A Victor of Salamis

by William Stearns Davis

  CHAPTER IV

  THE PENTATHLON

  In a tent at the lower end of the long stadium stood Glaucon awaiting thefinal summons to his ordeal. His friends had just cried farewell for thelast time: Cimon had kissed him; Themistocles had gripped his hand;Democrates had called "Zeus prosper you!" Simonides had vowed that he wasalready hunting for the metres of a triumphal ode. The roar from withouttold how the stadium was filled with its chattering thousands. Theathlete's trainers were bestowing their last officious advice.

  "The Spartan will surely win the quoit-throw. Do not be troubled. Ineverything else you can crush him."

  "Beware of Moerocles of Mantinea. He's a knavish fellow; his backers arerecalling their bets. But he hopes to win on a trick; beware, lest he tripyou in the foot-race."

  "Aim low when you hurl the javelin. Your dart always rises."

  Glaucon received this and much more admonition with his customary smile.There was no flush on the forehead, no flutter of the heart. A few hourslater he would be crowned with all the glory which victory in the greatgames could throw about a Hellene, or be buried in the disgrace to whichhis ungenerous people consigned the vanquished. But, in the words of hisday, "he knew himself" and his own powers. From the day he quitted boyhoodhe had never met the giant he could not master; the Hermes he could notoutrun. He anticipated victory as a matter of course, even victory wrestedfrom Lycon, and his thoughts seemed wandering far from the tawny trackwhere he must face his foes.

  "Athens,--my father,--my wife! I will win glory for them all!" was the driftof his revery.

  The younger rubber grunted under breath at his athlete's vacant eye, butPytheas, the older of the pair, whispered confidently that "when he hadknown Master Glaucon longer, he would know that victories came his way,just by reaching out his hands."

  "Athena grant it," muttered the other. "I've got my half mina staked onhim, too." Then from the tents at either side began the ominous call ofthe heralds:--

  "Amyntas of Thebes, come you forth."

  "Ctesias of Epidaurus, come you forth."

  "Lycon of Sparta, come you forth."

  Glaucon held out his hands. Each trainer seized one.

  "Wish me joy and honour, good friends!" cried the athlete.

  "Poseidon and Athena aid you!" And Pytheas's honest voice was husky. Thiswas the greatest ordeal of his favourite pupil, and the trainer's soulwould go with him into the combat.

  "Glaucon of Athens, come you forth."

  The curtains of the tent swept aside. An intense sunlight sprang to meetthe Athenian. He passed into the arena clad only in his coat of glisteringoil. Scolus of Thasos and Moerocles of Mantinea joined the other fourathletes; then, escorted each by a herald swinging his myrtle wand, thesix went down the stadium to the stand of the judges.

  Before the fierce light of a morning in Hellas beating down on him,Glaucon the Alcmaeonid was for an instant blinded, and walked on passively,following his guide. Then, as from a dissolving mist, the huge stadiumbegan to reveal itself: line above line, thousand above thousand ofbright-robed spectators, a sea of faces, tossing arms, waving garments. Athunderous shout rose as the athletes came to view,--jangling, incoherent;each city cheered its champion and tried to cry down all the rest:applause, advice, derision. Glaucon heard the derisive hootings, "prettygirl," "pretty pullet," from the serried host of the Laconians along theleft side of the stadium; but an answering salvo, "Dog of Cerberus!"bawled by the Athenian crowds opposite, and winged at Lycon, returned thetaunts with usury. As the champions approached the judges' stand aprocession of full twenty pipers, attended by as many fair boys in flowingwhite, marched from the farther end of the stadium to meet them. The boysbore cymbals and tambours; the pipers struck up a brisk marching note inthe rugged Dorian mode. The boys' lithe bodies swayed in enchantingrhythm. The roaring multitude quieted, admiring their grace. The championsand the pipers thus came to the pulpit in the midst of the long arena. Thepresident of the judges, a handsome Corinthian in purple and a goldenfillet, swept his ivory wand from right to left. The marching note ceased.The whole company leaped as one man to its feet. The pipes, the cymbalswere drowned, whilst twenty thousand voices--Doric, Boeotian, Attic--chorusedtogether the hymn which all Greece knew: the hymn to Poseidon of theIsthmus, august guardian of the games.

  Louder it grew; the multitude found one voice, as if it would cry, "We areHellenes all; though of many a city, the same fatherland, the same gods,the same hope against the Barbarian."

  "Praise we Poseidon the mighty, the monarch, Shaker of earth and the harvestless sea; King of wide AEgae and Helicon gladsome Twain are the honours high Zeus sheds on thee! Thine to be lord of the mettlesome chargers, Thine to be lord of swift ships as they wing! Guard thou and guide us, dread prince of the billows, Safe to their homeland, thy suppliants bring; Faring by land or by clamorous waters Be thou their way-god to shield, to defend, Then shall the smoke of a thousand glad altars, To thee in reverent gladness ascend!"

  Thus in part. And in the hush thereafter the president poured a libationfrom a golden cup, praying, as the wine fell on the brazier beside him, tothe "Earth Shaker," seeking his blessing upon the contestants, themultitude, and upon broad Hellas. Next the master-herald announced thatnow, on the third day of the games, came the final and most honouredcontest: the pentathlon, the fivefold struggle, with the crown to him whoconquered thrice. He proclaimed the names of the six rivals, their cities,their ancestry, and how they had complied with the required training. Thepresident took up his tale, and turning to the champions, urged them tostrive their best, for the eyes of all Hellas were on them. But he warnedany man with blood-guiltiness upon his soul not to anger the gods bycontinuing in the games.

  "But since," the brief speech concluded, "these men have chosen tocontend, and have made oath that they are purified or innocent, let themjoin, and Poseidon shed fair glory upon the best!"

  More shouting; the pipers paraded the arena, blowing shriller than ever.Some of the athletes shifted uneasily. Scolus the Thasian--youngest of thesix--was pale, and cast nervous glances at the towering bulk of Lycon. TheSpartan gave him no heed, but threw a loud whisper at Glaucon, who stoodsilently beside him:--

  "By Castor, son of Conon, you are extremely handsome. If fine looks wonthe battle, I might grow afraid."

  The Athenian, whose roving eye had just caught Cimon and Democrates in theaudience, seemed never to hear him.

  "And you are passing stalwart. Still, be advised. I wouldn't harm you, sodrop out early."

  Still no answer from Glaucon, whose clear eye seemed now to be wanderingover the bare hills of Megara beyond.

  "No answer?" persisted the giant. "_Eu!_ don't complain that you've lackedwarning, when you sit to-night in Charon's ferry-boat."

  The least shadow of a smile flitted across the Athenian's face; there wasa slight deepening of the light in his eye. He turned his head a bittoward Lycon:--

  "The games are not ended, dear Spartan," he observed quietly.

  The giant scowled. "I don't like you silent, smiling men! You're warned.I'll do my worst--"

  "Let the leaping begin!" rang the voice of the president,--a call thatchanged all the uproar to a silence in which one might hear the windmoving in the firs outside, while every athlete felt his muscles tighten.

  The heralds ran down the soft sands to a narrow mound of hardened earth,and beckoned to the athletes to follow. In the hands of each contestantwere set a pair of bronze dumb-bells. The six were arrayed upon the moundwith a clear reach of sand before. The master-herald proclaimed the orderof the leaping: that each contestant should spring twice, and he whoseleaps were the poorest should drop from the other contests.

  Glaucon stood, his golden head thrown back, his eyes wandering idly towardhis friends in the stadium. He could see Cimon restless on his seat, andSimonides holding his cloak and doubtless muttering wise counsel. Thechampion was as calm as his friends were nervous. The sta
dium had grownoppressively still; then broke into along "ah!" Twenty thousand sprang uptogether as Scolus the Thasian leaped. His partisans cheered, while herose from a sand-cloud; but ceased quickly. His leap had been poor. Aherald with a pick marked a line where he had landed. The pipers began arollicking catch to which the athletes involuntarily kept time with theirdumb-bells.

  Glaucon leaped second. Even the hostile Laconians shouted with pleasure atsight of his beautiful body poised, then flung out upon the sands farbeyond the Thasian. He rose, shook off the dust, and returned to themound, with a graceful gesture to the cheer that greeted him; but wiseheads knew the contest was just beginning.

  Ctesias and Amyntas leaped beyond the Thasian's mark, short of theAthenian's. Lycon was fifth. His admirers' hopes were high. He did notblast them. Huge was his bulk, yet his strength matched it. A cloud ofdust hid him from view. When it settled, every Laconian was roaring withdelight. He had passed beyond Glaucon. Moerocles of Mantinea sprang lastand badly. The second round was almost as the first; although Glauconslightly surpassed his former effort. Lycon did as well as before. Theothers hardly bettered their early trial. It was long before the Laconiansgrew quiet enough to listen to the call of the herald.

  "Lycon of Sparta wins the leaping. Glaucon of Athens is second. Scolus ofThasos leaps the shortest and drops from the pentathlon."

  Again cheers and clamour. The inexperienced Thasian marched disconsolatelyto his tent, pursued by ungenerous jeers.

  "The quoit-hurling follows," once more the herald; "each contestant throwsthree quoits. He who throws poorest drops from the games."

  Cimon had risen now. In a momentary lull he trumpeted through his handsacross the arena.

  "Wake, Glaucon; quit your golden thoughts of Eleusis; Lycon is filchingthe crown."

  Themistocles, seated near Cimon's side, was staring hard, elbows on kneesand head on hands. Democrates, next him, was gazing at Glaucon, as if theathlete were made of gold; but the object of their fears and hopes gaveback neither word nor sign.

  The attendants were arraying the five remaining champions at the foot of alittle rise in the sand, near the judges' pulpit. To each was brought abronze quoit, the discus. The pipers resumed their medley. The secondcontest was begun.

  First, Amyntas of Thebes. He took his stand, measured the distance withhis eye, then with a run flew up the rising, and at its summit his bodybent double, while the heavy quoit flew away. A noble cast! and twiceexcelled. For a moment every Theban in the stadium was transported.Strangers sitting together fell on one another's necks in sheer joy. Butthe rapture ended quickly. Lycon flung second. His vast strength could nowtell to the uttermost. He was proud to display it. Thrice he hurled.Thrice his discus sped out as far as ever man had seen a quoit fly inHellas. Not even Glaucon's best wishers were disappointed when he failedto come within three cubits of the Spartan. Ctesias and Moerocles realizedtheir task was hopeless, and strove half heartedly. The friends of thehuge Laconian were almost beside themselves with joy; while the heraldcalled desperately that:--

  "Lycon of Sparta wins with the discus. Glaucon of Athens is second.Ctesias of Epidaurus throws poorest and drops from the games."

  "Wake, Glaucon!" trumpeted Cimon, again his white face shining out amidthe thousands of gazers now. "Wake, or Lycon wins again and all is lost!"

  Glaucon was almost beyond earshot; to the frantic entreaty he answered byno sign. As he and the Spartan stood once more together, the giant leeredon him civilly:--

  "You grow wise, Athenian. It's honour enough and to spare to be second,with Lycon first. _Eu!_--and here's the last contest."

  "I say again, good friend,"--there was a slight closing of the Athenian'slips, and deepening in his eyes,--"the pentathlon is not ended."

  "The harpies eat you, then, if you get too bold! The herald is calling forthe javelin-casting. Come,--it's time to make an end."

  But in the deep hush that spread again over the thousands Glaucon turnedtoward the only faces that he saw out of the innumerable host:Themistocles, Democrates, Simonides, Cimon. They beheld him raise his armand lift his glorious head yet higher. Glaucon in turn saw Cimon sink intohis seat. "He wakes!" was the appeased mutter passing from the son ofMiltiades and running along every tier of Athenians. And silence deeperthan ever held the stadium; for now, with Lycon victor twice, the literalturning of a finger in the next event might win or lose the parsley crown.

  The Spartan came first. The heralds had set a small scarlet shield at thelower end of the course. Lycon poised his light javelin thrice, and thricethe slim dart sped through the leathern thong on his fingers. But not forglory. Perchance this combat was too delicate an art for his ungainlyhands. Twice the missile lodged in the rim of the shield; once it sprangbeyond upon the sand. Moerocles, who followed, surpassed him. Amyntas washardly worse. Glaucon came last, and won his victory with a dexterousgrace that made all but the hottest Laconian swell the "_Io! paian!_" ofapplause. His second cast had been into the centre of the target. Histhird had splintered his second javelin as it hung quivering.

  "Glaucon of Athens wins the javelin-casting. Moerocles of Mantinea issecond. Amyntas of Thebes is poorest and drops from the games." But whoheard the herald now?

  By this time all save the few Mantineans who vainly clung to theirchampion, and the Laconians themselves, had begun to pin their hopes onthe beautiful son of Conon. There was a steely glint in the Spartanathlete's eye that made the president of the games beckon to themaster-herald.

  "Lycon is dangerous. See that he does not do Glaucon a mischief, ortransgress the rules."

  "I can, till they come to the wrestling."

  "In that the god must aid the Athenian. But now let us have thefoot-race."

  In the little respite following the trainers entered and rubbed down thethree remaining contestants with oil until their bodies shone again liketinted ivory. Then the heralds conducted the trio to the southern endfarthest from the tents. The two junior presidents left their pulpit andtook post at either end of a line marked on the sand. Each held the end ofa taut rope. The contestants drew lots from an urn for the place nearestthe lower turning goal,--no trifling advantage. A favouring god gaveMoerocles the first; Lycon was second; Glaucon only third. As the threecrouched before the rope with hands dug into the sand, waiting the fatefulsignal, Glaucon was conscious that a strange blond man of noble mien andOriental dress was sitting close by the starting line and watching himintently.

  It was one of those moments of strain, when even trifles can turn theoverwrought attention. Glaucon knew that the stranger was looking from himto Lycon, from Lycon back to himself, measuring each with shrewd eye. Thenthe gaze settled on the Athenian. The Oriental called to him:--

  "Swift, godlike runner, swift;"--they were so close they could catch theEastern accent--"the Most High give you His wings!"

  Glaucon saw Lycon turn on the shouter with a scowl that was answered by acomposed smile. To the highly strung imagination of the Athenian the wishbecame an omen of good. For some unknown cause the incident of theOriental lad he rescued and the mysterious gift of the bracelet flashedback to him. Why should a stranger of the East cast him fair wishes? Wouldthe riddle ever be revealed?

  A trumpet blast. The Oriental, his wish, all else save the tawny track,flashed from Glaucon's mind. The rope fell. The three shot away as one.

  Over the sand they flew, moving by quick leaps, their shining armsflashing to and fro in fair rhythm. Twice around the stadium led the race,so no one strained at first. For a while the three clung together, untilnear the lower goal the Mantinean heedlessly risked a dash. His footslipped on the sands. He recovered; but like arrows his rivals passed him.At the goal the inevitable happened. Lycon, with the shorter turn, swungquickest. He went up the homeward track ahead, the Athenian an elbow'slength behind. The stadium seemed dissolving in a tumult. Men rose; threwgarments in the air; stretched out their arms; besought the gods; screamedto the runners.

  "Speed, son of Conon, speed!"

  "Glo
ry to Castor; Sparta is prevailing!"

  "Strive, Mantinean,--still a chance!"

  "Win the turn, dear Athenian, the turn, and leave that Cyclops behind!"

  But at the upper turn Lycon still held advantage, and down the other trackwent the twain, even as Odysseus ran behind Ajax, "who trod in Ajax'footsteps ere ever the dust had settled, while on his head fell the breathof him behind." Again at the lower goal the Mantinean was panting wearilyin the rear. Again Lycon led, again rose the tempest of voices. Sixhundred feet away the presidents were stretching the line, where victoryand the plaudits of Hellas waited Lycon of Lacedaemon.

  Then men ceased shouting, and prayed under breath. They saw Glaucon'sshoulders bend lower and his neck strain back, while the sunlight sprangall over his red-gold hair. The stadium leaped to their feet, as theAthenian landed by a bound at his rival's side. Quick as the bound thegreat arm of the Spartan flew out with its knotted fist. A deadly stroke,and shunned by a hair's-breadth; but it was shunned. The senior presidentcalled angrily to the herald; but none heard his words in the rending din.The twain shot up the track elbow to elbow, and into the rope. It fellamid a blinding cloud of dust. All the heralds and presidents ran togetherinto it. Then was a long, agonizing moment, while the stadium roared,shook, and raged, before the dust settled and the master-herald stoodforth beckoning for silence.

  "Glaucon of Athens wins the foot-race. Lycon of Sparta is second. Moeroclesof Mantinea drops from the contest. Glaucon and Lycon, each winning twice,shall wrestle for the final victory."

  And now the stadium grew exceeding still. Men lifted their hands to theirfavourite gods, and made reckless, if silent, vows,--geese, pigs, tripods,even oxen,--if only the deity would strengthen their favourite's arm. Forthe first time attention was centred on the tall "time pointer," by thejudges' stand, and how the short shadow cast by the staff told of the endof the morning. The last wagers were recorded on the tablets by nervousstyluses. The readiest tongues ceased to chatter. Thousands of wistfuleyes turned from the elegant form of the Athenian to the burly form of theSpartan. Every outward chance, so many an anxious heart told itself,favoured the oft-victorious giant; but then,--and here came reason for atrue Hellene,--"the gods could not suffer so fair a man to meet defeat."The noonday sun beat down fiercely. The tense stillness was now and thenbroken by the bawling of a swarthy hawker thrusting himself amid thespectators with cups and a jar of sour wine. There was a long rest. Thetrainers came forward again and dusted the two remaining champions withsand that they might grip fairly. Pytheas looked keenly in his pupil'sface.

  " 'Well begun is half done,' my lad; but the hottest battle is stillbefore," 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'seyes.

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

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

  "Lycon, I warn you: earn the crown only fairly, if you would earn it. Hadthat 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 setthem ten paces asunder and in sight of all the thousands. The heraldsstood, crossing their myrtle wands between. The president rose on hispulpit, 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 boundedback in a twinkling. In that twinkling the combatants leaped into eachother's arms. A short grapple; again a sand cloud; and both were risingfrom the ground. They had fallen together. Heated by conflict, they werelocked again ere the heralds could proclaim a tie. Cimon saw the greatarms of the Spartan twine around the Athenian's chest in fair grapple, buteven 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 theSpartan put forth all his powers. Those nearest watched the veins of theathletes swell and heard their hard muscles crack. The stadium was insuccession hushed and tumultuous. Then, at the third trial, even as Lyconseemed to have won his end, the Athenian smote out with one foot. Thesands were slippery. The huge Laconian lunged forward, and as he lunged,his opponent by a masterly effort tore himself loose. The Spartan fellheavily,--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 wason his forehead. His arms and shoulders were very red. Lycon rose slowly.All could hear his rage and curses. The heralds ordered him to containhimself.

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

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

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

  For an instant they swayed, whilst the Spartan tried again his brutepower. It failed him. Glaucon drew strength from the earth like Antaeus.The hushed stadium could hear the pants of the athletes as they lockedcloser, closer. Strength failing, the Spartan snatched at his enemy'sthroat; but the Athenian had his wrist gripped fast before the clasp couldtighten, and in the melee Glaucon's other hand passed beneath Lycon'sthigh. 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 preciousfor curses. The Spartan flung his ponderous weight downward. A slip in thegliding sand would have ruined the Athenian instantly; but Poseidon orApollo was with him. His feet dug deep, and found footing. Lycon drew backbaffled, though the clutches of their hands were tightening like vices ofsteel. 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 iswearing him down," moaned Pytheas, beside himself with fear, almostrunning to Glaucon's aid.

  The stadium resumed its roaring. A thousand conflicting prayers, hopes,counsels, went forth to the combatants. The gods of Olympus and Hades; alldemigods, heroes, satyrs, were invoked for them. They were besought toconquer in the name of parents, friends, and native land. Athenians andLaconians, 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 wrestledperchance for life and for death. Twice again the Spartan strove with hisweight to crush his opponent down. Twice vainly. He could not close hisgrip around the Athenian's throat. He had looked to see Glaucon sinkexhausted; but his foe still looked on him with steadfast, unweakeningeyes. The president was just bidding the heralds, "Pluck them asunder anddeclare a tie!" when the stadium gave a shrill long shout. Lycon hadturned to his final resource. Reckless of his own hurt, he dashed his ironforehead against the Athenian's, as bull charges bull. Twice and threetimes, and the blood leaped out over Glaucon's fair skin. Again--the
rushof blood was almost blinding. Again--Pytheas screamed with agony--theAthenian's clutch seemed weakening. Again--flesh and blood could not standsuch battering long. If Lycon could endure this, there was only one end tothe pentathlon.

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

  The cry of Glaucon--half prayer, half battle-shout--pealed above thebellowing stadium. Even as he cried it, all saw his form draw upward asmight Prometheus's unchained. They saw the fingers of the Spartan unclasp.They saw his bloody face upturned and torn with helpless agony. They sawhis great form totter, topple, fall. The last dust cloud, and into it themultitude seemed rushing together....

  ... They caught Glaucon just as he fell himself. Themistocles was thefirst to kiss him. Little Simonides wept. Cimon, trying to embrace thevictor, hugged in the confusion a dirty Plataean. Democrates seemed lost inthe whirlpool, and came with greetings later. Perhaps he had stopped towatch 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 hishand and muttered, "Good!" But this was from Leonidas.

  * * * * * * *

  Very late a runner crowned with pink oleanders panted up to the Athenianwatch 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 theheight. From a peak in Salamis another answered. In Eleusis, Hermippus theNoble was running to his daughter. In Peiraeus, the harbour-town, thesailor folk were dancing about the market-place. In Athens, archons,generals, and elders were accompanying Conon to the Acropolis to givethanks to Athena. Conon had forgotten how he had disowned his son. Anotherbeacon glittered from the Acropolis. Another flashed from the lordly crestof Pentelicus, telling the news to all Attica. There was singing in thefishers' boats far out upon the bay. In the goat-herds' huts on darkHymethus the pan-pipes blew right merrily. Athens spent the night inalmost drunken joy. One name was everywhere:--

  "Glaucon the Beautiful who honours us all! Glaucon the Fortunate whom theHigh Gods love!"

  BOOK I

  THE SHADOW OF THE PERSIAN