The Last of the Wine: A Novel

by Mary Renault

  It was he who advised the Spartans that our loan of ships to the Argives was a breach of the truce. So they in turn made a loan. They lent the Syracusans a general. He came without troops, in a fishing-boat, served only by the Helots who carried his baggage and shield; so Nikias despised him, and let him get through.

  After this news we had no more for some time. Xenophon, if one asked after his father, said he was well; he had been brought up in Spartan manners, not to talk of what he felt much. But he was livelier company than any Spartan, and we were still good friends. He was now a pupil of Gorgias, and could be seen among the well-bred youths who listened gravely and spoke in due turn. That he held his tongue about my own studies, I am sure was because he knew I had not Gorgias’ fee. He had stopped making fun of Sokrates, but deplored most of his friends, who, as I was aware, would not have been received in Gryllos’ house. He said as much to me one day on Hymettos, where we had been hunting. We had killed, and taken up our nets, and were eating our breakfast high on the stony upland, seated on a slab of rock round which the grass sparkled with dew. The City lay spread below us, golden in the sun; out beyond Aegina, the hills of Argolis looked blue across the gulf, and behind them stood the high mountains of Lakedaimon. The dogs, who had been given their pickings, were licking their chops and hunting fleas. One speaks easily at such times, and he asked me without any ill-nature how I could spend my time with such people. “Euripides, for instance. Is it true he shows Sokrates all his plays before he sends them in?” I said I had heard so. “Then how can Sokrates pass anything so disrespectful to the gods?”—“Define your terms,” I said. “What is respect for the gods? Supposing Euripides thinks some of the old tales are disrespectful to them?”—“Once you begin deciding for yourself what to believe about the gods, where do you leave off? Besides, he lets down women and makes them cheap.”—“Not at all, he simply makes them of flesh and blood. I should have thought that would please you.” For he had lately begun to take some interest in them.

  He whistled up the dogs, and worked the burrs out of their coats, while they shoved at each other to get near him. They were Kastorian harriers, red with white muzzles; their names, I remember, were Psyche and Augo. While he was searching the ear of the bitch for ticks, he said, “Well, Alexias, a man has to be loyal to his teacher, we all know that. But from the way you go on about Sokrates, one might think he was your lover. If so, I’m sorry for what I’ve said.”

  I saw he was perfectly serious, and only anxious to spare my feelings if such a thing should happen to be true. As I was beginning to understand, this kind of love was foreign ground to him. I may add that he never did, as far as I know, accept a suitor. He had always been impatient for manhood, and perhaps he feared, what is certainly true of inferior lovers, that they would want to keep him a youth as long as they could. In this he was not swayed even by the example of Sparta. Sometimes indeed I asked myself whether he lacked the capacity for loving men at all; but I liked him too well to offend him by such a question.

  For the sake of clearness, I had better mention at this point something concerning myself, that I had begun to attract a certain notice in the City. When I came nowadays into the palaestra, I could not fail to be aware of a general pause, with some manoeuvring and foolishness as various rivals tried to thrust themselves forward and others back. Nothing is more wearisome and ridiculous than to hear a man in the latter half of his life running on about such youthful successes, as if in the meantime he had done nothing worthier of remark. All they generally amount to is this, that he was admired not by a hundred people taking notice for themselves, but by three or four who happened to lead the fashion. This is quite enough to set off a poet or two, to make the vase-painters letter some of their wares with BEAUTIFUL ALEXIAS, and so forth.

  There was small danger of a youth’s head being turned by all this while in the company of Sokrates; whose favourite joke it was that he was the helpless slave of beauty, just as a brave man will laugh after a battle and tell you he stood his ground because there was nowhere to run. No one was allowed to make fools of us with extravagant compliments in his hearing. He would take such people aside and say, “Don’t you see you are singing your own triumph-song before the victory? Moreover, you are making the game wild, and harder to catch; any huntsman would know better.” But this was not the only thing that kept me from getting proud.

  One day I had arrived rather late, to find Sokrates already conversing in the colonnade, when young Theages remarked, “But Sokrates, I don’t think we have met what Lysis said just now. You objected, Lysis … Where is he? He was here a moment ago.”

  It had puzzled me for some time that I never met Lysis now in Sokrates’ company. It seemed to me that since he was not at all the kind of person to have made himself unwelcome, he must have some reason for staying away. These words of Theages stuck in my mind, and I asked him later whether Lysis was often there. “Why, yes,” he said, “nearly as often as you are. You must have missed him by chance.”

  Not long after this, I learned that Sokrates had walked out to the Academy gardens. I made my way out there, and saw him sitting under the sacred olive, by the statue of the hero Akademos. The slope below was all open lawn then, so one had a long view. I saw Lysis at once, and felt, as one can at quite a distance, that he saw me. Just then my path bent round some oleanders; when I came out again, he had gone.

  It is one thing when a man goes off in the palaestra into a crowd full of his friends; it is quite another, when the only new face is one’s own. I had to go on, since they had all seen me; but I did not shine in the debate. Walking home I said to myself, “What is this? Not long ago, Lysis was not ashamed to speak to me before all the knights at the Anakeion. What has made me so repulsive to him? Perhaps someone has slandered me.” For I had naturally made a few enemies, some of them persons I had never set eyes on, whose friends, if they had lost them, I would very gladly have returned. “But no, he is not one to be moved by chatter, it is I myself who offend him. I have not watched my manners as I ought, I have let myself be flattered by attentions not worth considering, so that men of good judgment are avoiding me in disgust.” When next I saw Lysis there before me, I walked off myself, not caring if he noticed it or not. At least I knew enough, I thought, not to let my elders make way for me.

  A few days later came the feast of Olympian Zeus, when they hold the mounted torch-race. I went with Xenophon, whom I had no trouble in persuading to leave the music-contest early; so we got a good place, arriving even before the fig-sellers and the jugglers. The Hippodrome had been garlanded with oak-wreaths and flowers; there were two great flambeaux lit at the starting-line, and one at the turn. It was a clear night, with breeze enough to fan the torches but not to snuff them; the moon came up large and dusky, like a golden shield. The teams were now assembling under the flares. Seeing the naked men on the tall horses, one thought of centaurs gathering by moonlight for the chase. The team-leaders were ready; I heard a voice commanding a horse to be still, and saw Lysis reined at the line, his left hand grasping the bridle, his right with the torch in it held straight up. The trumpet sounded; hoofs drummed on the earth; the torch-flame leaned backward on the air, and the sound of the cheering followed it like smoke. When they rounded the turn, Lysis was leading; as he finished his lap, stretching forward to pass on the torch, the flame streaming from his hand, I saw him clearly, smiling at the next man and cheering him on. Xenophon said afterwards his team had won because they had trained their horses better to get off the mark. I replied that no doubt this was the cause.

  A storeship returning from Sicily brought another letter from my father. My mother called me to read it to her; it said, “The former letter I sent you by the Samian ship, the pilot’s mate should have delivered to you. When this one reaches you the child will have been born. If he is a boy, call him Archagoras as we determined. To my son Alexias, who will be reading you this, my blessing. Let him not neglect to exercise nor to practise horsemanship, and let him f
ind besides a good master-at-arms; I recommend Demeas of Mantinea, and I sanction the cost. In my opinion, the war will not be over as soon as the City supposes.”

  I enrolled therefore for a course in armed combat, on horse and foot. Demeas lent one armour to practise in; my father had not told me to buy a suit, and it was a heavy outlay to make without his sanction. But by the time I was an ephebe, next year’s harvest would be in. Meantime, the heavy drill strengthened my shoulders, and helped to balance them with my legs and loins, which were marked already with the Runner’s Girdle. At about this time, a man took to following me in the palaestra so boldly that I took offence at it, and would not speak to him. He overtook me, however, when I was scraping-down, and turned out not to be a suitor but a statuary, who wanted a model. Feeling I owed him something for my incivility, I let him make some sketches, in spite of the annoyance of people standing to watch. But when he importuned me to come to his workshop, I had to refuse for want of time. I was now working every day with my trainer, for the Panathenaia was coming near; and this was the Great Year, when her new cloak is carried to Athene, and they hold the Games.

  Thrice in my life I had seen the sacred procession; at four, at eight and at twelve years old: the ship-carriage of the Goddess, with the maidens holding out the robe to show the work; the gilt-horned oxen wreathed for sacrifice, the girls with the sacred baskets, the ephebes picked for beauty, and the winners of the Games. Twice I had stood in the street, among the sweating crowds from the country, to see my father ride by with the knights, his purple-bordered cloak taken out from the chest of sweet herbs, his head crowned with myrtle, his horse groomed till it shone like bronze. This year he did not ride. Nor did I watch. For I won the long-race for boys, and marched with the winners.

  More clearly than the race, I remember standing on the starting-stone, toeing the lines, afraid of getting off too soon and being thrashed by the umpires, or too late and losing. It was very hot; for many days Helios had parched the fields without rain. The dust of the track was scorching to the foot; it filled my throat and my nostrils, covered my tongue and burned my lungs; in the last lap I seemed to breathe knives, and to choke, and to be made of lead, and scarcely to move. My ears roared with the shouting and with blood; I could hear my breath sobbing, yet as I toiled more the sound grew less; it was the runner-up I had heard and he was falling behind. And I had passed the mark before I knew it; of a sudden people were catching me in their arms and laughing, unbinding the sweat-rag from my head, wiping my face, and tying on my arm and thigh the ribbons of the victor.

  I felt myself snatched as it were from hand to hand; my eyes dazzled, my body clothed with thick dust seemed to boil with heat; I felt smothered with the pressure of so many; my heart swelled and beat like a drum; I thrust my hands outward, feeling I must breathe or die. An umpire shouted, “Back there, back, make room for the boy.” Then the crowd grew less, and my great-uncle Strymon appeared in it, saying the proper things. My breath came easier, and looking round I saw all the people who used to crowd on me every day at the palaestra, the same faces again. While my eyes had been clouded, and all those hands were about me, I had fancied I know not what, some happiness, drawn by my victory as a moth flies to the torch. But the faces were all the same.

  So I heard my name proclaimed by the herald, and in the Temple of the Maiden I was crowned with the olive crown; and seemed, as one does at such moments, to belong no more to myself but to the City and her gods, and to be clothed with gold. Outside, the sun beat white and scorching on the High City, and dazzled back from the rock, but it was cool in the Temple; we stood in our order, while they sang the Victors’ Hymn. Before me, Autolykos, who once again had won the men’s pankration, stood like marble, modest and calm. So it was over and I came down from the Temple, and saw on the steps Autolykos greeted by his father Lykon; laughing now and returning the embrace. I went home with my uncle Strymon, holding in my hands the oil-vase they had given me, with a picture of the race on one side and the Goddess on the other. The sacred oil I gave to my mother, for you can get nothing so good in the market. She was glad of my victory and had cooked a fine supper for me, tunny in cheesecake. So I called myself happy, and went to bed.

  9

  IF SO FAR I have mentioned none of my suitors by name, you will understand why. Only their numbers had been pleasing to me in some degree, as a mark of success, as if so many trophies had been awarded me for my looks; and even so, the crowns I had won for running had pleased me more, being a thing in which my father had not excelled before me. Yet I was civil to them, even to the most foolish, out of regard for my good name; so that people said I was not spoiled by admiration, which was as I wished.

  I only once broke this rule. Kritias, after I became the fashion, decided to approach me seriously, with an epigram offering to drown himself in my unfathomed eyes, and all the usual procedure. Him I turned my back on without speaking; and, as people were looking, he never came again.

  Charmides had been courting me for some months. It was he indeed whose attentions had first launched me upon success. He was extremely handsome (except that he stood badly, for lack of exercise) and of the highest birth; influential, rich, and generally accomplished. I thought more than once that it would have been convenient if I could have taken to him; for if he had been my accepted suitor, the rest would immediately have retired. You may wonder why this had begun to seem so desirable to me; which brings me to Polymedes.

  Polymedes was even richer than Charmides, but lacked both his breeding and his wit. Charmides, who had many love-affairs and could afford to wait, made himself always graceful and pleasant, thinking that after comparing him with the rest over some time, I would turn to him in the end. But Polymedes may, I suppose, have been in love with me as such people understand it. If you had wanted to typify the kind of lover my father had warned me to despise, you need have looked no further than Polymedes. I felt sure that if I had behaved in the most infamous manner, soliciting gifts from him in return for my favour, or if he had watched me insult in public some honourable old man, he would not only have gone on desiring me, but at my command would have lain down in the dust for me to walk on. At all events, his antics had got beyond a joke. I could scarcely pass a wall near my home without finding “Long life to the beautiful Alexias” flourished all over it. Our sleep was broken by his serenades; for in accordance with his nature, he hired twice as many musicians as anyone else. Whereas Charmides would bring a flute and lyre and sing quietly in a way which, I must admit, was pleasing, Polymedes made such a din that the neighbours started to shout, and I had to apologise to my mother in the morning. I did not care to discuss it with her; but I could not endure her to think I countenanced Polymedes. To my relief she took it lightly, only telling me not to let him come again because the noise woke the baby; and this message I gave him, hoping it would shame him into retreat. But he seemed delighted at my speaking to him, even for this. And as if my wishes were nothing at all to him, as if I were some image of gold or silver for which he was bidding against the rest, two days later he excelled even himself. For when I came back from exercise, quite early in the day, and was approaching the house, I saw him lying prone on the front steps, where he looked to have been already for some time.

  I had heard of lovers pressing their suit in this fashion, but had really thought it only happened in comic plays. A number of little boys had stopped to look, and were wondering aloud where he had got drunk in the morning. Even as I paused, our neighbour Phalinos came up and, leaning over him officiously, asked if he had been taken ill. I saw Polymedes roll his eyes and guessed what kind of reply he must have made, for Phalinos went off muttering and shaking his head. I could picture the slaves inside chattering together and wondering what they had better do. Just then Polymedes heaved himself up on one arm like a wounded man, looking round, either for me or for someone to admire him. I drew back behind a porch and slipped away.

  I ran round to the mews where the stables were, and took Phoe
nix out, not calling the groom in case he knew what was going on. It had come to something, I thought, when I could not face our own slaves. I mounted, barefoot as I was, and rode off, angry almost to tears. It was a matter where my uncle Strymon might have helped me, if he had been a different man; but I could not stomach the humiliation of asking him. It was bad enough that he might easily come to call, and see it for himself.

  But as I came into the Street of the Herm-Makers, I saw in the middle of it the only man in the world whom, that morning, it could give me pleasure to meet He was disputing with someone, and, not wanting to interrupt him, I drew rein while still some distance off.

  The other man was no one I knew. Sokrates had got into conversation with some ordinary citizen, as he often did; and I could see at once that the man was getting warm. It was all very well when Sokrates asked these people questions about their trade, for he listened very humbly to all they told him; and if he showed them in the end some wider application of their own knowledge, it was by letting them think it was they who had taught it to him. But sometimes they turned out the kind of man who dislikes being made to think, and then there was trouble.

  This man looked like the inferior sort of statuary who sets up as a Herm-maker; a ham-handed fellow, covered with the white dust of his trade; and the conversation had got to a point when it sounded rather like the kind of row you can hear going on in a stonemason’s yard. It may be that Sokrates was reliving his youth a little. As I looked, the man gave a bawl of rage and set upon him. I saw that he had seized him by the hair, and was shaking him about. I kicked Phoenix hard and he charged forward, making everyone in the street scramble out of his way. While I was coming up I could not see that Sokrates did much to help himself; but he was still talking. Reaching them I called out to the man to let go; on which Phoenix, hearing me shout, reared up of his own accord and brandished his hoofs at the fellow’s head, as my father had taught him to do in battle. I was very much surprised, but managed to keep my seat, and to pull him aside from Sokrates. The man, whom I had had no time to think about, made off.