The Last of the Wine: A Novel

17

ON THE DAY APPOINTED, we assembled at Piraeus: the priests and important citizens who were to lead the procession; two trainers; and the athletes, men and boys. The lad Aristokles greeted me on the dock with his old-fashioned courtliness. His nickname had stuck; boys, trainers and everyone called him Plato now. He took it cheerfully, and I soon got in the way of it like the rest.

The City sent us to Corinth in the State galley Paralos. This was my first acquaintance with men I was to know much better afterwards; but it is remarkable how quickly you notice the difference in a ship where the whole crew are free citizens, rowers and all. A place on the Paralos was the most honourable open to any man who could not afford the panoply of a hoplite, which is the reason in many cases why a man takes to the sea. But their necessity had become their choice. They were great democrats and stood no nonsense from anyone; and one or two of the passengers, who were oligarch-minded, complained of their insolence. For myself, after weeks of palaestra small-talk I could have listened to them by the hour. I confess I cannot see why a sailor should not take as much pride in himself as a soldier or even an athlete. No one can say it is a base employment, like that of a man cramped indoors at a work-bench, which spoils the body and confines the soul.

Autolykos was a favourite with them, as with everyone else. I have heard superior people say he had no more mind than a fine bull, and I don’t pretend he would have shone in a disputation; but he was modest in success, a good fellow and a thorough gentleman. Once when Lysis was praising him to me, I said, “I can’t think how you pankratiasts manage in the contest. A runner only needs to leave his rivals behind; but in a day or two, if you and Autolykos are drawn in the same heat, you will be buffeting each other about the ears, flinging each other down, kicking and twisting and throttling; doing each other as much harm, short of biting and gouging, as two men can without weapons in their hands. Don’t you mind it?” He laughed and said, “One doesn’t go out to do a man harm, only to make him give in. I can tell you, Autolykos in action is no object for tenderness.”

We were having supper at the time at a tavern in Salamis, where the wind being contrary we had put in for the night. Autolykos was there too, treating the pilot. I said to Lysis, “He’s grown very heavy this last year. It has almost spoiled his looks. I’ve never seen a man eat as much as he does.”—“He’s only following his training-diet; in fact, according to that he ought to eat even more, two pounds of meat a day.”—“Meat every day! I should think it would make one slower than an ox.”—“Well, there is something in weight too, and the City trainers are rather divided on it, so they let us go on as we did with our trainers before. I agree with mine that the pankration was founded to be the test of a man, and the right weight for a man is the weight for a pankratiast.”

The inn lamp had been lit; and all Salamis, it seemed, had gathered outside on the harbour front to watch us eating, word having got round of who we were. Seeing them stare, I looked at Lysis with a stranger’s eyes, which I had almost forgotten how to do. I thought that Theseus, setting forth in his flower of strength to wrestle at the Isthmus, could have looked no better. His mantle being open, the lamplight showed the beautiful hard sheen of his body, like oiled beechwood, and the smooth curve of muscle and sinew. His neck and shoulders, though firm as rock, had not thickened; he moved them as lightly as a racehorse. It was plain that the people outside were betting on his victory, and envying my place beside him. Yet he thought in his modesty that they were looking at me.

Next day we sighted the port of Isthmia, and, standing against the sky, the round-topped mountain where the Corinthian citadel is. As the haze lifted, one could see the walls twined like a fillet about its brows. On the very summit I saw a small temple shining, and asked Lysis if he knew what it was. He said, “That must be the shrine of Aphodite, to whom the Girls of the Goddess belong.”

“Do they live there?” I asked him. It seemed beautiful to me that Aphrodite should keep her girls like doves in a tall pine-tree, not lightly to be won; I pictured them waking in the dawn, and clothing their rosy limbs against the brisk air of morning, and going down to the mountain spring; girls like milk, like honey or like dark wine, presents to the Cyprian from every land under the sun. “No,” he said, smiling as he watched my face, “the shrine’s for people like you, who like love on top of a mountain. The girls are in the City precinct, or the Goddess wouldn’t grow very rich. But never mind; after the Games we’ll go to both. The girls at night; daybreak for the mountain. We’ll watch them make the morning sacrifice to Helios as he rises from the sea.”

I agreed, thinking all this very fitting for men who have been contending for glory before a god. In my mind I saw the girl of my choice, opening her arms by the light of a little lamp, her shining hair heavy on the pillow.

Round about us people were watching the coast grow nearer, and talking, as men in strict training will, of the pleasures of Corinth, exchanging the names of bathhouses and brothels, and of the famous hetairas from Laïs down. Seeing the lad Plato near by, looking as usual rather serious, I clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Well, my friend, what do you want to do in Corinth?” He looked round at me and answered, without so much as a pause for thought, “To drink from the Fountain of Peirene.”

“From Peirene?” I said staring. “The spring of Pegasos? You’re not intending to set up as a poet, are you?” He gave me a straight look, to see if I was laughing at him (I had remarked already that he was no fool) and having satisfied himself, said, “Yes, I hope so.” I looked at his heavy brows and solid frame. His face had a distinction which just kept one from calling him ugly; it occurred to me that as a man he might even become impressive. So I asked him with proper gravity whether he composed already. He said he had written a number of epigrams and elegies, and had almost completed a tragedy, upon Hippolytos. Then he dropped his voice, partly with a boy’s shyness, but partly, it seemed, with the discretion of a man. “I was thinking, Alexias, if you and Lysis should both be crowned at the Games, what a subject for an ode!”—“You young fool!” I said, half laughing and half angry with him. “It’s a proverb for bad luck, to make the triumph-song before the contest. No more of your odes, in Apollo’s name!”

But now nearing the port we saw between the pines the great temple of Poseidon, and around it the gymnasiums and palaestras, the stadium and the hippodrome. The Council of the Games met us very courteously when we landed, read us the rules, and saw we were shown our lodgings and the athletes’ mess. All the dressing-places and the baths were much finer than at home; marble everywhere, and every water-spout made of wrought bronze. The place was full already of competitors who had arrived before us. When I got out on the practise-track, I found youths from every city in the Aegean, and as far as Ephesos.

The practice itself was quite properly conducted. But I did not care for the way that all kinds of idlers were allowed to crowd in: hucksters selling luck-charms and unguents, touts from the brothels, and gamblers who laid their odds on us as noisily as if we had been horses. It was hard to keep one’s mind on what one was about; but when I was used to it all, and had time to study the form of the other youths, I did not think there were more than two or three from whom I had much to fear. One of these was a Spartan, called Eumastas, to whom I spoke out of curiosity; I had never conversed with one, unless it is conversation to shout the paean at one another. His behaviour on the track was excellent, but his manners were rather uncouth; having never been outside Lakonia before even for war, he felt unsure of himself in this large concourse, and thought to cover it by standing on his dignity. I fancy he envied me my battle-scars; for he showed me the stripes on his back, where he had been flogged before Artemis Orthia, according to their custom. He had been the victor, he told me, in the contest, having held out the longest; the runner-up, he said, had died. I was at a loss for a proper reply, but congratulated him. There seemed no harm in him, beyond some dullness of wit.

I liked much less a youth from Corinth, one Tisander. His chances were a good deal fancied, by himself even more than the rest; and finding a newcomer talked of as a threat to him, he showed his pique with an openness as laughable as unseemly. I made a sprint or two, and left him to his conjectures.

Lysis, when we met, told me the crowds had been worse in the palaestra than at the stadium; for the Corinthians are devoted to wrestling and the pankration. I did not ask after his rivals’ form; for naturally no pankratiast practises the all-in-fight just before the Games, for fear of getting an injury. He was rather quiet; but before I could ask him why, it was put out of my mind by the din about us. We had intended to walk over the Isthmus to Corinth. It seemed, however, that not only Corinth had come to us, but most of Hellas and all of Ionia. The throngs at the Panathenaia were nothing to this. Every shop-keeper in Corinth had set up a stall here; there were whole streets of them, selling not only oil-flasks and ribbons and strigils, and such things as you find at any Games, but all the costly luxuries of the City; bronze images and mirrors, helmets studded with silver and gold, silks you could see through, jewels and toys. The rich hetairas in clouds of perfume were walking with their slaves, pricing others’ merchandise and showing their own. Mountebanks were swallowing swords and serpents, tossing torches in the air, or leaping into circles of knives; dancers and mimes and musicians were quarrelling for pitches. I thought I should never be tired of walking up and down; every moment there was something new. We visited the temple, in whose porch a crowd of sophists was debating, and saw, within, the great gold and ivory Poseidon, who almost touched the roof. Then we walked back through the shops again. My eye began to be caught by things: a silver-mounted sword, a gold necklace which seemed made for my mother, and a beautiful painted wine-cup with the exploits of Theseus, which was just the kind of keepsake I had always wished to offer Lysis. I found I was thinking for the first time about the hundred drachmas the City gives to an Isthmian victor, and of what they would buy.

Next morning I went seriously to work; for we were within three days of the Games. In any strange gymnasium one will drift into someone’s company more than the rest, scraping each other’s backs or sluicing each other in the wash-room, and this happened with me and Eumastas; from curiosity at first, and from our both disliking Tisander, and thereafter I can’t tell why. I had never known anyone so dour, nor he, it was plain, anyone so talkative; yet when I got tired of talking for two, in his curt way he would contrive to start me off again. Once when we were resting he asked me if all Athenians had smooth legs like mine; he thought it was natural, and I had to explain to him the uses of a barber. He was a lank youth, with the leather look all Spartans have from rough living, and a shock head; he was just starting to grow his hair long, at the age when we cut it off. I even made one attempt to tell him about Sokrates; but he said anyone would soon be run out of Sparta who taught the boys to answer back.

I feared Eumastas as my greatest rival in staying-power; Tisander in a sprint; and Nikomedes of Kos because he was variable, the kind who may take sudden fire during the race. My mind was running on all this towards the end of the second morning, when the flute-player came in to time the jumping. As I was waiting in line to take my turn, I saw a man beckoning me from the side. One might have taken him for an ill-bred suitor; but, knowing those, I saw that this was some other thing. So I went over, and asked him what he wanted.

He said he was a trainer, and was studying the Athenian methods, having been out of the way of it because of the war; and he asked me a few questions. I thought them not much to the purpose, and soon began doubting that he was what he claimed. When he asked me what I thought of my own chances, I put him down as a common gamester, and answering with some trite proverb would have gone away. But he detained me, and began running on about young Tisander, his birth and wealth, and his family’s devotion to him, till I made sure I was listening to some besotted lover. Suddenly he dropped his voice, and fixed his eyes on mine. “The lad’s father told me, only today, that it would be worth five hundred drachmas to him to watch his son win.”

It may be that we are born remembering evil, as well as good; or I don’t know how I understood him so quickly. I had been practising the long jump with the hand-weights, and had them still in my hands. I felt my right begin to come up of itself, and saw the man flinch backward. Yet even in his fright there was some calculation. It came to my mind that if I struck him down, I should be taken up for brawling in the sacred precinct, and could not run. I said, “You ditch-born son of a slave and a whore, tell your master to meet me after the truce. I will show him then what is the price of an Athenian.”

He was a man nearly as old as my father would have been; yet he took this from me, with a silly smile. “Don’t be a foolish boy. Nikomedes has agreed, and Eumastas: but if you won’t come in, then the deal is off; you may be beaten by any of them, without being an obol to the good. I shall be in this same place at noon. Think it over.”

I threw at him a filthy phrase that boys were using just then, and left him. The flute was still piping away. You must have seen in battle a hurt man get up, not yet feeling it and thinking he can go on; so I went straight back into the line and took my turn, and was surprised when I made the worst leap ever seen, I should think, upon that ground. Once was enough of that, and I withdrew. I could see neither what to do, nor, indeed, the use of doing anything. All the world I knew seemed to give, like rotten fruit, under my hand.

In the line of jumpers I could pick out the tall back of Eumastas, by the pink shiny scars on his brown skin. If anyone had told me I considered him a friend, I should have stared and laughed; yet now a bitter sickness filled me. I remembered what one always hears of the Spartans, that never being allowed to see money at home, when they meet it they are sooner corrupted than anyone. You may well ask why I should be tender for the honour of someone who next year might be killing me, or burning my farm. Yet I thought, “I will go to him, and tell him of this. Then, if he has agreed to take the bribe, he will merely deny it. But if he has been offered it and refused, he will agree to come with me and report it to the Council of the Games. Thus I shall be sure of him; and Tisander will be whipped, and scratched from the race. But wait. In a place where men buy their rivals out, slander may be commoner still, being much cheaper. If we report and are disbelieved, the dirt will stick to us forever. And if Eumastas with this in mind refuses to go with me, I have no witness; nor shall I ever know whether he was bribed or not. No; let me run a good race, and keep my own hands clean; what is it to me how clean the others are?”

With this I felt quieter, and firmer in mind; till it seemed that the voice of the Corinthian whispered in my ear, “Clever lad! You guessed I lied to you when I said the others would call off their deal if you refused. I told you that lest you should grasp the chance of an easy win. Well, you were too quick for me. Eumastas is bribed, and Nikomedes; now you have only Tisander to beat. Go in, and get your crown.”

I walked away from the gymnasium, not regarding where I went. It seemed there was no way I could turn with perfect honour, and that I should never be clean again. In my trouble, my feet had carried me of themselves to the gate of the men’s palaestra. I thought, “He will know what I should do,” and already my heart was lighter; till it paused, and said to me, “Is that what you call friendship, Alexias? The Games are almost on us; for a man fighting the pankration, his own troubles are enough.”

He came out rather before the usual tune. I did not ask how it had gone with him that day, in case he should return my question. He was quiet, which I was glad of, having little to say myself; but after we had walked a short way, he said, “It’s fine and clear, and the wind is cool. Shall we climb the mountain?”

I was rather surprised; for it was unlike him, having fixed a time for anything, to change it at a whim. I was afraid he had noticed my low spirits; but indeed I was glad of this diversion. The noonday heat was over, and the tower-wreathed head of Acrocorinth looked golden against the tender sky of spring. As we climbed, the other hills grew tall around us, Corinth shone below, and the blue sea spread wide. When we were just below the walls, I said that perhaps the Corinthians would bar us from their citadel, being their enemies but for the sacred truce. But the man in the gatehouse spoke civilly, chatted about the Games and let us in.

There is still a good way to climb on Acrocorinth after you have passed the walls. Being so high, the place is not thronged like our own High City; it was quiet, so that one could hear the bees in the asphodel, the little clappers of the mountain goats, and a shepherd piping. Beyond the walls were great spaces of blue air; for the citadel stands on high cliffs, like a roof on the columns of a temple.

The sacred way wound up between shrines, and holy springs. There was one sanctuary built of grey stone, which we entered. After the bright sunlight it seemed very dark; in the midst, where the god should stand, was a curtain of purple. A priest in a dark-red robe came out and said, “Strangers, come no nearer. This is the temple of Necessity and Force; and the image of this god is not to be looked upon.” I would have gone at once, for the place disquieted me; but Lysis paused and said, “Is it permitted to make an offering?” The priest answered, “No. This god accepts only the appointed sacrifice.” Lysis said, “Be it so, then,” and to me, “Let us go.” After this he was silent so long that I asked if anything troubled him. He smiled, and shook his head, and pointed forward; for now we had reached the crown of Acrocorinth, and stepping on small heath and mountain flowers, saw before us the shrine.

The image of Aphrodite there is armed with shield and spear; yet I never knew a place so full of peace. The temple is delicate and small, with a terrace from which the slopes fall gently; the walls and towers seem far below; the mountains round about hang like veils of grey and purple, and the two seas stretch away, all silken in the light, I thought of the day when Lysis and I had heard Sokrates and gone up to the High City; it seemed that the memory had been already here awaiting us, as if the place were a dwelling of such things.

After a while Lysis pointed downward and said, “Look how small it is.” I looked, and saw the precinct of the Games, the temple, and the fair-booths round it, smaller than children’s toys of painted clay. My soul felt light and free, and washed from the taint of the morning. Lysis laid his hand on my shoulder; it seemed to me that doubt or trouble could never assail us again. We stood looking down; I traced the long wall of the Isthmus, cutting the south of Hellas from the north. Lysis drew in his breath; I think then he would have spoken; but something had caught my eye; and I called out, “Lysis, look there! There are ships moving on the land!”

I pointed. There was a track drawn across the Isthmus, as thin to our eyes as the scratch of a child’s stick. Along it the ships were creeping, with movement scarcely to be seen. Around each prow was a swarm as fine as dust, of seamen and hauliers dragging on the ropes, or going before with rollers. We counted four on the shipway, and eight in the Gulf of Corinth, waiting their turn. They were moving from the western to the eastern sea.

I turned to Lysis. He looked as he did before a battle, and did not see me. I caught at his arm, asking what it was. He said, “I have heard of the shipway; that is nothing. But the ships are too many.” On this I understood. “You mean they’re Spartan ships, slipping through to the Aegean behind our backs?”—“Revolt in the Islands somewhere, and the Spartans supporting it. I thought Alkibiades had been quiet too long.”

“We must go down,” I said, “and tell the delegates.” The snake which had slept all winter was putting forth its head. Yet this seemed small, compared with the grief I felt that we must go down from the mountain. I said to Lysis, “We will come here again together, after the Games.” He did not answer, but pointed eastward. The light came slanting from the west, and was very clear. I said, “I can see even as far as Salamis; there is the ridge of her hills, with the dip in the middle.”—“Yes,” he said. “Can you see beyond?” I narrowed my eyes. Beyond the dip something shone like a chip of crystal in the sun. “It is the High City, Lysis. It is the Temple of the Maiden.” He nodded, but did not speak, only stood looking, like a man sealing what he sees upon his mind.

It was dark when we got down into Isthmia, but we went straight to the harbour and hailed the Paralos. Most of the crew were enjoying themselves in Corinth; but Agios the pilot was there, a stocky man, red-faced and white-haired, who offered us wine beneath the cresset burning on the poop. When he had heard, he whistled between his teeth. “So,” he said, “that’s what is coming into Kenchreai.” He told us that he and his mate, walking by the shore, had seen the harbour there filling with ships; but before they could get near, some guards had turned them away. “Spartan guards,” he said. “I’ve not seen the Corinthians taking trouble to keep this quiet.”—“No,” said Lysis, “or why are we Athenians here at all? It’s their right to ask us and ours to come, both cities founded the Games together; yet it’s a strange time to offer us the sacred truce, with this work on hand.”

Agios said, “They’ve always been our rivals in trade; to see us poor would suit them well; but never tell me they’d welcome a Spartan Hellas. Pretty toys; pleasure; luxury; it’s more than their life, it’s their living. It may well be that they’re trimming now, with things as they are. I’ll see the men go about Corinth with their ears open. One thing at a time; you lads should be going to bed, with the Games so soon.”

On the way back we met Autolykos, taking his training-walk after supper. He hailed Lysis, asking what he had been doing to miss it. “I’m turning in,” Lysis said, “we climbed Acrocorinth this afternoon.” Autolykos raised his brows at us; he looked quite shocked, but he only bade us goodnight and walked on.

Next morning I woke a little stiff from the climb; so I spent an hour with the masseur, and after that only did the exercises to music, to loosen up and keep fresh for tomorrow; for the foot-race opens the Games. I was civil to Eumastas when we met. Once I caught him looking at me; but if I had grown more taciturn, it was not for a Spartan to notice it.

Besides all this, the Cretan athletes had arrived, the last of everyone, having been held up by a storm. Considering their fame as runners, I had more than Eumastas to think about. Sure enough, warming-up on the track I found a little swarthy youth who, I could tell at a glance, might well be the master of us all. The news flew through the Stadium that he had run at Olympia, and had come in second. Though anxious on my own account, I could not keep from laughing when I thought, “Tisander won’t sleep tonight.”

I woke to the sound that is like no other, the noise of the Stadium when the benches and the slopes are filling. People must have started arriving long before the first light. Already you could pick out the “Houp!” of the jugglers and acrobats, the hawkers crying ribbons and cakes and myrtle, the call of the water-sellers, bookmakers giving the odds, the sudden shouts of people squabbling for a place; and through it all the buzz of talk, like bees in an old temple. It is the sound that tightens one’s belly, and makes one shiver behind the neck.

I got up, and ran to the water-conduit outside. Someone overtook me; it was Eumastas; he picked up the pitcher and sluiced me down. He always threw the water hard in one great drench, trying to make one gasp. I rinsed him in turn, and watched it trickle down his scars. Suddenly I felt compelled, and said, “I’m running to win, Eumastas.” He stared and said in his abrupt way, “How not?” His face never showed surprise, nor anything he felt. I did not know if he spoke in innocence, or discretion, or deceit. Not from that day have I ever known.

At the march-in, the Athenians were cheered as much as the Spartans. The people were there to enjoy themselves, and forget the war. I sat with Lysis, watching the boys’ races. The Athenians did quite well, but did not win anything. There was a break; the tumblers and flute-players came out; then suddenly all round the Stadium the ephebes were getting up. Lysis laid his hand on my knee and smiled. I made a little sign which was a secret between us, and got up with the rest. Next moment, as it seemed, I was standing beside the Cretan youth, feeling with my toes the grooves of the starting-stone, and hearing the umpire call for the second time, “Runners! Feet to the lines!”

It was one of those fresh spring days that make one feel at first one could run forever, and tempt beginners to crowd on pace as they never would at a summer Games. I let these people pass me; but when Eumastas went ahead it was another thing. It was hard to look at his striped back and not spurt after it. “Know yourself, Alexias,” I thought, “and look to what you know.” Tisander too was using discretion. We were almost neck and neck.

After those of no account, the first runner to fail was Nikodemes. I had seen yesterday that he had lost his hopes beforehand to the Cretan. For him that was reason enough.

Tisander, gaining a little, moved sideways. I thought he was going across to foul me; it would have disqualified him, and I need have watched my thoughts no longer. But he changed his mind. Then there was a diversion, when some nobody put on a sprint and got in front. All this time I had known the Cretan was just behind me, because I never saw him when I turned the post. Now, smoothly as a wolf, he shot forward, and straight on into the lead. It was halfway up in the sixth lap. “Alexias,” I thought, “it is time to run.”

After that I thought with my breath and my legs. At the starting-turn I passed Eumastas. I was sure he would challenge my lead; but no, he was finished. He had gone ahead too soon, like the green boys. That left Tisander and the Cretan. At the start I had seen that Tisander was wearing a horse’s tooth round his neck as a charm, and had despised him for it; but as a runner he was not at all to be despised. He knew himself, and would not be flurried. Before us was the Cretan, running smoothly, well in hand. We turned into the last lap. People who had been quiet before began to shout, and those who had been shouting to roar. Suddenly over it all I head Lysis yell, “Come on, Alexias!” It was the voice he used in battle, for the paean; it carried like a trumpet-call. Just as if something were lifting me, I felt my spirit overflow and fill my flesh. Soon after the turning-post I left Tisander behind me; and the Cretan I overtook halfway down. I glanced at his face; he looked surprised. We ran level for a while; but little by little he fell back out of my sight.

The crowd had pressed right up to the finishing-post, and I ran into the midst of it. It parted for me at first, then closed round. My head was ringing, and the noise made it spin; a great spear seemed to transfix my breast, so that I clutched at it with both my hands. While myrtle-sprays fell on my shoulders and struck me in the face, I fought for my next breath against the thrust of the spear. Then there was an arm stretched out to make space for me, and shelter me from the press. I leaned back against Lysis’ shoulder, and the weight of the spear grew less. In a little while I could distinguish the people about me and even speak to them. To Lysis I had not spoken, nor he to me. I turned round for him to tie the ribbons on, and we looked at each other. His white mantle, which he had put on clean that morning for the sacrifice to Poseidon, was smothered all over the front with oil and dust. He looked so filthy that I laughed; but he said softly in my ear that he would put it away and keep it as it was. I thought, “I could die now, for surely the gods can have no greater joy for me”; and then I said in my heart, “Olympia next.”

When the Athenian delegates had congratulated me, Lysis took me away to get clean and to rest before watching the stade-race. He got me some cooled wine and water, and some honey-cakes, knowing I was always mad for sweet things after a race; and we lay down under a pine-tree just above the Stadium. One or two friends came up with ribbons they had bought for me, and tied them on, and stayed to chat. Somebody said, “Young Tisander was lucky at the end, to get the second place.”—“Tisander?” I said. “He came in third; the Cretan was second.” Lysis was laughing, “Well, no one sees less of a race than the winner.” The other man said, “You took the heart out of the Cretan when you passed him; there was no fight left in him after that.”—“I thought he was better-winded than Tisander,” I said. “Careful,” said Lysis, taking hold of the wine-jar; “you nearly spilt it; your hand’s not steady yet.”

I bent and scooped a little pit in the pine-needles, to hold the jar. The ribbons they had tied round my head fell about my face, but I did not push them aside. I remembered seeing the Cretan sprint ahead, and thinking, “There goes victory, the real victory of the gods.” He had looked so proud on the practice-track, as sure of himself as a man could be; and he had come so late. Yet after all, he had been at Isthmia overnight. I recalled the surprise in his face when I drew level. I had supposed he was astonished to find anyone there his match.

I find in the archives that the men’s long-race was won by someone from Rhodes, and the stade by a Theban. All I remember of these events is that I shouted loudly; I would not have it said that I cared for no victory but my own.

Next day were the boxing and hurling events; then came the day of the wrestling. The weather held bright and clear. Quite early the Athenians had a victory; for young Plato won the contest for boys. He fought some very good, scientific bouts, using his head as well as his broad shoulders, and was well cheered. Lysis praised him highly. I could see how this pleased the boy; when his eyes lit up under their heavy brows, he had even a kind of beauty. Before he went, he wished Lysis luck in his own event. “Lysis,” I said after, “how well do you and this Aristokles know each other? You smiled so seriously into each other’s eyes, that I’m still wondering whether to be jealous.”—“Don’t be a fool,” he said laughing. “You know that’s always his way; what about yourself?” Yet I had really felt, for a moment, that they were sharing some thought unknown to me.

In the Frontier Guard the boys had a phrase, “As cool as Lysis.” He played up to his legend, as any good officer will. He could deceive even me; but not every time. I always knew he was on edge when he was very still. The herald called the pankratiasts; he made our sign to me; I watched him out of sight into the dressing-room, and waited till the heats were drawn. He was in the third bout, matched against Autolykos. “If he wins that,” I thought, “then nothing can keep the crown from him.” I jumped up from my seat, for I had made my plan; and I ran up the sacred steps to the great temple. There I took from my bosom a gift I had bought for the god at one of the shops outside. It was a little horse made of fine bronze, with mane and tail silvered, and a bridle of gold. I bought incense, and went up to the altar. Always I am awed in the presence of Poseidon, so old a god, who holds the earthquake and the sea-storm in his hand. But horses are dear to him, and this was the best one I could find. I gave it to the priest for him, and saw it offered, and made my prayer.

Although they hold the contests just before the temple, when I got back to my place the first bout was over, and the athletes had gone in. The crowd seemed excited by the fight, and I was sorry to have missed it, in case Lysis should meet the winner later on. The second bout, however, was not very remarkable; a Mantinean won it, a lumbering fellow, who got a body-hold that Lysis would never have given him time for. Then the herald called, “Autolykos son of Lykon; Lysis son of Demokrates; both of Athens.”

It was Autolykos after all who held my eye. “What has become of his beauty?” I thought. When he was dressed one looked at his pleasant face, and did not see how much his body had coarsened. No sculptor would have looked at him for a model now. The crowd cheered them in; one could tell, as one commonly can, that they were cheering Autolykos for what they had heard of him, and Lysis for what they saw. He stood like a bronze of Polykleitos; you could not fault him anywhere; whereas Autolykos looked burly, like a village strong-man who lifts a bull-calf for a bet. But I was not fool enough to underrate him. He was still very fast for all his bulk, and knew every trick in the game. While they were exchanging the standing buffets, I could see the weight his had behind them; and I prayed that when they went down Lysis would fall on top.

Yet for all my fears, within the time it takes to run five stades I was cheering myself hoarse with joy. I fought my way through the crowd and ran to Lysis. He was not very much the worse for the bout. He had got a thick ear, and some bruises, and he was rubbing his left wrist where Autolykos had got a grip and nearly broken it, trying to twist him round for a flying mare. But on the whole he was in very good shape. I walked in with him and we went to see Autolykos, whom Lysis had had to help to his feet after the decision. He had torn one of the big muscles in his back, and it was that which had finished him. He was in a good deal of pain, and it was years since he had yielded the crown to anyone; but he took Lysis’ hand and congratulated him on a good win, like the gentleman he always was. “I deserve this,” he said, “for listening to too much advice in training. You had more sense, Lysis. Bring in the parsley, and good luck to you.”

I had lost my place; but Plato made room for me by heaving everyone sideways. He was the strongest boy at his age that I remember. During the other heats I saw no one who seemed to me the match of Autolykos. Then it was time for the semi-finals. There were eight contestants, so no one had drawn a bye. The herald called out, “Lysis son of Demokrates, of Athens. Sostratos son of Eupolos, of Argos.” The name was unknown to me. I guessed this must be the winner of the first bout, which I had missed while in the temple. Then they came out, and I saw the man.

At first I could not trust my eyes; the more because I recognised him. Two or three times, indeed, I had seen this monstrous creature, going about the fair. I had not doubted he was some travelling montebank, whose act consisted of raising boulders or bending iron bars; so I had been struck by his air of absurd conceit. Once Lysis had been beside me, and I pointed out the man, laughing, and saying, “What a hideous fellow! What can he be, and who does he think he is?” Lysis had answered, “He’s no beauty, is he?” and spoken of something else. Now here he stood, a mountain of gross flesh, great muscles like twisted oakwood gnarling his body and arms; a neck like a bull’s; his legs, though they were thick and knotty, seemed bowed by the weight of his ungainly trunk. Why do I go on describing a sight with which everyone has grown familiar? Today even at Olympia they appear without shame, and afterwards some sculptor has to turn out a portrait that people can see in the sacred Altis without disgust.

It must seem to you now that we were simple in those days. For at the sight of a man too heavy to leap or run, who would fall dead if he had to make a forced march in armour, and whom no horse could carry, we thought we were looking at someone worse than a slave, since he had chosen his own condition. We waited to see him run out of the company of free Hellenes, and cheered Lysis on to do it. He stood by this ugly hulk like the image of victory: hero against monster, Theseus with the Beast.

Then the fight began; the voices altered; and I woke from my dream.

I had not seen Sostratos’ first bout; but the crowd had, and got used sooner than I did to seeing Lysis duck away from a buffet. No one booed him, and one or two people cheered. When he landed one himself they went wild. But you could see it was like punching a rock. The man’s great arms were like flying boulders; one caught Lysis’ cheek, only glancing, and at once the blood began to flow. And now, as if the news had been brought to me for the first time, I thought, “This creature too is a pankratiast.”

Lysis was the first to close. He grabbed Sostratos’ arm as it was striking, and the hand grew limp in his strong grip. I knew what came next; a quick twist and then the heave, a cross-buttock. I saw him begin it; and could tell the very moment when he knew he could not get this ton of flesh high enough for a throw. Then Sostratos reached for a neckhold; if Lysis had not been quick as a cat, he would never have got away. The crowd cheered him for escaping, as if he had scored. By now he had measured the enemy’s speed, and he began to take those risks that the faster man can take with the slower; except that here the risks were doubled. He ran in head first; I heard the monster grunt; before he could seize Lysis’ head he had slid free and got a body-hold. Then he hooked his leg behind Sostratos’ knee, and they went over together. The thud was like a block of stone falling.

The crowd cheered. But I saw that as they fell Sostratos had rolled over on Lysis’ arm. He lay like a man trapped by a landslide. Sostratos was starting to come over on him; but Lysis got a knee up in time. He was still pinned by the arm. I got to my feet and shouted for him. I tried to make it carry, though I don’t suppose he could hear me above the noise. He thrust his flat hand into Sostratos’ great pig-face and pushed the head back and got his arm free. It was scraped and bloody, but he could still use it. He twisted round like a flash; they struggled together on the ground, hitting and grappling. Always it was Lysis who had the speed. But speed in the pankration is only a man’s defence. It is strength that wins.

Someone was punching me on the knee. I found it was Eumastas the Spartan, attracting my notice. He never wasted words. When I glanced round he said, “Is the man your lover?”—“Which one?” I asked; I had no time for him just then. He said, “The man.” I nodded, without turning again. I could feel him watching me; waiting to approve of me, if I could see Lysis mauled with a wooden face. I could have killed him where he sat.

Just then Lysis came uppermost for a moment. His hair was matted with dusty blood; blood covered his face like a mask, and streaked his body. He rose, then seemed to fall backward, and the crowd groaned. But as Sostratos rushed upon him, he threw up his foot and swung the man right over so that he crashed to the earth instead. The noise was so great I could hardly hear myself cheer. But there was something new in it. I had not noticed it at first, but it was growing. In those days, the pankration was a contest for fighting men. I suppose there had always been a few slave-minded ones who had got another sort of pleasure from it; but they had known enough to keep it to themselves. Now, like ghosts who get strength from drinking blood, they came out into the light and one heard their voice.

As Sostratos went over him, Lysis had gripped his ankle and held on. He was twisting the foot, trying to make Sostratos give in. Sostratos managed at last to kick him off with the other foot, and I saw the great mass coming down on him again. But Lysis slipped from under, grabbing an arm as he went; next moment he was on Sostratos’ back, legs locked round his middle, and as fine a stranglehold on his neck as I ever saw. Sostratos’ free arm was all he had to hold up on; Lysis had pinned the other. All around people were on their feet; young Plato, whose very existence I had forgotten, was digging his fingers into my arm. The fight looked as good as won.

Then I saw Sostratos begin to rise. With the weight of a strong man on his back, and half-throttled, still the huge creature heaved up on his knees. I heard the blood-bay from the faces I had not seen. “Let go, Lysis!” I shouted. “Let go!” But I suppose his strength was nearly done, and he knew it was now or never. He set his teeth and squeezed his arm round Sostratos’ bull-throat. And Sostratos up-reared backward, and fell on him like a tree. There was a great silence; then the blood-voices cheered.

All I could see of Lysis at first was his arm and hand. It lay, palm up, in the dust; then I saw it feel for a purchase. Sostratos turned over. I saw for the first time in his wide face his little eyes; not the eyes of a boar in rage, but cold, like a usurer’s. Lysis began to struggle up on his arm. I waited to see him lift his hand to the umpire. It may be he was too angry to give in; but I think he was only too dazed to know where he was. At all events, Sostratos hurled him back on the ground so that you could hear the blow of his head meeting it. Even after that I thought I saw him move; but the umpire brought down his forked rod, and stopped the fight.

I jumped to my feet. Plato was holding me by the arm, saying something; I shook the boy off and climbed through the crowd, while people I had trodden on shouted and cursed me. I ran to the dressing-room, and got there while they were still carrying him in. They took him through to a little room at the back, where there was a pallet on the floor, and a water-tap shaped like a lion’s mouth, running into a basin. Outside, the next bout had begun. I could hear the cheering.

The man in charge said to me, “Are you a friend of his?”—“Yes,” I said. “Is he dead?” I could not see life or breath in him. “No; he is stunned, and I daresay some of his ribs are broken. But he may die. Is his father here?”—“We’re Athenians,” I said. “Are you a doctor? Tell me what to do.”—“Nothing,” said the man, “but keep him quiet if he wakes with his wits astray. Give him water if he asks for it, but no wine.” Then he looked up from Lysis and seemed to see me for the first time, and said, “He fought a fine pankration; but I wonder what made him enter, at his weight.” He went then to watch the fight outside, and we were left alone.

He was breathing, but very slowly, and so lightly that I could hardly hear. One side of his face was bruised all over; his nose had been bleeding and his scalp was cut. His forehead was split over the eyebrow; I could see he would never lose the scar. I drew down the old blanket they had thrown over him; his body was so battered and grimed that I could not tell what might be broken. I took a towel that was hanging on the wall, and washed from him the black blood, the oil and dust, as far as I could reach; I was afraid to turn him over. I talked to him, and called his name aloud; but he did not stir. Then I saw I ought not to have washed him; for the water was cold from the spring, and the place was made of stone; his flesh under my hands grew as cold as marble, and his mouth looked blue. I thought he would die as I watched him. Someone’s clothes were lying in a corner; I heaped those on him, but he still felt cold, so I added my own, and came in beside him.

As I held him, trying to put some life in him, and cold myself with fear, I thought of the long patrols with the Guard, in the winter mountains, when even the wolves in their caves had been warm together, and he had lain alone. “You gave me courage in battle,” I thought; “when I was unhorsed, you saved me and took a wound. After so much toil, who would not have looked for honey from the rock? Yet you offered it to heaven; there was only blood for you, and the salt-tasting sea. What is justice, if the gods are not just? They have taken your crown away from you, and set it on a beast.”

His mouth felt cold to mine; he neither opened his eyes, nor spoke, nor moved. I said in my heart, “Too late I am here within your cloak, I who never of my own will would have denied you anything. Time and death and change are unforgiving, and love lost in the time of youth never returns again.”

Someone was coming, so I got up. The light was darkened in the doorway. I saw that what filled it was Sostratos. He said, “How is he?” It was strange to hear human speech coming out of him, instead of a boar’s grunt. I was glad to see Lysis’ marks on him. “He is alive,” I said. The man came near, stared, and went away. I lay down with Lysis again. Bitterness filled my heart. I remembered his statue at school, done before I knew him; and thought how from a boy he had run and jumped, thrown the disk and javelin, swum and wrestled, and ridden on manoeuvre; how I myself had toiled, swinging the pick and throwing the weight, to balance my shoulders with my legs; how young Plato had run in armour; how all of us had sacrificed in the gymnasium to Apollo, the lord of measure and of harmony. This man had sold grace and swiftness, and the honour of a soldier in the field, not caring at all to be beautiful in the eyes of the gods, but only caring to be crowned. And yet to him the victory had been given.

The fight was over outside. The crowd was chattering, and someone was playing a double flute. Lysis moved, and groaned. He felt a little warmer. Presently he tried to sit up, and was sick. As I finished cleaning up, the doctor came in again. He pinched Lysis’ arm, and seeing him flinch a little said, “Good. But keep him still, for men who have been stunned sometimes die if they exert themselves soon after.” When he had gone, Lysis started to toss about, and to talk nonsense. He thought he was on a battlefield with a spear in his side, and ordered me not to touch it, but to fetch Alexias, who would draw it out. I was at my wit’s end, remembering the doctor’s words. While I was trying to lay him down, Sostratos came in again, and asked how he was. I answered shortly, but thought a little better of the man for his concern.

Soon afterwards the shouting began again outside; the final was on. It seemed hardly to have begun before it was over. I thought Sostratos must have finished his antagonist with a buffet; what had really happened was that this man, having seen Lysis carried off, had gone down on the ground almost at once, and given the bout away. I heard the herald announce the victor. The cheers were rather half-hearted; there had been neither a good fight nor any blood, so no one was pleased.

The crowd dispersed; outside in the dressing-room people chatted and laughed. Presently the man whose clothes I had put on Lysis came in to get them. It was getting cooler, but I dared not leave him to look for more, and hoped someone would come in. At last voices approached; Sostratos stood in the doorway, speaking to someone over his shoulder. The ribbons tied on him made him look like a bull going to sacrifice. As he paused, I heard the man who had been in for his clothes say, “Come, be easy, Sostratos; I went in just now and heard him talking. He will do till after the Games, and it makes no difference then.” I had forgotten that, except in Sparta, to kill in the pankration disqualifies the victor.

I sat looking at Lysis; then I heard someone behind me. Sostratos had come in after all. He peered into Lysis’ face, then asked me again how he was. I did not trust myself to answer. He began looking at me instead; suddenly he assumed fine manners, which sat on him like a violent-wreath upon a swine. “Why so downcast, beautiful youth? Fortune rules the Games. Will you spend the time of your triumph moping here, like one in prison? Come away and meet some of the other winners. It is time you and I knew each other better.”

There is a certain gesture of refusal which everyone knows but no gentleman employs. I wished, however, to be explicit. “You have got your crown,” I said to him. “Go and play with that.”

As he was going, I heard Lysis say, “Alexias.” He sounded angry with me. I don’t know how much he had understood. I bent down and said, “Here I am; what is it?” But his eyes grew dull again. He looked very weary. The cold of evening came on; but I was afraid that if I went for more clothes he would try to stand. It would soon be dark. Tears stirred in me like sickness; but I dared not weep, lest he should hear.

By now the dressing-room outside had emptied; a footstep sounded loud in it. Young Plato came in quietly, and stood looking down. While we were watching the fight he had been wearing his ribbons; but they were gone now. I said, “Can you find me a cloak, Plato? Lysis is cold.”—“You look cold yourself,” he said. After a short time he came back with two shepherds’ blankets; I laid them over Lysis, and put my clothes on. Plato watched in silence; then he said, “They have given the crown to Sostratos.”—“Yes?” said I. “And the war’s over in Troy; what else is new?”—“This is new to me. What does Sostratos think he has got? What good? What pleasure? What did he want?”—“I don’t know, Plato. You might as well ask why the gods allow it.”—“The gods?” he said; raising his heavy brows and drawing them down again, just as he does today. “What use would it be for the gods to do anything, if it’s not enough that they are? Have you had any supper? I brought you something to eat.” I felt warmer for the food. When he had gone, I saw that both the blankets were new; I think he must have bought them himself in the market.

At nightfall, they carried Lysis to the precinct of Asklepios; next day he could speak sensibly and take food, though because of his broken ribs it hurt him to move. He did not talk much, and I let him rest. I wanted to stay with him, but he said I must watch the chariot-races; it seemed to fret him, so I went. They were held with great splendour, to the glory of horse-loving Poseidon, who had not been moved by my horse of bronze. I understood that this was the great day of the Games, which every Corinthian came to see, and that no one was thinking about the long-race or the pankration.

When I got back, Lysis seemed stronger. He said he was going to get up next day, to see me crowned. This was too much for me, and I told him the story of the long-race. He listened quietly, frowning a little, rather in thought than in anger or surprise. “Don’t brood on it,” he said. “You ran a fine race; and very likely no one was bribed at all. Any fool could have picked you out as the fastest, and would have made sure of you before throwing money away on the others. I was watching the Cretan, and he looked spent to me.”—“Perhaps. But now I shall never know it.”—“Why think of it then? We must take the world as we find it, Alexias.” Then he said again, “But you ran a fine race. You had them all in your hand.”

Next morning was the procession to the temple; and the winners were crowned before Poseidon. There was a great deal of music and ceremony, much more than at home. The priests of the precinct would not let Lysis get up. I went back to him afterwards, and he made me show him my crown. I had had enough of their parsley garnishing; but when I threw it in a corner he told me sharply not to play the fool, but to go out and celebrate in Corinth with the others.

It was evening. The sun was shining on the mountain with its wreath of walls. He must have known that if he waited till after the Games, he would never climb it. “What should I do in Corinth?” I said. But he became impatient, and then angry, and said I should be talked of if I stayed away. Then I knew what troubled him, that they might say he had kept me back from the revels out of envy; so I said I would go.

There is a great deal of coloured marble in Corinth, and much bronze, some of it gilded; they burn perfume in the shop doorways; the tavern where we drank had a talking bird in a cage outside, that whistled and said “Come in.” I was with the runners and the boxers; then some of the wrestlers arrived. I got drunk as quickly as I could; and for a little while Corinth looked quite gay to me. We walked through the streets singing, and bought garlands to wear; then we went into a bath-house, but it turned out to be a respectable one, and we were asked to leave. Someone had got pushed in the plunge-bath, and walked dripping water; one or two flute-girls, who had been picked up on the way, played us along. We came to a tall porch of slender columns, ornamented with doves and garlands; someone said, “Here’s where we’re going, to the Girls of Aphrodite. Come on.” When I would not go in, he tried to drag me, and I struck him in the face. Then someone else, whom the wine had made genial, stopped the fight, and said we would all go to Kallisto’s house instead. It had a fountain in the courtyard, of a girl holding her breast, which spouted water. Kallisto made us welcome, and a boy and girl acted the mime of Dionysos and Ariadne, while we drank more wine. A little later five or six of the wrestlers calling for music jumped up to dance the kordax, and started throwing off their clothes. They called to me to join them, but I was past dancing even if I would. One of the girls lay down with me, and presently took me away. When I woke she made a great tale of my performance, as they do with young men to make them pay well. I can’t even recall whether I did anything or not.

Two days later we went back to Athens. Lysis could not sit a horse, his bones not having knit, and had to be carried to the ship on a litter. The passage was rough, and he was in pain all the way. Agios the pilot came to see us, and said it was Chios the Spartan ships were making for; he had employed his time in Corinth better than I. So we made haste back, to bring this news to the City.

That is all I have to relate of the Isthmian festival, the first of the ninety-second Olympiad. Since Theseus founded the Games to honour his father Poseidon, they had been held every second year in the same place, before the same god; and if you ask me why this year’s Games should have brought forth something different from those before them, I cannot tell.