The Last of the Wine: A Novel

by Mary Renault

  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 fl
esh. 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 ever
yone 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.