The Last of the Wine: A Novel

by Mary Renault

  As soon as I had quieted Phoenix I jumped down. Sokrates moved out of the horse’s way and I thought he had staggered. I threw my arms quickly round him, asking if he was hurt. His body was as firm as rock, and I felt a fool. “My dear boy,” he said blinking at me, “what are you trying to do to my reputation? It is one thing to have my hair torn out in the cause of reason; it will be quite another tomorrow, when everyone is saying, ‘Look at that old rascal, who outmarched all his rivals by hiring a bully to attack him, and is now the only man in the City who can claim that the beautiful Alexias embraced him in the street.’”

  “If that were true!” I said laughing. “Cruel Sokrates, to mock me with such happiness!” The odd nature of our meeting had taken all my shyness away. I asked him what had caused the man to fall upon him. “He was maintaining to a number of people that the Egyptians are barbarians because they worship beasts and birds as gods. I said we ought to enquire first whether they really did so. He had just led himself up to admitting that to worship a man-shaped image, really believing that the god resembles a man, is more impious than to worship divine wisdom in the shape of a hawk. At this point he became angry; you would have supposed he had something to gain by thinking every Egyptian more barbarous than himself.”

  “Your head is bleeding,” I said, and wiped it with the corner of my cloak. Just then I saw a metic’s son I knew by sight, and gave him something to take Phoenix home for me; for people were gathering to stare at him, as they do if you lead a good horse in the City. “Now, Sokrates,” I said, “I shall walk with you wherever you are going, for how will you shake me off? The whole town would denounce your inconstancy, after what has been between us.” And I gave him the side of my eye, as Agathon would have done.

  He said nothing, but as we began walking, I saw he was laughing to himself. Presently he said, “Don’t imagine, dear Alexias, that I laugh out of foolhardiness, like a man reckless of his danger. But who would recognise in the accomplished beauty, who is drawing looks of hatred and envy upon me from every side, the shy lad who stood at the back, and ducked behind someone’s shoulder whenever he felt in danger of being spoken to?”—“With you, Sokrates,” I said, ceasing to laugh, “I always feel the same.” He looked at me and said, “Well, I believe you. For something is troubling you; yet when it comes to bringing it out, this charming boldness is only skin-deep after all. Or perhaps it is a matter of love? Naturally in that case a novice like me could scarcely help you.”

  “You know if it were I should be at your door before daybreak with it, like all the rest. But it’s only a matter of a suitor; and you would call me cold, as you did before, chasing me away without giving me any chance to prove to you whether I am cold or not.” I had heard Kallikles talk to him like this, and it had seemed to amuse him.

  “Is this suitor,” he said, “Polymedes by any chance? You and he have not fallen out, have you?”—“Fallen out!” I cried. “I have scarcely spoken to the man. You can’t have been supposing, Sokrates …”—“Naturally in a case like this you will find foolish people saying that the suitor would never have gone so far without incitement, even if without reward. But I see they have been unjust to you.” I was so much hurt by this that, losing my head, I said I had had enough of it all, and was thinking of slipping off if I could to join the Army in Sicily. He said, “Steady, my friend. Be what you would like to seem; that’s a man’s best shield against tongues. Calm yourself, and tell me what the particular trouble is.”

  When I had done he said, “I see I was wrong to let you send your horse home, for I imagine you were in a hurry to ask some friend for his advice and help; Charmides, for instance?” I denied this with indignation, indeed with too much. It was true that I had not been going to Charmides; but as I rode I had begun thinking, “I won’t seek his help, and be in debt to him; but, when I have shown I can take care of myself, it might do no harm to be seen in his company once or twice.” I said, however, “Charmides is waiting for that very thing. If this is love and the behaviour of lovers, give me the enemy in battle.”

  I spoke in anger, for my heart was sore. The truth is that I was getting to an age when one wishes for love, and has one’s own ideas of what it ought to be; and I was ceasing to believe that what I sought was anywhere to be found.

  “By the way,” Sokrates asked, “what do you dislike so much about Polymedes? He looks undistinguished, of course, compared with a man like Charmides, and his father made his money in leather. Is it his vulgarity, or what?”—“No, Sokrates. That too I daresay; but in himself he is base. He tried first to buy me with gifts; not flowers or a hare, but the kind of thing we can’t afford at home. Then he sent word that he was dying, to make me take him out of pity; and now, what is surely as low as a man can go, he is willing I should do it simply to keep him quiet. If I were to lose my father and mother and all I have, if I were disgraced even before the City so that people turned from me in the street, he would be glad of it, if it put me within his reach. And this he calls love.” I had spoken too vehemently, but Sokrates still looked at me kindly; so coming at last to what had been behind the rest, I said, “I shall always think worse of myself for having been his choice.”

  He shook his head. “You are wrong, my boy, if you think he is seeking a kindred spirit. He is looking for what he lacks, being limp of soul, and not wishing to know that the good must first be wrought with toil out of a man’s own self, like the statue from the block. So now I think you need the advice of someone who understands these questions.”

  I was about to say, “Whose, Sokrates?” when a great noise of hammering reminded us that we were approaching the Street of the Armourers. Since the news from Sicily, they were busy again. We turned aside, to be heard without shouting. “I suppose,” Sokrates said, “you will be ordering armour for yourself before another year is up, so fast time flies. Where will you go for it?”—“To Pistias, if I can afford his price. He’s very dear; nine or ten minas for a horseman’s suit.”—“So much? I suppose you will get a gold device on the breastbone for that?”—“From Pistias? Not if you gave him twelve; he won’t touch them.”—“Kephalos would make you something to catch the eye.”—“Well, but Sokrates, I might need to fight in it.” He laughed, and paused. “I see,” he said, “that you are a judge of value, though so young. Perhaps you can tell me, then, who am getting too old to know much of such matters, what price one ought to pay for a true and honourable lover?” I wondered what he could take me for, and answered at once that one ought not to pay anything.

  He looked at me searchingly, and nodded his head. “An answer worthy, Alexias, of your father’s son. Yet many things have their price which are not upon the market. Let us see if this is one of them. If we come into the company of such a lover, it seems to me that one of three things will happen. Either he will succeed in making us his equal in honour; or, if he fails both to do this and to free himself from love, seeking to please us he will become less good than he was; or, if he is of stronger mind, remembering what is due to the gods and to his own soul, he will be master of himself, and go away. Or can you see some other conclusion than these?”

  “I don’t think, Sokrates,” I said, “that there can be another.”

  “So, then, it now appears, does it not, that the price of an honourable lover is to be honourable ourselves, and that we shall neither get him nor keep him, if we offer anything less?”—“It seems so, certainly,” said I, thinking it kind of him to be at so much pains to keep my mind from my troubles. “And thus,” he said, “we find that what we thought was to be had for love turns out the costliest of all. You are fortunate, Alexias; for I think it is still within your means. But see, we are walking past our destination.”

  We had just passed the portico of the Archon King, and were outside Taureas’ palaestra. Not wishing to trouble him with my company out of season, I asked if he was meeting a friend. “Yes, if I can find him. But don’t go, Alexias. I am only looking for him to put your case before him. He happens to be muc
h better qualified than I to help you.”

  I knew his modesty; but having resolved to deal with Polymedes at once, I did not feel eager to spend the rest of the morning being improved by Protagoras or some other venerable Sophist; so I assured Sokrates that he himself had done me as much good as anyone could, except a god. “Oh?” he said. “Yet I believe you don’t consider me infallible; I noticed just now that you thought more of Pistias’ opinion than of mine.”—“Only about armour, Sokrates. Pistias is an armourer, after all.”—“Just so. Wait, then, while I fetch my friend. He is usually wrestling here about this time.”—“Wrestling?” I said staring; Protagoras was reckoned to be at least eighty years old. “Who is this friend, Sokrates? I thought …”—“Wait in the garden,” he said; and then just as he was turning to go, “We will try Lysis, son of Demokrates.”

  I believe that I gasped aloud, as if he had emptied a water-jar over me. Without regard for my manners, I caught him by the mantle, and held him back. “Sokrates, I beg of you. What do you mean? Lysis hardly knows me. He will be exercising, or talking to his friends. Do not disturb him for such a trifle. He will be annoyed, and disgusted; he will simply think me a fool not to have managed for myself. I should never be able to look him in the face again.”

  “Why, what is this?” he said, his eyes standing forth in his head so that I was half afraid he was really angry. “If a man is too prejudiced to take an informed opinion, what can be done for him? We are wasting the day in trifling; I really must get on.”—“Sokrates! Pray come back, I ask it in kindness. I ought to have told you before: Lysis dislikes me, and goes out of his way to avoid me. Haven’t you noticed how …” But I had forgotten to keep hold of him, and found myself talking to the air.

  I saw him go through to the inner court, and vanish under the colonnade. For a moment I was tempted to run away; but I knew I could not forgive myself after, if I treated him with disrespect. So I waited, in the little walled garden where the well is for drinking, standing under the plane-tree that grows just inside the gate. A few old men, athletes of Perikles’ day, were sitting in the shelter of the eaves; nearer, around the stone benches in the centre which are usually left for them, some of the crowned victors were resting, sitting upon the seats if they were dressed, or stretched on the grass to sun themselves after the bath; for though late in autumn the day was quite warm. My own presence there was something of an impertinence; I wished Sokrates would make haste, and then again I wanted him to delay.

  After quite a short time I saw him returning, speaking over his shoulder to someone behind. I knew Lysis while he was still in the dark shadow, by his height, and the way he held his head. Having been bathing or scraping-down he had come out as he was, with his towel hanging on his left shoulder. Just inside the porch he stood still for some moments, as if in thought, looking before him. I said to myself, “He has seen who it is that Sokrates has brought, and is displeased, as I expected.” But presently he walked forward. Autolykos, who was lying on the grass, called out something to him, and he turned to answer; but he did not pause, and came up to me leaving Sokrates outdistanced. I saw that his right shoulder, which one always leaves to the last in cleaning-off, still had dust and oil on it. He was at this time about twenty-five years old.

  He stood looking down at me, without saying anything, and I looked up silently at him. I knew I ought to speak first, and apologise for troubling him; but an ox seemed to be treading down my tongue. Then Sokrates caught him up, saying cheerfully, “Well, Alexias, I have told Lysis about your difficulty.” Just as I was going to speak Lysis said, “Yes. Anything I can do …” He did not go on, and I sought for something to say before he lost patience with me. “I am sorry, Lysis, for troubling you, when you were with your friends.”—“Not at all,” he said.—“If you would rather see me some other time …?”—“No,” he said, and smiled at me suddenly. “Sokrates thinks this is the proper time. Come, let us sit down.”

  He went over to the stone coping round the well, and threw his towel over it to sit on. When he invited me to be seated too, I looked round for Sokrates, expecting him to share our conversation. But I could not see him anywhere. So I sat down on the grass.

  “Well,” Lysis said, “so Polymedes is still giving trouble? He has staying-power at least.” I thought the talk in the City must have exceeded my fears, for even Lysis to have heard it. “Indeed, Lysis,” I said, “he never had anything to stay for. But now it seems that either I must speak to him, and give him the public scene he wants, or get him turned off by the slaves.”—“No, by Herakles,” he said, “that wouldn’t do; it would get everyone on his side. Extremes people would think disgusting in a man mourning his father, or his only son, get tolerated in cases like this, as if …” He broke off frowning, then looked up and said, “But if I insult the power of the god, he will make me suffer for it.” He smiled at me, looking into my eyes. I thought, “He is trying to put me at ease, as he did once before; it could be nothing else.” I looked down, and pulled at a piece of grass, too shy to return his smile or to answer at all. His feet, which I found myself looking at, were big but very well-shaped, and as strongly arched as a runner’s.

  Becoming serious, he said, “No, Alexias, this is a matter that a friend should take up for you. Have you someone in mind to ask?” And he looked attentively at my face. Raising my head I replied, “Well, I did think of Xenophon. He usually has a plan of some sort. But he would never let me hear the last of it.”—“Xenophon?” he said, frowning this time much more deeply; “whose son is that?” When I told him, he said, “I see,” and looked less severe, so that I almost thought he was going to laugh. “I don’t think we need trouble Xenophon for this. Polymedes is a man in years, if in nothing else. If you are willing, I will see to it for you, shall I? And to anything else of the kind that turns up, if you want me to. Now, or at any time.”

  I could scarcely find words to thank him with, but managed to say something. He answered, “Good; then if we go now, with luck we shall have him out of the way before your uncle calls. Wait while I get my clothes; I will be back directly.”

  While I was waiting, one or two of the men who had been cooling-off came over to get a drink. I drew up the water for them, and they thanked me very civilly. No one made advances to me, or asked why I was there. I thought, “Perhaps they suppose that Lysis invited me in.” Just then he came back bathed and dressed and said, “Let us go.” I remembered he had been wrestling, and said, “Shall I draw you some water first, Lysis? I expect you are cool enough to drink now?”

  He paused by the well and said laughing, “Do you think I need to wash the dust out of my mouth? You should give water to Ephisthenes, whom I wrestled with.” Then seeing me look uncertain, he said, “But you are right, I am rather thirsty. Thank you.” So I drew water, and filled with the dipper the bronze cup that stood there, and gave it to him, putting my hand under it and offering him the handles, as I had been taught in serving wine. He stood for a moment with the cup in his hands, then held it up and poured a libation before he drank. When he offered it to me to drink from, wishing to omit nothing that was proper I did the same. He began to speak, but paused again. “Come, then,” he said, and we went out into the streets.

  As we walked he said to me. “Don’t have Polymedes too much on your mind, even if one or two people do turn out to have seen him. It will all be forgotten in a week. Anything he has the wit to think of, you may be sure has been done before. I once heard of a man …” His tale was so comical that shy as I was of him, I could not help laughing. I almost asked the name of the youth, till I remembered how he himself must have been run after, even before he left school.

  As soon as we turned the corner of our street, I saw that Polymedes was still there. I advanced reluctantly; I felt sure that as soon as he saw he had an audience, he would fall to his sighing and groaning again, or sing one of his bad poems; for his lyre was beside him on the steps. “I’m afraid, Lysis …” I began; but Polymedes must have heard my voice,
for he turned his head. Instead of behaving as I had expected, he leaped to his feet as if a scorpion had bitten him, and without greeting me or even looking at me, shouted in a passion of anger, “No, by the Mother, this is too much! You could teach a Cretan to cheat, Lysis, and a Spartan to steal! Do you think I shall lie down under your insolence?” Lysis looked him over, and without raising his voice answered that he had lain down long enough already, and had indeed obliged everyone by getting up.

  But Polymedes called out louder than ever, “A blind man could have seen what you were at! Oh, yes, I had my eye on you when you thought me far away. I have seen you looking, standing apart with that insufferable pride of yours, which the gods will take down, if there are any gods. You would not have deceived a child, let alone a lover. So this is what you were after, is it? Waiting like a horse-thief by the paddock while a better man breaks in the colt, then slipping through in the dark to steal him when the trainer sleeps.” Lysis made no answer to all this. I could not tell if he was angry. As for me, I was so overcome with shame at hearing such language used to him, that I should have liked to hide myself. He did not move, but stood gravely watching Polymedes; who, now that he was up, looked uncertainly about him. I thought, “I suppose he is wondering whether it will look well to be down immediately on the steps again. But if he stands, he must pick up his lyre.”

  Turning my head, I saw the corner of Lysis’ mouth move; and suddenly laughter clutched at my belly. Yet I hardened my body to smother it, though an hour ago I should have been glad to laugh. I suppose I knew already, though still not daring to presume on what I knew, that the gods had a precious gift for me, and that it would be base to insult a poorer man. Lysis too had quenched his laughter. But we could not keep from catching each other’s eye. Polymedes looked from one to the other of us, hitching his mantle at the shoulder as if it were his dignity he was trying to gather up; then suddenly turned his back and went off down the street, leaving his lyre where it was upon the steps.