He smiled at me, as one does at a child who tugs one’s clothes. Then he said, “Have you ever wondered why I hate Kritias?”—“No, Phaedo; I can’t say I have.” He nodded. “You are half right. I was a beginner at Gurgos’s, the first time, and green enough to show I didn’t like him. I even expected he would complain of it.” He smiled slightly. I wrapped my arms across me; I was feeling cold. “Most people charge fees for teaching, but Kritias paid for the privilege of instructing me. I got to know his knock … As Sokrates was saying the other day, the gift of knowledge can never be taken from us.”
I remembered in time that if one touched him, he would always move away. I waited. In the dead light he seemed to wear a cap of silver; his dark eyes were old and brilliant, like the eyes of Apollo’s snake.
“I came to Sokrates first,” he said, “for his negative method. It pleased me to watch him undermine the security of fools. There, I thought, is a man who will not tame the truth, but will follow it into the dry places. So in my turn I followed him; and he led me where I had not thought to go. It doesn’t frighten me when he tears down the definitions, and leaves nothing in place. Justice, holiness, truth … if one hasn’t defined, one has had the demonstration. Well, from today I can say, I think, that I’m his prize student of the negative elenchos. I’ve outstayed my rivals … Kritias, and Alkibiades.”
I was silent, trying not to be angry with him for having drawn me too within the circle of his pain. Presently he turned to me. “Still thinking with your belly, Alexias. Don’t let Lysis make you soft. He’s in love with you, and too simple to know what he is doing. If you turned your back on a battle he would die of shame. Think with your head even if it hurts you. When a man is freed from the bonds of dogma and custom, where will he run? To what he hates, or what he loves? Tell me, do you think many people hate Lysis?”—“Lysis? I don’t think it would be possible to hate him.”—“So Sokrates feels about what he is in love with, wisdom, and God. So he turned the key of the cage, and set Alkibiades free. And now Kritias too is running on the mountains, with no more between him and his will than a wolf has. For a long time now I have watched Kritias getting loose, from the soul, if you like the word, or from whatever keeps a man on two feet instead of four. I have gone step by step with him, for his reason is a mirror held up to mine, till I stood at the very edge of his conclusions. It is the true teacher’s gift, they say, to discover a man to himself … At Gurgos’s once I lay awake considering how to kill him. But already it was too late.”
14
WE WENT BACK TO war soon after. King Agis was at Dekeleia in command, and saw to it that if the Thebans relieved his Spartans they should not sit idle. We found them easier, however, partly because they are inclined to be a little slow (though not as slow as the comic writers pretend) and partly because we had been coming and going in the truce till we knew each other better as neighbours than as enemies. I remember particularly two whom we picked up badly wounded. One could have got away, but had rushed back when he saw the others fall. Next day we handed them over through the heralds; for it would be long before they fought again, and to despatch helpless men is always disagreeable, particularly if they have shown courage first. I brought them some food and drink at night, and asked them if they were lovers. They said they were, and that it was a custom of their city for friends to take a vow at the tomb of Iolaos, whom Herakles loved. After this they always served together in battle, and were put in front to stiffen the line, as being more likely than anyone else to prefer death before dishonour. “Some day,” the younger one said, “they will make one regiment of us, and then we will conquer the world.” And he turned to his friend, who though weak with his wound looked round and smiled. I would have liked to talk longer to them, but they were in pain so I let them be.
Demosthenes sailed for Sicily in early summer. The fleet went soberly, with no ceremony beyond the sacrifices, and libations to the gods. Lysis and I sat our horses on a hill, with the troop about us, and saw the sails grow little on the sea. He and I caught each other’s eyes and smiled; then he turned and called, “A cheer for our fathers, and good luck to Demosthenes!” We all gave it, and felt proud that when the army came back with victory, no one could say we had sat idle among the women.
We had need of pride in the months that followed. I was strong and in the flower of youth, yet I knew weariness then as since I have seldom known it. The remnant of the harvest was ripening in the farms. There was only the cavalry to save it. All the infantry that was left was manning the City walls, so near were the invaders. By day the citizens watched in shifts; you could see men plying their trades in armour, or shopping in the market. By night every fit man slept in the mustering-places about the temples, lest Agis should surprise us.
The horsemen were based on the Anakeion; we in our turn saw the Twins’ bridles against the stars, and more than once I stood watch on that same wall where I had stood with my father when I was fifteen. Dawn would grow red in the sky and we would wait for the sound of the trumpet, which was never long delayed; we would take out our weary horses, rub their legs still lame and stiff with yesterday’s riding, and set out again. But often we slept the night in the hills, with what shelter we could find.
Sometimes when the night was chilly, or there was rain, and we ached all over from riding or from wounds, Lysis and I would draw together, seeking a little warmth; but we never shared a cloak, because when you do that in winter you will do it in spring. Remembering those days, I hardly know what kept us to our resolve; we had no time to pursue philosophy, or be quiet, or consider the gods except when the squadron made the morning or the evening prayer; and I think it was weariness more than anything that made it easy to us. Yet sometimes in the night watch, when the Galaxy unrolled its book across a moonless sky, I knew what we were about, and where Sokrates was sending us. When Lysis had left me and gone to sleep, I would feel my soul climb love as a mountain, which at the foot has wide slopes with rocks and streams and woods, and fields of every kind, but at the top one peak, to which if you go upward all paths lead; and beyond it, the blue ether where the world swims like a fish in its ocean, and the winged soul flies free. And thence returning, for a while I found nothing created that I could not love: the comrade I had been angry with in the day, the Spartans sitting in Dekeleia; even Kritias I was sorry for, and knew why Sokrates had not sooner cast him out. Yet I was not drowsy, nor lost in dreams, but saw the night sparkle like a crystal, and every coney stirring, or the silent owl.
Towards the end of summer we got a dispatch from Sicily; but I quote my father’s letter which came with it, for brevity’s sake. I had written to him, by one of Demosthenes’ ships. After some instructions about reclaiming the farm, he said, “Your choice of a friend I approve, a young man of good reputation, whose father also I know. Do not neglect his instruction, whether in virtue or in the field, that your fellowship may be held in honour by gods and men. With regard to the war, since I cannot amend your news with better, receive mine like a man. Nikias by infirmity of purpose has paltered victory away. Demosthenes, a good man out of luck, threw for double or quits and lost. He knows the game is up, and means to bring us home again with what he can save. Nikias lingers, waiting on omens, or for a democrat to open the gates of Syracuse, or for the intervention of a god; but Syracuse is not Troy. In my opinion he fears to face the Athenians with a defeat. Demosthenes, however, is a man and will do what is needful. Endure till we come; we will sweep Attica clean together.”