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.