Part 7 (1/2)

After the a.s.sembly had been dismissed, Callias was overwhelmed with enquiries. To these he thought it well to return very vague answers. The fact was that there was much that he knew and much that he did not know.

He knew the name of more than one of the s.h.i.+ps that had been sunk or disabled. Two or three had been run down before his eyes. About others he had information almost equally certain. He could have told some of his questioners what would have confirmed their worst fears. On the other hand he could not give anything like a complete list of the losses. Some enquirers he could rea.s.sure. He had seen or even talked to their friends after the battle. All the admirals, he knew, were safe.

And steps, he was sure, had been taken to rescue the s.h.i.+pwrecked crews.

On the subject of Diomedon's fears he preserved absolute silence. If any disaster had happened, it was only too sure to be heard of before long.

On the evening of the day of a.s.sembly a great banquet was held in the Prytaneum, or Town-hall of Athens. Such a banquet was always an interesting sight, and on this occasion Callias, as he witnessed it for the first time, also saw it to the very greatest advantage. All the public guests[26] of the city that were not absent on active service or were not positively hindered from coming by age or infirmity were present. The ranks of these veterans were indeed sadly thinned. The war had been curiously deadly to officers high in command. The fatal expedition to Sicily had swept off many of the most distinguished.

Others had fallen in the ”little wars” in which Athens like all states that have wide dominions had been perpetually involved. One famous survivor of a generation that had long since pa.s.sed away was there, Myronides, the victor of Oenophyta. The old man had been born in the Marathon year, and was therefore now eighty-four. His life, it will be seen, embraced with remarkable exact.i.tude the period of the greatness of Athens. The victory that had made him famous had been won fifty-one years before, and had been, so to speak, the ”high water mark” of Athenian dominion.[27] He had lived to see almost its lowest ebb, though happily for himself as he died before the year was out, he was spared from seeing the absolute ruin of his country. Callias was distantly related to him and was on terms of as close a friends.h.i.+p as the difference of age permitted with his son Eteonicus, one of the ablest and most patriotic statesmen of the time. After the libation which was the usual signal for the wine drinking, had been poured, the old man rose from his place, as his habit was, and walked down the hall, touching our hero on his shoulder as he pa.s.sed.

”Come,” he said, as Callias looked up, ”if you can spare half an hour from the wine cup to bear an old man company.”

The young man immediately left his place and accompanied the veteran to one of the small chambers leading from the hall.

”And now tell me all about it,” he said, when they were seated.

Callias gave him as full an account as he could of all that he had seen during the campaign. Myronides plied him with questions that showed an intelligence of unabated vigor. The armament and sailing qualities of the s.h.i.+ps, the _morale_ and _physique_ of the crews, every detail, in fact, that concerned the efficiency of the force that Athens had in the field, were subjects of liveliest interest to the old man. When he had heard all that his young kinsman had to say, he heaved a deep sigh. ”Ah!

my dear boy,” he said, ”things have come to a pretty pa.s.s with Athens.

As an old soldier I know what some of the things that you tell me mean better than you do yourself. We are near the beginning of the end, and I can only hope that I shall be gone when the end itself comes. I don't mean that this is not a great victory that Diomedon and the rest of them have won; but it is a victory that will never be won again. In the very nature of things it can not. Do you think that the old men and boys that I won the day with at Oenophyta[28] would have sufficed for a regular force, a force that the city could rely on? Of course not. I could not even have afforded to risk the chance if they had not had something strong behind them. But now what is there? Old men and boys, and nothing behind them. The slaves, you say? Very good; they fought very well, I hear. And of course they will get their freedom. Do you think that they will fight as well again after they have got it? Why should they? A man may as well die as be a slave, and so they might very well risk their lives to get free. But, once free, why should they risk them again?”

”What!” cried Callias, ”not to keep the Spartans out of Athens?”

”You talk as an Athenian,” said the old man, ”and they are not Athenians. You and I, I allow, would sooner die than see Spartans within the walls: but what would it matter to them? They could eat and drink, buy and sell just as comfortably whoever might be their masters. Yes, my son; it is all over with a city that has to fall back on its slaves.

There is only one chance, and that is to make peace _now_, before we lose all that we have gained. But what chance is there of that? Is there any one who would even dare to propose such a thing?”

”You would, sir,” said the young man.

”Yes, I might; but to what profit? I don't suppose they would do me any harm. 'Poor old man!' they would say, 'he dotes.' But as for listening to me--I know better than that. Is there one of the responsible statesmen who would venture to give such advice? Would my son Eteonicus venture? Not he; and yet he is a sensible and honest young man, and knows that I am right. But it would be as much as his life, or, what he values more, his whole career is worth, to hint at such thing. Oh! what opportunities I have seen lost in this way. Unfortunately a victory makes the Athenians quite impracticable.[29] They don't seem capable of realizing that the wheel is certain to take a turn. But you have had enough of an old man's croakings. The G.o.ds grant that these things may turn out better than my fears! And now give me your arm to the gate, where my people will be waiting for me.”

Callias conducted the old man to the door, and saw him put safely into the litter which was waiting for him. He then stood meditating how he should dispose of himself for the rest of the evening. He was unwilling to return to the banquet. Questions would be put to him, he knew, by many of the guests to which it would be difficult either to give or to refuse an answer. He would gladly, indeed, have hidden himself altogether till the fuller despatches should have arrived, which would relieve him of the necessity of playing any longer the difficult part which had been imposed upon him. His thoughts naturally turned to Hippocles and Hermione, and he had already taken some steps in the direction of the Peiraeus, when the thought occurred to him that he was scarcely on terms of such intimacy with the family as would warrant a visit at so late an hour. As he stood irresolute, the door of a neighboring house opened, and a party of four young men issued from it into the street.

”Ah!” cried one of them, ”'tis the sober Callias. Seize him, Glaucus and Eudaemon, and make him come with us.”

The two men addressed ran up to our hero, and laid hold each of an arm.

”You are a prisoner of my spear,” said the first speaker, whose name, I may say, was Ctesiphon, ”and may as well submit to your fate with as much grace as possible. You shall not suffer anything unendurable, and shall be released at the proper time. Meanwhile you must join our expedition.”

”I submit,” said Callias, willing, perhaps, to have the question that had been puzzling him settled for him. ”But tell me, if I have to follow you, whither you are bound.”

”We are going to the house of Euctemon, where there will be something, I know, worth seeing and hearing.”

”But I am a stranger,” said Callias.

”A stranger!” cried Ctesiphon, ”you are no such thing. The man who brings good news to Athens is the friend of everybody. Besides Euctemon is my first cousin, and he is always pleased to see my friends. You should have been at his dinner, but that there was no room on his couches for more guests. But now when the tables are removed[30] we shall easily find places. But come along or we shall lose something.”

There was no want of heartiness in Euctemon's greeting to his new guests. To Callias he was especially polite, making room for him on his own couch. When the new arrivals were settled in their places, the host clapped his hands. A white-haired freedman, who acted as major-domo, appeared.

”We are ready for Stephanos,” said Euctemon.

A few minutes afterwards a figure appeared, so curiously like the traditional representations of Homer that every one was startled.