The Isle of Stone

4.

For the conclusion of his speech Cleon had gradually moderated his volume, bringing the Assembly down from frenzy to merely a heightened state of apprehension. A motion was put forth to approve Cleon’s demands for presentation to the envoys. It passed by acclamation, with massive support from the right and the middle, and sullen acquiescence on the left.

The envoys were escorted back to hear the terms of the Athenians. These were read by the herald in the same order that Cleon proposed them. Isidas, impassive, looked at neither Cleon nor Nicias, and didn’t take the wreath when the herald offered it. Instead, a parade of irate speakers took the rostrum, demanding that the Lacedaemonians not withdraw to confer, but make their reply right away. The clamor rose steadily, until Isidas looked at his colleagues with resignation: though the terms were impossible, they would have to say something or risk failure by their silence.

Isidas called for the myrtle.

“Gentlemen, you place us in a difficult position today. We would like nothing better than to reach some agreement, but we were not prepared for an offer of such… comprehensiveness. Allow us therefore to suggest that representatives of the Athenians be appointed to discuss terms with us. You have my pledge as a Spartiate that we will give each point due consideration.”

At which Cleon charged the rostrum again and snatched the floor. “Can you see now the machinations of tyranny?” he cried. “Instead of discussing the peace in the open, before the People, our friends ask to scurry away to collude in secret! Is this your good faith, Isidas? If the Lacedaemonians are sincere in their desire for peace, let them prove it now, in front of the Assembly! We will agree to hear them out…”

The crowd agreed with a thunderous roar that drowned out the rest of Cleon’s statement. Holding out the wreath to the Spartiate seated on the far end of the dais, he then turned to the foreigners, a determined smile on his lips. When the envoy turned it down, he proceeded to the next one, and finally, as the roar mounted, to Isidas. The old man looked forward without lifting a finger; Cleon offered the myrtle again. Isidas tossed his head. A third time, with the people in a frenzy behind him, Cleon dangled the wreath until Isidas raised a hand to refuse it. The gesture-the Spartan warding off the myrtle-became frozen in the minds of the onlookers, destined to be described and redescribed up and down the drinking halls and alleys and fountainhouses of Athens.