The theoria marched singing to the temple; the herald cried, the offering-bearers came forward with their jars and baskets and wreathed bull; Hippias spoke the dedication, and poured on the altar a flask of precious incense, three times more costly since we lost the Asian cities. The Delian High Priest replied. Nothing could have been handsomer.
Important people would now be paying their respects. I let the brothers get to the Athenian lodge, and left them time for a rest and a drink, before I went to pay mine. I was here as a Kean, after all.
The lodge was handsome, built of stone by Pisistratos when he purified the island. There were still people about; but Hipparchos called out to me as soon as I was inside. Only he and Thessalos were there; the chair of state was empty.
“Come in, singer of heroes!” He shouted to a slave to bring another stool. Most of the guests were standing. “My brother has gone up Mount Kythnos to consult the oracle.”
I said I hoped the answer would be favorable. I could hardly ask about the question, though I longed to know.
Hipparchos waved it away. “Oh, it will be favorable. He has nothing serious to ask it. Oracles are his study. Wherever one exists, it’s the first thing he visits. They are all ready for him beforehand.” He beckoned another slave to bring me wine.
Thessalos said, “He may get a surprise one day. Oracles are known for that.”
“Not on Delos.” He smiled. Everyone knew that even rich Polykrates had not been such a benefactor of the sanctuary as Pisistratos. I had had it in mind when I composed my dithyramb, never guessing his own sons would be in the audience. It must, I thought, be my lucky day.
“Onomakritos has gone up with him,” Hipparchos said, “to write it all down, in case anything gets forgotten.”
I stared at this. “Why, Onomakritos is a poet. Does he need to write it?” I had met the man and thought him a charlatan; but Hippias put great trust in him.
Hipparchos laughed. He knew well enough what I was thinking. “Well, he has charge of all the oracles from the time of Theseus down, or so he claims for them. I daresay it’s a good deal to remember. He and Hippias go over them by the hour. They come to Father with them. Sometimes he even uses one, if it falls in pat just then.”
“Especially Athene’s,” Thessalos put in.
This was sailing near the wind. I suppose there were a few very simple peasants who still believed Athene herself had escorted Pisistratos back from exile. From curiosity, I had gone myself to the home village of the tall girl who had put on the helmet and the aegis for him and mounted the chariot at his side. I was snubbed, however, whenever I asked the way. She was treated with great respect there, and shielded from vulgar eyes. I believe she married the first man of the place (not ill-dowered, you may be sure!) and bore him four tall sons. Ever since she put on Athene’s armor, the people felt she was somehow god-touched. In Athens, of course, it had long since been a joke; people just admired its cleverness, though not as a rule out loud.
Lest I should feel awkward, Hipparchos sanctioned it this time with a smile. It was things like this that won him so many friends. I suppose it is no great wonder that men forget; but I am sorry, too.
The small guest-room of the lodge looked very festive, with its garlands and embroidered hangings, and the brothers’ fresh bright clothes, dark Thessalos in yellow, fair Hipparchos in white bordered with scarlet. Pisistratos never put on purple, nor allowed his sons to do it. He knew what the Athenians would think of that. He always knew what they thought.
Some tedious people left, and the talk grew gayer; Hipparchos never expected artists he entertained to sing each time for their supper. After a while a shadow fell on the doorway, and soberness along with it. Hippias came in, with solemn Onomakritos. He really was carrying tablets, without any shame, like any palace clerk.
Hipparchos greeted them; I saw him take a second, keener look at Hippias face. It certainly looked grave; but he was pious to the point of superstition. In any case, I took my leave almost at once, to let him talk with his brothers. I was short of time myself.
In the evening, my boys got in from rambling about the island, and crowded for their supper into the big room under the Kean lodge, where they would sleep in straw like puppies. I, like the kennel-man, would have my pallet there to keep an eye on them, and see they turned out next day without black eyes or bloodied noses.
Most of their parents were lodging at Rhenaia Island, close by, as people do when Delos is full. My own however were here, and I got up early to pay my respects before the procession began. To save time I put my robe and wreath on. As I came in, I saw the change in my father’s face as he made out who it was. For a moment he’d thought it was someone of importance.
Even when he’d realized his mistake, he looked as if he had had some new thought about me; but whether welcome or not, I could not tell. My mother complained that the lodging was badly swept, and kept telling me to pick up my skirts, or I would not be fit to be seen. Theas, whom I passed conferring deeply with other umpires on the state of the wrestling-ground, waved and wished me luck.
It was a fine calm morning, with only the gentlest breeze; no need to tie one’s wreath into one’s hair. We marched to the forecourt of the temple (Pisistratos’ gift, already looking mellow) singing our paeans, then stood in our order waiting for our turns. Mine came about halfway through.
I sang of the god’s birth as I had conceived it, and how Delos is still suffused with his pure fire, which will not bear sickness, or death, or tears. The last part should always deal with things in the world of men; so I sang of the Purification.
I was little more than a boy when Pisistratos visited Delos as First Archon of Athens, instead of a simple worshipper. For many years it had been treated carelessly; there were graveyards in full sight of the precinct and the sacred cave. He had all the old bones given decent burial, with their own tombstones, at the far end of the island, and had the cleared places beautified. On one of them he built the temple. All this was in my ode.
I’d rehearsed my boys to turn their circle at a gentle pace, to save their breath for the song. There was no wind to carry the sound away; no one was fidgety with cold; the boys came in dead on time as my solo ended. We were well received. As we went off, I got a gracious smile from Hippias as well as from Hipparchos, and wondered if my father saw.
The Athenian choir came next. It was the first appearance of young Lasos, a most agreeable fellow whom I got to know well in later years. So far as music was concerned, his ear was better than mine; he used to say, as if it were quite natural, that he composed it first and thought later about the words. This is why none of his words have lived on after him. They were just part of the sound, like an extra flute; he took pride in never using any word that had an s in it, a sound that he thought harsh. He used all woodwinds, no strings, and took it fast, the dance as well as the singing. His choir was well trained, too. Though without any wish to copy him, I was spellbound by his mastery, and was some time in noticing that someone was pulling my robe.
Thinking that one of the boys wanted to go and relieve himself, I said without turning, “Very well, but go quietly.” Then the tug got stronger, and I looked. It was Midylos, my sister’s husband. I saw with surprise that clinging to his cloak was Theas’ little boy. Our mother had been looking after him.
Midylos whispered, “Sim, I am sorry, but I think you had better come. Your father is sick … They have taken him to Rhenaia.”
He glanced at me. There was no need to say more.
If one calls up one’s youth to answer to one’s age, one must ask the truth from it. The truth is that I thought, “Not now!”