friends, it's plain as day. Dexippus of Corinth has a Syrian lad like this. The young scoundrel's robbed his master and is running away."

"That's it! A runaway! To the temple with him!" chimed a dozen. The prisoner's outcries were drowned. He would have been swept off in ungentle custody had not a strong hand intervened in his favor.

"A moment, good citizens," called a voice in clear Attic. "Release this lad. I know Dexippus's slave; he's no such fellow."

The others, low-browed Spartans mostly, turned, ill-pleased at the interruption 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 assailed lad's side. The newcomer was indeed a sight for gods. Beauty and power seemed wholly met in a figure of perfect symmetry and strength. A face of fine regularity, a chiselled profile, smooth cheeks, deep blue eyes, a crown of closely cropped auburn hair, a chin neither weak nor stern, a skin burnt brown by the sun of the wrestling schools--these were parts of the 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 from his shoulders.

"Unhand the lad!" he repeated.

For a moment, compelled by his beauty, the Spartans yielded. The Oriental pressed against his protector; but the affair was not to end so easily.

"Hark you, Sir Athenian," rejoined the Spartan leader, "don't presume on your good looks. Our Lycon will mar them all to-morrow. Here's Dexippus's slave or else a Barbarian spy: in either case to the temple with him, and don'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 busybody flat on Mother Earth. He staggered upward, raging and calling on his fellows.

"Sparta insulted by Athens! Vengeance, men of Lacedaemon! Fists! Fists!"

The fate of the Oriental was forgotten in the storm of patriotic fury that followed. Fortunately no one had a weapon. Half a dozen burly Laconians precipitated themselves without concert or order upon the athlete. He was hidden a moment in the rush of flapping gowns and tossing arms. Then like a rock out of the angry sea shone his golden head, as he shook off the attack. Two men were on their backs, howling. The others stood at respectful distance, cursing and meditating another rush. An Athenian pottery merchant from a neighbouring booth began trumpeting through his hands.

"Men of Athens, this way!"

His numerous countrymen came scampering from far and wide. Men snatched up stones 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. Both pose and face spoke as clearly as words,--"Prove me!"

"Sparta is insulted. Away with the braggart!" the Laconians were clamouring. The Athenians answered in kind. Already a dark sailor was drawing a dirk. Everything promised broken heads, and perhaps blood, when Leonidas and his friend,--by laying about them with their staves,--won their way to the front. The king dashed his staff upon the shoulder of a strapping Laconian who was just hurling himself on Glaucon.

"Fools! Hold!" roared Leonidas, and the moment the throng saw what newcomers they faced, Athenian and Spartan let their arms drop and stood sheepish and silent. Themistocles instantly stepped forward and held up his hand. His voice, trumpet-clear, rang out among the pines. In three sentences he dissolved the tumult.

"Fellow-Hellenes, do not let Dame Discord make sport of you. I saw all that befell. It is only an unlucky misunderstanding. You are quite satisfied, I am sure, Master Bronze-Dealer?"

The Sicyonian, who saw in a riot the ruin of his evening's trade, nodded gladly.

"He says there was no thieving, and he is entirely satisfied. He thanks you for your friendly zeal. The Oriental was not Dexippus's slave, and Xerxes does not need such boys for spies. I am certain Glaucon would not insult Sparta. So let us part without bad blood, and await the judgment of the god in the contest to-morrow."

Not a voice answered him. The crash of music from the sacrificial embassy of Syracuse diverted everybody's attention; most of the company streamed away 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 not chanced 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 against many and feeling 'I am the stronger.' "

"Delightful, no doubt" replied the statesman, "though Zeus spare me fighting one against ten! But what god possessed you to meddle in this brawl, and imperil all chances for to-morrow?"

"I was returning from practice at the palaestra. I saw the lad beset and knew he was not Dexippus's slave. I ran to help him. I thought no more about it."

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