A Victor of Salamis Part 6

"And you are pa.s.sing stalwart. Still, be advised. I wouldn't harm you, so drop out early."

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

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

The least shadow of a smile flitted across the Athenian's face; there was a slight deepening of the light in his eye. He turned his head a bit toward 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 that changed all the uproar to a silence in which one might hear the wind moving 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 contestant were set a pair of bronze dumb-bells. The six were arrayed upon the mound with a clear reach of sand before. The master-herald proclaimed the order of the leaping: that each contestant should spring twice, and he whose leaps were the poorest should drop from the other contests.

Glaucon stood, his golden head thrown back, his eyes wandering idly toward his friends in the stadium. He could see Cimon restless on his seat, and Simonides holding his cloak and doubtless muttering wise counsel. The champion was as calm as his friends were nervous. The stadium had grown oppressively still; then broke into along "ah!" Twenty thousand sprang up together as Scolus the Thasian leaped. His partisans cheered, while he rose from a sand-cloud; but ceased quickly. His leap had been poor. A herald with a pick marked a line where he had landed. The pipers began a rollicking catch to which the athletes involuntarily kept time with their dumb-bells.

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

Ctesias and Amyntas leaped beyond the Thasian's mark, short of the Athenian's. Lycon was fifth. His admirers' hopes were high. He did not blast them. Huge was his bulk, yet his strength matched it. A cloud of dust hid him from view. When it settled, every Laconian was roaring with delight. He had pa.s.sed beyond Glaucon. Mrocles of Mantinea sprang last and badly. The second round was almost as the first; although Glaucon slightly surpa.s.sed his former effort. Lycon did as well as before. The others hardly bettered their early trial. It was long before the Laconians grew quiet enough to listen to the call of the herald.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The attendants were arraying the five remaining champions at the foot of a little rise in the sand, near the judges' pulpit. To each was brought a bronze quoit, the discus. The pipers resumed their medley. The second contest was begun.

First, Amyntas of Thebes. He took his stand, measured the distance with his eye, then with a run flew up the rising, and at its summit his body bent double, while the heavy quoit flew away. A n.o.ble cast! and twice excelled. For a moment every Theban in the stadium was transported.

Strangers sitting together fell on one another's necks in sheer joy. But the rapture ended quickly. Lycon flung second. His vast strength could now tell 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 in h.e.l.las. Not even Glaucon's best wishers were disappointed when he failed to come within three cubits of the Spartan. Ctesias and Mrocles realized their task was hopeless, and strove half heartedly. The friends of the huge Laconian were almost beside themselves with joy; while the herald called 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 s.h.i.+ning out amid the thousands of gazers now. "Wake, or Lycon wins again and all is lost!"

Glaucon was almost beyond earshot; to the frantic entreaty he answered by no sign. As he and the Spartan stood once more together, the giant leered on 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's lips, and deepening in his eyes,-"the pentathlon is not ended."

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

But in the deep hush that spread again over the thousands Glaucon turned toward the only faces that he saw out of the innumerable host: Themistocles, Democrates, Simonides, Cimon. They beheld him raise his arm and lift his glorious head yet higher. Glaucon in turn saw Cimon sink into his seat. "He wakes!" was the appeased mutter pa.s.sing from the son of Miltiades and running along every tier of Athenians. And silence deeper than ever held the stadium; for now, with Lycon victor twice, the literal turning 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 s.h.i.+eld at the lower end of the course. Lycon poised his light javelin thrice, and thrice the slim dart sped through the leathern thong on his fingers. But not for glory. Perchance this combat was too delicate an art for his ungainly hands. Twice the missile lodged in the rim of the s.h.i.+eld; once it sprang beyond upon the sand. Mrocles, who followed, surpa.s.sed him. Amyntas was hardly worse. Glaucon came last, and won his victory with a dexterous grace that made all but the hottest Laconian swell the "_Io! paian!_" of applause. His second cast had been into the centre of the target. His third had splintered his second javelin as it hung quivering.

"Glaucon of Athens wins the javelin-casting. Mrocles of Mantinea is second. Amyntas of Thebes is poorest and drops from the games." But who heard the herald now?

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

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

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

"In that the G.o.d must aid the Athenian. But now let us have the foot-race."

In the little respite following the trainers entered and rubbed down the three remaining contestants with oil until their bodies shone again like tinted ivory. Then the heralds conducted the trio to the southern end farthest from the tents. The two junior presidents left their pulpit and took post at either end of a line marked on the sand. Each held the end of a taut rope. The contestants drew lots from an urn for the place nearest the lower turning goal,-no trifling advantage. A favouring G.o.d gave Mrocles the first; Lycon was second; Glaucon only third. As the three crouched before the rope with hands dug into the sand, waiting the fateful signal, Glaucon was conscious that a strange blond man of n.o.ble mien and Oriental dress was sitting close by the starting line and watching him intently.

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

"Swift, G.o.dlike runner, swift;"-they were so close they could catch the Eastern accent-"the Most High give you His wings!"

Glaucon saw Lycon turn on the shouter with a scowl that was answered by a composed smile. To the highly strung imagination of the Athenian the wish became an omen of good. For some unknown cause the incident of the Oriental lad he rescued and the mysterious gift of the bracelet flashed back to him. Why should a stranger of the East cast him fair wishes? Would the 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 s.h.i.+ning arms flas.h.i.+ng 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, until near the lower goal the Mantinean heedlessly risked a dash. His foot slipped on the sands. He recovered; but like arrows his rivals pa.s.sed him.

At the goal the inevitable happened. Lycon, with the shorter turn, swung quickest. He went up the homeward track ahead, the Athenian an elbow's length behind. The stadium seemed dissolving in a tumult. Men rose; threw garments in the air; stretched out their arms; besought the G.o.ds; screamed to the runners.

"Speed, son of Conon, speed!"

"Glory 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 track went 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 breath of him behind." Again at the lower goal the Mantinean was panting wearily in the rear. Again Lycon led, again rose the tempest of voices. Six hundred feet away the presidents were stretching the line, where victory and the plaudits of h.e.l.las waited Lycon of Lacedaemon.

Then men ceased shouting, and prayed under breath. They saw Glaucon's shoulders bend lower and his neck strain back, while the sunlight sprang all over his red-gold hair. The stadium leaped to their feet, as the Athenian landed by a bound at his rival's side. Quick as the bound the great 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 president called 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 fell amid a blinding cloud of dust. All the heralds and presidents ran together into it. Then was a long, agonizing moment, while the stadium roared, shook, and raged, before the dust settled and the master-herald stood forth beckoning for silence.

"Glaucon of Athens wins the foot-race. Lycon of Sparta is second. Mrocles of 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 their favourite G.o.ds, and made reckless, if silent, vows,-geese, pigs, tripods, even oxen,-if only the deity would strengthen their favourite's arm. For the first time attention was centred on the tall "time pointer," by the judges' stand, and how the short shadow cast by the staff told of the end of the morning. The last wagers were recorded on the tablets by nervous styluses. The readiest tongues ceased to chatter. Thousands of wistful eyes turned from the elegant form of the Athenian to the burly form of the Spartan. Every outward chance, so many an anxious heart told itself, favoured the oft-victorious giant; but then,-and here came reason for a true h.e.l.lene,-"the G.o.ds could not suffer so fair a man to meet defeat."

The noonday sun beat down fiercely. The tense stillness was now and then broken by the bawling of a swarthy hawker thrusting himself amid the spectators with cups and a jar of sour wine. There was a long rest. The trainers came forward again and dusted the two remaining champions with sand that they might grip fairly. Pytheas looked keenly in his pupil's face.