He came out rather before the usual tune. I did not ask how it had gone with him that day, in case he should return my question. He was quiet, which I was glad of, having little to say myself; but after we had walked a short way, he said, “It’s fine and clear, and the wind is cool. Shall we climb the mountain?”
I was rather surprised; for it was unlike him, having fixed a time for anything, to change it at a whim. I was afraid he had noticed my low spirits; but indeed I was glad of this diversion. The noonday heat was over, and the tower-wreathed head of Acrocorinth looked golden against the tender sky of spring. As we climbed, the other hills grew tall around us, Corinth shone below, and the blue sea spread wide. When we were just below the walls, I said that perhaps the Corinthians would bar us from their citadel, being their enemies but for the sacred truce. But the man in the gatehouse spoke civilly, chatted about the Games and let us in.
There is still a good way to climb on Acrocorinth after you have passed the walls. Being so high, the place is not thronged like our own High City; it was quiet, so that one could hear the bees in the asphodel, the little clappers of the mountain goats, and a shepherd piping. Beyond the walls were great spaces of blue air; for the citadel stands on high cliffs, like a roof on the columns of a temple.
The sacred way wound up between shrines, and holy springs. There was one sanctuary built of grey stone, which we entered. After the bright sunlight it seemed very dark; in the midst, where the god should stand, was a curtain of purple. A priest in a dark-red robe came out and said, “Strangers, come no nearer. This is the temple of Necessity and Force; and the image of this god is not to be looked upon.” I would have gone at once, for the place disquieted me; but Lysis paused and said, “Is it permitted to make an offering?” The priest answered, “No. This god accepts only the appointed sacrifice.” Lysis said, “Be it so, then,” and to me, “Let us go.” After this he was silent so long that I asked if anything troubled him. He smiled, and shook his head, and pointed forward; for now we had reached the crown of Acrocorinth, and stepping on small heath and mountain flowers, saw before us the shrine.
The image of Aphrodite there is armed with shield and spear; yet I never knew a place so full of peace. The temple is delicate and small, with a terrace from which the slopes fall gently; the walls and towers seem far below; the mountains round about hang like veils of grey and purple, and the two seas stretch away, all silken in the light, I thought of the day when Lysis and I had heard Sokrates and gone up to the High City; it seemed that the memory had been already here awaiting us, as if the place were a dwelling of such things.
After a while Lysis pointed downward and said, “Look how small it is.” I looked, and saw the precinct of the Games, the temple, and the fair-booths round it, smaller than children’s toys of painted clay. My soul felt light and free, and washed from the taint of the morning. Lysis laid his hand on my shoulder; it seemed to me that doubt or trouble could never assail us again. We stood looking down; I traced the long wall of the Isthmus, cutting the south of Hellas from the north. Lysis drew in his breath; I think then he would have spoken; but something had caught my eye; and I called out, “Lysis, look there! There are ships moving on the land!”
I pointed. There was a track drawn across the Isthmus, as thin to our eyes as the scratch of a child’s stick. Along it the ships were creeping, with movement scarcely to be seen. Around each prow was a swarm as fine as dust, of seamen and hauliers dragging on the ropes, or going before with rollers. We counted four on the shipway, and eight in the Gulf of Corinth, waiting their turn. They were moving from the western to the eastern sea.
I turned to Lysis. He looked as he did before a battle, and did not see me. I caught at his arm, asking what it was. He said, “I have heard of the shipway; that is nothing. But the ships are too many.” On this I understood. “You mean they’re Spartan ships, slipping through to the Aegean behind our backs?”—“Revolt in the Islands somewhere, and the Spartans supporting it. I thought Alkibiades had been quiet too long.”
“We must go down,” I said, “and tell the delegates.” The snake which had slept all winter was putting forth its head. Yet this seemed small, compared with the grief I felt that we must go down from the mountain. I said to Lysis, “We will come here again together, after the Games.” He did not answer, but pointed eastward. The light came slanting from the west, and was very clear. I said, “I can see even as far as Salamis; there is the ridge of her hills, with the dip in the middle.”—“Yes,” he said. “Can you see beyond?” I narrowed my eyes. Beyond the dip something shone like a chip of crystal in the sun. “It is the High City, Lysis. It is the Temple of the Maiden.” He nodded, but did not speak, only stood looking, like a man sealing what he sees upon his mind.
It was dark when we got down into Isthmia, but we went straight to the harbour and hailed the Paralos. Most of the crew were enjoying themselves in Corinth; but Agios the pilot was there, a stocky man, red-faced and white-haired, who offered us wine beneath the cresset burning on the poop. When he had heard, he whistled between his teeth. “So,” he said, “that’s what is coming into Kenchreai.” He told us that he and his mate, walking by the shore, had seen the harbour there filling with ships; but before they could get near, some guards had turned them away. “Spartan guards,” he said. “I’ve not seen the Corinthians taking trouble to keep this quiet.”—“No,” said Lysis, “or why are we Athenians here at all? It’s their right to ask us and ours to come, both cities founded the Games together; yet it’s a strange time to offer us the sacred truce, with this work on hand.”
Agios said, “They’ve always been our rivals in trade; to see us poor would suit them well; but never tell me they’d welcome a Spartan Hellas. Pretty toys; pleasure; luxury; it’s more than their life, it’s their living. It may well be that they’re trimming now, with things as they are. I’ll see the men go about Corinth with their ears open. One thing at a time; you lads should be going to bed, with the Games so soon.”
On the way back we met Autolykos, taking his training-walk after supper. He hailed Lysis, asking what he had been doing to miss it. “I’m turning in,” Lysis said, “we climbed Acrocorinth this afternoon.” Autolykos raised his brows at us; he looked quite shocked, but he only bade us goodnight and walked on.
Next morning I woke a little stiff from the climb; so I spent an hour with the masseur, and after that only did the exercises to music, to loosen up and keep fresh for tomorrow; for the foot-race opens the Games. I was civil to Eumastas when we met. Once I caught him looking at me; but if I had grown more taciturn, it was not for a Spartan to notice it.
Besides all this, the Cretan athletes had arrived, the last of everyone, having been held up by a storm. Considering their fame as runners, I had more than Eumastas to think about. Sure enough, warming-up on the track I found a little swarthy youth who, I could tell at a glance, might well be the master of us all. The news flew through the Stadium that he had run at Olympia, and had come in second. Though anxious on my own account, I could not keep from laughing when I thought, “Tisander won’t sleep tonight.”
I woke to the sound that is like no other, the noise of the Stadium when the benches and the slopes are filling. People must have started arriving long before the first light. Already you could pick out the “Houp!” of the jugglers and acrobats, the hawkers crying ribbons and cakes and myrtle, the call of the water-sellers, bookmakers giving the odds, the sudden shouts of people squabbling for a place; and through it all the buzz of talk, like bees in an old temple. It is the sound that tightens one’s belly, and makes one shiver behind the neck.