The Last of the Wine (17 page)

We came out into the farm and rode in among the pens, shouting the paean. The Spartans scattered from their fire, calling to arms and running for their horses. Some we rode down between the fire and their picket-lines. But the rest of the troop, who had got to their mounts, spurred up and met us hand to hand.

I had wondered to myself whether, when it came to the moment, I should believe it was really war, and not another bout at Demeas’. I need not have been in doubt. As you may know, the Spartan knights’ class is not made up of those who can buy horse and armour, but is a privilege given for merit. Xenophon (who was certainly safe of his entry either way) had often said to me how excellent this custom was. I daresay it is, except that any commoner who wants to get in is urged to watch the knights, and report any fault he sees; if he can prove it he may get the other man’s place. You may suppose that a few years of this leave some mark on a man. I will not say they looked as if they never laughed; but they had certainly taken good care what they laughed at. They had on their plain round helmets and the scarlet tunic that does not show blood; their long hair (which they had oiled and combed and dressed, because they were at war) reached to their shoulders. I saw one of them coming for me and needed no prompting to think, “This man will kill me, if he lives to do it.”

But, as often happens in war, something swerved his horse aside, and I found myself facing a different man who seemed to have sprung out of the earth, but who glared at me as if I had done him some injury. Throwing as Lysis had taught me, I got him with my javelin, deep in the neck. He fell with it in him. As I reached for another, I saw Lysis fighting some way off. He looked round for a moment; I thought, “He doesn’t know where I am.” So I yelled out the paean, and dashed into the mêlée where he could see what I was up to.

How it all ended I don’t well remember. It was like a score of skirmishes I fought in, that year and other years. But I remember we killed four or five of them, and they only got a couple of ours, because they were outnumbered and surprised. We also killed one of their Helots, who took up arms to fight for them. He was a brave man; so if he had stayed in Lakonia, the Krypteia (which is a corps of youths trained to attend to such people) would probably have killed him in any case.

After the remnant made off (for they were only raiders, and had no orders to stand and die) Lysis told us to take up their weapons and armour to make our trophy. So I came to the man I had struck with my javelin, lying on his back with the shaft sticking in him. I put my hand on it, and then saw he was still alive.

I recognised his face by his beard, which was quite soft and young; I suppose he was not much over twenty years old. Both his hands were clutching the ground beside him, digging down into the dirt; his teeth were clenched, and his lips drawn backward; the whites of his eyes showed and his back was lifted in an arch. He was trying to breathe, or not to breathe because of the pain, and a bubbling came from his throat. As I looked he put up one of his hands, which was covered with ordure from the earth, and felt at the javelin where it stood in his neck. I had sent it downward within the collar-bone, as Demeas had recommended. No one had told me what happened afterwards.

As I stood gazing in the dusk, his eyes moved and looked me in the face. I thought, as one can in a short time, of many things; of the pains he had suffered in Sparta, first to be a man and then to be a knight, and now so soon to end. His hand fell back and scraped at the ground and he stared at me grinning; whether defying me, or braving out his death, or in the convulsion of his pain, I could not tell. Someone had come up beside me; I turned and saw Lysis looking down. He said, “Pull out the javelin; then he will die.”

I put out my hand, and saw the man’s eyes still on mine. I wondered if he had heard Lysis’ words. My hand touched the shaft, and drew back again. Lysis said, “Pull it out.” His voice had changed; it was the Phylarch giving an order. I had thought that he would help me; but he stood there waiting.

So I put my foot on the Spartan’s breastplate, and pulled. I could feel the javelin-head tearing out through the sinews and grating on the bone, and heard the breath hissing in the man’s throat, either of itself or as he tried not to scream. He gave a great cough, and blood splashed out of his mouth on my arms and on my knees; then he died, as Lysis had told me he would. Lysis said nothing; he nodded at me and went away. I stripped the arms from the body and threw them down on the pile; then I went off and vomited behind a wall. It was getting dark, and when I came back I don’t think anyone noticed I was pale. Someone said to me, “How many did we get?” I looked at the bodies, and the man I had killed was one body among them, and I said, “Five.”

Soon after, the Spartan heralds came to take them away under truce; and we put up our trophy of arms, being left masters of the field. Afterwards we made a pyre to burn our dead; for there was no knowing when we could have brought them home. This is another thing not easy to watch the first time; indeed, to this very day when the fire feeds upon a man I broke bread with at noon, I would look elsewhere, except that one must keep one’s men in heart.

But when all was done, our arms stacked and our sentries posted, and we sat round the fire to eat the food we had snatched from the Spartans, then we got the feel of victory, and the joy of tasting life when the enemy is slain. The sentries were relieved to eat; then we came back and stripped off our armour and clothes, and oiled and scraped ourselves in the warmth of the fire, and talked of the fight. Now for the first time Lysis called me over to sit beside him; we pooled our food and shared it as we used to do. I knew what it meant, that for the sake of the squadron he had not wanted to single me out before I was proved. When I had stood at the feet of Athene after the race, to be crowned with the sacred olive, I had been proud, but now it seemed little, compared with this.

I looked into the bright fire, and saw it shine on the faces and bodies of my comrades, and on Lysis beside me, and thought, “If strangers came now, naked as he is they would not ask, ‘Which of you is the leader?’” Then a dead log fell from the fire, and I remembered our farm lay in ruins, the crops destroyed, the cattle and sheep gone and the slaves fled, and I thought, “We are become poor; we shall be poor for years and perhaps always.” Yet being young, and filled with the present, I remembered it like a tale; and I could not understand that I should ever feel it more than I did then.

We gathered hay and straw for our beds, and while Lysis made a round of the sentries I gathered his too. Then we rolled ourselves in our cloaks and lay down side by side. We talked for a little while, and he said that if his father’s farm was spared, he would lend us slaves, and stock for breeding, when the Spartans had gone home, and the place would soon be bringing something in again. “They never stay more than two months,” he said, “and often not so long.” Then he fell asleep like a lamp going out. I was stiff from riding, and had never made my bed on the ground before; one moment, it seemed, I was thinking I should never close my eyes, and the next it was morning.

This day, or something like it, we lived over many times in the weeks that followed. Sometimes we saved all the stock from a farm, by holding the Spartans off till it could be got away; sometimes they beat us and kept what they had. Some of the cattle were sent over to Euboea for safe keeping, according to the custom of the Athenians in war. What our troop did was a small matter, for the army of Demosthenes was now in the field, and the Spartans began to be contained in the fort at Dekeleia. King Agis was leading them in person; having two kings they are always freer with them than other folk. This was the same Agis who, on the omen of an earthquake, had avoided his new wife’s bed for a year, as I have related. He prosecuted the war with great bitterness, as if he had some reason to hate the Athenians; of which more in good time. But Demosthenes kept a curb upon his wishes. He could not be got out of Dekeleia itself, it is too strong a hold, and he had only taken it because in the truce it was lightly manned. He had done, however, as much as a raider usually expects to do in a season; it could not be long, we thought, before he went home, and left Demosthenes free to sail for Sicily. Meanwhile, the work of the Frontier Guard got easier, and days might pass without our seeing action.

As for Lysis and me, anyone who has gone campaigning with a lover will know what I mean, when I say we had never been together so much, and never so little. We seldom spent an hour out of each other’s sight; for after the first day I always rode with Lysis, and fought at his side, and no one, I believe, ever questioned my place. We got a new way of talking to each other from being always overheard; sometimes, if we were alone for a while, we were almost tongue-tied, and would look at each other smiling, not knowing how to begin. The best times were when I was standing the midnight watch; Lysis would leave visiting my post till late, and stay with me talking quietly before he slept. But as we rode with the troop, we tried sometimes to examine a question and determine the truth by logic; for, we said, what use to chase the Spartans from Attic soil if we grow Doric wits ourselves? Then we remembered Sokrates, and other things we did not speak of.

The troop, as soon as they saw I took my share of hard work and night watches, were kind to our friendship. The usual jokes were made, but without any malice. Now the country was quiet, we used sometimes when the evening fire was lit to go for a walk together in the night. Once, coming back quietly over the grass, we heard young Gorgion, who had a salty tongue, accounting for our absence. Just afterwards, they saw us in the firelight. Of course we joined in the laughter. But next time we went we were a little constrained, knowing what they thought, but not quite willing to speak of it, out of modesty or for another cause. For I was not so young in war as not to have felt already how death touches love’s shoulder and says, “Make haste.”

Our patrol ended at last, and another troop relieved us. The country was all quiet just then; we made our last camp near Cape Sounion. I doubt what the garrison at the fort there told us afterwards, that they could hear us round our fire half a mile away; but we were certainly cheerful. I remember that everyone was picked up in turn, head and heels, and slung on top of the others; at the end half the troop fell upon Lysis and, when we had overpowered him, slung him too. The next night we were to be quartered at Sounion, and that day was our own.

Lysis and I rode off together along the coast, the blue sea beside us and the red rocky shore all broken into little bays. At one of these, after a long gallop, we drew rein; and looking at the clear blue water, threw our clothes off with one accord. The water was brisk at first and warm after, and we swam far out to sea, till we could see Poseidon’s temple at Sounion standing against the sky. Lysis was the faster, his wrestling having strengthened his shoulders and arms; but he waited for me, as I did in running for him. We rested on the water, then swam shoreward, and in shallow rock-pools tried laughing to catch fish in our hands. But as we walked out of the water afterwards, I felt a sharp pain in the side of my foot, and found it bleeding. I must have trodden on a broken shell or a potsherd, for the cut was deep. Lysis knelt and looked at it while I leaned on his shoulder. “This will give you trouble,” he said, “if you fill it with grit as you cross the beach. It might cost you a crown. Wash it well in the sea, and I will carry you over to a place where a horse can go.” For the beach was stony.

I sat on a flat-topped rock, and trailed my foot in the sea. The water was clear, and the blood unrolled in it like smoke in a blue sky. I sat watching it till Lysis touched me on the shoulder and said, “Come.” I leaned back for him to take hold of me, and fastened my arms round his neck. But he did not carry me; nor did I let him go. We spoke without sound each other’s names. A gull screamed over us, an empty sound, to tell us we two were alone upon the shore.

I said to my heart, “What mighty power hast thou been defying?” Truly love may be likened to the Sphinx of the Egyptians, with the face of a smiling god and a lion’s claws. When he had wounded me, all my longing was to leap into his darkness, and be consumed. I called on my soul, but it bled away from me like salt washed back into the ocean. My soul melted and fled; the wound in my foot, which the water had opened, streamed out scarlet over the wet rock.

I lay between sea and sky, stricken by the Hunter; the fiery immortal hounds of Eros, slipped from the leash, dragged at my throat and at my vitals, to bring the quarry in. It seemed to me now that my soul was here, if it was anywhere; nothing remained to me of what I was, save this, that I remembered I had promised Sokrates a gift. He whom I loved knew my mind; perhaps it was his own. We were still, understanding each other.

He let me go, and, kneeling beside the rock, covered the wound with his mouth till the bleeding stopped. We were silent, he kneeling in the water, and I lying like the sacrifice on the altar-stone, the blue sky burning my eyes. After a while he bent and rinsed his face and got up smiling. “The Thracians when they swear friendship mingle their blood, or drink it, I forget. Now we are really one.” He carried me over the shore to the horses, and tore his tunic and bound my foot. It healed cleanly, and I was running again in a couple of weeks.

A little time after, when we were back in the City, I saw him for the first time with the Corinthian, Drosis, bidding her goodbye as he left her house. Several times, before the fighting began, he had invited me to supper with her to hear her sing. I had refused laughing, and telling him that as long as we did not meet, we could never doubt how all three of us would love each other. One does not need much knowledge of the world, to have heard that a man’s mistress usually likes his friend too little, or too much. I had never been troubled by the thought of her at all. Yet now that I saw her, looking just what I had imagined, a small downy girl, holding his hands, I felt grief and anger, and drew back into a porch so that he should not see me as he went.