The Last of the Wine (22 page)

All this while, I was waiting to go before the gymnaisiarchs when they picked the entrants for the Isthmian Games. If I could have entered as a boy, I could have been fairly sure of it; but I should have turned eighteen by then so must enter as an ephebe. Yet, at the trial runs, the gods gave me in swiftness what I lacked in art, and I found myself among the chosen.

I stood transported with joy, till the public trainer came up and said to me, “Your body is now dedicated to the god; report to your officer that you are freed from military service till after the Games, and be here tomorrow morning.” I walked with dragging feet through the porch into the street; I had not thought ahead, nor known that separation would come so hard. It troubled me; there seemed something excessive in it; I should have been ashamed to confess it, even to Lysis himself. I was walking to his house, resolved to put a sensible face on it, when Xenophon met me in the street and said laughing, “Well, when you and Lysis celebrate tonight, don’t forget to take plenty of water with it; you’re both in training now.”

I was getting to an age when people stare if you run in the street; but I did not pause till I found him. It was true; he had been chosen along with Autolykos to fight the pankration. He had not even told me he was going before the selectors, for fear of its coming to nothing. We embraced each other laughing like children.

Next day our training began in earnest: practising all morning, a walk after supper, two parts of water always to one of wine, and to bed with the dark. Another knight had taken over the troop from Lysis; till after the Games, we should only take up arms if the enemy attacked the walls.

One day when we met after exercise, Lysis said “Do you remember that young cousin of Kritias’, Aristokles, the wrestler? You gave him a message from me once, in the Argive’s palaestra.”—“Oh, yes; Ariston’s son, the lad who talks like a prince. I’ve not seen him since.”—“You’ll be seeing him soon; he’s going to the Games with us, to wrestle in the boys’ class.”—“You were right, then, when you said he would be heard of again.”—“Yes, and I fancy his chances too, unless another city puts up someone outstanding. He was born for a wrestler; it’s stamped all over him, too clearly indeed for grace. They have a nickname for him now in the palaestra; they call him Plato.”—“How does he like that?” I asked. I remembered the boy gazing at my face; as if he were putting it up against some notion of beauty in his mind which for a moment I satisfied. “If his proportions are bad,” I said, “he looked the kind of lad who wouldn’t need reminding of it.”—“Probably not; he practises running in armour, to keep himself in balance. I daresay a little teasing won’t hurt him; he is inclined to be solemn. He takes it very well; at least they learn manners in that family, and it’s a pleasant change to see one of them in the palaestra instead of on the rostrum.”

I meant to go and watch the boy at practice if I could find time; but just then something happened which drove trifles from my head. I came home, and met in the court my little sister Charis weeping. She was always tumbling about and bruising herself, for she was just learning to run. I picked her up; being only two years old, she went bare unless it was cold, and her body was as sweet as fresh apples. When I had made her laugh I looked for her hurt but could find none; so I carried her in. There I saw my mother, seated in talk with my uncle Strymon. She had pulled her veil across her face. I thought it modest of her to take this trouble with so old a man; yet something in it disturbed me. I set down the child and went in. On this my mother dropped her veil, and turned to me, as a woman to the man under whose protection the gods have placed her. I went over and stood at her side. Then looking up I met the eyes of Strymon and thought, “This man is an enemy.”

I greeted him, however, in the usual way. He said, “I have been pointing out to your stepmother, Alexias, and not for the first time, the unfitness of her staying here alone, now that your worthy father is gone, in a household without a man at its head. The gods have given me means enough to take care of such obligations; kindly assure her of it, since she seems to fear being a burden in my house.”

I considered this. Being almost eighteen, I should soon be of age and her legal guardian. Still, he was, in the meantime, head of the family; his proposal was correct, if rather officious. At first I was chiefly concerned lest he might want me to go too. Then I saw her eyes flinch before his; and I understood.

He was a man of only five-and-sixty, in good health. Without doubt he would have offered her marriage, and many women in her place would have thought themselves well off. The extreme of horror I felt was no doubt the effect of my youth. Like one deprived of sense, I put forward none of the reasonable objections I might have made to her going, but cried out, “She will stay here, by Zeus, and let me see who will take her away!”

He rose from his chair. We stood eyeing one another; I have met kinder looks across the top of a shield. Never destroy without thought your enemy’s pretences; they are usually your best weapon against him. We were both drawing breath to speak again, when my mother said, “Alexias, be silent. You forget yourself.”

I felt as if she had stabbed me in the back while I defended her. Turning round, however, and seeing her face, I understood that she was afraid. This was natural enough; for an open breach with him would have made our lives very unpleasant. Her sharpness recalled me partly to myself. I begged his pardon, and began to say some of the things I should have said at first. He replied, “Pray don’t trouble yourself, Alexias, to apologise. I imagine that in your own circle of friends, what we have heard is nothing out of the way. Where the teacher does not even worship the immortal gods, but sets them aside for new divinities, one can hardly expect in the pupil much reverence for age and kinship in mere men.”

It had been a way of mine since childhood to throw back my head when I was angry. I did this now, and felt a strangeness; I was used to the weight of my hair, and it had gone. It was as if a hand had been laid on me to say, “Remember you are a man.”

“The blame is mine, sir,” I said. “He would have rebuked me sooner than you. Thank you for your offer; but I don’t wish my mother to leave this house, where I shall be master so shortly.”—“In a few years,” he said, “when you bring home a bride, your stepmother will have little cause to thank you.”—“Sir, when I choose a bride, it won’t be one who does not honour my mother.” He said, “You have no mother, and this woman is your father’s wife.”

I had to fix my eyes on his white beard, or I could not have answered for myself. I have seldom been so roused in battle. When my mother spoke I seemed at first scarcely to hear. She said, as a woman speaks to a slapped child, “That is enough, Alexias. Bid your uncle goodbye, and go.”

I had not even answered him. Her injustice stung me; but it sobered me too. After a moment I said, “Well, sir, I am sure neither of us cares to parade family business in a lawsuit. I should be of age too by the time it was heard, and your case would fall away. We have kept you long enough from your affairs; may we offer you something before you go?”

When he had left, I was reluctant to go in again. I suppose I felt I had mishandled the matter, and feared my mother’s reproaches. I went out into the street instead; and now I found only one thought in my mind. Whenever I met with an acquaintance, I asked if he had seen Lysis anywhere. Someone told me he was still at the gymnasium. He was not on the wrestling-ground; but I found him on the sand-track, throwing the disk. He had just got it poised, and was starting the swing-back, when he saw me, and checked his arm, and made a bad cast. The others laughed at him, seeing the cause; then he took up the disk again, and made a good one. Soon afterwards he finished, and came out to clean-off. It seemed to me that I had never beheld him with such joy; I could scarcely greet him. When he had dressed and we were walking away, he said, “What is it? You don’t look like yourself, is anything wrong?”—“No, Lysis. But sometimes I wonder how I got along before I knew you; for it seems now that if I clung to life at all, it was only through ignorance of what I lacked. And if you were not going to Corinth too, I would withdraw my name, rather than we should be parted so long.”

He stared at me half laughing. “Withdraw? What, from the Games? That wouldn’t earn me much credit in the City. I see now what it is; you’ve been training too hard, and are getting nervous. Take my advice, and don’t waste time fretting in case another city sends a faster man. You can’t know, nor help it if you did. As Sokrates said to me years ago, you can only make your body as acceptable to the gods as you can. If we didn’t know they give the crown to the best man, we might as well save ourselves the hard work, and sit drinking at home. So be at peace with yourself, my dear, for there is measure in everything. Shall we go swimming? Or watch the horse-race? Or talk in the colonnade?” He gazed at me, his brows drawn in thought. “Autolykos says he generally has a girl halfway through his training. It’s not what the trainers say, I know, but he recommends it.”

“I think I’ll stick to the training,” I said, “and wait till I get to Corinth.” I knew what that city is famous for, and thought this sounded manly enough. In the end we went to the horse-race. Whatever had been in my mind when I sought him out, I went home in the evening feeling like someone who has shaken off a fever.

A few weeks later I turned eighteen, and went up for the scrutiny. My uncle Strymon went with me, for decency’s sake. When I had verified my age and parentage, the strategos swore me in. He said with a straight face that he supposed I was eager to start my military service; then he held up one of my arms, and looked at my scars, and laughed.

At home I found laid out on my bed my man’s mantle, which my mother had woven ready a long time back; it smelt of the sweet herbs she kept her dresses in. Lysis had taught me already how to drape it. I put it on, and went in to show myself. “Now, Mother,” I said, “let me see you smile; from this time on you have nothing to fear.” She smiled at me and tried to speak; then suddenly the tears stood in her eyes. It is natural in women to give way like this upon joyful occasions. I came forward with open arms to comfort her; but she cried out that it would be unlucky to sprinkle my mantle with tears at its first wearing; and so avoiding me went away.

O
N 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.”