Part 6 (1/2)

”And you are pa.s.sing stalwart. Still, be advised. I wouldn't harm you, so drop out early.”

Still no answer from Glaucon, whose clear eye seemed now to be wandering over the bare hills of Megara beyond.

”No answer?” persisted the giant. ”_Eu!_ don't complain that you've lacked warning, when you sit to-night in Charon's ferry-boat.”

The least shadow of a smile flitted across the Athenian's face; there was a slight deepening of the light in his eye. He turned his head a bit toward Lycon:-

”The games are not ended, dear Spartan,” he observed quietly.

The giant scowled. ”I don't like you silent, smiling men! You're warned.

I'll do my worst-”

”Let the leaping begin!” rang the voice of the president,-a call that changed all the uproar to a silence in which one might hear the wind moving in the firs outside, while every athlete felt his muscles tighten.

The heralds ran down the soft sands to a narrow mound of hardened earth, and beckoned to the athletes to follow. In the hands of each contestant were set a pair of bronze dumb-bells. The six were arrayed upon the mound with a clear reach of sand before. The master-herald proclaimed the order of the leaping: that each contestant should spring twice, and he whose leaps were the poorest should drop from the other contests.

Glaucon stood, his golden head thrown back, his eyes wandering idly toward his friends in the stadium. He could see Cimon restless on his seat, and Simonides holding his cloak and doubtless muttering wise counsel. The champion was as calm as his friends were nervous. The stadium had grown oppressively still; then broke into along ”ah!” Twenty thousand sprang up together as Scolus the Thasian leaped. His partisans cheered, while he rose from a sand-cloud; but ceased quickly. His leap had been poor. A herald with a pick marked a line where he had landed. The pipers began a rollicking catch to which the athletes involuntarily kept time with their dumb-bells.

Glaucon leaped second. Even the hostile Laconians shouted with pleasure at sight of his beautiful body poised, then flung out upon the sands far beyond the Thasian. He rose, shook off the dust, and returned to the mound, with a graceful gesture to the cheer that greeted him; but wise heads knew the contest was just beginning.

Ctesias and Amyntas leaped beyond the Thasian's mark, short of the Athenian's. Lycon was fifth. His admirers' hopes were high. He did not blast them. Huge was his bulk, yet his strength matched it. A cloud of dust hid him from view. When it settled, every Laconian was roaring with delight. He had pa.s.sed beyond Glaucon. Mrocles of Mantinea sprang last and badly. The second round was almost as the first; although Glaucon slightly surpa.s.sed his former effort. Lycon did as well as before. The others hardly bettered their early trial. It was long before the Laconians grew quiet enough to listen to the call of the herald.

”Lycon of Sparta wins the leaping. Glaucon of Athens is second. Scolus of Thasos leaps the shortest and drops from the pentathlon.”

Again cheers and clamour. The inexperienced Thasian marched disconsolately to his tent, pursued by ungenerous jeers.

”The quoit-hurling follows,” once more the herald; ”each contestant throws three quoits. He who throws poorest drops from the games.”

Cimon had risen now. In a momentary lull he trumpeted through his hands across the arena.

”Wake, Glaucon; quit your golden thoughts of Eleusis; Lycon is filching the crown.”

Themistocles, seated near Cimon's side, was staring hard, elbows on knees and head on hands. Democrates, next him, was gazing at Glaucon, as if the athlete were made of gold; but the object of their fears and hopes gave back neither word nor sign.

The attendants were arraying the five remaining champions at the foot of a little rise in the sand, near the judges' pulpit. To each was brought a bronze quoit, the discus. The pipers resumed their medley. The second contest was begun.

First, Amyntas of Thebes. He took his stand, measured the distance with his eye, then with a run flew up the rising, and at its summit his body bent double, while the heavy quoit flew away. A n.o.ble cast! and twice excelled. For a moment every Theban in the stadium was transported.

Strangers sitting together fell on one another's necks in sheer joy. But the rapture ended quickly. Lycon flung second. His vast strength could now tell to the uttermost. He was proud to display it. Thrice he hurled.

Thrice his discus sped out as far as ever man had seen a quoit fly in h.e.l.las. Not even Glaucon's best wishers were disappointed when he failed to come within three cubits of the Spartan. Ctesias and Mrocles realized their task was hopeless, and strove half heartedly. The friends of the huge Laconian were almost beside themselves with joy; while the herald called desperately that:-

”Lycon of Sparta wins with the discus. Glaucon of Athens is second.

Ctesias of Epidaurus throws poorest and drops from the games.”

”Wake, Glaucon!” trumpeted Cimon, again his white face s.h.i.+ning out amid the thousands of gazers now. ”Wake, or Lycon wins again and all is lost!”

Glaucon was almost beyond earshot; to the frantic entreaty he answered by no sign. As he and the Spartan stood once more together, the giant leered on him civilly:-

”You grow wise, Athenian. It's honour enough and to spare to be second, with Lycon first. _Eu!_-and here's the last contest.”

”I say again, good friend,”-there was a slight closing of the Athenian's lips, and deepening in his eyes,-”the pentathlon is not ended.”