The Last of the Wine (16 page)

The bargaining took some time. Phaedo’s fame had spread and his price gone up again; Gurgos treated Kriton at first like one who had lost his head over the boy and would pay anything. But he soon found out he was dealing with a businessman; Kriton asked if his boys had drunk of the fountain of youth, offering to come back in a year or two and ask the price again. Gurgos was scared, and closed the deal.

Happy enough at such a change of masters, Phaedo could scarcely be got to understand that he was free. Kriton, finding he wrote a good hand, employed him in his library, copying books, and recommended him to other men of learning, so that he could be studying as he worked. Soon none of us could remember what our circle had been like without him. There was that in his bearing which even the shameless had to respect; you did not find his former customers being familiar in the street. He on his side was strict in not giving them away, saying that every trade has its ethic. But sometimes, when a self-important citizen was holding forth in the Agora, condemning foreign luxury or wondering what young men were coming to, I saw Phaedo watching with irony in his dark eye.

T
HE EARTH QUICKENED TO
spring; on the great Academy training-ground, the army exercised every day under Demosthenes’ eye. He was a man as solid as a rock, but not as cold; red-faced, from weather more than wine in spite of the jokes at the theatre; loud-voiced and hearty, but confident, not blustering. I thought my father would be glad of his coming.

All this while, the child at home was thriving. My mother had called her Charis, after my father’s mother, since he had not named her himself. She could crawl, and would try to stand by clinging to my fingers. One day I had thought, “If he who gives life is the father, then I am he.” In this I had felt some sweetness; but soon it seemed impious and I put it away. Then I thought, “She shall never know it. No one shall suffer through me what I myself remember.” So I went out to the household altar, and burned some saffron, and vowed it to Zeus the Merciful. The guilt of my impiety sometimes rode my pillow; yet even with Lysis I had kept my oath. Perhaps I might have broken it some dark night; but at this time each bore himself before the other like the player chosen to wear the mask of the god.

One morning, when even the City was scented with spring, I woke happy; I was to ride to the farm, and Lysis had promised to come too. The first sunlight was green in the new leaves of the fig-tree; the doves were calling, and Kydilla sang at her work an old country song about a bride. From the courtyard I could hear the child piping and chattering indoors like a young bird. I took up the song and sang the verse for the bridegroom; Kydilla giggled and broke off, and started singing again. Suddenly there was a great clatter of hoofs under the entry. I sprang to see, my father’s image in my mind. But it was Lysis, full-armed and helmed, his javelins standing in the holster. When he saw me, he said without dismounting, “Alexias, have you got your armour?”

“Armour?” I was still two minas short of Pistias’ price, and had not even been measured yet; I was not sure I had done growing. “When shall I need it, Lysis?” He said, “Now.”

The doves were still making love, and the child singing. He said, “The Spartans have broken the truce, and come down into Attica. Dekeleia fell last night. They are nearly at Acharnai. From the High City you can see the fires. What armour have you? My troop’s three men short.”

I looked up at his tall crest of blue enamel, his breastplate and greaves bordered with studs of gold. “Wait for me, Lysis. I’ll be ready in a moment.” I was running in when he shouted after me. It brought me up standing. I might have been one of his troopers. “But so I am now,” I thought. I came back and said, “Yes, Lysis?”—“Have you armour,” he said, “or not?”—“My hunting-leathers are just as strong.”—“This is war, not a torch-race.” Then he saw my face, and leaned down to pat my shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard; we’ve all been caught napping. How should you have armour, a year under age? But I must get on now; I came to you first.”

I thought, “Some god will help me”; and then help came. I caught him by the foot and said, “No, wait, Lysis, I know where to get it. Don’t go. Wait.”

I shouted to the groom to get Phoenix ready, and ran in. My mother was up; she still fed the child herself sometimes, and had just put her to the breast. She drew her dress across, and got to her feet, holding the child and staring at me. “Mother, the Spartans are coming. They have reached Acharnai. Don’t be frightened; we’ll soon turn them back. But I must go at once, and I’ve no armour, only a sword. Give me the armour of your father Archagoras.”

She drew the child from her and laid it in the cradle and stood up, pressing her mantle with her hand over her breast. “You, Alexias? Oh, no, you are still a boy.”—“If I am not a man today, it will be too late tomorrow. Lysis has come for me, to join his troop.” She still looked at me without speaking. I said, “You promised me, Mother, I should be truly your son.”

She said, still gazing, “You are, Alexias,” and with the words, the trumpet blew from the Anakeion the horsemen’s call. “You must have it then. But it is too soon.” She took the keys from her casket and opened the chest. She had kept the armour perfectly, polished and oiled, all but the straps which had perished. But my father had left some of his. I said, “I will come back when I have it on. I shall need food; tell Kydilla.”

Lysis had dismounted and was waiting in the guestroom. I spread the armour on a couch. I had not seen it for years, and its appearance dismayed me. In old Archagoras’ day, if a man was someone he saw no reason not to make it known. The gold studs were well enough; but the Gorgon’s head, with snakes raying over the nipples, went beyond moderation. I said, “This is too fine, I shall be laughed at.”—“Today? One of my boys has a Mede’s tunic with fish-scales, that’s hung sixty years on the wall.” He helped to arm me. It was not such a fit as Pistias would have given me, being a little big, but better than Demeas’ practice suit, so I thought myself well off. Lysis held me out at arm’s length and said, “Now it is on, it is not too fine, and no one will laugh. Kiss your mother and get your food; we must be going.”

Archagoras’ sword was better than mine. I slung it on and went through to the living-room. My father’s old kit-bag was on the table. “I’m ready, Mother. Let me try the helmet.” It was in her hands; she had been burnishing it. The crest was a triple one, of sea-horses whose tails fell together behind. She set it on my head, and it fitted well. There was a silver mirror on the wall behind her; as I moved, I saw a man reflected in it. I turned round startled, to see what man had come into the women’s rooms. Then I saw that the man was I.

“You must take a cloak,” she said, “the nights are still cold.” She had my thick one ready. “I will offer for you every day, dear son, to Athene Nike and to the Mother.” She did not come forward. I pushed the cheek-plates back from my face: a thing one does like breathing, yet there is a first time for everything. It was long since I had embraced her; when I drew her near, I found I had grown tall enough to lean my chin upon her head. I thought of her goodness to me in childhood, when I was small and weak; it was strange to feel her so little in my arms, and trembling like a bird when you shut your hand on it. In gladness that I could now go out to defend her as a man, I began lifting her face to kiss her. But I must have hurt her on the armour, never having worn it before, for she put me away from her. She took the cloak and hung it on my arm and said again, “I will pray for you.” I laid my hand on hers. “When you pray for me, Mother, pray for Lysis too.” She looked up, and as she withdrew from me, “Yes,” she said, “I will pray for him indeed.”

So that day Lysis and I rode out after all to the farmlands. As the City gate swung open for us, I saw the back of his helmet-crest, leading out the troop; and his voice carried over to me above the noise of the horses, when he gave an order. We formed in column of three, and I rode in the midst of the column. At the rear came Lysis’ Second, who was a veteran of the troop, being nineteen and a half years old. Lysis was the only one of us all who had ever fought in battle. We trotted along the Acharnian Way, trying to talk like soldiers. Behind us sounded the noise of the City calling to arms; the hoplites were turning out, the dust of horsemen was white before us and behind.

As we rode, the boy on my left said he had heard the troop on patrol had met the Spartans and been badly cut up. I replied that Lysis had told me so on the way. “Lysis?” he said, “You mean the Phylarch? Do you know him?” I said yes, but did not like to say that I knew him well. So the youth, who had lately joined, began to ask what kind of officer he was: “Does he drive one like a Spartan, or is he easy; does he see to things himself or leave it all to the Second; is he fond of women, or will he want one of us to sleep with him?” The boy on my right said, “You fool, it’s his friend you’re talking to, Alexias, Myron’s son. What else would you like to know about the Phylarch? Ask him anything, don’t be shy.” The first youth looked rather confused; the other said, “Frontier manners; you’ll get used to it.” He added that he had been in the Guard a year, or nearly, and Lysis was the best officer he had served under. This was enough to make me his friend. His name was Gorgion.

We rode and led our horses by turns, to save their feet. It was quiet; the Spartans were still in the hills. At noon Lysis took us off the road to water our horses and to eat. When we had sat down, he said, “Before we ride on, I’ll tell you what we are doing. Demosthenes will see to Dekeleia; we are not looking for King Agis today. Hit and run is our work, and to save the farms. Where they are straggled to loot, we shall meet with parties we can handle. This is the signal for silence. Give it me, all of you, to show that you know it. Good. Those who have done the exercises, keep an eye on the new men. If we charge, you all know the paean. Take the note from me, and give it as loud as you can, to honour the City. It won’t frighten the Spartans; it takes their women at home to do that. However, if they’d rather die than hear a troop of naked girls singing a dirty song about them at the next festival, it’s for us to oblige them. I hope we Athenians can do a man’s part for honour’s sake, without being beaten and starved to make us brave. We fight for our City, where the mark of a citizen is to have a mind and speak it, and people live their daily lives as they choose, with none to put them in fear. Let us be worthy of our fathers, and a source of pride to our lovers and friends.” And he made the offering, commending us to the gods.

When he came with his food to sit among us, I felt nearly as shy of him as when we walked out to the Academy the first day. Then he looked at me sideways, and I knew he wanted me to tell him he had spoken well, only that the others were too near. So we smiled, understanding one another.

The wind had changed. We began to smell smoke on the air, the heavy smoke of war, with little draughts of foulness in it, from things burning that ought not to burn. As we went up between the hills, I saw the first farm we should come to would be my father’s, and the smoke was coming from there.

It smelt as I remembered in my childhood, and I thought, “The olives have gone.” Then we came round the side of the hill and saw that they were not only fired but felled. The raw stumps stood up among the burning boughs. They had not had time to finish cutting them down, so had fired them afterwards. I fancy they had meant to spare the sacred grove again; but with the changing wind the fire had caught it. We rode on towards the house. The straw was smouldering under the roof-tiles; the smoke came out in puffs under the eaves, and trickled out of the cracks between the tiles. Just as we got there, the beams gave and the roof fell in.

The household stuff had been piled up in the farmyard and set alight. At the top was my bed, burning brightly still. I could see the letters of my name, that I had carved on the frame as a boy. On the far side of the fire, a dog was eating something. The bailiff was there, with his head knocked in and his brains spilled on the cobbles. Nothing else human was in sight. Wherever the slaves had run to, it was a certainty we should never see them again.

It was a good bit of land, the best in the valley. We had been there as long as the grasshoppers, father and son, throwing the stones out of the fields and building terraces with them. I myself had made a new one on the hillside, and planted vines. They had ridden their horses over them, across and across; the young green was all mashed down into the earth. I might as well have pleased my uncle Strymon by training them his way. Of all the livestock, not a hair or a feather was left.

I could hear a murmur running along the troop, as they told each other whose place it was. They looked at me with solemn respect, as people do at a man in calamity. Lysis rode up to me and put his hand on mine. “They are thieves from their birth,” he said, “but this, by Herakles, they shall buy.” I answered as cheerfully as an actor in a play, “Never mind, Lysis, it’s not the only one.” They all thought I showed great fortitude; the truth is that I did not feel it yet. When a supper-table is overturned there is a great mess; then the wine is wiped up, a clean cloth set with fresh cups and plates, and all is as before. So, it seemed, I should find it here when I came again.

There was nothing to stay for. At last from high ground we saw a whole roof, from which the smoke came up while we looked. Lysis said, “Good,” and gave the word to ride on.

We passed two more burned farms. It was rare to see as much as a pullet that had got away. As Lysis had said, Spartans are the best thieves in the world. They keep their boys always half-fed, so that they can never have a belly-full without stealing; this is so that they will learn to live off the country. They get a thrashing if anyone sees them at it. There is a well-known story about this, not the least remarkable part of which, to my mind, is that the boy was hungry enough to have intended eating a fox.

We overtook the Spartans in a little valley between Thria and Phyle. They had not burned the farm yet, for it was now evening, and they had camped there for the night. The scout reported that they had lit a fire in the farmyard and were having supper. They had no infantry with them, only a few Helots who were unarmed. One of our troop came from this part of the country, and showed Lysis a narrow ride above the olives, where we could avoid the scout they had posted by the stream.