1 1
 
 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 - OF GALIF. LIBRARY, LOS ANGELES
 
 BOOKS BY ANNA BOWMAN DODD 
 
 CATHEDRAL DAYS (Illustrated) $2.00 
 
 THREE NORMANDY INNS Holiday Edition $3.00 Cloth $2.00 
 
 ON THE BROADS (Illustrated) $2.50 
 
 FALAISE THE TOWN OF THE CONQUERER (Illustrated) $2.00 
 
 THE AMERICAN HUSBAND IN PARIS (Illustrated) $1.00 
 
 IN THE PALACES OF THE SULTAN (Illustrated) $5.00
 
 On the Knees of the Gods 
 
 By 
 
 Anna Bowman Dodd 
 
 New York 
 
 Dodd, Mead & Company 
 1908
 
 Copyright, 1908 
 By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 
 Published, January, igo8
 
 To E. W. D. 
 
 Le Manoir de Vasouy 
 1903 1908 
 
 2129023
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 BOOK I 
 
 CORINTH AND ATHENS 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I MANES AND MAIA i 
 
 II NIRIAS AND MAIA 14 
 
 III MAIA'S HISTORY . 28 
 
 IV ON To ATHENS 37 
 
 V AN INVOCATION 40 
 
 VI THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 42 
 
 VII MAIA'S TRIUMPH 55 
 
 VIII. IN THE PAINTED PORCH 64 
 
 IX A BREAKFAST AT THE PIRAEUS . . .76 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 OLYMPIA 
 
 X- A FATEFUL DECISION 94 
 
 XI THE SACRED WAY 112 
 
 XII ION AND MAIA 122 
 
 XIII THE POMPIC WAY 136 
 
 XIV A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 157 
 
 XV BEFORE THE RACE 168 
 
 XVI THE CHARIOT RACE 174
 
 CONTENTS 
 BOOK III 
 
 ATHENS 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII " A MARRIAGE PROJECT 195 
 
 XVIII AN ATHENIAN DAWN 208 
 
 XIX OVER A GARDEN WALL 215 
 
 XX MYRTO'S AWAKENING 226 
 
 XXI, HERMIONE AND MYRTO 235 
 
 XXII NAUSICAA 250 
 
 XXIII A FAMILY SCENE 261 
 
 XXIV THE BREATH OF MARS 268 
 
 XXV A BETROTHAL 279 
 
 XXVI THE DANCER 291 
 
 XXVII MAIA'S ARRIVAL 308 
 
 XXVIII MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 320 
 
 XXIX THE VOICE OF FATE 338 
 
 XXX THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET . . . 344 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 SYRACUSE 
 
 XXXI A BARBER'S STORY 361 
 
 XXXII TIMOLEON'S RETURN 370 
 
 XXXIII ATHENS HEARS THE TRUTH .... 383 
 
 XXXIV THE QUARRIES . . . . . . .391 
 
 XXXV ION SINGS 403 
 
 XXXVI AN EPITHALAMIUM . . , . . .419
 
 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 BOOK I CORINTH AND ATHENS 
 Chapter I 
 
 MANES AND MAIA 
 
 WITHIN its forty miles of walls, Corinth lay like a giant, 
 stretching its limbs between the lofty Citadel, Acro-Corin- 
 thus, and the sea. Its gardens and temples, its statues and 
 colonnades, and its brown tiled roofs rolled on like a river 
 whose flow was arrested by the uplifted mass of tower-stud- 
 ded defences. The roar of the living million or more rose 
 up from the crowded city. Along the amber sands the 
 Crissian sea curled its peacock blue waters. Red, white, 
 and purple sails sent long trails of colour across the liquid 
 surface, while about the docks of the war triremes, the 
 reflections were black. For the trade of all the known 
 world came to anchor at either one of Corinth's two 
 ports. 
 
 Upward from the plain, mighty Acro-Corinthus sprang. 
 Like a victor carrying flowery wreaths to perilous heights, 
 the mountain's jagged rock surface showed, here and there, 
 the bloom of verdure. At certain altitudes the rocks re- 
 ceeded, forming natural terraces. On one such, Manes, the 
 famous chorus-master, had built him a house. 
 
 Such narrow ledges of space were cheap. A chorus in 
 training could here be put through their daily drill, and 
 slaves and masters lodged, at half the price asked within 
 luxurious and costly Corinthian streets. 
 
 In the warmth of a late autumn day, in the year 416, 
 
 I
 
 before our Lord came, Manes' pupils and their trainers were 
 hurrying to complete their rehearsals. 
 
 A dozen youths were marching with rhythmic step, to 
 the sound of a war-trumpet. Their shields and helmets, 
 like the bronze of their skins, glittered and gleamed, struck 
 by the slanting sun-rays. 
 
 On the terrace below, some boys were practising with 
 cymbals. An orchestra composed of harps, flutes, and 
 zithers were rehearsing a dance measure. Above the crash- 
 ing of discordant sounds the sharpened voices of the teachers 
 and trainers could be heard administering reproof. 
 
 Close to the terrace wall, below the master's house, two 
 elderly men stood. 
 
 In the short, hurried pauses of their talk, the city's roar 
 rose up, while, closer to their ears rang the clinking sound 
 of dice, shaken and then rolled on the rough pebbles of the 
 terrace. The names of champion cocks, those highest in 
 Corinth's favour, were ever and anon cried out, by the 
 eager players. For Nirias' slaves were at their favorite 
 pastime. This play of the dice made of each gambler a 
 human instrument, tensely strung. 
 
 Neither Nirias, the richest of Corinthian merchants, nor 
 Manes, the chorus-master, heard either the sharp, shrill 
 cries of the dice throwers, nor did they heed the light mock- 
 ing laughter of some frolicsome priestesses of Aphrodite, 
 who, on their long, upward climb to their temple, had 
 stopped, along the mountain road, to criticise and to imitate 
 the boyish voices of Manes' pupils. 
 
 Both Nirias and Manes were consumed by an inward 
 heat of maddened impatience. And both, being Greek, 
 were striving to wear two faces within their hoods. 
 
 Manes' irritation had reached the point of physical loss 
 of self-control. His ringers visibly shook, as he feverishly 
 caressed the long scroll he held. He could scarce wreath
 
 MANES AND MAIA 3 
 
 his lips with the right smile scarce frame the common- 
 places expected of him. To be in actual possession of such a 
 treasure to be the first, in all Corinth in the Isthmus 
 to finger the " Wasps " and to have to stand and smirk 
 and smile! 
 
 Manes gave an angry toss of his bush of hair backwards. 
 He felt his breath through his coarse beard, come in quick- 
 ened gasps; yet he must, as he well knew, check his ache 
 of longing for quick reading of the play; he must continue 
 to waste time in pretending Nirias' stupid comments were 
 criticism. 
 
 "You have read it, doubtless, Nirias? and what is your 
 opinion ? " and Manes lifted his eyebrows, enquiringly, as 
 though his own decision must wait on his patron's judgment. 
 
 "Ah magnificent the greatest of all his plays!" 
 Nirias answered, in a lordly tone, with the accent of one 
 who considered his verdict final. 
 
 Manes bethought himself quickly, as a solace for his 
 torture, of one decision concerning which he hoped the mer- 
 chant would show equal assurance. 
 
 "And and it is I who am to have the chorus?" he 
 asked, with eager questioning. 
 
 " Oh," replied Nirias, with the ease of the rich whose 
 passion for the arts has come late along with an over- full 
 purse " I took it to the Archon, to ask him for a chorus. 
 But the city is having a fit of economy, it appears. I have, 
 therefore, determined to set up the chorus myself. Can 
 you be ready, do you think? " 
 
 Manes' smile was now one of beatitude. " Ready, sir, 
 why, I'll kill a dozen choruses with work, sooner than miss 
 its production. You'll permit me to look the play over?" 
 And Manes managed to lift the arch of his strong brows 
 with due humility. 
 
 " Certainly certainly I will walk about a little. The
 
 4 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 air is good on your terrace " cried Nirias, with becoming con- 
 descension. He flattered himself his own impatience was be- 
 ing admirably cloaked. 
 
 Nirias pretended to be wholly taken up with adjusting 
 the folds of his himation, as his heavy steps swept the terrace. 
 He moved onward with all the calm he could command, now 
 securing the corner piece under the left arm-pit, now tossing 
 the other end over his stout shoulder. But his heart was 
 thumping most agreeably, beneath the soft, thick, purple 
 folds. 
 
 Even more than Manes, Nirias was delighted at this 
 chance of freedom. Now he could look he could watch 
 
 he could be sure of hearing dear Maia's first foot-fall, 
 
 of, perhaps, signalling to the child to meet him, later, on 
 the upper terrace, before meddlesome Manes came between! 
 
 Even as the surging hope welled up, Nirias' steps were 
 suddenly arrested. 
 
 Exquisite, delicate-voiced flute-notes filled his ear. Pure, 
 sweet, powerful, the melody, as though sung by a living 
 voice, rather than played, soared higher and higher. 
 
 " It is Maia that glorious child ! " Nirias cried aloud, 
 in rapturous tones. " She is pouring forth her wonderful 
 notes to enkindle love!" Nirias' face fairly shone with 
 joy. He felt himself thrilling in response to the vibrating 
 strains. The unseen player's music ever had the power of 
 thus touching the slumbering depths of the merchant's quick- 
 ly roused soul. 
 
 How gay, how joyous was the song Maia played ! How 
 the child had learned to pour her young heart out through 
 the sonorous tubes! Nirias felt his heart swelling with 
 rapture. Surely no other fingers, save Maia's, could touch 
 the chord of feeling as could her fingering upon the stops. 
 Now she was rendering tender, yearning strains as though 
 her dear, innocent heart had sounded all known depths of
 
 woe. Then came more joyous notes. The stream of liquid 
 ecstasy would drop, suddenly, as though to touch emotion's 
 source, only to soar to upper, higher keys, as though to rival 
 the lark's effortless bubbling. 
 
 Nirias found he could no longer control his mounting 
 ecstacy of delight. 
 
 With hurrying feet, grasping at his mantle as he ran, he 
 cried out, with ringing voice, as he neared Manes, 
 
 " Ah-h 'tis she ! 'tis Maia's touch ! I would know it above 
 a hundred fingerings." 
 
 Manes nodded, smiled with a look of triumph in his eyes, 
 as he answered, 
 
 " Yes she is always at her best, when she plays thus 
 alone, amid the trees, with only herself for audience." 
 
 For an instant, the two men's eyes were interlocked, as 
 though the nature of the unseen player were known to both, 
 and yet their common knowledge were best unspoken. Then 
 Manes rolled the scroll of the play, slowly, noiselessly, and 
 joined Nirias, who had moved to the terrace wall, where 
 both stood, for long moments, fixed, immovable. 
 
 Save for the soaring flute notes, the air was very still. 
 
 Higher and higher the crystalline notes swept upward. 
 The player's touch was that of a master. The thrilling 
 quality of the trills, the melodious runs, and the long drawn 
 notes shook the soul of every listener. 
 
 The clash of the metal shields had stopped, as though at 
 a word of command. The voices of the rehearsing chorus 
 and the orchestral discords had been silenced. The execu- 
 tion of the unseen player was the best of lessons, since the 
 phrazing was that of the highest art. 
 
 Whirring, soaring, the melody continued to pour forth 
 its soul-moving notes, to the ears of the two listeners. Each 
 found in the music the message it longed to hear. To 
 Nirias it was love's own voice, first whispering, then shout-
 
 ing the glad, triumphant notes of full confession. To 
 Manes, the well-executed trills were overwhelming proof of 
 his own power as a teacher. 
 
 Manes presently strained his ears. 
 
 The great test was now to be made of the player's skill. 
 Would Maia sail through the difficulties of that intricate, 
 descending scale? Did she but choose, no flute-girl in 
 Corinth could strike, and hold her high notes as securely. 
 Yet on other occasions 
 
 Manes started. His face suddenly crimsoned. His pas- 
 sionate anger swept him like a flame. For again and as 
 though purposely, Maia had flattened the higher notes of 
 the descending scale. She prolonged her trill as though 
 with the sole object of proving she could play out of tune 
 and would even after having been severely punished for 
 the offence. 
 
 " By the fury of Apollo ! But how dare she ! The same 
 note aye the very self-same measure ! She does it to anger 
 me. She knows I am here, and can hear her ! " This 
 was hoarsely whispered. Aloud he cried: 
 
 "Maia, O Maia!" 
 
 Manes' answer was a quick stoppage of the music. A 
 breathless silence followed. Then came the sound of laugh- 
 ter. Clear, mocking, joyous as effortless as her trills 
 the unseen player's laughter rang out. It smote the air 
 made it ring with mirth. Its light-hearted gaiety was swept 
 to the ears of the waiting, elderly lover. He drank in its 
 accents as though sipping renewed youth from a cup of joy. 
 Manes only heard its mockery. His quick Greek anger 
 stung him, as though each quivering nerve were a pricking 
 bee. 
 
 Once more he called; his voice was now thick with rage. 
 "Maia! Maia!" Only the swaying boughs answered. 
 
 " By the Furies' just wrath! If the whip hath any vir-
 
 MANES AND MAIA 7 
 
 tue in- it!" The violence of this threat, however, Manes 
 breathed low, for the soothing of his rage. The certainty 
 of vengeance cooled his heat. He bethought him, in this 
 calmer moment, of the clever uses of strategy. 
 
 "Maia! Nirias is come he has something he wishes 
 to give thee!" Would the lie serve? Manes held his 
 quick breath, as he stood silent, expectant. 
 
 Nirias broke the spell. His voice was thick with excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " Let us gain the upper terrace " and he lifted his man- 
 tle. 
 
 But Manes held him with an iron grip. A voice Nirias 
 had never known as that of Manes whispered hoarsely, im- 
 periously, 
 
 " I pray you, dear Sir, allow me let me preceed 
 you. If you will but await me here, Maia, I promise, shall 
 quickly descend." 
 
 Manes turned, scarce waiting to finish his sentence, and 
 swept to the steps of the steep terrace, his coarse tunic wind- 
 filled as he flew. 
 
 Nirias stared, gasped, emitted a few racy oaths, and, see- 
 ing a bench near by, concluded to do exactly as he had been 
 bidden. He would sit awhile and rest. 
 
 Manes, as he mounted the steep steps, felt his pulses 
 beating mad measures. His righteous anger swept him like 
 a flame. Nirias pupils slaves even the great play 
 were forgotten. He had but one longing, one consuming 
 desire to find Maia and to execute his sweet, swift 
 vengeance. 
 
 On the upper terrace Manes finally stood silent, expectant. 
 
 With a crashing sound, some of the nearer tree-boughs 
 were parted. The brush of garments swept across fir- 
 needles, made Manes' breath come, in shortened gasps. His 
 eyes gleamed and narrowed, as he watched a girlish form
 
 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 emerge from its hiding, to move with slow, composed grace 
 towards him. 
 
 As the girl neared Manes, she sent a fierce searching gaze 
 over the flame-lit face. A second later, the two stood fixed, 
 rigid. Each was measuring the other with the quick, sure 
 glance of those who live close enough to know every shade 
 of change in the other's face. 
 
 What the girl read made her lift her instrument made 
 her tighten her hold on her Libyan double flute. She held 
 it high before her heaving breast, as though it were a 
 shield. With a disdainful toss of her bright-hued locks, 
 she swept her lids about the ill-kept terrace plane. Then 
 she smiled, with light scorn, as she said, 
 
 " I knew it was a lie no Nirias is come I should 
 have heard him. Yet, O Manes, as you see, I am here! " 
 
 Bravely as she spoke, Maia felt her breath harden. She 
 knew quite well what was coming to her her master's face 
 was bent, was lowered and he looked at her with eyes 
 that showed strange streaks of red. 
 
 Yet she spoke to the flaming face she still eyed, coura- 
 geously those terrible orbs. "I was playing for myself, 
 you have no right to punish me for it was not a lesson ! " 
 she cried, making a brave plea for justice. 
 
 For all answer, her master's hand had fallen upon her 
 shoulder. The pain of his grasp made her eye-lids quiver. 
 
 Maia stiffened. Without a word, she turned and moved 
 toward the house-door. She knew the language of those 
 swollen features, of that en-crimsoned brow. 
 
 With its look of animal ferocity, the face of Manes was 
 changed to the face of a beast, enraged. 
 
 Within the house, Maia turned once again, swiftly, pas- 
 sionately. Her great eyes shone with a strange, piercing 
 light. Pale, her features were also set, fixed. As both 
 stood in the tiny court of the house, Maia lifted her arm,
 
 MANES AND MAIA 9 
 
 as though to Invoke celestial aid, as she holdly faced her 
 master. 
 
 " Remember, Manes think well ! this time before 
 you strike. Remember my vow! I made it on the temple 
 steps only yesterday as I told you. If ever your whip 
 touch me again, I swore 'twould be the last time 1 Besides," 
 she added breathlessly, her hand falling she saw the whip 
 even now bristling above her, " Indeed, truly I was play- 
 ing for myself remember in mercy, it was not a lesson." 
 And once more her smile gathered strength. 
 
 Never before had she thus dared to face her master. 
 Surely Theseus, the kind god of slaves, must have heard her 
 vow. He was sending her courage. Yet the mere act of 
 breathing she found difficult. Her lips seemed turned to 
 stone. 
 
 Manes, whose business in life was to teach tragic gestures 
 and postures, was no reader of a slave's face, when he was 
 in anger. Maia's threat only served to inflame the fury of 
 his wrath. 
 
 He stood awaiting Maia, his whole frame trembling with 
 the passion of his anger and the girl took her place beside 
 a certain column, with still composure. 
 
 The swish of a slender cowhide presently cut the air. As 
 the first stroke came, Manes found his voice. 
 
 "Ah-ha! Practising for herself was she? and playing 
 a false note, now and then, just to vex me and then, to 
 show her power, she laughs as though she were the mis- 
 tress! Ho ho! I heard you laugh! and now you threaten! 
 Pretty goings on for a child who owes all she is to her master 
 and such a master ! " 
 
 For a breathing space, Manes held the whip aloft. And 
 then it fell again. 
 
 The sounds of the falling lash were broken by the titter- 
 ing of laughter and the rustle of moving shapes. Some of
 
 io ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 the household slaves had swept in, eager, breathless, from 
 the inner court. Their dancing eyes, and cruel, gloating 
 smiles shone from the open Andron door. 
 
 To see Manes plying the whip on his beloved, spoiled 
 Maia was a spectacle that moved Manes' household to rap- 
 ture. Maia's abasement to their own slave's level repaid 
 them, in part, for the insupportable preference shown the 
 girl. 
 
 As the whip fell, the slaves drew in their breath, with 
 sweetened relish. That last stroke, surely, must make the 
 toes fly! J 
 
 Maia had, indeed, lifted her foot, as the lash fell. The 
 pain it brought was intolerable. Yet her lips were held 
 firm. No moan or groan was permitted to escape. With 
 the knowledge of those grinning slaves yonder, sooner than 
 have cried out, Manes might have killed her. 
 
 Manes had not the slightest intention of killing the girl. 
 He meant, indeed, to make her feel his blows, but in no 
 sense whatever to harm her. The whipping of Maia de- 
 manded a certain art. Slave though she was, yet, holding 
 toward her master rather the position of adopted child than 
 that of a menial, Manes had never, as yet, sent the girl to 
 the public whipper. Her health and fair skin were of too 
 great importance, in the resources of the establishment, to 
 run any serious risks. Maia's beauty and talents brought 
 drachma; into Manes' grasping fingers. Her inborn, stub- 
 born pride, and, occasionally, the impish daring of her nature 
 that led her to the committing of a musical crime such 
 as the striking of a false note, to vex him while such 
 faults must, of course, be beaten out of the girl, still due 
 allowance must be made for the child's youth and for her 
 sensitive nature. 
 
 It was the memory of the shame Maia had brought upon
 
 MANES AND MAIA n 
 
 him, at a recent banquet, the very night before, that had 
 given so fierce a tongue to Manes' whip. 
 
 Confound the girl! Why did she stand thus like stone? 
 Why did her vile, stubborn temper keep her lips silent? 
 Why had she not cried out, like a human being, if only to 
 make him aware of the strength of his blows? 
 
 Nothing angered Manes more than the one quality, his 
 whip apparently, could not subdue Maia's unflinching, 
 heroic courage. 
 
 As though to punish the whip for its ineffectiveness, 
 Manes flung it, with passionate suddenness, across the court. 
 
 For the look he hated was still in the girl's eyes, as she 
 turned to face him. 
 
 The eyes that met his were full of proud scorn. The 
 curved lips spoke more eloquently than words the depth of 
 Maia's contempt. 
 
 Though still involuntarily quivering from the torture of 
 her punishment, Maia nerved herself to begin at once the re- 
 adjustment of her fallen slip of a garment. She quickly 
 re-girdled its length the folds falling obediently into 
 graceful lines. 
 
 Manes, as he stood watching the girl, with puzzled, anx- 
 ious eyes, wondered what in the Furies' name this calm of 
 set, fixed smile could mean. A fresh wave of hot-born 
 anger swept his frame. Yet he must stand and bear it. If 
 the whip had no power to subdue this dauntless nature 
 what new punishment could he devise to break the girl's 
 spirit? 
 
 Presently, a kindlier, softer feeling possessed him. Maia's 
 pale face and the dark rings about her great eyes touched 
 him in some new, mysterious way. A kindly, benevolent 
 feeling swept over him. Brutes sometimes have such re- 
 actions after their animal ferocity is worked out of them.
 
 12 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " There there my dear." He now moved toward 
 the girl he patted the snows of the young shoulders as 
 they rose and fell before him. " There you bore it 
 bravely I must say. And now there'll be no more trou- 
 ble. That is quite enough for one day. You'll remember 
 now, I doubt not, to strike the high note a tone higher 
 next time." 
 
 Maia nodded her bright head, almost gaily. She gave no 
 sign of resentment. With a half laugh, as though quite 
 of her master's mind, she stooped, with quick, swift grace, 
 to gather her flute to her arms. 
 
 With a slower step she moved onwards, past the rude 
 columns of the small peristyle. Her smile was still on her 
 lips as she nodded now to a whole company of leering, of 
 gaping-mouthed, and of sorrow-smitten faces. 
 
 She turned. But Manes was gone. He had passed be- 
 yond the door, to the open terrace. Then Maia once more 
 nodded her head. 
 
 " He'll be sorry," she said, to the company of masks 
 as though they knew her trouble, and could sympathize. 
 
 With every one of these Maia was as familiar as she 
 was with the outlines of her own straight nose and her 
 rounded cheeks. Talking aloud to this crowded collection 
 was like taking into her confidence friends nay relations, 
 with whom the girl had been on terms of closest intimacy 
 since ever she had known one face from another. 
 
 Scarcely a head among the dozens that seemed to smile 
 back at her, or jeered, feelingless, or mourned, in sympathy, 
 but owed the crown of their high-piled tresses, or the grace 
 of their falling hair-masses to Maia's skilled fingers. Since 
 ever her childish fingers could grasp a brush, she had been 
 taught to dress dead hair, to curl glossy ringlets, or to heat 
 'cold irons to give to lifeless locks and beards nature's wave. 
 
 As the girl made her way towards the inner court, she
 
 MANES AND MAIA 13 
 
 continued to nod, as she continued, also, to murmur her 
 thoughts aloud to the silent company. 
 
 " Yes he'll be sorry enough when he knows and 
 that will be a shade hence. Nirias, when he comes had 
 best be kept waiting." 
 
 As she gazed about her, she seemed to be taking, as wit- 
 ness to her great resolve, all and every feature and object 
 of the life she meant should soon and forever be done 
 with. 
 
 Besides the masks, the tiny courts of the house, as well 
 as every one of the narrow cell-like chambers, were filled 
 with the necessaries of a theatrical establishment. Chitons, 
 himatia, diploi, peasant's chlamys, staves, canes, thrysi, gar- 
 lands, vases, and amphorae, were crowding every inch of 
 space. 
 
 Some of these Mala fingered, with lingering touch, others 
 she grazed, without as much as a look, and to one tunic that 
 had cost her many a tear, so patched was the venerable fab- 
 ric, she gave a vicious grab, tearing it to a formless mass 
 of rags. 
 
 Then she threw her head back, and laughed and the 
 laugh was not good to hear. It voiced her life. 
 
 When she entered the small room, opening from the 
 court, and before she closed the dirty hanging that did duty 
 for a door, Maia stretched her ears forth. Through the 
 open door of the Andronitis she heard Manes' rich, trained 
 voice making reverential replies. The thicker, stronger, 
 coarser tones were surely those of Nirias. The two were 
 apparently in close talk, on the upper terrace. 
 
 Maia's smile parted her perfect lips. This time the smile 
 was radiant it was flushed with content. The scene was 
 set exactly as she wished for what she felt was to be the 
 first great act of her life.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 
 
 LEFT to himself, Nirias had not found the time long. 
 He had stretched his limbs, relaxing his frame, with a sense 
 of relief. To feel intensely, at fifty, brings its inevitable 
 reaction. Since Maia was soon to appear, this moment of 
 rest was agreeable. The rude bench felt as soft as though 
 cushion-piled. 
 
 Through his half-closed eyes, Nirias swept the great pros- 
 pect immediately below him. A certain dark mass, to the 
 east of the city, he viewed with peculiar satisfaction. Be- 
 neath the thick groups of cypresses, poplars, and firs, gleam- 
 ing marbles shone. 
 
 Nirias opened his eyes. He smiled as he looked down- 
 wards. Among those distant tombs, his wife Italia lay. 
 How splendid was her stelae! The tomb had become one 
 of the wonders of the Kraneion. Even now, months after 
 her death, it affected Nirias almost to tears, to reflect upon 
 the numbers of strangers that were taken to see the famous 
 carvings on dear Italia's monument. It was, and with jus- 
 tice, accounted one of the best masterpieces Corinth could 
 boast, one of Alcamenes' greatest triumphs. 
 
 A proud man, it was a never failing source of delight to 
 Nirias, to reflect how splendidly he had entombed Italia. 
 Few Corinthians could mourn their dead wives with as rich 
 a sense of satisfaction. Even as he had clothed and housed 
 Italia luxuriously when in life, in her death he had greatly 
 honoured her. 
 
 And, now that she was dead, he, Nirias was free! With 
 freedom, youth had returned to him. How glorious to be
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA i$ 
 
 thus re-born to youth, to feel intensely passionately 
 and at fifty to have the dear gods proffering the cup of 
 divine joys! Ah-h but he would drink deep deep. It 
 was Maia beautiful, gifted Maia whom the gods had 
 sent, to work the miracle. 
 
 At a banquet, Nirias had heard Maia play. One first 
 look at her fair, perfect young face, at her shapely outlines, 
 and Nirias was turned a love-sick mortal. The usual pre- 
 liminaries to a rich man's courtship of a slip of a flute-girl 
 had not worked successfully. When he had attempted to 
 draw the child to him, she had slipped from his grasp. On 
 the morrow Nirias had toiled up the hill-side, to hang his 
 garland on her door. Instead of Maia he had found Manes. 
 For reasons of his own, Manes apparently, had kept, and 
 intended to keep Maia pure. 
 
 Thus thwarted, Nirias' fever of love ran the common, wild 
 course of such maladies. He had turned strategist he was 
 now wooing Manes. He was purchasing every new play his 
 agents could procure. He was willing to spend a fortune 
 in presenting them. Maia was worth all this and more ; 
 for there was a look in her face no man could learn to know 
 without longing to evoke it. 
 
 When Maia played, this wonder-look dawned on her 
 face. In all Corinth, Nirias vowed, no such adorable ming- 
 ling of divine, soulful qualities and Aphrodite-like beauty 
 was to be found. Since in Corinth all things were to be 
 bought, why not these ? Time, patience, and money brought 
 all things to pass. 
 
 As Nirias sat on his hard bench he was busily revolving 
 in his mind a fresh plan one he felt certain would accom- 
 plish wonders when he heard Manes' deep voice in his 
 ear. 
 
 Nirias came to his feet with a bound. For Manes was 
 smiling down upon him with indulgent air.
 
 16 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " You will find Maia, dear Sir, awaiting you in the 
 court " and the chorus-master waived his hand aloft, as 
 though to offer his distinguished guest his poor house and all 
 it contained. 
 
 Nirias flushed, nodded, grasped his mantle with both 
 hands, and, suddenly remembering he had a part to play, 
 answered, with all the dignity he could summon, " You 
 spoke of some new poses the child had learned lately 
 perhaps she had best rehearse them, before me, before we 
 decide what we shall give our guests to-night as a 
 novelty." 
 
 Manes managed to govern his lips. It was as well the 
 foolish merchant should continue to think his innocent airs 
 were played to the right audience. His own longing was, 
 to be rid of his patron. His scene with Maia had brought 
 about its reaction nothing could sooth his quivering nerves, 
 he felt, but the reading of the play. 
 
 He watched Nirias mounting the steep incline with gleam- 
 ing eyes. At last at last his great moment, his freedom, 
 had come! 
 
 Nirias now stood within the rude little court. No Maia 
 was to be seen. From the inner court the women's and 
 slaves' quarters a murmurous hum came, of voices and 
 laughter. 
 
 Should he clap his hands? Such an action, he knew, 
 would bring the slaves one or more into the peristyle. 
 Of all things, their curious ears and eyes were not wanted. 
 
 He moved on under the arcade. He looked about him. 
 The company of the masks looked back. QEdibus and his 
 agonized brow; Electra with her tresses tucked up, peasant 
 fashion; Andromache, with her passion-wrought muscles; 
 these sorrow-smitten, gaping-mouthed faces seemed to 
 counsel speech. 
 
 Nirias took his courage in both hands.
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 17 
 
 " Mala! Maia! come, my dear I am waiting! " Nirias 
 cried out, with sudden boldness. No answer came. A rus- 
 set-winged bee buzzed noisily to the expressive, but silent 
 company. A slave's loud laughter next drowned the bee's 
 humming. The masks grinned and leered, or drew sorrow- 
 ful faces. But that which Nirias burned to look upon 
 the vision of a fair, nobly-shaped girl-form, whose roses and 
 snows were clad in a coarse chiton this vision was denied 
 him. 
 
 Nirias was about to do a desperate act to clap his 
 hands, and bid any one of the slaves show him the door, 
 when his trouble was taken from him. 
 
 Maia had shot her head through a narrow opening. Her 
 laughing eyes were fixed upon Nirias, as he floundered to- 
 ward her. 
 
 " This way, O Nirias ! The door opens upon the gar- 
 den 'tis empty we shall have the place to ourselves." 
 And Maia's smile was as joyous as was her face. 
 
 Nirias stumbled, with rushing feet, toward the girl. Even 
 though he was forced to hold his costly mantle in both hands, 
 that he might run the faster, he believed himself to be 
 treading with the soundless foot of the panther, and to be 
 moving with the swiftness of a bird's flight. 
 
 A hundred years old he seemed to Maia's short sixteen 
 years of life! To see this powerful citizen, to behold him 
 change colour, like a foolish girl; to see him clutch at his 
 mantle, holding its costly weight awkardly lest he trip 
 as he ran; to look upon that portly shape puff and blow 
 as he rushed, with a boy's eagerness, to squeeze his breadth 
 into the narrow slaves' door ; and now, to have him, panting 
 and blown, with his eyes starting, wide with delight, star- 
 ing at her, as though she were a divinity come to mortal 
 shape Oh-h surely no other girl in all Corinth had a lover 
 as utterly comic and foolish!
 
 i8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Maia all but laughed outright into her elderly lover's 
 face. She reflected, in time, that her whole future life de- 
 pended on what she had determined, this, his folly, should be 
 made to accomplish. 
 
 Maia collected her quick wits. She assumed a perfect 
 attitude. She dropped her eyes her arms fell at her side. 
 Her whole form seemed to shrink as though to veil its 
 perfections within her lilac robes. She presented the very 
 image of a tender, waiting innocence. Maia had not helped 
 to teach posture and gesture to stupid chorus lads, without 
 having kept some of the secrets of the art of acting for her 
 own use. 
 
 Her clever play produced the desired effect. Nirias bent 
 over her an enraptured face. Never, he thought, had he 
 seen his divine Maia as adorable. The Maia who now stood 
 before him, Nirias felt he had, indeed, never seen before. 
 
 No poet, yet Nirias found himself, unconsciously, quot- 
 ing Homer. 
 
 [ ' Beautiful-haired, slender-ankled ' O Maia be- 
 loved, how lovely thou art ! " And for an instant Nirias 
 stood before the girl, to give his eyes their riot of joy in look- 
 ing upon her fairness. 
 
 No softening oil lamps were tinting the snows of Maia's 
 skin, yet the gold of the sunlight made face, bared arms, 
 throat, and neck glow like tinted marble. Every changeful 
 shade of the violet grey eyes could be caught and noted. 
 Their light shed a sort of luminous mist before them 
 such as the sculptors sought to convey, to image the soul 
 of great goddesses. The formless lilac garment, with its 
 deeper hued violet border, had been skillfully draped. Be- 
 neath the high-worn girdle, the folds fell with statuesque 
 pliability. No adornment suited Maia's face as did roses 
 and lilies. A wreath of these latter flowers framed the deli- 
 cate oval ; and the pure Attic features were the more clearly
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 19 
 
 accentuated, by the deep Greek furrow of the looped tresses. 
 
 " Look up, dearest," Nirias murmured, with trembling 
 lips his deep-set eyes aflame " let me see those wondrous 
 orbs. Ah! what heavens of light!" He swept a swift, 
 cautious glance about. Then he drew the yielding shape 
 close. " Quick ! darling one kiss one no one 
 sees ! " 
 
 Maia gave him a timid affrighted look. But she took 
 pains to make her struggle short. Again an impulse of 
 laughter all but spoiled the moment. She could barely 
 command her lips to meet. Once caught, however, she did 
 not measure the sweetness of the kiss. Nirias must be made 
 to feel to the full the magic of her charm. 
 
 " Oh-h Maia beloved ! " Nirias panted, with swimming, 
 love-sick eyes. To find her standing thus, with no dreaded 
 impulse to fly from, or to put him away, made Nirias rap- 
 turous elate. Hitherto Maia had always seemed to elude 
 his grasp. A part of her charm, indeed, had been her 
 mingled indifference and affright. The bird most difficult 
 to snare is ever the one most eagerly watched for by the 
 hunter. He bent over the girl. Once again with passion- 
 ate clutch he drew her to him. He whispered hoarsely in 
 her ear. The temptation he breathed was as old as sin. 
 
 Maia heard the words with a questioning eye. Then her 
 lips met, in quick decision. The moment she had been 
 waiting for had come. 
 
 Slipping from his detaining grasp, Maia stood at her 
 full height. With dexterous grace she slid her thin chiton 
 below her shoulders. She turned the red-streaked surface 
 toward the merchant's wondering eyes. 
 
 " Indeed, dear Nirias, I will come only see this is 
 what I must suffer, when you are not here ! " Maia sent her 
 smile across her shoulders. It was that of a suffering god- 
 dess. Her eyes rained pain. Turning, she faced her de-
 
 20 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 liverer. The child already had learned the actor's trick. 
 Her great eyes had now filled. Her young bosom rose and 
 fell beneath the edge of her lilac garment. 
 
 With a shout and an angry imprecation, Nirias started 
 to his feet, for a new man suddenly awoke in him. Before 
 the sight of that fair flesh, encrimsoned, ribboned with whip- 
 strokes, the fountain of Nirias' tenderness flowed forth. 
 
 " By the god of pity but this is not to be borne ! " he 
 cried out. His portly chest heaved with emotion. He lifted 
 his arm above Maia, as though to invoke a protecting deity. 
 
 Maia's smile would have lighted the darkest of caverns, 
 for she knew now she had won her release. She lifted her 
 luminous eyes, and all the asking power of her soul was 
 poured into her deep gaze. 
 
 " Dear Nirias," Her eyes beamed with a truly goddess- 
 like look, one commanding immediate submission, and her 
 smile was all sweetness, a sweetness, however, seasoned with 
 assurance, as though she considered the matter quite set- 
 tled. " Now you perceive why it will be best for you to 
 buy me. You will have me then, for your very own." 
 
 This was no slave's face that bargained for a change of 
 masters. Surely, some noble progenitors, accustomed to com- 
 mand, must have sent their authorative message through 
 Maia's compelling glance. For Nirias came at once to a 
 mighty decision. The soul of the girl he loved speaking 
 to him through her moved face had roused all that was 
 generous in his nature. With tender warmth, he clasped the 
 child to him. 
 
 "Buy you sweet one," he cried rapturously. "If it 
 take half my fortune I'll free you! You shall be your 
 own mistress, as you are the mistress of an old man's heart." 
 
 Maia's expressive face, for an instant of hesitation, re- 
 flected contending emotions. Wonder, joy, rapture at the 
 sucqess of her design overwhelmed, at first, all other consid-
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 21 
 
 erations. What would freedom actual, wonderful free- 
 dom really mean? Would she indeed live apart from 
 Manes from this, the only world she had ever known ? 
 Would Manes be sorrowful? Would the hard, but excit- 
 ing theatrical life end? What awaited her if she went 
 with Nirias? 
 
 Corinth's roar beyond the garden wall seemed to answer. 
 The voices of the gay, voluptuous, luxurious hetasrae 
 voices and cries she knew, had heard, and had envied so 
 often these voices rang in her ears. 
 
 Shrinking, she scarcely knew how, or from what cause 
 Maia withdrew from her deliverer's clasp. A human, an 
 utterly loveable timidity paled the grey-blue eyes. She 
 looked away from her lover she stared into the distance, 
 as though once more to question the desirability of this 
 great, this unbelievable future. Her utmost hope had been 
 that Nirias would buy her. Freedom seemed a burden of 
 responsibility too great to accept unaided. 
 
 " Oh I am afraid afraid ! " she cried, with ringing 
 voice. She suddenly flung herself upon Nirias. He and the 
 love he bore her seemed the only safeguards in the terrify- 
 ing future she had seen, with her quick mind, dimly out- 
 lined. 
 
 Nirias's higher nature led him to act the better part. 
 His softness in certain great moments was probably one of 
 the secret causes why his women had always ruled him. 
 He drew the child to him, with the protecting gesture of a 
 kindly father. 
 
 " My dear I shall always be near thou needst fear 
 naught." 
 
 With a child's spontaneous outburst of gratitude, Maia 
 flung her soft arms about Nirias' neck as she cried, 
 
 " You are good as good as you are generous and 
 I shall try to love you," In another instant she had freed
 
 22 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 herself. Her instinct for quick action followed close upon 
 her emotional impulse. " And now, let us seek Manes ! " 
 
 With impassioned energy, she led Nirias onward. 
 
 Manes was found sitting, still immovable, upon his stool, 
 in a shady corner of the terrace. The slanting sun-rays 
 were dusting the trees and shrubs about him with purples 
 and with gold. The distant rounded summit of Cyllene was 
 ablaze. The great circle of mountains that made Corinth 
 seem a world shut out from all Hellas every peak and 
 summit now wore their sunset jewelled lights. Parnas- 
 sus' early snows were pink as coral. Helicon's double peaks 
 shone like uplifted torches. The gulf, far below, spread out 
 its deepest peacock blues. The landscape below the terrace, 
 far as Sicyon's silver olive groves swam unreal, phantasmal 
 fields and city shrouded in gossamer mists of gold. 
 
 Manes saw nothing knew naught. Earth, sky, his city, 
 his world were lost to him. But his pulses were singing. 
 His humour-loving soul was shaken by the wit, by the truth- 
 portraying power of the mighty Athenian. 
 
 Wholly in the action of a great scene, when Nirias called 
 out to him, Manes started. How tiresome, just now of all 
 moments, to have his patron to consider! Why should he 
 be smiling, in that foolish, timid way? Why was he hold- 
 ing Maia by the hand ? And Maia, why should she appear, 
 also, garbed in her festival robes? Surely it was not yet 
 time for a setting-forth to the evening's banquet. 
 
 Out of the confusion of his wonderment, he heard Maia 
 speak. Her voice was sounding new notes. The tones 
 were strangely authoritative. 
 
 " Dear Nirias once again. You must begin at the 
 beginning. Manes has not in the least understood." 
 
 As in a dream, Manes heard himself repeating Nirias' 
 amazing announcement. " You wish to buy Maia " 
 
 "Yes for I intend to free her."
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 23 
 
 For a benevolent man, Nirias was looking strangely con- 
 fused. A last wave of caution had swept over him. Stand- 
 ing thus, above the city, Nirias' eyes had caught sight of 
 the trees and tombs in the Kraneion. The memory of his 
 wife's frown had come up before him, with startling 
 clearness. Habit is strong. Nirias insensibly quailed be- 
 fore the vision of Italia's displeasure and what, were she 
 alive, he would have had to bear from her unrelenting anger. 
 The purchase of Maia, and his subsequent care of the girl 
 began to assume the dulled aspect of duty. 
 
 Maia's protecting deity surely breathed inspiration. The 
 girl sent her love-beseeching eyes quickly upward. The 
 warm hand that lay in Nirias' palm, shot its appealing pres- 
 sure to the merchant's responsive soul. The memory of 
 Italia's frown, like the distant burying ground swam away 
 into misty distance. It was the dead lady's last struggle 
 for the continuance of her reign. 
 
 The chorus-master, by this time, was well out of his 
 dream. He was entirely awake. He had come to his senses 
 with a bound. The better part of his business capital, he 
 realized suddenly, was being demanded of him. 
 
 " Buy Maia ! but indeed sir, she is not for sale ! " he 
 shouted. In his anger and amazement, Manes forgot his 
 manners. 
 
 The merchant was equally alive in Nirias' clever, trad- 
 ing soul. He narrowed his heavy lids. His gleaming eyes 
 shot through the slits the born trader's look of mingled cun- 
 ning and shrewdness. 
 
 " Man alive as thou art all things are for sale at the 
 right price ! " With lordly air, the merchant named a sum 
 that made Manes start away from him, as though to search 
 for a madman's next move. 
 
 There was a long moment of silence. To Maia it seemed 
 the very longest of her whole life. Manes' eyes, presently,
 
 24 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 began to shine. He sent his head back, with the gesture 
 peculiar to him when he came to a mighty decision. The 
 purchase money, he quickly reflected, would buy a house 
 and all its theatrical furnishings, in the very city of the 
 Isthmian games. He already saw himself leading chorus- 
 master. He would outstrip his great rival, Kephalos He 
 would show all Greece, how a chorus should be taught 
 and properly trained how to move and flow like an en- 
 circling river, about the chief actors. How he would cos- 
 tume " CEdipus, his CEdipus ! " How he would prove his 
 theories true in the teeth of all critics about the right 
 dances and songs for Antigone, never yet, according to 
 Manes, rightly given on the Isthmus! 
 
 In the stirring whirl of his thoughts, Manes no more re- 
 membered the child Maia, than he did his meanest slave. 
 Their daily life in common, the joy he had felt in watch- 
 ing the babe grow into a child, the child become a maiden, 
 the maiden blossom into a full-fledged, an almost, perfect 
 artist ; their years of artistic fellowship ; his very dependence 
 upon Maia's aid, help, judgment, in every act and duty of 
 his life, this memory of Maia's services and of her talents, 
 was swallowed up in the near, the intoxicating vision of 
 realizing his own hitherto thwarted, but passionately longed- 
 for ambitions. The prospect Nirias' extravagance opened 
 out to him made every sense reel with rapture. 
 
 Manes threw back his massive head and his shout rang 
 out 
 
 " By Aphrodite's bright locks ! if all flute-girls and 
 slaves were worth what Maia is to thee we chorus- 
 masters could soon make our fortunes ! " 
 
 " Ah-h but all flute girls are not Maia ! " cried Nirias, 
 his exultation flaming in his eyes. 
 
 Nirias then clapped his hands. His two body slaves in-
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 25 
 
 stantly made their appearance. Nirias turned, with his lord- 
 liest air, to the Persian. 
 
 " Mago thou wilt come to-morrow, for the maiden 
 Maia. Let the litter be sent before noon." 
 
 Mago swept his master a comprehensive, understanding 
 side glance. With the supple, soundless tread of his race, 
 he took up his position beside Nirias. The Gaul was al- 
 ready in his place. 
 
 Nirias bent over to imprint a kiss on Maia's brow. " Till 
 to-morrow then I leave thee." 
 
 " Till to-morrow," echoed Maia, dazed, with her eyes 
 adrift. She watched him go, between his two human props. 
 He and his slaves were a part of the strange, new world 
 her freedom had brought to her. Once his mantle had 
 swept the last terrace step, Maia lifted her eyes to her 
 master. Triumph, glad vengeance, a rich joy shone through 
 the large orbs. 
 
 She was standing now close in front of Manes, and she 
 sent her words forth, into his very beard. 
 
 " What did I tell you? Have I not made good my vow? 
 Why don't you take the whip to me now once more?" 
 
 Maia laughed the words out with joyous ring. Her de- 
 light was complete. To find she was worth three times as 
 much as she imagined she would bring was no small part 
 of her joy. Even as her laughter rang out, Maia drew 
 back, startled amazed, and her gay shout died on her lips. 
 For Manes' face was a wonder to look upon. It had sen- 
 sibly paled, and the rudely modelled features were struggling, 
 as though vainly endeavoring to conceal some strong emo- 
 tion. Maia could have sworn her master's eyes were glisten- 
 ing. Could it be possible he cared that he was really 
 sorrowful at losing her? Her vengeance suddenly seemed to 
 have shrunk to a mean action. It made her feel poor and
 
 26 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 small. She put forth her hands, to stroke the face now 
 bent over her ; and her own eyes, she felt, indeed, were rilling 
 fast. 
 
 " And so dear Maia I am to lose thee ? " 
 
 Manes' rough voice shook; and in his eyes Maia saw the 
 glitter of real tears. 
 
 For the first time in all the long years of their common 
 toil, and common triumphs, Manes knew with startling cer- 
 tainty, that always since Maia's baby-hood, he had loved 
 this clever child. 
 
 He strained Maia to him with the fierceness of paternal 
 love. " No ! No ! thou shalt not thou shalt not go 
 from me ! " he cried out, a sob in his throat. 
 
 " But Manes you've sold me you, know " cried 
 Maia to his unreason. " O-h why did you? " 
 
 To Maia had also come the awakening of full conscious- 
 ness. The passion of anger, her deep, intense longing for 
 revenge, that had swept her to the crest of accomplishment, 
 this wave had spent its force. Her soul, like Manes', was 
 being tossed and whirled about, on the broad shore of real- 
 ity. No more than her master, could she face the vague, 
 terrifying features of this new world. What had she done? 
 What would happen to her? 
 
 And now, what was Manes saying? As out of a dream 
 she heard his voice, and, as she dazedly lifted her lids, again 
 she noted the same strange film shadowing Manes' eyes. 
 
 Once again his hand had sought hers. 
 
 " Maia, my dear " he began, as he bent over her a 
 wondrous loving look, " Dear one before thou goest forth 
 into the world, it is but right that I should tell thee thy 
 history." 
 
 Maia laughed, as she shook her head, incredulously 
 "Alas! and what history have slaves?" and she sent her 
 eyes adrift.
 
 NIRIAS AND MAIA 27 
 
 But Manes gave the hand he held a vigorous pressure, 
 And he rose as he said, with an imperious emphasis " 
 
 " Come and listen for I must, indeed, tell thee all I 
 know." 
 
 And this time Maia heeded his words.
 
 Chapter III 
 MAIA'S HISTORY 
 
 MANES and Maia had bent their steps, instinctively, to- 
 ward the rude bench on which Nirias had sat. For long 
 years it had been the favorite seat of master and slave. 
 
 From sheer habit, Manes had sent his eyes abroad; but 
 they were wide, set, fixed ; his whole soul was in his pur- 
 pose; his mind was tense with inward drama. So strong 
 was the necessity upon him to speak, to yield up the secret 
 of long years, he felt himself supernaturally led. It was 
 as though the finger of fate was upon his lips command- 
 ing him to speak. 
 
 Maia waited. She had even taken time to lift her best, 
 her festival robes, lest the frail tissue be marred by the 
 mould upon the stones. Then she laughed lightly, merrily 
 for a sudden thought brought joyous surprise. What 
 mattered it whether this much-respected garment were 
 spoiled? She could toss it in disdain to Mylete, the slave 
 girl, whose love of fine raiment would, surely, soon make 
 of her a votary of Venus. Even as she smiled, at the 
 thought of Mylete's delight, Maia raised her eyes, enquir- 
 ingly yet she felt no devouring wonderment. She knew 
 Manes capable of any lie. She merely waited, with the 
 patience her hard youth and Manes' whip had taught her, 
 for some clever invention. It really mattered little what 
 he told her his lie, or even the truth, could alter noth- 
 ing. She was free the knowledge of that great and 
 glorious fact flooded her whole being. 
 
 Her happy eyes were held, therefore, steadfast, smiling, 
 upon her master's face. 
 
 28
 
 MAIA'S HISTORY 29 
 
 Manes was now looking out across the city. His eyes 
 were fixed upon the opposite hillside. Clasping his hands 
 upon his uplifted knee, he began his tale, with his eyes still 
 upon the mauve hills 
 
 " Years ago Maia, my girl I had the longing com- 
 mon to all Hellas to all the known world. I must see 
 Athens or die! Her great temples, shining out across the 
 sea, yonder, year after year, their glory had seemed to call 
 louder and louder. Well I chose my time and with 
 care. It was when the city was freshest from Phidias' 
 chisel. At the time of the great festival, the Panathenaea, 
 Athens was not thinking of Sparta's hate, or of her shields. 
 She was busy garlanding altars and statues, in Athena's hon- 
 our" 
 
 " Yes yes I know, all this you have told me again 
 and again," Maia burst forth; her impatience had gripped 
 her and was now pricking her, beyond control " It was 
 all wonderful and glorious. But where does my history 
 figure in all this ? " And her lips curled, with light scorn. 
 Manes' laugh rang out. He lifted his hand to stroke 
 the golden tresses falling below her white wreath. It was 
 one way of gaining time. 
 
 "What a child thou art! Well, I'll hasten my tale. 
 On the night following the festival, I betook me to the 
 Ceramicus. I must see the carving and sculptures on the 
 famous tombs. For the tombs were as wonderful as any 
 of the other works of art, in the city 
 
 " The moon was shining, I remember so were the fig- 
 ures and faces carved on the stelas. The shadows of the 
 cypresses made the faces very living. There were some 
 so real they seemed standing before you as if about to 
 speak, tenderly and softly, as those should, who have pre- 
 ceded us down the shades 
 
 " Well as I was walking about, thinking what artists,
 
 30 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 after all, these Athenians were, what should I hear but a cry. 
 It made me shake and shiver, I can tell you, this cry out of 
 the great quiet for there's no stillness so terrifying as 
 that of graves. 
 
 " Well I stood, trembling and quaking, as still as the 
 graves, and I hid in the shadow of a tall cypress for if 
 any of Hecate's tricks were to be played upon me, I in- 
 tended to be ready. Never did I listen as then I listened 
 
 " The cry came louder and louder. Piercing though it 
 was, I knew it to be the wail of a suckling babe. All fear 
 then went from me. I went towards the sound. As I 
 walked, I saw thee my little Maia Your tiny arms 
 were stretched out as you saw me coming. Small as they 
 were, I saw they were round and warm with life. Again 
 your cry rang out and my heart rose up within me at 
 the sight of this living babe among the silent graves." 
 
 Manes stopped short. Emotionable, impressionable, the 
 chorus-master caught his breath. The scene he had ren- 
 dered in his vivid, forcible manner, seemed to rise up be- 
 fore him, as though the Maia beside him were still a help- 
 less babe, were holding out her infant arms, and about 
 them both there shone the blanched and quiet sculptured 
 tombstones. 
 
 Of the Maia beside him, whose breathing now came in 
 quick, shortened gasps, the master seemed hardly con- 
 scious. Manes' eyes were wide and staring, fixed upon the 
 distant, waving lines of azure, that, in the north-eastern 
 horizon, marked, for every Corinthian eye, the nearer in- 
 tense purples of Persea melting into the distant mauves of 
 the Attican outlines. 
 
 With an effort, Manes brought himself back to his actual 
 surroundings. WTien he spoke, his voice perceptibly shook, 
 and before he went on with his tale, he gave a deep sigh. 
 He had suddenly remembered all that had happened; how 
 this babe he had grown to love to look upon as his very
 
 MAIA'S HISTORY 31 
 
 own, more and more become a very part of his life was 
 now irrevocably lost, would soon have gone into a world 
 as far removed from this theatrical world as was Athens 
 from Corinth. 
 
 With a gesture as instinctive as it was impassioned, Manes 
 grasped Maia's hand that lay upon her knee, and, holding 
 it thus, he went on with his tale. 
 
 " Whoever had put you there, among the dead, my dear, 
 had done the deed with an aching heart. For you were 
 wrapped in fine linen, the basket you were laid in was of the 
 best weaving, and, upon your baby neck was clasped this 
 chain " 
 
 Manes drew from his tunic a slender golden chain. 
 As he bent toward Maia, he pointed, with his long finger, 
 rimmed with black beneath the nail, to some letters chis- 
 elled upon the dull jewelled clasp. The inscription had the 
 sharp, clear grace of Attic cutting. 
 
 " As you see," Manes went on to say, " Here is your 
 name, ' Maia,' cut into the very stone. You were no poor 
 man's child, that was quite obvious " 
 
 Maia clutched at the chain. She read her name on the 
 square of gleaming topaz with wide eyes. She could not 
 believe either eyes or ears. That Manes' strange tale should 
 actually be the story of her own infancy, of her Athenian 
 birth of her parents' cruel desertion the attempt to 
 realize these portentous facts momentarily paralized mind 
 and body. 
 
 The amulet before her rivetted her eyes. As though 
 some sorcerer had worked his art by means of the yellow' 
 stone, Maia's gaze grew more and more fixed, and rigid. 
 Even when Manes began anew, she scarce secerned to heed- 
 his voice. 
 
 "Putting you there among the dead instead of 
 nearer to the road, or on the temple steps, where passers-
 
 32 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 by would see you, and at once I have always thought, 
 was a clever scheme for reclaiming you, later on " 
 
 Maia dreamily lifted her great eyes. She found Manes' 
 again suddenly, strangely moved. The muscles of the pow- 
 erful face were working as though an inward problem were 
 being painfully solved. He collected his wits, presently, 
 and went on 
 
 " Well my dear 'twas you yourself decided your fate 
 You stretched out your arms to me and I took the 
 action to mark the will of Theseus. 
 
 " I lifted you, basket and all. I carried you in my 
 cloak, back with me to Corinth. And I have, and you have 
 the gods to thank that, as good a father as your own 
 could have been, whoever he might have been, has Manes 
 the chorus-master been to you." 
 
 Here Manes actually wiped a tear away. On the prin- 
 ciple that we love best those on whom we bestow the most, 
 Manes felt to full the force of that tender affection that 
 moved him to bestow so many blows on his favourite pupil. 
 
 Maia sat motionless. The weight of her amazement 
 kept her immovable. She stared out at the tinted city 
 at the violet hills and, though her gaze rested on the 
 distant pink peaks of misty Parnassus, nothing of all that 
 glory did she see. The loveliest prospect in all Hellas was 
 meaningless beside the raging tumult of her bewildered 
 thoughts. 
 
 Out of the chaos of her wonder, one or two facts grew 
 clear of definite outline. If an Athenian, then, presum- 
 ably, she was free-born. Her parents might, it was true, 
 have been metics. But foreign-born Athenian residents, 
 she remembered, rarely exposed their children. The full 
 force of Manes' astounding revelation came to her it lay 
 in the one glorious fact that she Maia was an Athe- 
 nian. Of all the amazing adventures and exciting changes
 
 MAIA'S HISTORY 33 
 
 that had come to Maia, in this one great day of all her 
 life, this fact thrilled her to the depths of her being. 
 
 In the ecstacy of her joy, Maia rose to her feet. She 
 beat her hands, as though the soft palms were clinking cym- 
 bals. Tossing her head backwards, she faced the sky. 
 Heaven itself must hear the glad news. 
 
 " I'm free free! " she shouted to the radiant blue arch 
 above her. " And I am an Athenian an Athenian ! 
 Oh, Manes how glorious to be born in the Violet- 
 crowned ! " She stopped her dance of joy to beat her glad 
 hands before her master's impassive face. In this, her mo- 
 ment of exaltation, Maia felt, indeed, as though she must 
 sweep her former master to the heights of her own rap- 
 ture or her joy would miss its full completeness. She 
 bent over him; she took his hands in hers, she must en- 
 velop him with the gladness of this intoxicating moment. 
 He also must rejoice must be one with her in this great- 
 est of all the moments of her life. 
 
 " Listen Manes listen ! " she cried. " Since I am an 
 Athenian I shall make Nirias take me and quickly 
 to Athens. And you shall come. We will see every- 
 thing together. Think of it think of the joy before us! 
 All Athens to see and to know I am one of its citizens ! " 
 
 As though to prove true her boast, Maia's features 
 showed, as never before, the precision and purity of their 
 Attic outlines. Emotion had paled the girl's skin. The 
 small, delicately-moulded features were clear-cut, as ex- 
 quisite in perfection of finish as though done into marble. 
 
 Manes looked at the face so close to his own, with new 
 eyes. He seemed, and for the first time, to take note of 
 his former slave's title to beauty and to a beauty of rare 
 distinction. He drew the moved face to him, with gentle 
 hands, caressed it, questioned each feature as though new 
 to him, as he cried, with light mockery,
 
 34 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " By Aphrodite's blue orbs, child ! but thy mother who- 
 ever she may be had best reclaim thee, and swiftly 
 else the youth of Athens will make Nirias' beard as grey 
 as mine, in a week's time ! " 
 
 Maia's face softened. " Ah my kindred," she breathed. 
 " We will tell every one my story. Athens is small all 
 that is heard in the Agora is known, and quickly, it is said, 
 throughout the city." 
 
 The girl turned her gaze toward the far distant Attican 
 range greying fast in the twilight's purpling. The mar- 
 bles of the Parthenon she had seen so often glittering, on 
 fair days, from the lofty Acro-Corinthus heights to know 
 that she Maia Manes' former slave and pupil pos- 
 sessed the right to feel an ownership in such Athenian, 
 such world-famous glories, made fresh thrills of joy sweep 
 her frame. 
 
 Maia felt, indeed, her very soul shaken. The visions her 
 quick imagination conjured up, made her pulses sing. Once 
 more she was as far away from the rude stool, and the 
 huge form beside her, as she was oblivious of Manes' pres- 
 ence. 
 
 Since indeed, she was doubly free, she would do won- 
 derful things. Yes she would make Nirias take her to 
 Athens she would have Manes and the slaves go, and 
 at once, to the Agora. Once her story was told, her par- 
 ents would come forward they would be delighted to 
 acknowledge a daughter possessed of so many accomplish- 
 ments. She would present poor old Nirias as the generous 
 man who had freed her, her father w r ould give him a splen- 
 did banquet, at which would be the beautiful Athenian 
 who would wish to marry her, after having heard of her 
 beauty and talents. 
 
 Such were the thoughts that coursed through Maia's 
 childish mind. All her future lay mapped out before her,
 
 MAIA'S HISTORY 35 
 
 as clear as the shining coastlines of Attica, from the heights 
 of the Citadel. 
 
 Another picture, suddenly, rose up. Manes' boastful 
 words came back to her. He a father to her! Would 
 any father have treated her as he had done? What had 
 her life been but that of a slave and the hardest of hard- 
 
 ( worked slaves? Her toil in that house of never-ending 
 work the long hours of standing, of playing to dull 
 chorus youths, to mark their awkward steps, the vigorous 
 scourgings for the least musical mistake the keeping in 
 order of the whole theatrical wardrobe, and, wearied though 
 she might be unto death, yet must she dress herself with 
 care, and play and play to drunken banqueters, Oh-h the 
 hateful, wearisome life! 
 
 Why had she been made to endure all this, since Manes 
 knew her to be Athenian born? 
 
 Then Maia remembered the law. 
 
 Exposed children became as slaves to those who took 
 them and cared for them. In spite of her knowledge of 
 this law, Maia felt her blood suddenly boil with anger, 
 Never had she known the power of rage thus to shake the 
 frame thus to make one feel aflame one instant, and ice 
 the next. Maia was a true Greek, in the swift changes that 
 came to govern her mood. 
 
 Still in the fury of her wrath, Maia turned to face 
 Manes with eyes starting from her head, and her words 
 came chokingly, as she gripped Manes with a fierce clutch 
 
 " Since you knew I was Athenian-born, why did you treat 
 me like the lowest of slaves? tell me that! " 
 
 Manes' laughter shook him, as he loosened the slender- 
 tipped but strong fingers. He looked down into the crim- 
 soned face, and again he passed his free hand over the gold of 
 the falling tresses with a loving caress, as he said in a gleeful 
 tone,
 
 36 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Ah-h, my pretty tigress not so tight ! You have 
 sharp claws." Manes now laughed with real heartiness. 
 The girl's anger amused him. " There, there, that is bet- 
 ter;" he cried, as his large, powerful hand closed over 
 Maia's small, pointed fingers. He laid her hands one over 
 the other, against the folds of her chiton. " There a 
 girl's hands are prettiest when they lie curled, so, like 
 flowers in her lap. You have pretty fingers, my Maia 
 as all the youth of Corinth will soon tell you for you 
 were never born to live solely with the old, and with grey 
 beards." 
 
 Maia's laughter was now joined to Manes' she had 
 made a second sudden, but more mirthful spring at her 
 master's beard. 
 
 "Let go! my girl, let go! Ah-h you will? You'll 
 try your strength on the old, you'll scratch, will you, or 
 bite, when you fail to strike? There calm your high 
 spirits save your claws' skill for others, who know not, 
 as I do, how cats and women can scratch you'll need 
 both strength and claws in the life that is to come to you 
 for all your freedom And now come We've had 
 excitement enough to whet the appetite it seems to me 
 for one day." 
 
 Maia echoed Manes' laughter. She circled his arm with 
 her two hands, as both made their way towards the house. 
 
 Before entering the now darkening court, she withdrew 
 her clasp; she turned to face the glory that lay about and 
 below the terrace. As Maia looked, she sighed. It was 
 the last time she would watch the colour flame, and wait 
 for the stars to grow, in the purple sky. This, her home 
 on the terrace, would be left forever. On the morrow, 
 she would be a part of the glowing, splendid city yonder. 
 She would be lying on a sumptuous couch, with slaves to run 
 before her.
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 ON TO ATHENS 
 
 DURING the months that were to follow, of all Maia's 
 dreams, only one was to come true. She won Nirias to 
 fulfil her longing hope. After scenes in which tears and 
 outburst of anger were succeeded by tender cajoling, Nirias 
 consented to take her to Athens. And Manes was to be of 
 the company. 
 
 Nirias had yielded; but the unspoken hope that made 
 now of every waking moment in Maia's life the animating 
 purpose her longing to find her kindred this deeply 
 cherished desire would have small chance of accomplishment. 
 
 Nirias planned the journey with the care a man takes 
 when he has a treasure to guard, that has become dearer 
 than life itself. 
 
 He chose the time of the year when Athens was at its 
 gayest, when the crowd of strangers from every part of the 
 world would so pack the streets of the chief city in Hellas 
 that the advent of even so great a beauty as Maia would ex- 
 cite but little comment. 
 
 As for Maia's wild project of finding her people, in such 
 a multitude one might as well search for the buried statues 
 on the Acropolis. 
 
 Nothing of all this did wise Nirias say to his little Maia. 
 He dazzled her, with the planning of the journey on a scale 
 of magnitude that seemed to her untravelled inexperience, 
 to embrace every quarter of the universe. They would 
 take ship for the Ionian Islands they would see Melos, 
 sacred Delos should be visited, they would touch at 
 
 37
 
 38 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Nauplia, and make their way thus to the nearest Athenian 
 port, at the very time when the city was at its wildest mo- 
 ment of gay worship. 
 
 Unsuspecting Maia shrieked for joy, as the entrancing 
 voyage was talked over. 
 
 "You are the best of men ! the dearest, the kindest ! " and 
 with one of her tender impulses, she flung her glad arms 
 about Nirias, and covered his radiant face with kisses. 
 Then her own smile died into a sober look, " I must make 
 all necessary preparations ! " and she whirled herself away, 
 followed by Nirias' happy laughter. 
 
 How she would haunt the shops! what wonders of rare 
 tissues, of fabulously costly embroideries she would discover! 
 And what marvellous new combinations she would devise ! 
 Already in Corinth, whatever Maia wore was the height of 
 the fashion, the next day. 
 
 Nirias, meanwhile, proceeded to business. 
 
 His first care was to write to Crates of the Piraeus. This 
 Crates was his oldest and one of his dearest friends. Like 
 Nirias, the Piraean had made his own fortune. Like him 
 also, both were become famous. Crates, more than any 
 other Athenian, had done the most to extend Athenian 
 commerce; his ships were in every harbour. And the Pir- 
 aean's great house on Munychia hill, just above the port, 
 was known far and wide for its statues and costly tapestries. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances, Nirias would have gone 
 direct to Crates' house. But Crates had a son. 
 
 This Ion, it appeared, was the most desirable of sons, 
 from Crates' point of view. From the standpoint of a 
 wary and jealous middle-aged lover, Ion was one to be 
 avoided as carefully as one would the plague. He was 
 handsome, clever, had become the intimate of the most ex- 
 clusive Athenian set of young aristocrats, and was fast be- 
 coming an accepted favourite.
 
 ON TO ATHENS 
 
 39 
 
 Such a combination of qualities and successful achieve- 
 ment would frighten the most courageous of men. Added 
 to these serious disadvantages from Nirias' point of view 
 there was a still greater deterrent one that made going 
 to Crates entirely out of the question. This precious 
 Ion had but just returned from a prolonged Asian journey. 
 
 Since Nirias could not run the chance of offending Crates, 
 by appearing in Athens without announcing his arrival, 
 there was but one thing to be done Crates must be taken 
 into his Nirias' confidence. Nirias carefully made plain, 
 in his long letter, all the many excellent reasons there were 
 for his ow r n landing at Phalerum instead of sailing into the 
 Piraean harbour, and the wisdom of having as short a dis- 
 tance as possible to traverse, to gain the theatre. Would 
 dear Crates meet the ship at the smaller Port?
 
 Chapter V 
 
 AN INVOCATION 
 
 IT was the third day in Athens, of the festival of Dionysus. 
 Long before dawn, a trim ship glided over the faintly rip- 
 pled waters of the /Egsean. 
 
 A single figure stood out upon the vessel's prow. 
 Shrouded in violet-hued draperies, the motionless watcher 
 swept the great scene with eyes that roved far and wide. 
 The restless orbs seemed to pierce the light mists as though 
 to search for the first sight of the hills and the low up- 
 lands. 
 
 A shepherd's call, across the nearest hillslope, brought 
 to the girl her first sip of rapture. She started, as a long, 
 glad shout rang out. From one hill, and then from an- 
 other answering greetings came. As the gay shouts re- 
 sounded through the clear Attic air, Maia laughed aloud, 
 for pure joy. 
 
 " 'Tis the shepherds who are the first to feel the stirrings 
 of the kindly god ! " she cried. And then she listened, with 
 all her power of hearing, that no pleasant sound might es- 
 cape her. 
 
 Hill echoed back to hill the festival greeting. Over the 
 now tinted grasses, the grey-backed sheep moved, like a slip- 
 ping river. Pipings and flutings rose up, the delicate air 
 resounded with melodious tunes. 
 
 A thrill that coursed like flame swept through Maia's 
 quivering frame. Every sound seemed to touch the very 
 depth of feeling. And no part of the great spectacle seemed 
 strange. 
 
 40
 
 AN INVOCATION 41 
 
 As Phoebus sent his heralds forth, as above Hymettus 
 the pink clouds caught the rising glow Maia lifted her 
 arms. With hands high held, she opened her lips and 
 sang. The famous Apolline hymn came as spontaneously as 
 though she had sung thus to dawning Athens not once, but 
 again and again. And as the melodious notes rose up, the 
 features of the great prospect grew clearer and ever clearer. 
 
 Lycabettus, that had worn its shroud of grey, now shone 
 like an uplifted javelin, fire-smitten. The Megaran hills 
 were long planes of light. Fames' brow was rose-flushed 
 it had felt the kiss of dawn ; and trembling, the far-dis- 
 tant peaks swam into misty outlines their tops rimmed 
 with gold. 
 
 Hills and skies appeared to send downward a something 
 spiritual an unearthly lightness, an ecstacy of some sort. 
 It was as though Dionysus himself, the mysterious instigator 
 of sensation and enthusiasm, already held in upper heaven 
 his brimming wine-cup. This generous god the miracle- 
 worker who could transform the dead, inert earth into 
 blossom-crowned Spring, meant men to worship him with 
 rapture and transport. Therefore it was, the hills sang, 
 and the skies wore a golden chaplet. 
 
 Long before Maia's song came to an end, the tears were 
 streaming down her cheeks. It was not alone her lips that 
 sang her soul had gone forth to meet every wondrous 
 feature of the splendid scene in awed rapture. Ancestral 
 fires burned within. 
 
 And thus it was Maia went up to Athens.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 
 
 ON this, the third morning of the festival time, two young 
 men issued from houses as different in aspect as were their 
 fortunes. 
 
 Scarcely had the sun smitten the tops of the hills, when 
 Ion, fresh from the home bath, his perfumed locks cor- 
 rectly curled to take the right Alcibidian fall over the brow, 
 swept his rich purple mantle through the courts of his 
 town house. He had chosen his dwelling outside the walls. 
 A countryman's son, Ion had brought to crowded Athens 
 the love of wide skies and free winds; his house stood close 
 to the Lyceum. 
 
 Before leaving the peristyle, Ion gave the freedom of the 
 day to every slave within the courts. With a shout, the 
 little army scampered to their quarters. Gleeful, tuneful 
 snatches of song rose up ; and the sonorous Greek voices fol- 
 lowed Ion down the street, as he made his way to the road 
 leading to the city. 
 
 Ion smiled, as he murmured, softly, " To slave as to 
 freedman, to young and old, to rich and poor alike, how 
 subtly the kind god works! The soul seems lightened of 
 every sorrow ! " 
 
 As Ion passed into the ever-brightening streets, he himself 
 felt the stirrings of the miracle-worker. Dionysus, the dear 
 god, was pouring forth his joy-giving spirit. Ion walked 
 as a man goes forth to meet a happy destiny; some won- 
 derful thing was surely to happen to him, else never would 
 he feel such an unwarrantable elation. 
 
 42
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 43 
 
 Who would be the first to pull at his mantle? Would 
 it be Timoleon? 
 
 Timoleon, only a few moments before, had left his mean, 
 small house, one that had two entrances, since it was both 
 a shop and a dwelling, and was already making his way 
 through the packed streets of the lower end of the Agora. 
 Though he had no such substantial reasons as had Ion for 
 finding life a banquet, and Fortune a smiling goddess, still 
 even Timoleon felt the sweet influences of the festival sea- 
 son. Like other advanced thinkers, Timoleon laughed, in 
 secret, at the Dionysus myth, and aloud when it was 
 safe. For Timoleon 's fortunes, since his misfortunes had 
 come to him since his father's ostracism had largely 
 depended on the clever wits that lay beneath his own dark 
 locks. 
 
 In spite of his more or less empty purse, little by little 
 Timoleon felt the rising pulse of excitement. The god was 
 beginning to evoke delightful sensations even in those who 
 disowned him. 
 
 At a sudden turn in the narrow street, Timoleon all but 
 ran into Ion's arms. 
 
 With a shout of laughter, the two young men, with the 
 glee of boys, did, indeed, open their arms, in reality. They 
 gave each other mockingly, the embrace that the pressure 
 of the crowd had precipitated. 
 
 " Ah-h dear Ion Well met ! And how fine we are ! 
 A fair soul in a fair raiment ! " cried Timoleon, admiringly, 
 and, for a wonder, without envy. 
 
 Ion threw back his garlanded head. Hyacinths and lilies 
 framed a face radiant with life, and beautiful with fire- 
 touched enthusiasm. 
 
 This, his first great festival since his return, had swept 
 every chord of Ion's responsive nature. The music, the 
 crowds, the glistening gods, the steaming altars, every con-
 
 44 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 tributary feature of the festival had wrought a fierce keen 
 rapture. 
 
 "Timoleon! dear man! Come! there is a wonder 
 abroad, it appears a new beauty ! But then, on such a 
 day even the oldest, seem new young immortal ! 
 This is indeed a true Dionysia. Never before, it seems 
 to me " 
 
 "But what were you saying a new beauty?" inter- 
 rupted Timoleon, sending his eyes restlessly abroad. 
 
 Ion had swept his friend's shoulder with his arm. The 
 rich purples of Ion's himation contrasted well with Timo- 
 leon 's saffron garments. Their faces were almost on a 
 level. The two wreathed heads were now bent, now 
 twisted, were now following each fresh, fair face. Yet to 
 hear of a fairer one stirred the young men's pulses. " Yes, 
 they say she is a wonder Glaucus but look ! but here 
 of all men whose mantle should be perfectly draped, 
 comes Glaucus himself and look at him ! " 
 
 A flat-nosed, elaborately dressed youth emerged, with a 
 leap and a bound, from out a thick crowd. He was dashed, 
 with a certain violence, against the two young men's breasts. 
 
 Gasping, spluttering, almost sobbing, Glaucus told his 
 friends what had befallen him. 
 
 A group of shepherds, it appeared, had been dancing in 
 the very middle of the street. Catching sight of Glaucus' 
 sumptuously clad figure, they had instantly surrounded him. 
 His trailing himation, his heavily wreathed and perfumed 
 locks, his jewelled and garlanded shoulders, his tall cane, and 
 his Molossian hound had touched the humour-loving gayety 
 of these Attic hill-folk. 
 
 Round and round raging Glaucus the merry band had 
 swept. His barking dog, Glaucus' mad, frantic gestures, 
 his nimble but ineffectual efforts to escape through the satyr-
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 45 
 
 like forms of his tormentors, had made the rude fun flame 
 into grotesque hilarity. 
 
 Still spluttering, with wreath and garland awry, his man- 
 tle twisted and covered with dirt, Glaucus entertained his 
 friends with his disgusting adventure. 
 
 Timoleon laughed his fill; he actually helped Glaucus to 
 make himself beautiful. Ion had already re-adjusted the 
 fallen garlands, as Timoleon busied himself with the jewelled 
 clasps confining the inner tunic. 
 
 " Well well of all things, that our Glaucus should 
 be thus roughly handled," cried Timoleon, in mocking glee. 
 
 " You may well say so I might as well have been a 
 ball or a puppet," almost sobbed Glaucus, as intently en- 
 gaged over his disordered toilet as though he had been a 
 woman. 
 
 " Oh well the world is always jealous of novelties in 
 dress," soothingly cried Ion, his eyes meeting Timoleon's 
 in a riot of mirth. " But come you look now as fresh as 
 a maid from her bath That's right, keep between us 
 Timoleon and I will play Scyths to your comeliness but 
 for heaven's sake forget your late annoyances my Glau- 
 cus, and tell us of the new beauty you have discovered " 
 
 Glaucus, quieted, at ease once more, and happy in being 
 between his two friends, proceeded to narrate the adventure 
 of the morning. 
 
 At dusk, it appeared, he had been coming up from Phale- 
 rum in his town cart. He had passed the previous night 
 at the port, in gay company. Among the thousands of 
 vehicles and foot-passengers was a certain chariot " drawn 
 by bays singularly the match of yours my Ion " 
 and on the back seat, had sat, erect, with veil swept aside, 
 a creature so utterly lovely, that he, Glaucus, had actually 
 let his reins fall. Never had he seen her like. She had
 
 46 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 violet blue eyes and hair and a skin and such shoul- 
 ders" 
 
 " Who pray was with her? " cried Ion, quivering. It ex- 
 cited him to hear of such beauty. 
 
 " That is of all things the most amazing Beside an 
 elderly man on the front, who of all men do you sup- 
 pose sat beside her my Ion but your father my 
 boy!" 
 
 "My father!" Ion started stared. His breath was 
 fairly taken from him. He stopped letting the crowd 
 circle about him. He was whirled he knew not where. He 
 had to run a few onward paces to catch Glaucus' answer. 
 
 " Yes he saluted me but rather as though he re- 
 gretted having seen me ! " 
 
 " Of all wonders ! And to keep me in ignorance of all 
 this and to tell me he would not be in town until the 
 hour of my banquet " 
 
 Ion's indignation was so warm his friends burst into de- 
 lighted laughter. Timoleon clutched Ion's arm the tighter. 
 " There is one thing and only one thing to be done 
 We must find this new wonder and your father, and 
 make him introduce us " 
 
 This purpose gave to the young men an added stimulus. 
 They breasted the crowd as though plunging into a sea. 
 Like the waves of the sea, the festival gayety closed in and 
 about them. At a certain street corner their passage was 
 blocked by a long line of Bacchantes, on their way to take 
 their places in the procession. They went their way soberly 
 enough now. They were walking as sedately as other 
 women walked; their time of ecstasy was not yet come. 
 The long hours of the day were between them and the rap- 
 ture-madness, when, with loosened locks, ungirdled draperies, 
 and transport-driven frenzy, they would make of the night 
 one long mysterious act of worship.
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 47 
 
 The white-robed line, whose moving grace was like an 
 animated frieze, took many minutes to pass. 
 
 All the city now rang with music. From street corners, 
 from gardens, from porticoes, from all open places, glad, 
 exultant voices, singing, shouting, soared upward. Cele- 
 brants were gathered thick about smoking altars. The 
 throbbing notes of sonorous-tongued trumpets made the air 
 quiver with penetrating vibrations. The more delicate notes 
 of harp, of zithers, of single and double flutes, pierced the 
 ear like a continuous whirring of insect's wings and of bird- 
 notes. 
 
 Glistening, glittering, everywhere the statues of the gods 
 rose up. The marble brows and shoulders, as were living 
 heads and breasts, were thick with garlands. No god but 
 what was niched in roses; scarcely a man or woman 
 moved that did not leave behind the trail of perfume. 
 Even the usual foetid odors that rose up from the streets, 
 were deadened. For, added to the scent of flowers, an 
 animating sea wind now brought a touch of salt to the lips. 
 There was a freshening coolness abroad that made the mere 
 act of breathing a delight. 
 
 Athletes, with coarse, scarred faces, but with forms like 
 gods, everywhere decked the streets like living statues. And 
 in and out, threading the crowd like airy butterflies, there 
 passed and repassed, then glided hither and thither, the 
 supple shapes of hundreds of hetaerae. 
 
 The glances of these ladies were obviously more dazzling 
 to rude shepherd's eyes, than were the sun rays on bare 
 hills, at high noon. Fishermen from the Piraeus, come in 
 gala dress to take a mariner's look around, stood, gaping, 
 blocking the way. Some soldiers in their holiday chlamys, 
 which they wore with extra jauntiness, were crowding about 
 the half-post, half statue of the household Hermae. Gaily 
 they jeered at the lazy trademen whose industry, in a trim-
 
 48 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ming of their god, had, apparently, only been born after 
 breakfast. Groups of fashionable young men stood about, 
 with their hands on their hips, and an arm flung about a 
 comrade's neck, affecting the latest fashion in disdain. 
 
 "Look!" cried Glaucus, at a sudden turn in the street, 
 where the poorer slaves and country folk were already clos- 
 ing in about the wine bowls, huge bowls that were set at 
 the street corners, for free worship of the god " By the 
 god Pan ! but there are my tormentors ! " 
 
 A swarm of half-drunken, vulgarly-costumed hill-folk 
 made a sudden rush for the three young men. 
 
 Pan's goat-like features leaped and pranced before Ion 
 and the two annoyed young noblemen. Bacchus, with dis- 
 torted, bloated face, crowned with grape-vines, green and 
 lustrous, blew wine-drugged breaths, with laughing buffoon- 
 ery, into their faces. Coarse-voiced Bacchantees no 
 priestesses these but rustic imitators, trailed dust-stained 
 robes and uncombed locks, swirling in mid-air their rudely- 
 trimmed thyrsi, as Pan squealed through his reed, and Bac- 
 chus hiccoughed a hymn to Dionysus. 
 
 When the two young men were released from the noisy 
 revellers, Ion was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 Further up the street, Nirias and his party, who had 
 come up from Phalerum, had been forced to flatten them- 
 selves against a house front. 
 
 A noisy shouting had filled the air. The crowd of 
 merrymakers, before, about, around them mostly peasants, 
 clad in goats' skins was suddenly swarming down upon 
 the party. The narrowness of the passage in this bend of 
 the street increased the din and shouting. The smell of 
 garlic-tainted breaths befouled the air. 
 
 Maia found herself suddenly alone, unaccountably flat-
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 49 
 
 tened against the sides of the nearer house walls. The blue 
 of the sky was obscured. A cloud of faces, bestial and in- 
 flamed, surrounded her. One, with a satyr's grin was sud- 
 denly, terrifyingly close. Maia shuddered she drew her 
 draperies tight about her she called as loud as her fear, 
 that was shaking her like an aspen, would let her, " Manes! 
 Mago! quick! help me! save me! or I know not what 
 may " then her breath was taken from her. She could 
 only squeeze herself tight against the wall. What could 
 it be that was so hot, so foul, what was the drunken voice 
 hiccoughing? 
 
 " One kiss my beauty Venus hie ! owes me hie 
 that " As out of a nightmare, Maia heard the voice 
 shout. 
 
 Suddenly with a rush and smooth as wind, a beautiful 
 stranger dashed into the midst of the peasant crowd. 
 
 To catch the peasant about the waist, and then to lift 
 the writhing body aloft, holding him thus for a second, 
 that Ion might toss him gaily in the air, as though he were 
 a ball, and, after he had had his sport, to deposit the 
 limp, inert lump in the very middle of the street all this 
 had taken but the space of a minute. The next, slightly 
 puffing, Ion had called to his slaves to dust his sandals. 
 
 The peasant now lay in a heap. He was dazedly rub- 
 bing his head. His companions were shouting at him their 
 derisive laughter, and Ion heard the loud buzz of applaud- 
 ing voices about his ears. 
 
 But the beautiful being, whose loveliness could not be 
 hidden even by the hastily gathered folds of her veil, was 
 nowhere to be seen. 
 
 lori questioned the group of gentlemen who had ap- 
 plauded his athletic feat, as to who the beauty might be, and 
 by whom she was accompanied but no one could tell him. 
 As soon as Ion had come to the lady's rescue, a Persian, a
 
 50 
 
 slave apparently, had rushed to her side, and had swept her 
 away. 
 
 Though Ion made an exhaustive search of the groups im- 
 mediately about him, the lovely stranger was, indeed, no- 
 where to be found. Could she, by any lucky chance, be 
 the new beauty ? Ion pondered, the rare grace of the 
 affrighted gestures, the plastic suppleness of the writhing 
 form within the violet draperies, the gold, snows, and car- 
 nations shining within the veil, surely this was she! No 
 lovelier creature had Ion seen in Athens since his return. 
 
 The Pirsean now hurried onward; at least he would be 
 certain to run across Timoleon and Glaucus. With three 
 such pairs of eyes, the wonder would surely be found. 
 
 Maia, in her turn, had looked for her preserver diligently. 
 When Mago had swept to her side, and had hurried her to 
 Nirias, whose state, at finding Maia gone, was " pitiable to 
 see," Mago said, Maia had turned upon the unoffending 
 slave with swift, uncontrollable anger. 
 
 "And must I never have a moment of freedom ? 
 Must I forever remember who pretended to free me, that 
 he might thus keep me the more securely bound ? " was 
 Maia's heated, impassioned outburst. 
 
 When Nirias grasped her mantle, with frantic delight at 
 finding his adored one apparently unharmed, Maia's temper 
 had not cooled. The stinging lash of her scorn so stung 
 poor Nirias that he shrank backwards was well content 
 to walk with Manes, and let Maia have, at least, some 
 semblance of freedom. 
 
 On such a day, however, the most righteous indignation 
 must give way to the gay holiday spirit. There was con- 
 tagion in the very air, in the glad songs, in the perfumes, in
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 51 
 
 the festal throngs, and Maia had not gone a dozen steps be- 
 fore the festival rapture had re-captured her. 
 
 Maia, indeed, felt herself to be walking on air. Since 
 the first moment of her landing, since the first outlook 
 of the distant temple-crowned Acropolis, and her glimpse 
 of the divine little city carrying up from the rich plain 
 the long lines of glistening altars, statues, and stately tem- 
 ples to the lofty citadel, like a sumptuously clad priestess 
 mounting temple steps to make magnificent offering, Maia 
 had felt the rocking ecstasy of triumphant delight. 
 
 Triumphant! For she knew, and for a certainty, she had 
 come into her own city! 
 
 No object, however novel, seemed strange; the aspect of 
 streets or houses, the very faces carved into the walls and 
 the benign Hermae how familiar ! how dear ! 
 
 Maia had entered Athens as might one of the great Greek 
 heroines. Thus would Electra have felt, on coming to 
 Mycenae. 
 
 Maia's quick Greek pulses were, therefore, in perfect tune 
 with the Dionysiac festival. Surely hundreds of times she 
 had been thus abroad, had been hustled thus, had seen every 
 altar dressed like a bride, and had breathed the clear, brisk 
 Athenian air that clouds of incense could not clog! 
 
 To the wondering looks that were showered on Maia, as 
 she moved, rapt, elate, with veil swept aside, that she might 
 the better see all to the admiring comments that followed 
 her like a chorus, Maia was wholly indifferent. If indeed 
 she heard the murmur of delight her appearnce aroused, she 
 heeded it not. 
 
 On and on she walked, as one come to take possession. 
 
 Now her beauty loving eyes were wide with delight 
 some new master-piece, in the street of the Tripods, where 
 one moved between a never-ending aisle of master-pieces 
 caught her gaze, holding it spellbound ; what a multitude
 
 52 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of offerings ! how thick were crowded shrines, tripods, sculp- 
 tured pedestals on which rested wonderful lyres with golden 
 strings, or the jewelled and tinted figures of an Apollo! 
 
 Wherever one looked, was to sip intoxication. Greek en- 
 ergy spoke through the wide-glancing, excitable Greek eyes, 
 in eloquent, impassioned gesture, and in melodious moving 
 and moved speech. Merely to be among Athenians, on such 
 a day, was to feel one's self above all other mortals. 
 
 How different to the heavy, mercantile, features of a 
 Corinthian gathering! 
 
 Maia had no sooner made this unflattering reflection, 
 than her observant eyes were caught by a group of stately 
 Athenians who were making difficult headway through the 
 thick masses of peasants, soldiers, shepherds, athletes, and 
 strangers that packed the entrance to the more open spaces 
 of the precinct of the theatre. 
 
 Ahead of the party walked a number of slaves. These 
 were making heroic efforts to clear a passage for their mas- 
 ters. 
 
 Behind the slaves came the master a dignified aristo- 
 crat " who passes his nights at banquets, and his days in dis- 
 puting with the philosophers " Maia thought, as she sur- 
 veyed the clear-cut features, with their tell-tale lines of 
 fatigue and the crimson touch of Bacchus. 
 
 The ladies directly behind the stately banqueter rivetted 
 Maia's gaze. Shrouded in their veils though they were, the 
 three ladies betrayed their high station, by every motion and 
 gesture. They kept their eyes upon the ground ; their slaves 
 further hid them from view by holding close the fringed 
 parasols, and two, at least, of the ladies walked with un- 
 steady feet, as tread those who rarely go abroad. 
 
 " The other she with the marvellous transparencies 
 surely she must be a foreigner no lady, Athenian born,
 
 THE FEAST OF DIONYSUS 53 
 
 would go abroad in such raiment even on a festival 
 day!" 
 
 So great, indeed, had been Maia's interest in the group 
 that, forgetful of her own appearance, she had slowed her 
 step, and her face was fully revealed. Her veil had fallen, 
 unheeded, upon her arm. 
 
 " By the fair face of Venus, but what a lovely creature! " 
 Maia started and stood at her tallest. The eyes of the 
 advancing party were, she found, fixed full upon her. 
 
 The master stared, with wonder-struck eyes as he ut- 
 tered his ejaculation. And the three ladies had stopped; 
 even through their veils Maia felt the curious, searching 
 feminine gaze concentrated upon every feature, every detail 
 of her form and costume. 
 
 Maia returned the fixed stare. She swept the party with 
 deep, soulful glance. The elderly aristocrat, he who had 
 cried aloud, at first sight of her, did not interest her. But on 
 the more matronly figure, she who held herself with a pride 
 and dignity that proclaimed a great race, and on the lovely 
 virginal form of her who was the daughter of the house 
 whose corn locks shone through her shimmering veil 
 on these two Maia looked with all soul in her eyes. 
 
 What if such as these great ladies should be found to be 
 her kindred ? Something in the slender grace of that lovely 
 maiden reminded Maia of her own youth before she was 
 fully born before she became a woman. And at the 
 sight of that protected innocence of the child whose vir- 
 ginal charms were guarded as was the shrine of Pallas 
 Athena, a strange, inexplicable sense of injury possessed 
 Maia's soul. She could have cried aloud " You have 
 wronged me! wronged me! " And the next instant, she 
 had turned away, smiling at her absurd fancies, at her over- 
 wrought state.
 
 54 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Maia had but just rejoined Nirias, when a cry rent the 
 air. 
 
 " O Critias! Come! come! Oh-h I shall die if I do not 
 catch her do not see her again ! Did you not see for 
 yourself ? 'Twas Myrto's very image ! My God I feel 
 the earth giving way ! " 
 
 Succeeding the shrieks, Maia heard a confused medley of 
 voices that drowned the lady's loud wail. 
 
 What could the cries mean ? Had the mother that 
 matronly dame seen in her Maia a fancied resemblance 
 to some beloved one? Had she too, felt the strange, myste- 
 rious drawing the cord of a common subtle instinct of 
 attraction ? 
 
 For long moments, Maia walked as one in a dream. She 
 felt herself shaken, to the very core of her being. She 
 who had so yearned to find kindred, who, since first stepping 
 foot on Attican soil, had asked of every fresh face the great 
 question of every veiled face, in mercy to lift its covering, 
 had the answer to her longing to her prayers been 
 sent her? 
 
 But look, search the crowd as she might, stay her steps, 
 linger to make a pretence of wishing to delight still further 
 in the gayety, the excitement centered in the famous street, 
 Maia could catch no glimpse of the Critias group. 
 
 Maia was hurried on. Nirias was feeling the effects of 
 the long walk, the crowd and the noise would " soon finish 
 him," he said they must reach the theatre as quickly as 
 possible. 
 
 Maia now followed, obediently. A fresh hope had 
 bloomed. Perhaps at the theatre, she might catch a glimpse 
 of the ladies. The slaves, she recollected, had carried 
 cushions.
 
 Chapter VII 
 MAIA'S TRIUMPH 
 
 THE sun was near to Its setting as the last notes of the 
 chorus swept up from the orchestra to the over-arching 
 skies. Those who had been in their seats since daybreak, 
 now rose, stretching aching limbs. Yet Athens stood, long 
 after the play was ended, to clap frenzied hands, and to 
 shout itself hoarse. 
 
 The new actor from ^Egina, a handsome youth, in his 
 portrayal of Antigone, had captured the critical, emotional 
 audience. 
 
 Tears still bathed Maia's face ; and those of her neighbours 
 were also bedewed. Antigone's heroic accents, her sublime 
 utterances still rang upon the air. 
 
 As Maia moved downward, one with the crowd flowing 
 over the stone seats, the chorus groups were still moving, 
 swaying, dancing, before her eyes; their mounting odes were 
 clashing, melodiously, above the rustling crowds. Bril- 
 liant purples, crimsons, and golds were also still dazzling 
 her eyes. 
 
 Maia continued to move langourously; she let her scarf 
 and mantle trail. Her throbbing pulses made this breaking 
 up of the vast audience as moving a part almost as any 
 of the long drama of the day at once intensely real and 
 singularly remote. 
 
 As she made one of the thick groups of hetaerae, who, 
 like herself, had been seated in the spaces set apart for 
 women in the upper tiers of seats, just beneath the 
 colonnade their gay childish laughter, the soulless look 
 
 55
 
 56 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of most of these her sisters moved her to envy. Why could 
 she not take life as serenely, as joyously as they? Why 
 must she be longing for worlds unattainable? Why must 
 she seek kindred dull family relations, doubtless, who 
 would bore one's life out? Why, in a word, could she 
 not be content with Nirias, her great house on Corinth's 
 rising slopes, her slaves, and her life of luxury? 
 
 Antigone's thrilling accents soared upwards. Above the 
 noisy chattering groups she heard the compelling voice of 
 duty, of family, of something afar as of long slow growth, 
 
 call imperiously to her sentient soul. 
 
 Then, she had dropped to earth. She was only one among 
 her sisters. She was fluttering downwards, one of the 
 flight of gaudily plumaged birds, whose yellows, blues and 
 lilacs dotted, with bright colours, the prevailing whites of 
 the vast crowd. Slaves were hastily gathering together 
 cushions and bags, bottles of scent and fans. Youthful, 
 joyously smiling faces rose out of the ever-moving audience 
 to shout loving salutations to the gay votaries of pleasure, 
 about her. These greetings made Maia feel still more 
 separate as remote as was mighty Acro-Corinthus from 
 the Acropolis. 
 
 In the midst of a circle of priests and priestesses Maia 
 foun'd Manes. He was uttering, as usual, his critical com- 
 ments; as usual he had no thought of whom they might 
 wound. She heard him cry out: 
 
 " Ah I dare say it is part of Alcibiades' policy of 
 magnificence to costume a chorus so as to astonish the people 
 
 but I tell you, art is as sensitive as a woman you 
 over-dress her and she loses her purity of line her 
 divine simplicity. Now in Corinth " 
 
 Maia noted the amused smiles circling the lips of Manes' 
 listeners. She thought it time to break up the talk. She 
 moved towards Manes; she pressed her way between the
 
 MAIA'S TRIUMPH 57 
 
 venerable priests whose whitening locks were bound about 
 with floating tenia. Three beautiful virgins wearing high- 
 girdled chitons, whose flowing tresses were rose-garlanded, 
 were standing near. 
 
 " Where is Nirias? And ought we not to be seeking the 
 boat?" Maia said, as she finally reached Manes. 
 
 She wondered at Athenian courtesy ; for the circle about 
 Manes widened gave her place. There was a murmur- 
 ous buzz about her ears. She felt rather than saw, the 
 staring of many eyes. 
 
 But her own eyes had caught sight of the graceful 
 sculptures traced on the backs of the famous priests' chairs. 
 She was following the dance-motion of the agile god. 
 
 The murmur did not wholly die away; it still pursued 
 as she and Manes moved to that part of the outer precinct 
 where Nirias was making his farewells to Crates. 
 
 As she stood waiting, Maia's eyes took in the great 
 scene. The buzzing voices still about her were only a 
 part, she thought, of the universal buzz and bustle of moving 
 thousands. 
 
 The great theatre was now all but empty. Its semi- 
 circular grace sloped up the great rock. The statues be- 
 neath the upper colonnade were saffron-tinted. They car- 
 ried the eye aloft to the rugged, unhewn eastern end of 
 the Acropolis. But the rough surfaces were being turned 
 to carmine tints. And the line of the columns of the 
 Parthenon, seen aslant, was aglow with the golden sunset 
 hues. Temples, the gods and goddesses in their shadowed 
 pediment, and the labyrinth of altars, temples, and statues 
 in the upper precinct of /Esculapius, were swimming in 
 light. The magical moment of its transfiguration was 
 come to Athens. 
 
 Under the glow that pulsed to the very zenith, Maia 
 moved onward away as in a trance.
 
 5 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 The road to Phalerum the way to their boat ran 
 between tall walls and watch towers. But country smells 
 and scents came over the walls. Out of the stillness, and 
 the busy tumult of her thoughts, the clear harmonies of the 
 chorus-singing of Sophocles' famous ode rang out. Amid 
 the maze of impressions, emotions and incidents of this day 
 of days it was strange and yet sweet to have the famous 
 hymn ringing in her ears. She could hear the chorus chant- 
 ing the phrases. How did the strain go? Was that the 
 
 key? 
 
 Maia hummed the hymn. The first lines of the first 
 
 strophe had barely left her lips : 
 
 "Mighty Power, all powers above, 
 Great unconquerable love. 
 
 when a voice close behind startled her. The melody died 
 upon her lip. The voice was pleading 
 
 " O gracious lady pray sing the ode give it to us 
 as it should be sung ! " 
 
 As Maia turned, she looked her fright her dazed 
 amazement. For 'twas not one 'twas hundreds of ad- 
 miring eyes and speaking lips that met her gaze. 
 
 This following crowd had gathered silently, mysteriously. 
 Maia had not heard their noiseless stepping. She had 
 walked on and on, her absorbed reflections had made her 
 oblivious of all else save the tumult of feeling within. 
 
 The thick press of faces now before her, she noted, was 
 mostly male. Here and there, behind those close in front, 
 a woman's high-piled tresses were seen darting in among 
 the masculine bared heads. The crowd was most respect- 
 fully still. What were all these eager-eyed people trying 
 to see? Maia turned her face now this way, now that. 
 There was nothing remarkable in either the people ahead 
 or
 
 MAIA'S TRIUMPH 59 
 
 Then Maia's very heart stood still. Her lips seemed 
 strangely athirst. A sweet delirium mounted upwards it 
 touched her brain with fire. 
 
 For, as she had turned, all innocence, at each fresh view 
 of her face, the sonorous voices about her chorussed 
 
 "Ah-h! For love of the graces stay thus move 
 not!" 
 
 " Corinthian wonder did the Cyprian indeed mother 
 thee?" 
 
 "Aphrodite's very self! Look at the colour of her eyes, 
 the true sea-greys! " 
 
 "And the fall of her shoulders! " 
 
 " The arms to the fraction of an inch, are telling us 
 what the lovely limbs must be! " 
 
 Maia felt herself trembling, paling, blushing. Where 
 could she go where run? What insolence! What a 
 want of manners! 
 
 Yet there was no real insolence. The voices were, in- 
 deed, almost reverential. The tones, the nature of the 
 comments were those beauty-lovers might emit, when circling 
 about a new statue. 
 
 This Athenian tribute to her beauty was sweet to Maia's 
 ears. She found herself studying to walk with becoming 
 dignity ; she swung her steps into rhythmic grace of bearing. 
 
 All the length of the road between the walls, Maia, 
 followed by her train of admirers, walked on and on. 
 Nirias and Manes were deep in talk. The slaves had 
 formed themselves, on either side of their mistress, into an 
 informal escort. 
 
 Maia heard whispered conjectures as to who she was, or 
 might be; Crates' name was handed about, in wonderment; 
 she could hear Nirias' defects, knowingly voiced ; and for 
 her new fresh epithets were invented, and were flung forth 
 as hierophants scatter flowers before deity.
 
 6o ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Maia sipped the nectar of this praise. An ineffable de- 
 light filled her. Never before had she known such com- 
 pleted joy. To have every turn of one's body, each outline 
 studied, descanted upon, compared to immortal masterpieces 
 to hear such phrases ring forth as 
 
 " Alcamenes where is Alcamenes? See her he must! " 
 
 " Surely some one can be sent. She will not be gone for 
 a good shade yet! " 
 
 Ah-h what was the finding of cruel-hearted parents to 
 such thrilling salutations? 
 
 Even in the full glow of her pride, Maia smiled. At once 
 comic and sad, an inner voice whispered 
 
 " Behold ye came to find kindred, and have found 
 none. Yet Athens claims thee ! " 
 
 At this thought Maia felt herself strongly moved. An 
 irresistible longing seized upon her. She could have flung 
 her arms about the nearest close-bearded figure. She could 
 have cried forth her delight, have sobbed out her pain. If 
 all knew her story would not her friends be found ? 
 
 Almost had Maia resolved to face the crowds, to speak, 
 openly, before them all, telling them her history, when 
 two beautiful dark eyes caught her glance, held it, made 
 it quiver. Her bold resolve died within her. 
 
 A young man, and one very beautiful, had pushed him- 
 self forward. He had made the crowd about him of 
 festival merry-makers seem suddenly coarse of plebeian 
 mould and feature. Involuntarily, as though in homage to 
 one of superior birth and breeding, the crowd had parted. 
 Maia and the Athenian thus eyed each other, for a long full 
 moment, with none between. And then both started, for 
 each had recognized in the other the rescued and the rescuer 
 of the shepherd's outrage. 
 
 " They are of one beauty they should mate," whispered 
 low, a bearded, goat-like featured man. He walked close
 
 6i 
 
 to Maia. His slanting eyes travelled now to one, now 
 to the other, with a look of such joy one might have thought 
 he had fathered Ion. 
 
 Maia had heard the goat like-looking man's whisper. It 
 brought her to her senses. The young Athenian's beauty, 
 his deep thrilling glance, one that told her more than all the 
 loud laudatory chorussing, had for an instant enchained her 
 steps. She had felt neither power to breathe nor to move. 
 Then she was as suddenly released.. The man's embarrassing 
 outburst had broken the spell. 
 
 From the deck of the trireme, a few minutes later, Maia 
 felt a certain high courage returning to her. 
 
 The crowd now was circling about the yellow shore. 
 In another instant the Keleustes would sound his chant, 
 and the boat would be off. 
 
 Maia's eyes swept the figures massed upon the sands. 
 She had wholly forgotten they were there, solely to do 
 her homage. She was only intensely, acutely conscious of 
 finding all those hundreds of faces meaningless. There was 
 only one perfect brown oval one shapely form one 
 
 Maia's travelling eyes now caught Ion's powerful gaze. 
 For a long instant the four eyes were interlocked. Then 
 slowly, the two beautiful mouths curved. Each was smil- 
 ing, across the widening blues into the other's smile. 
 
 But the Keleustes had sounded his notes. The oarsmen's 
 blades, as one, smote the waters. Above the Keleustes' 
 melodious chant, a thunderous cheer rang up to the skies. 
 
 "Evoe! Evoe!" 
 
 " We greet thee ! We salute thee ! " 
 
 " Incomparable ! " 
 
 " Lovely Corinthian wonder return! Abide with us! 
 We will worship thee! " 
 
 As the cries and cheering smote Nirias' dull ears, he
 
 62 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 blinked his eyes. What a curious, excitable people were 
 these Athenians ! They could not see a fine ship moving off 
 without voicing their admiration ! And Nirias settled him- 
 self among his comfortable cushions with an amused grin. 
 Better than foolish Athenian excitability were these deep 
 pillows, after a day that might well have killed outright a 
 less vigorous frame! 
 
 But Manes had understood. His dancing eyes, aflame 
 with new light, met Maia's. He seemed to be watching, 
 questioning, conjecturing his piercing gaze said as clearly 
 as though his lips spoke " Well here's your audience. 
 And now what do you intend to do with it? " 
 
 Maia answered the challenge. Her lips curled. Mov- 
 ing forward to the very centre of the white deck, she lifted 
 her mantle and her eyes. Smiling, with the very smile she 
 had given when she had cried out, months ago, " Well 
 and why don't you beat me, now? Where's your whip?" 
 she said, with triumphant air, 
 
 "I think I remember O Manes! some of your excellent 
 counsels ' If you wish to produce a great effect give 
 your audience the impression of complete self-mastery 
 and above all else take time to do all things well.' 
 Back please, I am about to begin " 
 
 Manes took the place assigned him. Then for very joy, 
 he held his breath. 
 
 Maia had taken her pose. She stood alone upon the 
 satiny deck. With a gesture of incomparable grace she 
 flung her mantle behind her. With as much composure as 
 though she were within her chamber, she began slowly, with 
 infinite art, its intricate adjustment. 
 
 On the shore the crowd was bending forward as one 
 man. The glow in ever deepening skies lit up the eager, 
 moved faces; the clear light italicized each movement and
 
 MAIA'S TRIUMPH 63 
 
 gesture, as it also harmonized tunics, chitons, and trailing 
 himatia into a happy blend of colour. 
 
 Above the violet-blue waters Maia's shape rose up 
 the one figure against the gauze of the hills of Argolis. 
 
 Against that gossamer background", as she well knew, 
 every curve and outline of her pliant form was seen to 
 fullest perfection. Out of the descending folds of her 
 finely pleated chiton, her bared throat, shoulders, arms 
 and face showed their snows and roses as might her proto- 
 type, when rising from the Cyprian foam. 
 
 For a long distance, with arms outstretched, she held her 
 filmy mantle to its fullest breadth. Thus held, the firm- 
 ness of her round breasts, the droop of the line from slop- 
 ing shoulder to the curving hips, was lost in the folds that 
 hung about thighs and knees. 
 
 Suddenly, swiftly, with dexterous fling, the lilac gauze 
 was swung aloft, to crown the golden tresses. Its lower 
 ends were caught, were quickly wound about the lovely 
 shoulders, were swept tight as an enveloping sheath about 
 arms and hips. As a shard clasps its flower, the mantle en- 
 wreathed Maia. 
 
 When all was as it should be, Maia stood erect, immov- 
 able. With the state of those who uplift cornices, she 
 lifted her head. She showed tall, symmetrical a column 
 of grace, violet tinted. 
 
 Thus had Maia veiled herself, with Athens for a mirror. 
 
 Years after, in the torture of imprisonment, Ion was 
 to comfort his despair with the memory of that picture 
 of Maia's shape, now bent, now curved, now upright 
 fluid as the violet seas now rigid as marble. How the 
 lilac-draped figure was to haunt his fever-licked eyes!
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 
 
 ON leaving the theatre, Ion had lost sight of Timoleon 
 and Glaucus. He had been caught between a boisterous 
 group of Thebans. Once free, he had found himself out- 
 side of the theatre, amid the statues and altars of the pre- 
 cinct. 
 
 He had half turned to take the road to the Odeion, 
 when he heard cries, and the rustle of a moving crowd ris- 
 ing up from between the walls leading to the sea. 
 
 What and whom were the crowd following down to Phale- 
 rum? Whom were they acclaiming? True Greek that 
 Ion was, his itch of curiosity pricked him to follow. 
 
 From the shore every movement, each gesture, and all 
 of Maia's poses, Ion had watched with breathless eager- 
 ness. At the first glimpse of her face, he knew her as the 
 lovely creature he had rescued from the clutches of the 
 drunken sheperds. As he watched her, in all her beauty of 
 plastic grace and exquisite perfection of outline, his ex- 
 perienced and difficult Athenian eyes were never done with 
 the joy of looking. He felt himself shaken by a dozen 
 conflicting emotions. Rapture was laced with mad longing 
 to know all there was to know who in the name of the 
 Graces, could this " Wonder " be? Where had she learned 
 her art? And if, indeed, a Corinthian, whose companion 
 was she? surely not that elderly merchant's with his 
 yellow skin, and his sagging cheeks? surely it was not he? 
 
 As the ship had slipped away, lost to sight, the " In- 
 comparable's " violet draperies melting into the dusk of the 
 
 64
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 65 
 
 purple sea distances, Ion felt himself possessed by one single 
 longing, one overmastering intention. He would haunt the 
 Colonnade, the Gymnasia, the Agora, no gossip in Athens 
 should escape him, for surely others beside himself, in all 
 that crowd, would make the necessary inquiries, and all 
 would soon be known. 
 
 Meanwhile, he would take a turn in the Painted Porch. 
 Among all those assembled there, some might have seen 
 the " Wonder." 
 
 Even at this festival time, Ion could count on the famous 
 Stoa being full. Timoleon, even before Ion's Asian journey, 
 had made it the fashion to be seen strolling under the 
 arcade about, or just before sundown. After the after- 
 noon's work in the Gymnasia, after a long drive into the 
 country, or fresh from the excitements of a cock-fight, there 
 was still a shade to kill before the evening's banquet. 
 Timoleon had made clever use of his discovery; at this hour 
 the most beautiful Porch in all Athens was almost empty. 
 Here, therefore, about Eumolpus' barber shop, he had 
 drawn the more exclusive members of the leading aristo- 
 crats, those younger men whose opinions it was necessary 
 every political leader should test, as well as their willing- 
 ness to follow a given lead. 
 
 It was Timoleon's busiress in life to feel the rising 
 Athenian pulse. 
 
 Long before he reached the steps of the Porch, Ion 
 caught sight of Timoleon's slender, graceful figure lean- 
 ing against his favorite column. 
 
 Ion sent his joyous greeting ahead of him, he called 
 out, through the thickly grouped statues: 
 
 "Ah-ha Timoleon well met I counted on finding 
 you here " and with a spring whose lightness proved 
 Ion's high athletic condition, he swept to the shaded floor 
 of the Colonnade.
 
 66 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Timoleon's clever face showed no perceptible change. He 
 smiled, but there was a touch of light scorn in the curve 
 of his delicately finished lips. His gay holiday humour 
 had vanished. 
 
 " Ion, by all that is magnificent ! And with what a lordly 
 air he carries his mantle! One would think he owned all 
 Athens, and had a god or two for an ancestor ! " 
 
 Timoleon smiled down with the old familiar insolence 
 veiling his keen-eyed vigilance. 
 
 Ion laughed, as he took his place among the others of the 
 group already assembled. 
 
 A year ago Ion's sensitive Greek nature would have 
 been stung to the quick by Timoleon's taunt. He was 
 hardly conscious himself of how much he had gained; for 
 he scarcely felt Timoleon's sneer. His eyes gleamed, but 
 with amusement rather than anger. 
 
 Nothing thank the gods had changed ! The column 
 was as deliciously warmed as Timoleon's manner was stimu- 
 lating cool. Both were precisely at the same temperature as 
 he had left them. 
 
 Ariston was as smiling, as genially sympathetic as Glaucus 
 was feminely conscious of the cut and fall of his curls and 
 the correct toss of his mantle. 
 
 Even Endius, the fiery orator, was even now trying to 
 collect his audience and the group of the younger men 
 were beginning to surround him. 
 
 No-o, nothing, had changed save only that he, Ion, had 
 gained a better control of his temper for he answered 
 Timoleon's taunt with a smile. 
 
 " How came we to miss each other dear men ? But 
 lucky it was that we did for I have had a most wonderful 
 adventure ! Come come closer for what I have to tell 
 Is of the greatest importance."
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 67 
 
 With one of those natural and loving gestures that made 
 Ion beloved of men, he swept one arm about Ariston, and 
 the other about Glaucus. 
 
 Timoleon forgot his role of scornful indifference; and 
 even Endius, the orator of the group, stopped his harangu- 
 ing about war to sip the honey of gossip. 
 
 Ion told his story in brief, graphic phrases. As he de- 
 scribed the scene, the emotional Athenian faces were 
 flame-lit. Eyes glowed, the bronze skins were encrimsoned, 
 and the breath of all came in quickened gasps. 
 
 When Ion had ended, having told all there was to tell, 
 Glaucus struck his tall cane upon the concrete with a de- 
 lighted gesture. His cry of glee made all heads turn, 
 eagerly, toward him. 
 
 " You say the beauty was with two elderly men dear 
 Ion?" 
 
 " Yes," Ion answered, with growing wonder in his eyes. 
 
 " And one had a deep crimson mantle, richly embroidered, 
 in silver and purple, and the other man had a beard, and 
 wore a chlamys?" Glaucus questioned, as though he 
 found a peculiar relish in the situation. 
 
 "Ye es " 
 
 " Well dear boy let me give you a piece of excellent 
 advice: The next time you wish to make the acquaintance 
 of a new beauty remain at home your father needs 
 watching! " 
 
 A shout of rapturous laughter greeted Glaucus' finish. 
 The humour of his suggestion was the better relished, as 
 Crates was known to be the most exemplary of men a 
 model for all widowers with a luxurious and extravagant 
 son. 
 
 Ion's expression of mingled amazement and annoyance 
 furnished the laughing chorus with continued enjoyment.
 
 68 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Ion's voice finally made itself heard. 
 
 "What, pray, have these two elderly strangers and the 
 divinity to do with my father? " 
 
 Glaucus swept a caressing arm about Ion. And then he 
 brought his fair cheek close to Ion's deeper bronzed face. 
 
 "The beauty I met, this morning, at dawn, along the 
 Long Walls, dear boy, was with three men; and your 
 description answers perfectly to two of them the third, 
 as I told you, was no other than your good father ! " 
 
 The announcement was greeted with shouts of delight. 
 Ion's expression of mingled amazement and vexation was a 
 further source of amusement. The young men made the 
 most of the moment. Ion was being patted on the back ; 
 others were offering to drive him on the instant to the 
 Piraeus, while Glaucus was crying, above the gleeful tu- 
 mult ; 
 
 " Yes that would be the best plan, Seek out your 
 father and when, under, the home peristyle, you have 
 wrenched this secret from him, come share your knowledge, 
 generously, with us!" 
 
 " We'll make an expedition to Corinth or to Melos 
 or wherever the ' wonder ' is to be found " cried Timoleon, 
 with a secret relish at Ion's evident discomfiture. 
 
 Ion had, however, recovered his self-possession. He was 
 able to smile with all his usual good humour, as he an- 
 swered : 
 
 'Tis I will head the expedition dear men and now, 
 till we find her, what of the new beauties? " 
 
 ''There's nothing very wonderful," lisped Glaucus. 
 ' The newest beauty in Athens is my thoroughbred mare." 
 
 There was a shout of derisive laughter. " Your mare 
 she's as old as Korinna " 
 
 " She's already foaled. She's " 
 
 "She's a wonder Ion, You know horses I'll show
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 69 
 
 her off to you to-morrow," cried Glaucus, hotly, forgetting 
 to lisp. 
 
 " All right we'll ride out into the country together." 
 
 "And what about your own horses? How does the 
 training go on ? " cried Ariston, laying an affectionate hand 
 on Ion's shoulder. Of all the men in the group, he best 
 loved the handsome Piraean. He was rich enough, hand- 
 some enough, and married, and happily, had no envy of Ion's 
 successes with women. His own prick of jealousy came 
 from the stinging knowledge he was not rich enough to 
 compete at Olympia in a chariot race. 
 
 " Ah dear boys," cried Ion, his whole face now ir- 
 radiant " Congratulate me ! My trainer writes me the 
 horses were never in better condition they will pass any- 
 thing." 
 
 The circle closed in about Ion. Every man's breath came 
 again with quickened relish. Ion might be a despised 
 Piraean, yet, since he was to compete at Olympia and with 
 his own horses horses raised on his own farm his com- 
 ing elevation before the eyes of all Hellas as a wealthy 
 charioteer, placed him, at last, on their own level. Every 
 man felt his coming race to be theirs. The bets already 
 exchanged on the issue made each man as eager for news 
 of the trainer's condition, for the speed and health of the 
 horses, as though the race was indeed to be their own. 
 Not only his own set, but all Athens and the Piraeus had 
 had their eyes and minds fixed upon Ion and his great 
 venture for long months. 
 
 " You'll have Thebes to fight," Glaucus said, in an ag- 
 gressive tone. He had bet, over the wine-cups, nearly half 
 a talent on Thebes. 
 
 " Yes " slowly answered Ion " so I hear the state 
 sends a magnificent car this year. Two of the stallions 
 came out of Castor from our stud."
 
 70 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 "Well a t least you'll not have Alcibiades to run 
 against with his seven chariots." 
 
 " Perhaps had I run at the last Olympic he might not 
 have carried off two crowns and been thrice acclaimed by 
 the herald!" 
 
 Ion's coolness delighted the group. 
 
 " Hear him ! " mocked Timoleon, yet with eyes gleaming 
 for the talk of a race had sent his slower blood to 
 pulsing, " Hear him ! One would think him a professional 
 
 already following up the games, like an athlete a 
 hundred times a victor! " 
 
 " Well would you have me show the white feather ? " 
 Ion burst forth, with sudden passion, his handsome face 
 flaming. " Of course I believe in my winning I intend 
 to win! I have the best trainer in all Hellas and my 
 horses are the fastest the surest-winded the least 
 startled by new things, and the chariot is built to weigh 
 
 to an ounce what the horses can best carry while 
 every one knows how my groom trains down, once he must. 
 With such advantages why should I not win? I tell you I 
 shall! I'd put all my fortune on the stake. Who will 
 put up his against me ? " 
 
 No one spoke. But every man breathed yet harder. 
 Ion's enthusiasm, his passionate outburst, had made every 
 man in the group seem to smell the fresh dawn rising over 
 the green hills of Olympia, to see before him the sanded 
 elipse of the Hippodrome, the bending, shouting crowds, to 
 feel, in a word, even at that distance, the thrill of all the 
 greater moments of the race. 
 
 " For my part," cried Ariston, giving his mantle an 
 impatient toss, " I wish Olympia were over I hate wait- 
 ing. Five years seems an eternity." 
 
 " Isn't that a bit of Sardian amber? " suddenly queried a 
 tall young man, whose fingers were laden with rings. He
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 71 
 
 had taken no part in the talk. He had been devouring Ion 
 with his eyes. He had always considered him the best- 
 dressed man in Athens. These new adornments demanded 
 a close study. The deep-eyes jewel, set in Ion's long cane, 
 appealed to this fashionable lounger far more than did an 
 Olympian race. 
 
 " Yes," Ion replied, somewhat indifferently. He liked to 
 talk about horses rather than jewels. " It was a present 
 from the Lydian King." 
 
 " I thought he usually gave horses," Glaucus was quick 
 to say. 
 
 " And so he does, but," and here Ion stopped, " But 
 who, pray, may that be ? " 
 
 A countryfied looking man, with a long brush of hair 
 and thick beard, was seen making his way towards Timo- 
 leon. He grasped his himation in loutish fashion. A large 
 portion of his bared, hairy legs was on view. To every 
 one's surprise, Timoleon's greeting of the stranger was un- 
 affectedly hearty. He withdrew with him, to a distant end 
 of the Colonnade. They were soon in deep talk. 
 
 Those he had left burst into feverish speech. Who could 
 this astonishing-looking individual be? Where had Timo- 
 leon met such a creature? 
 
 " It must be one of those Sicilians. There are any 
 number of dirty Segestans infesting the city just now," cried 
 Glaucus, in disgust. He hated politics. He was a peace 
 man but in secret. Belonging to a fashionable circle had 
 its advantages. He now never dared avow his principles. 
 They all his set were all for war for any war. 
 
 "Ah-h this is interesting!" cried Ion. He felt his 
 pulse stirring. Politics always went to his head as neat 
 wine never did. " I heard something of this on ship- 
 board." 
 
 The group circled closer about Ion.
 
 72 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " And what did you hear, my Ion? " 
 
 Timoleon had returned. Swiftly, noiselessly he had 
 swept to Ion's side. The clever face, glistening now with 
 eager animation was close to his own. His lips were 
 wreathed in smiles and his arm was now about Ion's 
 neck. How well his own secret little plot was working! 
 They were bristling all of them any one could see, 
 with curiosity. He, Timoleon, would go on pulling more 
 strings. " You were saying? " 
 
 "That I heard some talk of this Sicilian affair on ship- 
 board." 
 
 "Ah already!" chorused the voices. The men drew 
 
 closer about Ion. 
 
 " Yes the Captain and some of the passengers had ar- 
 ranged the whole campaign ! " 
 
 "Indeed!" Timoleon attempted to touch his note with 
 satire. But he was himself shaken by Ion's news. The 
 outer world already talking war and Athens not even 
 as yet knowing her own mind ! The whole thing a mere 
 muddle a political plaything and the part Athens was 
 to take already world's talk! 
 
 " It would be interesting to learn what part we Athenians 
 were to play in this well thought-out scheme ! " He was 
 almost talking his thought out. 
 
 " Well our part was not to be a glorious one," Ion 
 laughed, as he recalled the ship's prophecy. " We were to 
 be soundly beaten if ever we took up the quarrel." 
 
 " Ha! ha! ha!" the laughter rang out lustily from the 
 strong young throats. Athens beaten by the Sicilians! The 
 thought was as humorous as a witticism of Aristophanes. 
 
 " It is better we were beaten now than later, as we surely 
 shall be," cried Endius in a voice so deep and rich its tones 
 rose above the mocking laughter. 
 
 " Hear! Hear! " mocked Glaucus, stamping noisily with
 
 ' IN THE PAINTED PORCH 73 
 
 his cane. His Spartan dog sat up on its haunches and 
 barked. The shouting had excited him. Glaucus laughed 
 gaily. " Behold even my dog recognizes a prophet. He 
 greets the oracle among us discoursing wisdom ! " He 
 was doing his best to kill the threatened the almost certain 
 talk, with its political platitudes. 
 
 But politics was the trade the sole trade of these 
 excitable young aristocrats. Endius was known as a pow- 
 erful speaker. The circle closed quickly about him. 
 
 "You think that we should take up this quarrel?" Ion 
 asked hotly. He was conscious of a speeding pulse. He 
 knew himself now at last to be alive at every pore. 
 What it was to be in Athens once more to be close to the 
 living heart of the universe! 
 
 " Indeed I do," answered Endius, with dignity. He had 
 gathered his mantle. He held it tight, with his left hand, 
 that his right might be freed for expressive gesture. " And 
 for the best of reasons! " The circle closed in the nearer. 
 " If the Syracusan fleet is successful if they overpower 
 the rest of Sicily what is to prevent their joining the 
 Spartans the Corinthians all who are against us ? The 
 Syracusans are Dorians we must never forget that. As 
 Dorians Sparta, Corinth, all the Peloponnesus are their 
 natural allies. It is only a question of time and of 
 strength, when this alliance will come about. Unless we 
 go to the rescue of the Segestans the Sicilians will surely 
 join Sparta. Before such forces Athens' fate is sealed. 
 She can never fight all Greece and Sicily. All the gold and 
 gods in Attica cannot save her." 
 
 The words, uttered in Endius' most awesome tones, struck 
 like a knell on the hearts of his hearers. A slight shudder 
 passed through the group. Faces fell. Some god bent 
 on vengeance, doubtless, was passing over-head, darkening 
 the gold of the sky. Did the spirit of a baneful prophecy
 
 74 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 indeed possess Endius? Men turned to each other with the 
 look of those who have heard a hateful truth, and yet pro- 
 pose to make light of it. 
 
 Every one now talked at once. Denials, arguments, ref- 
 utations, rumors, clashing opinions the golden air and the 
 Colonnade echoed to the war of their words. Only Timo- 
 l eon like some evil sprite that had heard, among mortals, 
 the proof of the mischief he hoped to find brewing only 
 Timoleon's face glistened with rapture. What news for 
 Alcibiades!" 
 
 Glaucus, meanwhile, had wormed himself out of the 
 group. There would be barely time, he reflected, for all 
 there was to be done before the evening's banquet. He had 
 lifted his eyes ; the golden glow, he saw, had died out of the 
 sky. 
 
 " By the holy grapes ! " he cried, in a horrified tone, " all 
 this war-talk has made me forget my banquet and my 
 beard! It is as long as a goat's I'll see you all, later 
 on." 
 
 " I join you " 
 
 " And I my beard, too, grows in an hour." 
 One by one the gilded youth took up their accustomed 
 walk towards the barber's shop. Some entered the low 
 door. Others stood outside, or dropped into the seats 
 designed for those who must wait. Aloft, above the young 
 men's heads, a joyous band of merry nymphs faced a sor- 
 rowful group of Persian captives. Pictures, statues, and the 
 living groups lay in deep shadow. For the sun was now 
 wholly set. 
 
 Ion had almost gained the street level, when he lifted his 
 head. Timoleon stood, alone, as though in deep thought. 
 Slowly, he presently descended the steps. 
 
 "You go my way, Timoleon? Will you come for a
 
 IN THE PAINTED PORCH 75 
 
 bath ? My new Persian slaves give one in the Persian way. 
 It is very refreshing." 
 
 Timoleon let his foot drag. He was delighted at the in- 
 vitation. He longed to get more news out of Ion; and 
 to have the promise of a fresh experience at the same time. 
 Nothing could have pleased him better. But he wanted Ion 
 to feel he was conferring, rather than accepting a favour. 
 
 " Yes I will gladly go I have heard already of that 
 wonderful bath of yours. By the way I forgot to ask 
 you are Persian women beautiful? as beautiful as this 
 new divinity? " 
 
 They walked on, between the rows of statues, and the 
 talk fell upon beauty on what really constituted its true 
 elements, since no one race or people hold the same stand- 
 ards.
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 
 
 THE very morning after the foregoing scene, Ion at dawn, 
 had a rude awakening. 
 
 His body slave Persia swung open the tapestry that hung 
 before his master's door. Persia entered the narrow cell- 
 like room with a bound. There was no time for the cus- 
 tomary care with which Ion was usually awakened. What 
 Persia had to say was of such vital importance, the slave 
 found the greater difficulty in framing his words. 
 
 "Master! Master!" he called forth, quaveringly. 
 
 Ion had already leapt to an upright upon his narrow bed. 
 His eyes, now fully dilated, rendered back their messags 
 the message of apprehended disaster. Disaster of some sort 
 had come to him, else never would Persia show such pallor 
 beneath his bronze. 
 
 "What in the name of Hecate is the matter?" Ion 
 cried out. 
 
 Ion's answer came in dramatic fashion. A form, slim, 
 half naked, running as a man runs in sleep, his body swung 
 forward with a will that seemed to have lost its piloting 
 power such a shape swept across the court. First it flung 
 itself against Ion's hangings. Then, with a thud, it came 
 to a drop. It now lay prone, across Ion's threshold. With 
 a low groan the man's hanging tongue lipped the con- 
 crete. 
 
 "As you see, Master he is spent!" softly murmured 
 Persia. " Yet he has a message to give I dared not let 
 
 76
 
 * 77 
 
 him wait." Persia lifted appeallingly his great eyes, as 
 though to let them say what he dared not. 
 
 But Ion was bending over the prostrate form. He 
 touched the man's heaving shoulders. Bursting though he 
 felt himself to be, with the rending torment of his fears, 
 doubts, and dread, even at that crucial moment Ion was 
 kind. 
 
 " Tell me my boy what is this news ? There is 
 nothing nothing wrong at the Piraeus?" Ion felt his 
 heart's beats suddenly die, as he asked the fearsome ques- 
 tion. He knew now how he loved his father. 
 
 The man was gasping out the words. 
 
 " It is Pollux the grey stallion he he has 
 gone lame he fell." With this word it was the run- 
 ner's head that fell. The effort to hold it erect, to bubble 
 forth his words had been the last over-strain. The ex- 
 hausted forces within voiced their collapse in a prolonged 
 inarticulate groan. The youth's form lay like a fallen 
 shroud across Ion's threshold. 
 
 For a long instant neither Ion nor Persia stirred. After 
 the first quick leap of relief, at learning nothing had hap- 
 pened to his father, Ion's heart had turned to lead. The 
 blow that had fallen stunned him so thoroughly, that he, 
 along with his runner, seemed to lie there, dead, inert. 
 Absently, vacantly, he sat upon his couch, looking out into 
 the dim court. A great hope seemed to be going down with 
 the stars. 
 
 The news the runner had brought might have most dis- 
 astrous consequences. Pollux, of all his four entered for 
 the great race, was the most famous stallion in Arcadia. 
 Of distinguished pedigree, his breeding and training had 
 been watched over only as horse-breeders rear colts fathered 
 by a long line of race winners. As the leader of the team, 
 Pollux's record for speed and his equine perfections had
 
 78 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 been carefully considered. If Ion's car came off victorious, 
 at Olympia, it would be largely due to Pollux's unsur- 
 passable qualities. 
 
 The crumbled tablet leaf the runner brought Ion from 
 his trainer, at the farm, yielded some comfort to Ion's 
 gnawing fears and dread. Pollux had fallen, and his right 
 foreleg was strained; but there were no bones broken; a 
 splint and a week's rest ought to bring him round. In the 
 meantime, there was always the doubt as to whether a stiff- 
 ened joint would appear. In that case, the trainer asked, 
 would the Master advise the breaking in of one of the other 
 stallions those they had talked over as possibly best fitted 
 for the race? 
 
 After reading the lines of the leaf, Ion sprang to his 
 feet. Now that action was demanded, Ion was all energy, 
 fire, decision. His powers to think and to act came to him 
 with redoubled force. 
 
 Standing in the middle of his chamber, Ion clapped his 
 hands. A dozen slaves came pattering across the court. 
 
 "Take him up bathe him rub him warm. Then 
 force neat wine between his lips he'll soon be himself." 
 And Ion pointed to the runner. 
 
 With noiseless ease the stiffened shape was lifted. Strong 
 arms carried their burden to the slaves' quarters. To the 
 Persian, Ion turned with less assured voice and gesture. 
 
 " You are to go, to sit beside his couch," he whispered, 
 hurriedly. "Never take your eyes off him feed him, 
 dress him yourself mind. Then get him out of Athens 
 as soon as he can straddle a mule. Ride with him 
 night and day till you reach the farm. I follow shortly ." 
 Ion's voice was actually hoarse with excitement. What- 
 ever transpired, the news his runner had brought must be 
 kept secret. With the bets already booked on his car, in 
 Athens and the Piraeus, the secret of this disaster must be
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 79 
 
 kept. In a week's time Pollux would be either as good as 
 he ever was, or of no account whatever. 
 
 "Shall I wait to dress you, O Master?" Ion heard 
 Persia ask, as he followed Ion to the room where the bath 
 was awaiting him. 
 
 " No-o send me Eupolis and write me daily, from 
 the farm." 
 
 The Persian saluted his master and disappeared. 
 
 As the revivifying stream of cold water was poured over 
 Ion's vigorous frame, the warmed blood brought freshened 
 energies. Ion's buoyant Greek nature soon had its rebound. 
 He thought of a dozen instances of celebrated stallions go- 
 ing lame, and of their subsequent miraculous recovery. 
 Since there were no broken bones that must be re-knit, Pol- 
 lux's accident would be a mere incident; an animal of his 
 build and pedigree would recover sooner than stallions of 
 commoner stock. 
 
 One fact stood out clear as the now breaking day; Ion 
 felt he must see his father, and at once. Crates must be 
 made to perceive the necessity of his of Ion's pro- 
 ceeding to the Farm, without delay. 
 
 Having decided this point, Ion gave his orders for his 
 town cart to be brought. He would start for the Port at 
 once. Even as he called out his command, he remembered, 
 with a pang, that this was the day on which Crates had 
 consented to give a breakfast, to Timoleon and their set. 
 Confound the fates! how badly things were arranged for a 
 man with his pet stallion gone lame, and a grave secret to 
 guard. Swear against the Fates as he might, Ion knew he 
 he had only himself to blame for this prospective feast. He 
 had talked his father into giving this breakfast, by playing 
 upon the chord of its political importance. If the Sicilian 
 war was really to come off, Crates with his world-wide com- 
 mercial interests, ought to know the worst and all that
 
 8o 
 
 the war party believed would surely be the best, that was 
 to happen. 
 
 These arguments Crates had found irresistible. Ion's 
 recent return, and a new masterpiece, recently purchased 
 a tiny Apollo said to be a true Phidian were the rea- 
 sons given out for the Piraean's invitation to the group of 
 young Athenian nobles Crates proudly called "my son 
 Ion's set." 
 
 Ion's insuppressable buoyancy now brought him quick 
 solace. Since the breakfast was inevitable, he would use 
 the occasion. It would be the best of all ways of ex- 
 plaining his coming departure. As public an announce- 
 ment would rob the secret of all mystery. 
 
 On his way to the Dipylon, Ion drew his quick-stepping 
 bays up short, before a certain priest's house. A long-haired 
 man came out from a tiny garden. He held a myrtle 
 bough in his hand. A shrine stood within the green en- 
 closure. 
 
 Ion said a few words to the saintly man. Then from his 
 high seat he bent forward. A shower of silver was poured 
 into the priest's hand. 
 
 The priest, as he caught sight of the same, stared, gasped, 
 and grasped, instinctively at his myrtle boughs. He dashed 
 backwards, plunged the bough into a fount of holy water, 
 and flung the bright drops outward, upward, with a des- 
 perate effort. He managed, before Ion had fully captured 
 his reins, literally to shower upon Ion's face and bared arms 
 his lustral baptism. 
 
 Ion's joyous laughter was the priest's answer. The lat- 
 ter's loud invocation to Hippias, the horse-loving god, fol- 
 lowed Ion down the torturous street. " Your rich offer- 
 ing, dear sir," the priest called out, " shall be devoted to 
 peculiarly choice selection of sacrifice ! " 
 
 With the priest's blessing following after him, Ion was
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 81 
 
 in a mood to laugh at this timid yielding to a pious im- 
 pulse. Ion, like all of his class, shared in the growing un- 
 belief in the divine nature of the hundred gods of his city. 
 But Ion found, as did his father, that he was a countryman's 
 son. He had the instinctive caution, at critical moment, 
 in matters of religion. If gods there were, it was as well 
 to be on the safe side. He dashed a drop of holy water 
 from his beard, even as he laughed. Yet in his soul there 
 was a feeling of satisfaction in knowing the gods were being 
 importuned. 
 
 Thud! Thud! Thud! It was good to hear the 
 rythmical drop of his horses' unshod hoofs. Their silken 
 coats, narrow flanks, and small spirited heads spoke to his 
 mounting hope surely one who owned a stud such as 
 his had no reasons for despondency. Even were the worst 
 to happen other stallions there were besides Pollux. Yet, 
 at the bare thought of running his race without Pollux, 
 Ion felt his heart in his throat. Across all the distance of 
 sea and mountain slopes, the beautiful creature's reproachful 
 eyes seemed to meet his here, beneath these radiant skies 
 to say " Who can lead as I shall lead ? Who as quick as 
 I to feel the mounting flame of excitement? Whose muscles 
 are as supple whose breath as deep ? " And at the 
 thought of his darling's staying qualities, Ion's glad shout of 
 joy all but burst from him. No! No! No! Pollux would 
 never go lame! Such a miracle of equine perfection would 
 go as swift in the teeth of the wind, as ever he did in 
 a few days' time ! 
 
 With the happy assurance warming his heart Ion lifted 
 his eyes. He saw the outlined hills quivering with light. 
 The morning sky was at its bluest. The warm spring, 
 with its mounting pulses, the juicy scent of growing grain 
 and a thousand shrubs and flowers this new-born hope, 
 springing from Demeter's breast, swept upwards from the
 
 $2 
 
 fertile Attic plain, filling the morning air with freshness and 
 perfume. 
 
 Thud! Thud! Thud! the soft drop of his steeds' un- 
 shod feet beat in tune with this wider this more uni- 
 versal rhythm. It was impossible not to feel the contagion 
 of such spirited life, such leaping forces of things human and 
 divine. How easy, how natural, beneath Greek skies, to 
 feel life to be a joyous gift! The very light seemed to 
 weave a celestial coronal. All things seemed possible 
 achievement appeared merely to wait on desire. There was 
 divinity in the very air its yielding quality caressed hope 
 its prick of vigour was a perpetual spur to activity. 
 
 As Ion picked his way through the crowds of carts, cars, 
 laden asses and mules, and the throng of foot-passengers, 
 his quick mind roved, as a young man's will, from one w r orld 
 within his mind to another. The war-possibility loomed 
 large. " Well if war is to come I am heart and soul 
 for the venture! I am with Timoleon in this Athens is 
 growing too used to easy ways. We are, indeed, too eager 
 about women, and games, and drinking bouts and cock- 
 fights by the way when did Ariston say Agesilaus was 
 to have that match? I must enter that query ." 
 
 Flinging his reins to the groom who sat beside him, Ion 
 steadied the tablet that hung from his girdle to mark 
 his reminder. 
 
 As he gathered the ribbons in his firm hand, Ion reined in 
 his team, with a quick jerk. 
 
 " Ah-h my man ! Not so close, another time ! " 
 
 A huge Gaul, with face blanched with fright, had run 
 athwart Ion's pole-cart. He had escaped being grazed by 
 a hair's breadth. As the Gaul flung himself against the 
 wall, gasping his relief, two hetaera, whose litter-carriers 
 were waiting for a chance to cross the crowded thorough- 
 fare, laughed upwards their scorn of big men's fright.
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 83 
 
 To one of the girls Ion sent a long admiring look. For 
 a full instant the four young orbs were interlocked. 
 
 What a lovely creature ! How well she knew how to lie 
 in a litter! What provocative grace! Her draperies 
 caressed her shape, every outline was as clearly defined as 
 were the best sculptors' chiselled marble perfections. She 
 was surely that lanthe everyone was talking of come 
 fresh from Corinth. Ion decided to hang a garland on the 
 new beauty's door at the very first opportunity. 
 
 Then the quick thought came, that other that loveli- 
 est of all Corinthians who in the name of all the graces 
 could she be? And, of all amazing mysteries how came 
 his father to be in her company? That his father should 
 have any secret to withhold was in itself, a matter for 
 amazed disgust. Yet yet surely there must be some 
 natural some quite simple explanation of the occurrence. 
 
 " Let me try to remember what did he say about 
 meeting some one a Corinthian at Phalerum? Was it 
 not Nirias?" Ion drew in his roadsters with such a ner- 
 vous grasp that the animals reared but the mystery was 
 solved. As he quieted his steeds, Ion's face was radiant 
 with mirth. " Ah-h father father now I know why 
 you were so indifferent why it was a matter of slight 
 importance as to whether we met at the theatre or not " 
 and as Ion thought on the picture of his parent's discomfi- 
 ture, when he found his little ruse had not worked, Ion 
 laughed outright. 
 
 " How simple are our fathers ! To think that in Athens 
 such a beauty as she could have come within our walls, 
 and that two old men could have kept her hidden ! " 
 
 With such light-hearted thoughts as companion, the drive 
 down to the Port was short. The sea breezes each instant 
 were blowing fresher and fresher. Glints of intensest blue 
 showed the ^Egean growing nearer, at every onward step.
 
 8 4 
 
 The throng of passers-by, of carts and waggons, of mules, 
 heavily laden, grew thicker, denser. Ion slackened his speed. 
 All his eyes and skill now were needed to guide his steeds 
 in safety through the packed Pirsean thoroughfares. 
 
 He did not enter the inner city, he turned to the left, to 
 gain the western slope of Munychia hill. 
 
 Crates' house stood on the hill overlooking the smaller 
 Piraean harbour of Zea. Its wide porch faced thus Athens 
 and the grand sweep of plain and mountain range. The 
 tiny harbour, below the Pirasan promontory, was set, like a 
 blue jewel, in among its rim of yellow sands and green 
 fields. The turquoise waters were now black with ships. 
 Packed like eels within the tiny harbour, lay Athens' war 
 triremes. Swarming over deck sides and the topaz beach 
 were hundreds of ship carpenters, of slaves, of practised oars- 
 men in charge of their ships, and of officers exercising their 
 crews. Their shouts and curses were carried upwards to 
 Crates' porch, in the still, clear Attic air. 
 
 As Ion swept up the incline that led to his father's fine 
 house, whose dimensions were in such marked contrast to the 
 mean Athenian dwellings, his eye, as it took in the beauty 
 and splendour of the scene, gleamed with delight. Never 
 had the grandeur of the mountains, riding northward; 
 never had the incomparable glory of the Acropolis ; never 
 had Athens, thus crowned with its temples and gods, never 
 had the setting of the city that all but ruled the world so 
 impressed him with a sense of its magnificence. 
 
 With his quick Greek impulse to let the last emotion 
 seem the one feeling worthy of expression, Ion, as he leapt 
 from the cart, threw his reins to his groom, and rushed, to 
 fling his arms about his father, who stood, awaiting him on 
 the porch, as he cried out 
 
 " O, father ! how glorious it all is and why should one 
 live in dirty Athens, when here there is all this and
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIRAEUS 85 
 
 this and this ? " And Ion swept his hand about to in- 
 clude the whole great prospect. 
 
 Crates smiled, indulgently. He kissed Ion, even a little 
 more lovingly. " Dearest boy who ever knew one who 
 dwelt in Athens to desert Athens for despised Piraeus?" 
 
 Crates, with his eyes rivetted on his Ion's glowing 
 features scanning each perfection as though he were a 
 lover asked, gently: "And what news dear boy?" 
 
 Ion returned his father's loving looks, as he collected 
 his thoughts. He would first talk of indifferent matters, 
 before telling him of Pollux's misfortune. 
 
 "Well, father, all Athens is fighting Sicily!" he said, 
 as the two now entered the wide peristyle. Still they kept 
 their arms circled about the others' shoulders. Of the same 
 height, their faces were on a level. 
 
 Crates stopped, abruptly: his powerful countenance 
 flushed, with sudden heat. 
 
 "What ignorance! What folly and worse! And this 
 is Athens' adored Alcibiades, who proposes to govern Athens? 
 He to lead our fleet into such adventures as this! Let 
 me tell you, Ion," Crates leaned across his shoulder," if 
 indeed Alcibiades persuades Athens to undertake any such 
 disastrous campaign it will be the awful beginning of 
 a terrible end ! " Crates spoke with such intensity of con- 
 viction and sorrowful fulness of feeling, even Ion felt him- 
 self shaken. 
 
 " That is precisely what Socrates says," Ion said, after 
 a cautious pause. He had taken time to sweep his hand- 
 kerchief across his lips to gain perfect control for Ion 
 made it a point never quarrel with his father over their 
 differences in politics. 
 
 " Ah-h, the only sensible remark I ever heard of his mak- 
 ing)" grumbled Crates." 
 
 " What a good hater you are, dear man," laughed Ion.
 
 86 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 With a luxurious motion, he flung himself upon a low 
 couch. The two had now entered the pastas, a large room, 
 filled with light. 
 
 Crates' couch and Ion's both faced the door one pur- 
 posely widened to admit as much of the perfume and ver- 
 dure entering into the room as was possible. Beyond 
 through the slits of the poplar leaves, and beyond the wider 
 network of the elms, the willows and the tamarisks, the 
 waters of the tiny harbour dimpled and glittered. As the 
 two men settled themselves among their cushions, faces and 
 forms showed the difference a single generation may bring 
 about. 
 
 Ion's graceful figure lay with the ease of a fine animal 
 at rest. Every muscle was in training, and therefore per- 
 fectly controlled. Where his tunic showed any portion of 
 the nude form, the lines were a delight to the eye. The 
 skin was brown and firm. The face was fair, with the 
 delicacy of feature he held from his mother and her higher- 
 born race. The refinements of Ion's life and thought, and 
 his larger experience of the polite world had given to the 
 young man's whole bearing, face, and figure that note of a 
 finished completeness the greater sculptors had imitated and 
 captured, in their presentment of the more ideal types. 
 
 Beside this sleek, blooming perfection of manhood, Crates' 
 rugged form and lined face seemed doubly rough and un- 
 couth. All the hardships of a long and ardous life were 
 written in his passion-worked features and in that close net- 
 work of wrinkles. 
 
 The crown of his successful career was this dear Ion. 
 
 As he now scanned the beautiful face and the perfect 
 outlines, Crates heaved a deep sigh of gratified content. 
 Few fathers could thus behold, in living forces, success thus 
 crowned. 
 
 Ion was watching Crates with an amused smile. He
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 87 
 
 would leave the bad news till the very last till the time 
 came for the guests to come down from Athens then his 
 father would have the less time to mourn. Meanwhile he 
 would put the question he must know all there was to 
 be learned about the " Wonder " before the inquisitive Glau- 
 cus came. 
 
 " By the way, father, shall you go this year to Corinth, 
 as usual on your way to the Games, or do you go direct 
 from here, by sea? " 
 
 " Oh-h, I go to Nirias, as I always do," Crates replied, 
 unsuspectly. 
 
 " His wife is dead I hear," Ion said, dryly. 
 
 Crates nodded. " A year since. But he has replaced 
 her." Crates' voice had a touch of scorn in it. 
 
 Ion lifted his brows, but he managed to keep his face un- 
 moved. 
 
 "Already? He must have mourned her deeply!" Ion 
 laughed middle-aged passions amused him. 
 
 " His grief must indeed have been profound. Her suc- 
 cessor is or was for he freed her a slave. She is a 
 great beauty hem and has many talents, I hear " and 
 Crates looked the picture of innocence, as he sent his eyes 
 adrift, over the sunlit plain. 
 
 Ion gave his father a look of admiration he had never 
 before seen him play a part with greater finish. Then he 
 found the scene too rich in mirth he really must have his 
 revenge. 
 
 " Hem did I not hear something of your being in the 
 company of two elderly men, and with you was there not 
 a girl of amazing lovliness? Father, father! at your age 
 to be seen in the society of hetaerae ! and never to 
 breath a word ! " and in his delight at seeing his father's 
 sudden start of affright his crimson face, his hands fever- 
 ishly working Ion fairly howled with joy.
 
 88 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 His laughter was soon checked, however, for the crunch- 
 ing of wheels on the carriage road brought both men to a 
 startled upright. 
 
 " Your friends," said Crates, with a look of immense re- 
 lief. 
 
 But Ion had caught his arm, and there was a look in the 
 lifted eyes that had an arresting alarm. Crates bent over 
 his son. " What is it, my son? " 
 
 " Before you go forth to meet them, I must tell you some 
 
 bad news." 
 
 " Out with it, don't torture me ! " Crates cried, his voice 
 roughened to the peasant tone to which it reverted in mo- 
 ments of passion. 
 
 Then Ion told him. 
 
 Crates bore the dreadful news better than Ion could have 
 hoped. 
 
 Great merchants become great only by meeting disaster 
 with unflinching front. Never Ion had seen his father 
 straighten himself to as proud an upright, never had he seen 
 his experienced merchantile faculties working as quickly, as 
 ingeniously. Ion felt a child before these trained forces 
 before this will of iron, that rose to meet the emergency 
 with such proud assurance. 
 
 "You must go, and at once, to the farm when had 
 you thought of starting? and begin the training of a fresh 
 stallion at once and, if necessary, have that trainer we saw 
 last year at Delphi send for him, we must leave nothing 
 to chance '."and though Crates spoke with passion-wrought 
 intensity, Ion felt, as never before his father's power of 
 self-command and of his power to command others. 
 
 " Hush-h, I hear them already, in the vestibule," whis- 
 pered Crates, huskily, as he helped Ion to a quick upright. 
 
 Both hurried down the peristyle to greet the group of 
 young men who were already in the hands of the slaves, at
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIRAEUS 89 
 
 the small room opening into the vestibule. As his father 
 joined the gay group, Ion was secretly pleased to see that 
 Crates was entirely at his ease. It was the first time Ion 
 had asked these young aristocrats to his father's house. He 
 had feared both their ridicule of his Piraean parent, and 
 their scorn of Crates' simple manners. 
 
 Crates greeted his guests with perfect courtesy. Con- 
 scious though he was that the very poorest of them con- 
 sidered it a condescension to have come at all, Crates' native 
 dignity stood him in good stead. He was neither effusively 
 cordial nor was he lacking in hospitable ardour. 
 
 Hosts and guests strolled, at first, in groups of twos and 
 threes, about the shaded court. There were all Crates' 
 famous statues to be examined. 
 
 These excited much enthusiasm. Glaucus forgot to lisp, 
 as he stood before the tiny Apollo ; Ariston's expressive face 
 shone with joy, as he asked Crates question after question, 
 as to just where he heard of as perfect a work of art, and 
 to assure the pleased merchant that, of all the smaller 
 statues Phidias had left, none he had ever seen surpassed this 
 truly divine Apollo. 
 
 Such agreeable compliments put every one at their ease. 
 The tour of the peristyle was made to further appreciative, 
 critical praise. Statues, paintings, and tapestries were 
 passed in review. A brilliant picture the sauntering groups 
 made, as the young men trailed their sandalled feet, the 
 gold and silver thongs emitting gleams of light, the bared 
 legs and arms showing the flexible muscles moving freely 
 beneath the skin, and the animated, spirited Athenian faces 
 aglow with the pleasure of confronting rare works of art. 
 
 Timoleon walked beside Ion. Suddenly, he turned to 
 him, as though the thought had just struck him. 
 
 " By-the-way, Ion, I believe if my eyes saw true that 
 both Alcibiades and Socrates are on their way thither. We
 
 90 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 passed them close to the theatre. They were in such deep 
 talk, they neither saw us nor did they hear our greeting. 
 But I feel almost sure they are bent on bringing you, Sir, 
 their company." 
 
 It would not have been Timoleon had not his eyes 
 twinkled with secret malice. He looked with all his might, 
 from father to son. He hoped to discern in one if not 
 both, some evidence of annoyance. 
 
 Crates' face gave Timoleon the surprise of complete mas- 
 tery of his feeling. One might have thought the informa- 
 tion brought him entire satisfaction. For he cried out, as he 
 led the way to the vestibule and onwards, to the open porch. 
 " Then if such distinguished guests be indeed come to hon- 
 our us, I must go forth to meet them." And he pushed his 
 way quickly to the very edge of the porch. 
 
 Ion shot a glance of triumph at Timoleon. His father 
 might be a ship-merchant and low-born, but at least his 
 manners were equal, in courtesy and distinction, to those of 
 any Athenian noble. 
 
 From the porch the waiting group discerned the figures 
 of two pedestrians. The sun was pouring its noon rays on 
 the two bared heads. The moving shapes were walking 
 'with the slow, halting steps of those in deep talk. Both 
 faces were bent groundwards. The stouter, more slovenly- 
 gaited figure now stopped to make an eloquent, impassioned 
 gesture, now resumed its progress to move on still talking. 
 
 " Ten drachmae to an obol Socrates is telling Alcibiades 
 his Voice has spoken," cried out Glaucus, with irreverent 
 gayety. 
 
 " Done," responded Timoleon. " I bet he is still dis- 
 coursing about ' how best to manage wives.' " 
 
 A general laugh greeted Timoleon's witticism. Then 
 the group waited, in silence. The slow-moving pair were 
 now drifting upwards.
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 91 
 
 Crates' welcome was perfect. No one would have sus- 
 pected the illustrious visitors were uninvited guests and 
 that neither of them were favourites of the clever Pirasan. 
 He himself led them to the retiring room; he ordered a 
 fresh festival robe for Socrates, and implored Alcibiades to 
 refresh himself with a bath or the barber or both. 
 The feast could be kept waiting. 
 
 With Alcibiades' advent came heightened spirits. The 
 great leader was himself in the very best of humour. The 
 long walk had given tonic to his muscles. Socrates whom 
 he saw now but seldom had had an inspired moment. 
 Alcibiades felt uncommonly braced mentally and phys- 
 ically. For nothing gave him such a sense of mental vigour 
 as opposition. Socrates had indeed been telling him all the 
 dangers he foresaw in the Sicilian expedition. The more 
 eloquent he grew, the more determined was Alcibiades to 
 push on with the venture. 
 
 He had had no thought of coming to this feast. Neither 
 Ion nor his merchant- father had seemed to him, as yet, of 
 sufficient consequence to remember their existence. But as 
 Socrates had warmed to his subject as on and on be- 
 tween the Walls, their path had carried them, Alcibiades 
 suddenly felt the pangs of hunger. The freshening sea 
 breezes told him they were close to the port. He remem- 
 bered, with an agreeable start, Glaucus and Timoleon had 
 spoken of a breakfast to be given, that very day, at the 
 house of Crates Ion's father. Surely it was they who had 
 passed but a moment before in Glaucus' cart ! 
 
 The very thing! He and Socrates would push on. He 
 would win that rich Crates to his way of thinking. A 
 Nicias' man he must be won and become his wholly 
 his. Piraean gold, Piraean sailors would be useful when 
 the Sicilian expedition was ready to sail. 
 
 The morning's adventures, indeed, suited Alcibiades, and
 
 92 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 to a turn. He was never more simple, natural, gracious. 
 He was all things to Crates talking art, finance, com- 
 merce. He praised Crates' collection of statues with lavish 
 effusion. He actually envied him his most recent acquisition 
 that tiny Apollo a truly exquisite little masterpiece, 
 with its life-like expressiveness of feature and its skin as 
 fluid as though of true flesh. Alcibiades admired the view. 
 The sweep of the plain towards Athens was glorious, and 
 novel. From this altitude the Rock assumed a wholly new 
 and more mystical aspect. As for the buildings and temples 
 of the Piraeus he never came to the Port but he felt a 
 sense of pride in its prosperity. Its clever merchants had 
 made it the glory of all Hellas. 
 
 Alcibiades' chief and most discriminating praises were re- 
 served for the banqueting room. What hangings! What 
 strange, mysterious weavings and rich colours! Easy to see 
 here the far-reaching grasp of the clever merchant with 
 his ships in a hundred harbours! 
 
 It was at this point Crates' features visibly softened. 
 His Eastern tapestries, on which he had spent a fortune, 
 were his pride. How could one be insensible to such dis- 
 criminating, critical judgment? 
 
 Crates filled Alcibiades' golden cup himself. He or- 
 dered in the dancers and flute players earlier than the time 
 named. 
 
 The tall bronze candelabra; about the room stood thick 
 as tree trunks in a young forest. Their yellow light dif- 
 fused a gentle glow on the youthful shapes, now outstretched 
 on the inlaid, cushion-piled couches. Below each guest 
 stood a three-legged table, bearing rythons and gold and 
 silver cups. Naked boys, with garlands of roses, tulips, 
 lilies and narcissi, served delicate Thracian and Chian wines, 
 from deep amphorae. Their young arms were often bent 
 beneath their weight.
 
 A BREAKFAST AT THE PIR^US 93 
 
 
 
 Flute players in delicate-hued tunics, stood in a corner of 
 the room; the piercing sweetness of their music filled the 
 hall, above which the guests' voices rose, as the sea's mur- 
 mur rises above larks' songs. The scents of the rich viands, 
 of the thick garlands hanging from the tragic to the comic 
 masks, along the walls, above the tapestries; the perfumes 
 scattered ever and anon over guests and floors as slaves 
 swept up bones and fragments, after a certain number of 
 courses had been passed; and the fitful, clean-scented sea- 
 breezes, sweeping in through the open door, made Crates' 
 noon-day feast a long one. 
 
 Socrates was still purring on, persuasively, to Ariston and 
 Agesilaus. They alone toward the end of the feast 
 were in a fitting state to answer his merciless unending 
 questions leading to lengthy if clear demonstrations. Ion 
 lay on Timoleon's shoulder. The two were listening, 
 dreamily, to the flute song. Timoleon was dreaming of 
 fame of gold! 
 
 And Ion was seeing a golden-hued vision. He was mount- 
 ing the steps of the Temple at Olympia. The crown of 
 wild olives was shining lustrous and green upon the 
 golden table. ' Twas the " Wonder " who held it toward 
 him! 
 
 Crates had learned at last, not the secret, but the power of 
 Alcibiades' charm. For he had promised the most irresistible 
 of men to give his son Ion a war-trireme, the finest the ship- 
 builders could construct, in case the Sicilian invasion ever 
 came off. When he made the promise Alcibiades' kingly 
 head had sunk upon the pillows. He was smiling as though 
 Sicily were already won. 
 
 For Crates' Chian wines were of potent strength. And 
 during the festival of Dionysia, 'twas a crime to be sober.
 
 BOOK ,11 OLYMPIA 
 
 Chapter X 
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 
 
 FOUR months later Maia lay among her cushions, under the 
 recessed porch of Nirias' house. The heat of the night had 
 driven the inmates of the household to seek the cool, on the 
 open terrace. Maia had chosen to have her couch placed 
 within the arcaded porch. At least there she could breathe 
 whether there was air or no air, Nirias was not at her 
 elbow he and Crates were seated beyond their klinai 
 were placed beneath the moon's warm light. 
 
 The gardens, terraces, and the colonnades so built as 
 to give shade, at any hour; the cooling fountains, the deep 
 green bowers, and the over-decorated house all these lay, 
 like a city within a city, on the mighty knees of the Acro- 
 Corinthus. 
 
 Like Corinth itself, and the outlying world of sea and 
 mountain, the great house, amid its gardens, lay magic- 
 smitten. The whole world was turned to softened gold. 
 
 Yet Maia, upon her silken pillows, and beneath her rare 
 statues, knew herself to be among the most miserable of 
 mortals. The surprises of her fate had begun for her after 
 the journey to Athens. 
 
 Athens' keen-sighted, beauty-loving eyes had been Nirias' 
 awakening. 
 
 Those glad, gratified shouts of "The Incomparable" 
 " The Corinthian Wonder ! " " Aphrodite's very self ! " how 
 
 94.
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 95 
 
 they had rung in the wool-merchant's ears! Their true 
 meaning had been most mistakenly explained to him by 
 Manes. 
 
 These cries, that had maddened Maia to wild unrest for 
 fresh hearing of such rapture-awakening shouts, in Nirias' 
 darker chambered soul had loosed the demons of distrust. 
 
 If the mere sight of Maia, in a foreign city, Nirias had 
 argued, with the lover's irresistible, convincing logic, could 
 provoke such amazing, such universal homage, clearly he 
 who was lucky enough to have discovered such a paragon, 
 must look well to security of possession. Such a master- 
 piece of perfection, like a costly statue, must be carefully 
 housed and hidden. 
 
 Nirias, therefore, took to the business of wall-building. 
 
 The splendid house to which he had brought Maia had 
 walls sufficiently high to lull even the most jealous of lover's 
 fears. It was in the erection of the more invisible walls to 
 protect his divinity, that gave the richest man in Corinth 
 sleepless nights. 
 
 Nirias had changed his whole life. Did Maia plead for a 
 change, Nirias promptly developed a quick illness. His 
 pride in banquets was gone: who knew when some younger 
 friend might not rob him of his treasure? Did Maia find a 
 friend among the rare, elderly " companions " who came 
 to Nirias' solemn feasts, Nirias' suspicions made pleasant 
 intercourse impossible. In every embroidered chiton his 
 jealousy scented a hidden love-token: in the verses Maia 
 sang to some poet-friend, a message to an unknown lover. 
 Walls higher than those that encircled Corinth, or any house 
 within Corinth's forty-stadia circlet was an old man's jeal- 
 ousy. 
 
 "The sentinels of argus-eyed suspicion," Maia said, and 
 not once, but a thousand times, in her bitter moods, " such 
 sentinels out-pace all the watchers on the city's heights ! "
 
 96 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 And Maia what held her captive to this life she had 
 grown to loathe? 
 
 It was neither Nirias' great house, nor his avenues of 
 trees and costly statues; nor the wealth with which, in jewels 
 and splendid raiment, he wooed her daily, thicker than the 
 golden shower through which Jupiter had won yielding 
 Danae. 
 
 Mere gold could not tempt Maia. It was none of these 
 that held her fast. As she knew full well, beyond the 
 gate all Corinth all Athens would woo her thus. Dozens 
 of lovers, old and young, with hands ready to shower as 
 pattering a golden rain as Nirias could fling, awaited such as 
 she with eager, lustful eyes. Hellas was rich in rich lovers. 
 Maia knew the world and her city. Yet neither her knowl- 
 edge, nor her wit, nor her now unused talents, could free 
 her. She was bound, she was shackled by a something 
 within that would not let her go. The iron sense of grati- 
 tude, of duty held her fast. 
 
 Aye duty ! Slave though she had been ; and slave to a 
 chorus-master; mistress though she was now, and to a man 
 old enough to be her father; yet was Maia's soul greater, 
 more potent to command and shape her fate than all outward 
 circumstance. The fetters that bound her fast were forged 
 of the spiritual forces. The something divine in Maia 
 would not let her be false to the singing voices, that rang 
 their clarion-tongued chorus within. 
 
 Nirias had freed her ; Nirias loved her ; Nirias, now aging 
 fast, was a sick man ; and, for all the multitude of his slaves 
 and possessions, he was alone in his great house. 
 
 This daily prayer of Nirias to the woman he had grown 
 to worship, for common human helpfulness, for sympathy, 
 for companionship, this prayer it was, unconscious, inaudi- 
 ble, that was as fire to incense. Maia's soul, now touched, 
 and for the first time by the flame of the mighty liberator
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 97 
 
 offered up its sacrificial fragrance. Had she but known 
 its source, this puissant instinct of self-sacrifice might have 
 been less difficult to obey. Long lines of Athenian soldiers, 
 generals, and admirals had listened to the same still small 
 voice. When duty, when country called, they had rushed 
 to death as to a banquet. Heroic mothers and wives, in 
 Athens' greater days, had steadied trembling hands to buckle 
 shields on shapely frames that would return upon the sculp- 
 tured discs, rigid and all ivory white. Maia, in her turn, 
 was feeling the iron hand of fateful inheritance. 
 
 In Nirias' worst attacks of illness Maia proved the 
 strength of the tie of gratitude that bound her to him. It 
 was in the dulled round of their daily life in the dreary 
 waste of days, unstirred by pleasure or the hope of change, 
 that Maia proved, in turn, the mortal part of her was still 
 in violence ungoverned, rebellious, straining at its leash, 
 
 Instead of impassioned outburst, Maia now turned, rest- 
 lessly upon her couch. She would read, she would try to 
 stifle thought by listening to the music of some poet's verse. 
 
 As though he divined her wish, Mago, her favorite slave, 
 bent low. Taking a certain roll from the case standing 
 directly below the klinai, he handed her the scroll. 
 
 Maia smiled. It was the very poet, the very verse she had 
 wished to read. The Persian really must have double 
 sight ! 
 
 Below her breath, she began, presently, to half chant half 
 sing the lines. 
 
 The scroll dropped from her hand. 
 
 Ah the bliss-evoking words! At least this reading 
 about life and love was better than the dull, brutal-witted 
 acceptance of her lot. With Sappho, with Alcaeus, with 
 Simonides, she could look through her prison bars, she 
 could see Heaven shining beyond. The poets breathed hope. 
 As surely life the mere act of living brought change.
 
 98 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Some day in some way the " happy he who sees thee " 
 would appear. 
 
 Smiling at the mere rapture the vision evoked, Maia 
 lifted her mirror. The tiny miracle of the goldsmith's art 
 with its frame of Cupids and arm-entwined Graces 
 this her disc of satiny bronze sent back the picture she knew 
 she should find. Yes " Minerva's hands " were indeed no 
 shapelier, no whiter; the jewels of her chiton rose and fell 
 above " the breasts divine ; " the ankles, shining fair as tinted 
 roses, lay below the close, embroidered hem. Slowly she 
 drew the mirror, now upward, now downward, with loving 
 satisfaction, along the full length of her perfect shape. As 
 she scanned each outline of the moulded form, and knew it 
 all unwon, Maia's mood changed. 
 
 With passionate sense of defeat, of desperation, Maia 
 crashed the mirror upon the floor. 
 
 "Aye! better blows and curses! better endless toil and 
 such weariness as made one stumble drunk with over- 
 work to bed, than such a life as this!" she burst forth, 
 as the mirror rang upon the concrete. 
 
 " Hush-h Lady ! the slaves listen," whispered Mago. 
 His voice was in her ear. He had bent, as though merely to 
 recover the dropped bronze disc. 
 
 Maia lifted her head. Impatiently she turned her eyes, 
 backwards, to where the fan-wielders stood. Hands and 
 arms motionless now with eager, glistening eyes the faces 
 were bent forwards. The air about her, Maia noted, was, 
 indeed, suddenly stifling. 
 
 Maia's cry rang out with stinging accents. 
 
 "Don't drop your fan you beasts! How dare you? 
 I'll have you both soundly thrashed you lazy hounds, if 
 you fail to stir the air with a better will ! " 
 
 The slaves started, as though they already felt the prick 
 of the threatened lash. The creak of the great fans was
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 99 
 
 once again the one rythmical persistent motion in the night's 
 many-tongued voice. The mistress's threat was no idle one, 
 as both knew well. 
 
 At the sound of Maia's angry threat, Nirias' voice had 
 suddenly stopped its droning. Then he called out through 
 the golden air : " Maia, beloved," he quavered. His 
 tones broke with the tremor of a fatigued instrument " Is 
 aught the matter? Is the heat too much for thee? Wilt 
 thou have the sherbet freshly iced ? " 
 
 In spite of the heat, Maia shivered. That one word 
 " beloved " in those broken, tremulous tones what a hid- 
 eous mockery! Even as the slaves behind her had seemed 
 to hear the whistle of the lash, she too must answer to the 
 stroke of her whip. 
 
 " No-o " she finally ejaculated. " I praise your remark 
 O Nirias but T am not thirsty;" Unable to hold in the 
 full measure of her irritation, she snapped forth " I am 
 no man I cannot be always drinking." 
 
 Nirias laughed but not so loud as Crates. What a 
 spirited creature it was ! " the latter thought. He might 
 disapprove of Maia's effect on his friend, but, secretly, he 
 confessed his admiration. He bent his mind once more to 
 listen, in patience, to Nirias' unending recital of his ail- 
 ments. 
 
 " Yes it was indeed a pity you could not have stopped 
 longer. Those cures " he went on, with kindly courtesy. 
 Crates, saying this in an absent tone of voice, wondered 
 how much longer Nirias could go on talking about doctors 
 and diseases. 
 
 "Cures cures!" Nirias now cried out, in his most 
 querulous, agitated tone, as he lifted his head from his cush- 
 ions. "O dear man what have I not tried? I've 
 dragged myself and Maia the dear creature from tem- 
 ple to temple. I've had hundreds of priests pray for me,
 
 ioo ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 I've soaked in hot and cold baths even the Castilian spring 
 failed to work its promised miracle. I've bribed the very 
 g 0( j s and yet here am I just where I was three months 
 ago ! " And Nirias, with despairing groan flung himself 
 anew upon his pillows. 
 
 Presently he lifted his head. A freshened tone rang out. 
 " Yet O Crates I am bound to except one great cure. 
 At Epidaurus the healing god still works great miracles at 
 his shrine ! " Nirias now bent forward eagerly, with pas- 
 sionate fervour. Maia could see his hands working fever- 
 ishly in the golden light. He was, indeed, all eagerness 
 now. Epidaurus was his last craze his one strong-hold 
 left amid the ruins of his medicinal belief. " Crates, I tell 
 thee the god is every inch a god. Such wonders as he per- 
 forms! The lame, after seeing him in the vision 
 walk; the dumb speak; the paralyzed leave the stones they 
 are able to carry, after their cure behind them as proof." 
 
 " Yes ! Yes ! " impatiently interrupted Crates. A prac- 
 tical man, he had somewhat outgrown his belief in miracles. 
 He had known in his time too many priests. "I've 
 heard the tales. But surely, Nirias, you do not swallow 
 that absurdity about the Temple dogs licking sight into 
 blind eyes ? " 
 
 " Man alive but I've verified the truth of the mir- 
 acle! " almost screamed Nirias, his excitement working him 
 into a sort of frenzy. To prove to sceptics the healing 
 powers of his newest god was his latest almost his sole 
 emotional ecstacy. " The very day after that famous vision 
 after the lad had slept in the hall and the sacred dog 
 had licked his eyelids the boy opened his eyes and saw 
 as clearly as you or I. Why I talked with him, man 
 did I not, Maia?" Nirias called backwards, excitedly, hop- 
 ing to win corrobative testimony from Maia.
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 101 
 
 "You had never laid eyes upon the boy before that," 
 Maia's cool voice answered through the still air. " Npt un- 
 til the moment when his eyes were, indeed, as good as any- 
 one's" 
 
 Nirias sank among his pillows, groaning as he sank. 
 " Alas ! Maia is also a sceptic. She knows all the good 
 the dear god has done me yet, like Ambrosia of Athens 
 who, before her cure, was also a scoffer " 
 
 " Well, I only hope Ambrosia's new eye is as pretty as the 
 votive silver pig she hung alongside of the picture of her 
 restored organ. I never saw a prettier pig! " laughed Maia, 
 the memories of her Epidaurian experiences swarming, amus- 
 ingly before her. She went on, sending her lovely voice 
 into the still night. Its tones rang out, shaken by mirth. 
 " What Nirias has not told you, O Crates ! is the latest 
 miraculous cure the new salve for baldness," Maia 
 somewhat cruelly went on to say. 
 
 " Oh-h Maia love ! " implored Nirias. 
 
 " Heraeus of Mytelene," Maia's voice bubbled on, " having 
 lost his hair, went up to the hall, praying for help. The 
 god in the same old vision annointed his head and 
 behold ! the next day his hair stood out on all sides a 
 crop thicker than his beard. Ah ha ! " 
 
 Even Nirias could not help echoing Maia's melodious 
 laughter. It was long since he had heard it ring with as 
 full and hearty a note. 
 
 " Well and did you try this marvellous salve on " 
 Crates' eyes, still small with the laughter that shook him, 
 covered his old friend's head "on Nirias?" 
 
 " Ah indeed, and we did ! and most thoroughly in the 
 same dear old vision. But, later without heavenly assist- 
 ance in broad daylight and, since leaving the temple 
 Mago and even I have each one and all we've tried our
 
 102 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 strength and the salve on the dear bald spots and see ! 
 
 how grandly they shine now as the moon strikes! 
 
 Clear as silver discs! " 
 
 There was a general laugh. Even the fans shook, the 
 slaves' eyes having turned to note their master's hairless 
 crown. 
 
 Nirias joined in the laughter. But he managed, with skil- 
 ful tact, to change the subject, and quickly. 
 
 "Speaking of salves that reminds me. If Pollux 
 should go lame again I have a tonic in a hundred " 
 
 Crates started. He was touched on his tenderest point. 
 Maia laughed anew to see how he had straightened, in- 
 dignantly, to quick upright, how passion-worked was his 
 strong-featured face. 
 
 " Pollux going lame again ! Why, dear old man, he is 
 now the leader of the team Ion writes " 
 
 " Ion " " The Quadrega " " Pollux." Oh, Ion ! Ion ! Ion ! 
 how tiresome ! " Maia closed her eyes. Crates was as weari- 
 some, when he went on about his paragon of a son as was 
 Nirias when he talked about miracles. One would think 
 this Ion a veritable Apollo, curls, lyre, beauty, and all. 
 Doubtless he would turn out to be as plain as Silenus. 
 Crates, for a clever man, he also, could be stupid enough. 
 He had come solely to Corinth, apparently, to talk about 
 Pollux's miraculous straight legs, the wonders of the stal- 
 lion's cure the speed of the animal and how fine Ion's 
 marvel of a jockey had trained down without losing 
 strength! Never had Olympia seen such a "four!" 
 Never before had such a car been sent to the Hippodrome! 
 Never before were groom and horses in such close harmony 
 of obedence and mastery! Never this never that it 
 was as boresome a tale as Nirias' diseases ! 
 
 With a groan, Maia flung herself, with passionate im- 
 patience against her pillows. 
 
 Corinth's deep, melodious voice now filled the midnight.
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 103 
 
 Maia caught snatches of song and laughter wafted up 
 from the house below their own. Stirring notes of flute and 
 trumpet rang out; a rush of quickened motion of swirling 
 draperies. Ah! there was dancing as well! Their nearest 
 neighbour was giving a banquet. The shrilly sweet notes 
 of a Phrygian flute sent Maia's nerves to responsive quiver- 
 ing. 
 
 The music suddenly stopped. A chorus of applause filled 
 the silence. Then, nearer still from the other side of the 
 tall walls came a bubble of soft-cooing laughter ; next a 
 man's tones, deep, eager-voiced then a long silence. One 
 could almost hear the hot pulses beating. A cry and con- 
 fused voices the couple had been stopped by others. 
 "Come! no loitering! On! we must lose no time the 
 night is all too short ! " the voices chorused. The gay 
 clamour grew faint and ever fainter, and was lost, like a 
 chorus winding through a city's streets. 
 
 Aphrodite's priestesses were leading their lovers up the 
 steep hillside. The green airy bowers aloft, on Acro-Cor- 
 inthus, would indeed soon be full. 
 
 Maia grew more and more restless. Yet there was not 
 even a mirror to send headlong, to ease her violence ! Once 
 more she moaned 
 
 " At least even with Manes slave though I was I 
 saw life! I was part of a living, breathing, quickened 
 world ! " Maia felt the sob rising in her throat. " Ah ! me 
 miserable! Will it ever end? Shall I have to go on 
 year after year listening to old men's talk to Nirias' 
 feeble jokes? " 
 
 And Crates' and Nirias' voices droned on. 
 
 Like an antiphonal, Maia's wretchedness and misery rang 
 up its wailing tones, to be answered by the sound of such 
 dull dreary talk as " how, unless a physician has had Dor- 
 ian training I find " 
 
 Maia closed her eyes. Would sleep release her from the
 
 104 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 torment of this wild unrest this unsupportable discon- 
 tent? 
 
 For long it seemed to her, the city's festival notes rang 
 on, the flutes from the near banquet sounded gay and ever 
 gayer strains when, as though 'a god, out of the warm 
 skies, had alighted, to touch her dead soul to quick life, Maia 
 felt her nerves quiver, her ears throb, her hands chilled. 
 
 Crates' tones had been the miracle worker. His powerful 
 voice was raised. Urging, pleading, indignant, his words 
 came clear distinct 
 
 "Really Nirias I hold it to be unfriendly! I never 
 dreamed of such desertion ! Not to see Ion run not to be 
 there to support me in such an hour ! Your absence will 
 rob the victory of half its rapture. Indeed believe me 
 this is an unlooked-for trial ! " 
 
 Never had Maia heard Crates speak as passionately. For 
 Crates was indeed experiencing a severe trial. He was being 
 touched in a vital spot. Nirias must, indeed, be made to 
 go! For long years he, Crates, had gone to Olympia, for 
 nothing, as guest aboard Nirias' ships. 
 
 Maia caught her breath. Suppose Nirias should actually 
 be worked upon by so much display of feeling? Suppose 
 him to yield and go as far as Olympia! What gift of 
 the gods could be as blessed? Maia felt her head fairly 
 reel at the thought. To be alone to be left free in this 
 great house in the gardens in Corinth the very 
 thought of such happiness turned Maia's soul faint with joy. 
 She seemed to be breathing, already, the elastic air of liberty. 
 
 Then all hope died out. The golden night was suddenly 
 o'ershadowed. For Nirias was answering Oh, she could 
 have foretold his hateful answer! He was voicing it in his 
 most purring tones. 
 
 " For no other man alive would I go to the lengths I 
 would for thee my life-long friend. Such friendship as
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 105 
 
 ours is a holy thing. No sacrifice is too great to ask to 
 be given. But hem! My health dear Crates as 
 you must see I am not what I was. I confess the jour- 
 ney appalls me. And at Olympia itself one needs strong 
 knees and a stout back." 
 
 "Pooh! Pooh!" flouted Crates. "You are hipped, Ni- 
 rias, between your quacks and your ^Esculapian cures you 
 have disease on the brain." 
 
 As though she had received a sign from heaven, Maia 
 noiselessly slipped from her couch. Crates' courage his 
 daring to flout thus his friend's folly the magnetism of his 
 strength gave Maia the fleet wings of inspiration. 
 
 Even as she drifted down the garden paths, she did not 
 omit to lift up her soul in prayer. It was a critical it 
 might prove the turning moment in her fate. She needed 
 the god's help. " Dear Hermes," she whispered quickly, 
 desperately, " teach me the right words give me wisdom 
 and thy altars shall be heaped with offerings." 
 
 The two men paused abruptly in their talk. The sud- 
 denness of Maia's appearance startled them. The delight 
 her fairness evoked kept them breathless. Even Crates 
 felt his slow pulses stirred. The moon's light lent a some- 
 thing celestial to this creature of roses and gold, who stood 
 thus before them to this girl whose snows seemed tracked 
 with fire. Even as Maia's embroidered chiton, at her least 
 motion, shed stars of light so did her radiant eyes seem to 
 emit living flames. Never had Crates felt the girl's beauty 
 as now his quickened Athenian eyes bent in homage be- 
 fore her. He felt his very breath indrawn. She was indeed 
 a creature for worship. Luckily Ion 
 
 Before he could finish the thought Maia had moved. 
 She was crouching at Nirias' couch. She was wooing him to 
 yield, with caressing fingers. 
 
 " Crates indeed speaks golden truth dear Nirias. We
 
 106 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 are both to blame. You are grown womanish and I foolish 
 
 with too much coddling." 
 
 " Is that your real opinion, my Maia? " asked Nirias, in 
 a plaintive voice. But Maia's nearness was too sweet! 
 How feel even sadness with that perfect face bending low? 
 " How beautiful thou art beloved ! The moon's light 
 makes thee glorious! Is she not a wonder, Crates? Ah-h 
 
 yes sweet fan my forehead brush the loose hair." 
 Maia stopped fanning on the instant. Of all moments to 
 
 have him turn lover! She would administer a tonic. A 
 good wholesome dose of truth would bring him to his senses. 
 What she had never dared to say to urge now came 
 easily to her lips. 
 
 " Indeed O Nirias it is action a life among men 
 
 and in the world you most need, and not more coddling. 
 Indeed, dear Nirias, I am troubled about you. You are 
 growing as thin as a shade you who used to be as fat as a 
 copiac eel. And this heat is killing you need a 
 change " Inwardly Maia was breathing her quick, hot 
 prayer " Help me, O Hermes send me the right words 
 
 that I may work the miracle." 
 
 Hermes was in a mood to live up to his reputation, ap- 
 parently. Not only did he inspire Maia with the best pos- 
 sible words, to work the fright she meant should convulse 
 Nirias, but at the very same moment the cleverest of the 
 gods got /Eolus to help him. 
 
 Up from the gulf there suddenly swept a fresh, breath- 
 giving breeze. The cooling salt of the sea was on its lip. 
 It swept the figures, and into the breathless night, as though 
 it were a living presence. 
 
 Nirias lifted his heavy head. He smiled, almost as gaily as 
 Maia, who sprang to her feet. 
 
 " Ah-h the breeze ! the breeze ! " she cried out joyously, 
 as she clapped glad hands. "It has come at last! The
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 107 
 
 gulf sends its healing! We'll all be alive once more in 
 no time. Ah Nirias dear if you were really kind 
 you would take us aye even me out upon the sea! 
 Here's Crates he's waiting for a ship and you have a 
 dozen lying at anchor. Better than all the doctors and 
 cures would be a sea voyage. See already you have a 
 colour in your cheeks ! " 
 
 Maia swept her cool, caressing ringers along the faded 
 yellows of Nirias' shrunken skin. But Nirias, with eyes 
 aflame, had started to his feet. He swept Maia aside. All 
 his fears, suspicions the very demons of jealousy were let 
 loose. Why did Maia urge this journey? Whom did she 
 wish to see to meet ? Did she imagine for a single in- 
 stant she might be left alone in Corinth? What did 
 Crates intend by so much urging? Were he and Maia in 
 conspiracy ? 
 
 Paling, flushing, with hands shaken by the violence of his 
 feeling, Nirias, as he strode with quick, agitated step, up 
 and down his scented terrace presented the spectacle, to the 
 clever Piraean who watched him with amused, amazed eyes, 
 the latter had never expected to behold. But no man may 
 be said to know another, truly, until he has seen him wrought 
 upon by love's distemper. 
 
 Maia, being used to such exhibitions, sat herself down upon 
 the vacant klinai : she calmly bared her throat to the breeze. 
 When Nirias' fit of anger was gone, she might find better ar- 
 gument. 
 
 Hermes, however, was working silently, but surely. He 
 winged an inspiration to Crates. 
 
 " Come calm thyself O Nirias," Crates cried out, 
 suddenly to his friend. " Maia is neither to be left un- 
 guarded, in wicked Corinth nor yet is she to wander upon 
 the high seas and we upon the Altis. I have thought of a 
 plan."
 
 io8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Nirias eyed his friend suspiciously. But he came to a 
 rest upon his couch. Crates, as he unfolded his plan, con- 
 tinued to gaze in amazement at his elderly friend's suddenly 
 swollen features his bulging eyes, his distended cheeks, 
 and the streaks of purple on his yellowing skin. 
 
 Crates felt the need of all his tact. With Nirias' idle 
 ships in Corinthian ports, there was all the more need of 
 persuasive eloquence. 
 
 Why not take Maia with them? On the voyage 
 there could be nothing out of the way, in her being of the 
 party. Once at the Elean Port matters could be easily 
 arranged. Since no women must go to the Sacred City 
 women, and in plenty as every one knew went else- 
 where. The banks of the Alpheios were lined with them. 
 
 " Yes with Hetaera; " testily broke in Nirias. 
 " Surely you would not have Maia exposed to " 
 
 " No no " was Crates' suave reply. " It is to meet 
 just that objectionable feature that I am about to propose 
 to you the following. In Pisa," he went on, " there are 
 still a few houses and gardens left some of the in- 
 habitants crept back, and rebuilt their homes, after the con- 
 quest. A few farmers still till the land. Once, years 
 ago, when I was taken ill from the bad water at 
 Olympia you know that water Nirias I went up to 
 one of these farms. The farmers's wife was a kindly soul. 
 They have grown richer since then their house is a 
 pleasant one. 
 
 " It is there I propose we place Maia. She will be well 
 looked after. And Pisa is but six stadia from Olympia 
 you can see her daily Nirias if you choose." Crates 
 folded his hands before him, in full satisfaction. The 
 plan, as he had unfolded it, had seemed even more feasible 
 that when he had thought it out. 
 
 Both faces were lifted towards him. Nirias' look of un-
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION 109 
 
 certainty was replaced by an eager, by an almost joyous 
 expression. If such a thing were really possible if Maia 
 could indeed, be safely taken along could be securely 
 housed and guarded where his jealousy could outwatch 
 any daring approach to the fair citadel of her beauty Aye ! 
 aye! the place might, indeed, be a good one! Could it 
 be successfully worked he, Nirias ill, weak though he 
 was could be might be one among the blessed throng 
 of pilgrims actually once again might behold the Sacred 
 City! The very thought made him quiver with rapture. 
 He turned to Maia. 
 
 "And and what do you say dear Maia? Is the 
 plan a good one? Would it please you to go on this 
 journey to see the world a bit? " 
 
 All the radiance of a sudden an unimaginable joy was 
 irradiating Maia's face. With an impetuous ardour she 
 believed was among her lost possessions so unevoked 
 had been rapture these long months Maia moved swiftly 
 forward, she flung her arms about Nirias' neck. 
 
 " Dear dear Nirias ! It is you who are good ! To 
 be even within six stadia of Olympia what Greek would 
 not sell his soul for such a hope?" Maia bent forward 
 still nearer she pressed her lips upon the shining bald 
 space she had mocked but awhile before. 
 
 " And now," she cried joyously, as she came to an up- 
 right, a new elasticity of spirit permeating her whole 
 frame, "now while you and Crates discuss further plans, 
 concerning the journey, I'll talk with Mago of household 
 matters. For there is no time to lose." 
 
 The eyes of the two men followed the bright grace of 
 Maia's floating draperies, as she disappeared within the 
 house porch. Brilliantly lighted as was the scene, both the 
 terrace and the outer world seemed suddenly to have lost 
 their true animating spirit. Maia's charm had the quality
 
 i io ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of suffusing the very atmosphere wherever she might be. 
 The vibration of her magnetism was still felt- after she 
 had departed. 
 
 " A rare creature as rare as she is beautiful," cried 
 Crates with enthusiasm, half unconsciously. Inwardly 
 he was thanking the fates that Olympia and their tent 
 would be six full stadia from Pisa and the farm. Heaven 
 forbid Ion should meet such a paragon! Crates stirred, 
 uneasily. Had he been indiscreet in suggesting the 
 project? Was there a possibility the most remote of 
 Ion's chancing upon Maia hidden away among the hills ? 
 Of course not. Absurd was the thought! To what 
 ridiculous fears love for a son could put a man! All the 
 same, the fact of so lovely a creature as Maia being within 
 as short a distance as Pisa must be kept a profound secret. 
 He must warn Nirias. 
 
 " Of course dear friend " Crates attempted to give to 
 his tones a casual note," of course we must keep the matter 
 a profound secret the slaves " 
 
 " Fear naught. I intend to muzzle the slaves. A word, 
 a hint even from any one of those we take with us 
 and torture shall be the punishment of all upon my re- 
 turn. As for the crew none shall be allowed to land. 
 A fresh ship can be sent for the return journey." 
 
 Nirias' assured tones suddenly gathered in volume. He 
 leant forward impressively. He looked about him 
 his cautious eyes searched the silent terarce. " Nearer 
 dear friend there is yet another secret that must be 
 kept" 
 
 Crates bent close. He divined the coming words. 
 
 "You intend to marry her?" He could breathe the 
 freer, he felt, were the surmise true. 
 
 ^ Nirias to his great relief, gravely nodded his head. 
 " You have divined my intention. I have, indeeed, always
 
 A FATEFUL DECISION in 
 
 intended to marry her. But as I think you can well 
 understand, dear friend it was wise to wait. Her youth, 
 her hard youth, her innocence and her great beauty made me 
 hesitate. I was not sure of her love. But now as you 
 may see for yourself no woman could be fonder! She 
 will make a wife in a thousand ! " 
 
 Crates answered as all men answer when self-interest 
 prompts the gilding of a lie. 
 
 He eased his inward satisfaction in thanking heaven all 
 old men were not fools. He knew, at least, one who had 
 never been fooled by a woman.
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 THE SACRED WAY 
 
 THE landing at the Elian port had been accomplished with 
 comparative ease. The " Maia's " clever captain anchored 
 his ship close to the very strip of shore where Nirias' long 
 train, sent overland, awaited them. The litters for Nirias 
 and Maia; the horses for Crates and the mounted escort; 
 the asses, already laden with their heavy packs; and the 
 slaves, making ready to carry the costly votive offerings 
 the statues with which Crates proposed to celebrate Ion's 
 coming great victory, and Nirias' magnificent gifts by which 
 he meant to impress both men and gods, this little army 
 of rich men's retinues was finally disentangled from the 
 surrounding crowd. Mago was soon marshalling his forces 
 with military precision. 
 
 Crates was immediately surrounded. A group of horse- 
 men, who, apparently, had been on the lookout for the ar- 
 rival of Nirias' ship, closed in about Crates with a ringing 
 cheer. One of the three riders cried out " And where 
 is Nirias that I may thank him for safely delivering 
 you, dear father? " 
 
 Maia heard Nirias' nervous answer to what appeared 
 to be courteous greetings, and his quick, agitated whisper 
 to Mago 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Mago, see that Maia's curtains are 
 drawn and keep them closed, as you value your life ! " 
 
 Maia, within her stifling litter, laughed softly. " In such 
 a crowd as this, my poor Nirias, jealousy cannot dog every 
 step and it will be neither Mago's fault nor mine, if 
 wonderful things do not happen ! " 
 
 112
 
 THE SACRED WAY 113 
 
 The dear god of luck seemed to befriend Maia, at the 
 very outset. No sooner was their train in motion, than a 
 company of Corinthian merchants were greeting Nirias 
 with shouts of delight. Their own slaves had not met 
 them at the landing, and could they join forces with Nirias? 
 The sight of Nirias' distressed expression, his quick terrified 
 orders to Mago, made Maia's laughter again consume her. 
 " Nirias, Nirias ! to what lengths will thy courtesy be 
 stretched! Would I could see thy face, twisted to a smile! " 
 Then, quick as thought, came Maia's command " Mago, 
 stand beside the litter but, as you value your life, let go 
 the curtains ! " 
 
 Mago showed his dark face lit into illumined beauty by 
 the excitements of his duties and the march ; he bent over his 
 adored mistress, " Dear lady, I intend the master's carriers 
 shall, presently, be found in the very midst of the Corin- 
 thians. Once Nirias begins to tell them of his cures, for 
 he has not seen them lately, he will forget to keep watch." 
 
 Maia nodded. She would keep within her curtains until 
 the right moment came. Indeed, she was well content to 
 be screened from view. 
 
 How hot it was! The torrid, relentless Olympian heat 
 had come with the sun. The cooling sea breezes had died 
 away. And the dust! It rose up from the packed road- 
 way in rolling clouds that gathered in volume, as they 
 swirled upwards. Trees, shrubs, fields, the few pines and 
 olive trees, as well as all the pilgrim-world were powdered 
 thick with fine white particles. 
 
 Yet neither heat nor dust could quench the gay humour 
 of the crowd. Spirited sallies, greetings, joyous shouts, 
 and occasional bursts of song, made a contagious festival 
 spirit, that swept the Sacred Way like a stirring, carrying 
 wave.
 
 ii 4 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Mala's sentient nature was vibrating in unison to tne 
 gay stir and the busy tumult. She was shaken by tremors 
 of excitement. Now she was thrilling at the very thought 
 of being one of the Olympian throng, and the next instant 
 she was darting behind the curtains of her litter, as she 
 caught dozens of strange eyes fixed full upon her. How 
 they stared! Ah-h the ever-old, ever-new ways of men! 
 Not one among these pressing, bold-eyed creatures but had 
 seen women, and by the thousands, and yet each was as 
 eager to behold a new one as though she were the very 
 first! 
 
 Maia laughed, as a child might. It amused her to see 
 the dear men pushing, squeezing, struggling for a glimpse 
 of her face. And what a world passed before her litter! 
 How Olympia drew men from every far away land! 
 Maia's soul swelled with pride. There was no country so 
 distant, but had heard of mighty Hellas! From every 
 corner of the dear flat earth, great Zeus had called men 
 to worship him. 
 
 Ah-h, she must make the most of every moment of time 
 of every step taken along the Sacred Way! Once im- 
 prisoned in the Pisan farm, with a brutish farmer's wife 
 for companion, and what chance would there be of seeing 
 Olympia or Olympian splendours ? " 
 
 " Surely I can bribe the woman I shall bribe first the 
 dear gods, and they will soften the hearts of my gaoler," 
 she whispered to, the mist of her rising hopes. 
 
 With a dozen plans coursing through her fertile brain, 
 Maia was oblivious to the discomforts of the Way to 
 the scorching, fiery heat, that made a dazzle of the white 
 light; to the clouds of dust that enveloped the marching 
 army of pilgrims like a mantle; and to the scant shade af- 
 forded by the few olives and pines along the road.
 
 THE SACRED WAY 115 
 
 Maia felt her litter, suddenly, brought to a stop. The 
 unexpected motion sent her flying backwards. The curtains 
 were parted. Mago had, apparently, deserted his post. 
 
 Maia peered through the slits of the silken draperies. 
 The crowd, she saw, had come to a standstill. Litters, 
 asses, horsemen, slaves and ambassadors' trains were in- 
 extricably mixed. Cries, shouts, and curses filled the air. 
 Above the tumult, a single voice rang out. 
 
 "If all you dear people will but stay your anger, we'll 
 have this poor fellow's pack refilled in no time." 
 
 In a gay note that had the ring of a challenge in it, 
 the speaker cried, " Come, Timoleon ! Come Glaucus ! off 
 with you And you," turning to the slaves, " See that no 
 one comes too near." 
 
 Even as the young man cried the words, with a light 
 spring he had dismounted. The two gentlemen with him 
 flung themselves from their steeds, with the air of men who 
 were following a leader. With gay laughter, like boys 
 bent upon a frolic, the three young men disappeared from 
 view. The crowd closed in about them. 
 
 The pedlar, whose over-swollen pack had burst, causing 
 all the trouble, stood above his friendly helpers. He was 
 an image of impotent woe. Above the chorus of the 
 laughter-shaken crowd, his voice rose up he was call- 
 ing to all his hundred gods for succor. 
 
 From the dust of the road, the same voice that had con- 
 trolled the pilgrim horde, now rang out, clear, sweet, 
 yet with mocking accent 
 
 " Stop that nonsense ! You lazy fool, down upon your 
 knees! Do you think the gods are coming from above, on 
 purpose, 'just to help pick up unguents, and powders and per- 
 fumes? Ah-h, you prefer others should work, while you 
 gird yourself up? How about a chaplet and a little wine,
 
 n6 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 to support you, while we grope here? Some one call a 
 flute boy to sooth his nerves!" 
 
 The crowd yelled with delight. Then came a scramble, 
 more laughter and shouts, and the three young men were 
 fighting their way through the cheering masses. 
 
 While the slaves were brushing the dust from the masters' 
 sandals, the tallest, handsomest, of the three he of the 
 ringing voice again tossed to the crowd the sort of joke 
 they best relished. Taking from his tunic some long- 
 necked bottles, he cried out, " Here Timoleon here 
 Glaucus here's our share of the booty These are spoils 
 not to be despised " 
 
 The young man handed to each of his friends a tiny, 
 delicately carved flacon. As the others proceeded to dis- 
 pose of their prizes, stuffing them into their tunics, the by- 
 standers were rocked with the ectasy of their laughter. 
 
 It was to the ringing chorus of the melodious Greek 
 voices that the young Athenians made a rush for their 
 steeds, grasped the manes of the mettlesome beasts, and 
 had sprung to their seats with the ease of perfect cavalry 
 training. 
 
 The prancing horses were reined in beside Crates. 
 
 Maia, whose face was pushed out far beyond the cur- 
 tainsfor her excitement was uncontrollable when the 
 trio joined Crates, felt her breath fairly taken from her. 
 She had followed every detail of the amusing scene with 
 delighted eyes. The glimpse she had caught of the 
 Athenians, with their unmistakeable air of Attic distinction, 
 had sent the quick blood to her cheeks. 
 
 Now that she saw them riding beside Crates, a swift 
 conjecture flashed through her quick mind. Suppose one of 
 them to be the much talked-of Ion? Maia strained her 
 neck outward as far as she dared. The sight of the most 
 beautiful of the trio he who sat his horse with such
 
 THE SACRED WAY 117 
 
 peculiar grace made her heart beats quicken. She knew 
 herself to be strangely moved. 
 
 " If he be really Ion, he is indeed a wonder! " 
 
 As she caught a fuller glimpse of horse and rider, Maia 
 decided this gentleman could never be Ion this man 
 whose every line proclaimed the aristocrat. This was no 
 ship-merchant's son! Yet, she reflected, Crates was al- 
 ways talking about Ion's beauty, how Athens delighted in 
 his comeliness, and how the most difficult artists had re- 
 quested permission to copy his shapely features. 
 
 As though her very fate were involved, Maia lifted her 
 hands, as she murmured 
 
 " O turn your horse, dear man, and ride beside Crates 
 I shall know by the way he looks at thee, whether thou 
 art of a certainty the Apolline Ion locks and shape and 
 tuneful voice." 
 
 As though the young man had heard, he had swept his 
 steed close to Crates, and was saying 
 
 " I had a message from Xenias last night, as I was 
 awaiting your ship. And he says " 
 
 Maia lost the rest. She heard Mago shouting orders, 
 the slaves' frightened replies, and her own body slaves 
 were hurrying to their posts which they had, for a time, 
 deserted that they might lose none of the sport. 
 
 Maia's freedom had come to an end. Mago was once 
 more walking close beside her litter. 
 
 A deafening scream suddenly rent the air. Curses and 
 shrieks were heard rising above all the noisy tumult of the 
 marching crowd. 
 
 "What is it? Is any one hurt, Mago?" Maia asked. 
 
 Mago's usual solemnity had deserted him. He was 
 laughing as loud as the other slaves. 
 
 " 'Tis only the pedlar ! He seems to think those gentle- 
 men had nimble fingers "
 
 u8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 The pedlar's voice now shrilled forth 
 
 " I am robbed ! robbed ! and on the Sacred Way ! Sacred 
 to all travellers They have taken the costliest of all my 
 stock! Who'll help me catch the thieves?" 
 
 Laughter, so full it seemed to liberate the very spirit of 
 joy, now rang upon the air. The voice presently stopped 
 its gleeful outburst, to call forth 
 
 "Give the rascal some drachmae, and a kick or two 
 and let us hurry on, father, for we have lost time with this 
 frolic. Come, dear men, let us try a dash into the fields, 
 
 and under the shade of a spreading plane tree have a 
 cup of wine and a few figs." 
 
 There was a great clattering of horses' hoofs, a cloud of 
 dust following after, and the party were off. 
 
 And so it was Ion! 
 
 He had called Crates " father! " 
 
 Maia having grasped this fact, sank back among her pil- 
 lows with a sigh so deep it was almost a sob. " I am glad, 
 glad ! Now, somewhere somehow I shall see him. He 
 is all, and more, than his father said of him." 
 
 Even as she spoke, she felt the breath hot upon her lips, 
 and her hands were interlocked, as though she were already 
 gripping some new form of happiness. 
 
 Can all life be changed in a moment of time? What 
 strange world was opening before her? Why should this 
 mere sight of a beautiful Athenian, of his form merely 
 
 suddenly flood her whole being with joy? This "won- 
 derful " Ion, as she had mockingly called him, when tired 
 of hearing of his father's praise of him, this first sight of 
 his shape, had set every nerve to quivering. Was it alone 
 his beauty? He was as perfect and complete as a god 
 that no one could deny. His every motion proclaimed his 
 mastery of every part of his body. And what ripe, rich 
 forces of life in the spirited, yet controlled, activity!
 
 THE SACRED WAY 119 
 
 Yet it was rather his voice than his beauty of form, that 
 had stirred to life this new world of feeling. Those 
 melodious accents, that joyous rhythm, that seemed to 
 fairly throb upon the air, to sing 
 
 "Awake! Live to the uttermost! Let us love! 
 Dance ! Let us be glad of our glad lives ! " 
 
 How the laugh, how every note of the gayly attuned 
 voice rang with the very joy of living! 
 
 The rest of the way Maia rode as one in a dream. 
 
 For a long period of time, as time is counted in dream- 
 land, Maia watched the motley procession troop past. 
 More pedlars and their packs; bearded Scyths; courtly 
 Persians, magnificent, gleaming with jewels even along the 
 Secred Way; fair-haired Gauls; men from Spain as dark 
 as stained woods, yet glorious-eyed; Egyptians with faces 
 as long and solemn as their ugly gods; philosophers and 
 their train of students; mounted cavalry, dashing past, as 
 though Zeus and his Sacred City were in danger of hostile 
 invasion while Greeks of every tint and in every sort of 
 costume, proving thus the extent of Greek empire, were 
 inextricably mixed with slaves bent double beneath their 
 loads, with votive statues, laden donkeys, sheep, and butt- 
 ing goats. 
 
 All the world on its way to Olympia trudged thus past 
 Maia's litter, and she scarce knew it to be strange. 
 
 High above the clamour, suddenly, a manly voice rang 
 out. A familiar Pindaric ode was being sung, and with 
 spirited fervour. One by one, other voices were soon 
 shouting the well known tune. High and strong swelled 
 the ever gathering volume of the song. It swept the Way 
 like a mighty tumultuous chorus. 
 
 He who had started the enlivening strains was Ion! 
 Maia would know his voice now, above the loudest- 
 tongued trumpet.
 
 120 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 And what had not the music done for the weary crowd ! 
 Dust, hunger, even thirst were forgotten. The steps of 
 those near to exhaustion were quickened. The marching 
 multitude, and for the first time, had their steps attuned to 
 true worship. 
 
 The song was done, another was called for. Ion was 
 cheered as he gave the opening notes of a Sophoclean 
 Chorus. 
 
 The pilgrims marched as they sang. To even barbarian 
 ears the music was divine. For every Greek sang with 
 his heart in his throat, and some wept as they sang. Colon- 
 ists from far distant lands felt their very souls shaken. 
 Once more, in their ears, the glorious home voices were 
 ringing. Exiles though they were, yet they could sing, also, 
 in perfect unison, so universal was the spread of the Greek 
 orchestral system. The whole Greek world was one. 
 
 Before the beginning of the next strophe, Maia heard 
 Ion's glad shout "The Altis! The Altis! I can see the 
 white walls gleam! Hermes be praised! The City is in 
 full sight!" 
 
 The cheer that rent the air crashed upon Maia's ears like 
 the knell of doom. The w ? alls of Olympia once in sight, 
 Mago's orders were imperative. A certain side path was 
 to be watched for; the Pisan hills were to be reached by a 
 circutious route. 
 
 Nirias was now close beside the litter. He was strug- 
 gling to say tender things in a whisper; to terrify Mago 
 with threats should any misadventure happen on the way to 
 Pisa; and to keep Ion at a distance, for he had ridden back 
 to tell Nirias that Crates was awaiting him at a cross- 
 road. 
 
 Before turning into a side path, Maia, in attempting to 
 catch sight of Ion, had one swift, enrapturing vision. 
 
 At a certain point in the road the crowd, and the pro-
 
 THE SACRED WAY 121 
 
 cession of the statues, slipped downwards. The hills 
 opened, they too sloped, with enchanting grace, to form a 
 wide semi-circle. At their feet lay a valley. In the lap of 
 the valley a city was set. Its temples, altars, colonnades, 
 and its walls gleamed with colour. Far as the eye could 
 reach, golden-hued bronzes, tinted statues, and the dazzle of 
 Parian marbles, made a magical blend. As though to 
 light the City with peculiar splendour, Phoebus lent his ef- 
 fective aid. The sun was near to its setting. The slanting 
 rays touched every cornice, every god and goddess-crowded 
 pediment, and every rounded column and all the popula- 
 tion of the statues with their transfiguring glow. The 
 cloud of dust that hung over the City was turned, also, to 
 rosy glory. Incense, rather than dust, did it seem, rising 
 from some celestial city, whose walls were golden girdles. 
 
 As she was carried to the west, to gain the narrower side 
 road, Maia heard the mighty clamour of the City grow 
 fainter and fainter. The walls about her now were the 
 cool, green hills. Soon upon her ear there fell the lisping 
 of a flowing river. And her heart died within her. Her 
 imprisonment had begun. 
 
 Yet she had seen she had looked upon Olympia !
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 ION AND MAIA 
 
 THE very next afternoon Ion stood at the door of his tent. 
 With one hand he screened his eyes the sun was scorching. 
 With the other he fingered, idly, the jewelled clasp of his 
 tunic. 
 
 For the first time since his father's and Nirias' arrival, 
 he felt himself to be free. The two elderly gentlemen, 
 worn out with excitement, were fast asleep. In the inner 
 room, the slaves were on duty: the creak of the fans came 
 with measured beat. Ion felt no sense of fatigue. He 
 longed, however, for a moment of complete solitude, of es- 
 cape. 
 
 For days and weeks Ion had lived in this clogged, heated 
 Olympian atmosphere. Besides the fierce sun, and the 
 proverbial dust, he had breathed for long months, the 
 febrile air of a contestant. The strain, now that the open- 
 ing of the games drew near, had begun to tell, even on his 
 hardened nerves. 
 
 To-day, at least, he must have rest peace. 
 
 "Persia!" he cried out, suddenly, his eyes blinking be- 
 fore the fierce white light, "Tell my father, should he 
 wake, I am gone forth, to the Fair, and beyond. I may 
 be abroad till night-fall have Xenias await my return. 
 No you are not needed, drench that in perfume 
 and give me my cane," and Ion handed his slave his hand- 
 kerchief, and then grasped the tall cane held out to him. 
 
 A moment later, Ion was speeding down, towards the 
 Plain. 
 
 122
 
 ION AND MAIA 123 
 
 The roar and rustle, the shouts and cries of rustling, 
 moving, fighting thousands reached Ion's ear. He caught, 
 above the loud confusion, certain well-defined sounds. 
 There was the sharp smiting of leathern-bound knuckles, on 
 bared flesh; there was the swift, onward rush of runners; 
 there was the metallic ring of the rolling discus; and there 
 were the keen cries of praise, of reprimand, or of encour- 
 agement from trainers and onlookers. 
 
 Past the polychrome temples, and the multitude throng- 
 ing the Festal Square Ion hurried onwards. The mon- 
 ologue of philosopher's, airing the latest novelties concerning 
 the soul and the universe; rhapsodists chanting Homeric 
 verse; musicians playing on shrill pipes, flutes, and 
 trumpets, and, as he neared the Hippodrome, the sound of 
 horses running, neighing, and the grooms' cries, followed 
 him down to the crowded streets of the Fair. 
 
 To all whom he met, he made courteous excuses. He 
 hurried through the bazaar-lined streets. Once he had 
 gained the shores of the Alpheios, in safety, with no one of 
 his many acquaintances or friends, anxious for the latest 
 news from the stables, pulling his mantle, to ask tiresome 
 questions, he could turn Pisa-wards. 
 
 Even as he made up his mind just what should be done 
 with his time, the thought of the deep, cool shade in the 
 forest groves, beyond the bridge, the babbling of the quiet 
 river, and a long stretching, on sweet grasses, the mere 
 thought filled nim with delight. 
 
 The narrow Pisan streets were as still as a deserted tem- 
 ple. Every male who could walk was crowding the 
 Palestra, or the Stadion, or was walking beneath the scant 
 shade of the plane trees of the Sacred City. 
 
 Ah-h the long sweet silence ! 
 
 After the dust, the noisy clamour of Olympia, these still 
 Pisan streets were better than the music of shrill-tongued
 
 124 > N THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 flutes. Homely, rustic sounds alone filled the still air. 
 Some maidens' voices, from enclosed gardens, rose up, clear 
 and soft. It was long since Ion had heard a woman's 
 voice. 
 
 How pleasant indeed, the quiet! How odorous the 
 perfumed air! Beneath the shade of the tall trees, Ion 
 walked on and on. Already, he felt amazingly refreshed. 
 His frame seemed re-knit, to new energies. He felt the 
 tingling glow of restored condition. 
 
 A house-door suddenly opened. Through the low portal 
 swept two women shapes. 
 
 Ion's wide eyes grew wider, and still wider, with wonder. 
 He slowed his step. For one of these shapes recalled 
 Athenian grace and the robes were of Corinthian splen- 
 dour. 
 
 The elder of the two women wore the common Pisan 
 dress, the short Doric tunic. It was the younger of the 
 two that sent an agreeable quiver of interest and curi- 
 osity, through Ion's impressionable frame. 
 
 No Pisan this! The stranger's delicate, costly em- 
 broideries were swept out of the dust, by a practised hand. 
 Here was the deft touch of city-bred grace. How lovely 
 the full, yet harmonious outlines! The veil, obviously, 
 was worn solely for ornament. It barely covered the high- 
 piled golden crown of tresses. The pink cloud, slightly 
 puffed outwards by the light breeze, resembled the -gauzy 
 veil painters delight in, when framing Aphrodite's shape. 
 
 Who, in the name of all the graces, could the lovely 
 creature be? 
 
 Here was an adventure, and one any man might be 
 proud to follow. Such luck as to meet a Corinthian or 
 an Athenian upon a Pisan highroad, was luck indeed. 
 What a tale he would have to tell Glaucus Timoleon
 
 ION AND MAIA 125 
 
 could he but manage to have speech with the divinity! 
 
 Ion pressed onward. But he trod lightly. Pink 
 wonders, like butterflies, might easily be frightened away. 
 His quick ears now caught part of the women's talk. He 
 heard the Pisan clearly: 
 
 " You say your embroideries come from the East, and you 
 have the chitons and mantles made in the house?" 
 
 The two were hastening their steps. They were ob- 
 viously making their way Olympia-wards towards the 
 river bank. 
 
 " Yes " the lady in pink replied," I have a slave who 
 cuts, and another who drapes them, to perfection." As 
 she spoke, she stopped, to re-adjust a fallen shoulder 
 buckle. 
 
 Ion caught a swift glimpse of the profile of full, rose- 
 like lips, and of the pure, perfect nose, its line one with 
 the forehead the true Attic outline ! Ion felt his breath 
 sensibly quicken. 
 
 The two had now resumed their walk. The Pisan was 
 heard heaving an audible sigh. 
 
 "Well you are to be envied! We Elians must dress 
 as best we can. Once in five years at least, we see the 
 world and the fashions. The rest of the time it is all 
 a making and a rearing of children, wearing one's life out 
 trying to get a day's weaving done, with a house full of 
 .slaves, and no thanks for one's efforts, either. Now I 
 suppose now, in Corinth no one weaves their own 
 linen?" 
 
 Ion's smile broadened. He had the clue he had longed 
 for. In spite of her Attic profile, the beauty came from 
 Corinth! But what was she saying? 
 
 " Oh the Corinthian ladies, I believe, do, indeed, still 
 weave their own linen. But Nirias refuses to have a weav-
 
 126 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ing-room in the house. He insists it would weary me, 
 would confine me over much might hurt my voice but 
 where are we straying? " 
 
 Nirias! Nirias! Of all marvels! Ion felt a wild 
 buzzing in his ears. What could Nirias of Corinth, have 
 in common with this adorable being? Ah! the light 
 broke the amazing mystery was suddenly cleared. Ion 
 felt his brain in a whirl, yet his thought was clear. Here 
 a few paces ahead, actually walked the " Corinthian 
 Wonder ! " " The Incomparable ! " could it be possible ? 
 
 The vision of that sunset scene at Phalerum arose, like 
 a swiftly-placed picture, before Ion's quick mind. He saw 
 the gauzy hills, the purple waters, and the stately trireme, 
 its oarsmen ready to plough the meadowy seas. This sway- 
 ing grace so close, so near, now, that the perfume of her 
 draperies swept his quivering nostrils, this was the divine 
 shape all Athens had acclaimed. She it was who had risen 
 to the great moment, had stood, with perfect, statue-like 
 grace, to receive a city's homage, as might its queen. 
 
 Now she was humanly, tantalizingly near. She was 
 also, all the gods be thanked, virtually alone; there was no 
 jealous Nirias to mount guard over her. Ion felt the very 
 heavens open upon an endless chain of possibilities. He 
 should, of course, presently accost this marvel. Some ex- 
 cuse, some plausible phrase would leap to his lip. As he 
 dazedly attempted to frame a suitable question, flashes of 
 fresh wonderment swept his thoughts. 
 
 If Nirias had brought the girl with him, up from 
 Corinth, then she must have been in Nirias' train. She too 
 must have made the long journey, up from the Elian port, 
 along the Sacred Way! And he, never to have guessed of 
 such a presence! And his father, never to have breathed a 
 word of the great secret! 
 
 Ion saw the workings, as in a flash, of the whole plot.
 
 ION AND MAIA 127 
 
 The second, closed litter with its " aged philosopher " had 
 been Maia's yes that was surely the name how 
 soft, how sweet the syllables! He almost breathed the 
 name aloud, as his lips caressed the melodious vowels. 
 
 The two women had now come to a standstill. They 
 stood, obviously irresolute. Maia showed a growing, 
 feminine impatience. Her sentences came, with shortened 
 breath. 
 
 " You say we had better go towards the long bridge ? 
 But the statuette merchants are closer to the other some 
 one said! Ye gods how hot it is! Why did we not 
 bring a slave with us ? At least with a parasol I should 
 not fear being burnt to a crisp ! " Obviously the beauty 
 had a temper. 
 
 " You Corinthians are so soft ! " the Pisan shot forth. 
 She had thrown back her veil she was turning her 
 f rozzled head about now twisting it impatiently towards 
 the river, now to the bridge now backwards towards the 
 road by which she had come. She looked for all the world 
 like a bewildered, angry hen. " By Heavens if we 
 Pisans had time to think of our complexions! But where, 
 in the names of the furies, are those booths? I could have 
 sworn they lay directly before us! Those stupid vendors 
 change their places every year as though on purpose to 
 vex one. Ah! here is a gentleman! As he is a stranger, 
 he doubtless knows the fair by heart." 
 
 The Pisan had turned. The two now faced Ion. 
 
 " Dear Sir perhaps you could tell us we seek the 
 statuette vendors' booths their boats will come out to us. 
 Is it by the long, or by the short bridge, we had best 
 stand?" 
 
 Ion stopped, stared and was tongue-tied. Maia's 
 startled face her amazement and confusion, as their eyes 
 met, made Ion conscious only of two overwhelming emo-
 
 128 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 tions. He must prolong the moment he must keep this 
 " wonder " beside him and he must, also, force her to 
 speak. The flush that was now crimsoning the expres- 
 sive face was already one form of speech. She knew him 
 had surely seen or heard of him before. There had 
 flashed from her eyes a look of recognition. 
 
 Ion's brain suddenly cleared. With easy, plausible 
 phrases he held Pisan. He made use of all his powers 
 of attraction. 
 
 " Ah-h Madame, there is indeed a short way to the 
 shore where the statuette vendors' booths lie but you 
 will, I fear, be burnt alive on your way. Whereas, 
 through the groves 'tis somewhat longer 'tis true 
 but the elms cast agreeable coolness. I go your way 
 permit me to put you on your path." 
 
 A second mounting of the pink flush over Maia's cheeks 
 and brow, was his answer. Her eyes fell, when his 
 searched to fix them. That was a still better eloquence. 
 Never had he seen confusion wear a lovier aspect. 
 
 There was brief chance for speech, for the Pisan was 
 babbling on, in loud tones, about everything, about noth- 
 ing. 
 
 " If it be not an indiscretion dear Sir who is likely, 
 think you, to win in the boy's race ? " She did not wait 
 for answer. " We Elians are praying Cleomenes may bear 
 off the prize. The lad has been in training these two years. 
 'Twill break his father's heart, were he not to come forth 
 victor " On and on the words poured forth. 
 
 Ion and Maia did not really mind. Since Ion could now 
 look his fill, since he could walk thus, on and on, he 
 was almost content. His moment would surely come. 
 Meanwhile he could let his eyes have a very riot of joy. 
 
 In her turn, Maia felt herself regaining self-mastery. 
 At first, she had neither been mistress of her tongue nor her
 
 ION AND MAIA 129 
 
 eyes. The shock of finding Ion the hero of the Way, of 
 Phalerum of all creatures and here, in this lonely road 
 as though he had dropped from heaven the effort to 
 surmount the instinct to cry his name out to let her 
 amazement burst forth, had required all Maia's self- 
 mastery. 
 
 Just what words she gathered to answer Ion, she never 
 knew. His face and eyes thrilled her. The mingled fire 
 and sweetness she had noticed, at Phalerum, now seen and 
 felt, at close range, were disturbing. She found herself 
 seeking to avoid their power their strangely searching 
 rays. His tall, shapely frame, now so close beside her; the 
 sweep of his mantle, and a certain unmistakable power of 
 attraction the young man possessed, to make nerves quiver, 
 and muscles feel like melting wax, Ion had not walked 
 beside Maia a dozen steps, before his strangely sweet, yet 
 disturbing influence, was strongly upon her. 
 
 Whenever she found courage to lift her eyes, Ion's, she 
 found, were raining down upon her their luminous fire. 
 Involuntarily, each smiled, as their eyes met. The smile 
 made their walking easier. Each, now, felt they could look 
 their fill. To smile and gaze was, indeed, better than 
 speech. 
 
 The Pisan strode on ahead. She did the talking for all 
 three. Delighted at the capture of an Athenian she 
 knew Ion for an Athenian at a glance, by the way he held his 
 mantle the country woman joyed in the free use of her 
 tongue. By proving herself open and free, she would get 
 all the news she yearned to hear. 
 
 " Dear Sir what a thing to see such races as there'll 
 be run after the morrow! Yes yes, I saw several 
 and good ones in my young days when, as a maiden, 
 I, too, ran in the palaestra. But Vesta locks the door on
 
 130 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 us women. After marriage no races for us. It is our 
 business to breed the racers. Ha! Ha! Well Mad- 
 ame and if you please keep your elbows to yourself! 
 One doesn't work one's way through a crowd, as one 
 would through a drove of cattle!" the Pisan angrily spit 
 forth her words. For they had now gained the high road, 
 and a countrywoman was using her elbows as though they 
 were rakes. 
 
 The shore at last had been reached. The crowd of 
 women and slaves was closing in about them. Vendors in 
 shallow boats were seen clogging the river. Thick groups 
 of country buyers were massed above the banks. The 
 shrieks and bustle of bargaining voices filled the air. 
 
 Maia was close beside Ion. But the Pisan was hanging 
 over the river bank. They heard her loud voice rising, 
 above all others. 
 
 Ion felt, at last, his great moment had come. He held 
 out his hand he swung Maia in among a thick grove of 
 trees. Laughing, breathless, grasping her draperies as best 
 she could, Maia sped along. Ion brought her to a rest 
 below a tall pedestal, on which stood a winged Victory 
 with hovering wings. 
 
 Behind the pedestal Ion stood, with outstretched hands. 
 His eyes rained life, delight. Again Maia felt their sweet 
 fierce power. 
 
 " You are Maia of Corinth," Ion cried out, in ringing 
 voice. He seemed to be amazingly happy, in saying this. 
 His whole face was aglow. 
 
 " And you are Ion," laughed Maia, with bubbling voice. 
 Then, involuntarily, their hand-clasp tightened. Their 
 eyes were interlocked. For a full moment they stood thus, 
 Maia attempting to withdraw her hand. Ion's grasp was 
 of iron. Again he bent upon her that look of compelling 
 sweetness. To have him look upon her thus to feel him
 
 ION AND MAIA J3I 
 
 come nearer nearer still Maia shivered. A weakness 
 she had never imagined could come upon her, shook her; 
 she felt her knees giving away. As one in actual pain, she 
 bent her head now this way, now that. She heard Ion's 
 low voice, broken, tremulous his head was bent, his eyes, 
 his very lips seemed to seek hers. It was as though a 
 lightning bolt from heaven's blue had shot downward to 
 transfix Maia to rivet her frame. 
 
 Ion seemed as sensibly moved. Yet he found words 
 broken, tremulous he breathed them forth. " Oh-h I 
 beseech thee seek not to put me away look up ! Let 
 me but drink deep. Ah-h if you knew but knew how 
 
 since that day since Phalerum I have had but one 
 thought one dream " 
 
 Maia heard the words as one who hears, at last, celes- 
 tial music. She feared to look to meet those deep, 
 divine eyes and yet, could she but nerve herself could 
 she 
 
 Ion, with bold courage had now clasped Maia's shoulder. 
 His bared warm arm curled about her neck. After that, to 
 have the lips meet seemed the only possible speech. In that 
 delicious meeting, the two souls met and were married. 
 Like the mating of the immortal gods, those two having 
 met, looked, loved and kissed. 
 
 As Maia released herself, her eyes, at last were given, 
 with all their happy trance of joy, to Ion's. She attempted 
 to voice the tremendous, the overwhelming emotion. " You 
 
 I Oh-h how strange it all is! How came we to ? " 
 But Ion was now softly kissing her lids. What was 
 
 speech before such an ecstacy of touch? 
 
 After a moment, Maia drew herself away. Hand locked 
 in hand, the two wandered on, beneath the trees' deep 
 shade. It seemed the full of bliss to walk thus, to feel the 
 other so near, so close
 
 I 3 2 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Speech came at last. Confused, halting, the sentences grew 
 longer, fuller. 
 
 Ion poured forth his longing, his thoughts, dreams, con- 
 jectures. " From the very first dearest Maia you 
 drew you had won me to you on that golden even- 
 ing, as you stood a divine image of grace, of beauty, 
 against the azure. All other women, for me, died then. 
 In all these months Maia! Maia! your name has 
 filled my soul my thoughts. How can you wonder that, 
 seeing you you knew me for your very own? " 
 
 A shepherd's piping brought the long kiss with which 
 she answered him to an end. As Maia released herself, 
 she re-captured, in part, her lost self-control. Ion's arm 
 again clasped her shoulder. Walking thus, the two heads 
 were almost on a level. 
 
 Yet, when she began to speak, there seemed but little to 
 say. Eventful as had been her life, and varied as was her 
 history, all past experience seemed to shrivel into nothing- 
 ness besides this new, this mighty power that swept her 
 whole being. In disjointed, incoherent phrases, Maia, in 
 her turn, strove to confess her loneliness, her longing to find 
 kindred, the hardness of her life with Manes, the mixed 
 feelings she felt towards Nirias. But she was as one talk- 
 ing in a dream. The only reality was Ion's wondrous near- 
 ness his soft soul-subduing glance, and the strange sweet 
 beauty of his dear face. 
 
 Maia drew deep, tremulous sighs. She knew of a cer- 
 tainty now what had come upon her. This Ion had stolen 
 her soul away. She was his for evermore. What difference 
 did one or a thousand kisses make? He owned them and her. 
 Her whole being had passed into his keeping. 
 
 In the far distance a voice was presently heard calling. 
 The Pisan was shrieking aloud Maia's name.
 
 ION AND MAIA 133 
 
 Maia started. 
 
 " Ion dearest I must go," she breathed. Yet even 
 as she moved, she ventured to press her cheek against Ion's 
 breast. 
 
 He drew the dear head close. He lifted a golden tress 
 to his lips, and then hurriedly, he said : " Listen dearest 
 most beautiful of women ! As you know, the games open 
 in a few days. I cannot hope to be free to come to you, 
 until the Procession is over. But my slave Persia will 
 bring you my greeting. He shall go to you at dawn. 
 Ninas and my father will be then at the games, with all 
 
 < 
 
 the rest of the world. Lift your eyes my beloved. Oh 
 Maia I bless Heaven for the gift of such love ! " 
 
 The wings of the motionless Victory seemed to flutter 
 above them, in sympathy with this quivering human emo- 
 tion. There was a long final clasp and each went their 
 way. 
 
 In another instant life's stream had re-captured the two 
 lovers. The Pisan had found Maia, and was hurrying 
 her homewards. She exultingly displayed some painted 
 images of her favourite god, that she had bought, at an un- 
 heard-of price. " The gods, this year, are cheap at the 
 Fair ! " Ion heard her cry, as she swept her treasures be- 
 fore Maia's eyes. 
 
 The hum and roar of the Fair struck Ion's ears, as he 
 re-crossed the Bridge. The Fair was having its last great 
 day. Once the games opened, the festival pilgrims would 
 have no time for viewing either marble masterpieces, Cor- 
 inthian vases, or the costly tapestries and gems, Eastern mer- 
 chants brought, to tempt Greek taste. 
 
 Ion worked his way easily, joyously, through crowds of 
 barbarians from all over the world. He had only gay 
 words for a tight squeeze, and no time whatever for the
 
 134 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 most perfect master-pieces of sculpture. He was walking 
 on soft, yielding air. He was alive only to the world of 
 sensation, emotion, and rapture that filled his soul. 
 
 At one corner, indeed, he did stay his steps. The word 
 " soul " enchained his ear. Now that he really knew of 
 what that spirit was capable, it would be amusing to hear 
 the latest absurdity in the matter of a theory, voiced by 
 philosophy. 
 
 Ion drew near to a group of pretty young gentlemen. 
 Several wore wreaths about their perfumed locks. Their 
 faces showed serious looks. A learned lecturer was telling 
 these votaries of idleness and fashion the interesting fact 
 " That the soul of man is immortal, and at one time has an 
 end, which is termed dying; and at another time is born 
 again, but is never destroyed. And the moral is, that a 
 man ought to live always in perfect holiness." The 
 wreathed heads nodded, gravely, in admiring response. 
 
 Ion smiled his happy laughter all but burst from 
 him, as he leapt, upward, along the hill slope, towards his 
 tent. " And I I know a philosophy of life better and 
 truer than yours O wise man ! One that better befits the 
 brilliant bloom of youth. 'Tis to love battle, and the 
 games, and dear women to yearn to carry off the triple 
 prize to be crowned victor at Olympia, to win Aphro- 
 dite's blessing and Mars' approval. O Maia! Maia! 
 Divine thou art and already dear beyond all words for 
 the very thought of thee makes victory seem easy ! " 
 
 When Ion entered the tent, he found his father and 
 Nirias at their light evening meal. Even Nirias lifted 
 startled amazed eyes. Never had he seen Ion as radiant, as 
 instinct with the lovely forces of youth. Crates followed 
 Ion's motions with positive rapture, as Ion made his swift 
 toilet for the meal; he was talking, laughing, gesticulating,
 
 ION AND MAIA 135 
 
 with such impetuous ardour and perfect grace, as to make 
 every point of his beauty the more effective. 
 
 With a gratified grunt of delight, Ion flung himself down 
 beside his father. Leaning forward he clasped Crates to 
 his warm breast. He kissed him, effusively, with boyish 
 rapture. "Father! father! a god has spoken to me out 
 yonder in the hills ! We shall win dear man surely 
 we shall win ! Never did I hear a god's voice speak as 
 plainly!" 
 
 Nirias and Crates smiled in delighted assent. Ion 
 entirely omitted to name the god. Nor did it cross Ion's 
 dazed mind that, during the whole interview with Maia, 
 he had never once made mention of either car or of horses.
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 
 
 FOR a man in love, the days that followed might have 
 been the quickest of cures. Ion was hurried from one ex- 
 citement to another. These days immediately preceding the 
 opening of the Games were filled with engagements, the 
 taking of oaths, the making of costly sacrifie, to please 
 his father the registering of bets, on the favourite on 
 the Thessalian lad whom every one, even the trainers were 
 certain would win the true Olympic the runners' race 
 and with banquets that must be gone to and given. 
 
 Yet through every waking moment, in the midst of the 
 most portentous events, the thought of Maia rose up to 
 flood Ion's soul with sub-conscious delight. This birth of 
 love had brought an extraordinary elation a sustained 
 ecstacy of feeling that made every act important and 
 therefore the easier to perform, and that assuaged the teas- 
 ing wear to easier endurance. 
 
 At last the great day dawned! Before night ended, Ion 
 would know the verdict of Olympia on his car. In the 
 great procession that opened the games, the Olympic con- 
 testants were passed in review. The verdicts given along 
 the Pompic Way were to be dreaded to be heard in 
 trembling those hundreds of trained eyes could so often 
 voice failure or success! 
 
 As the sun sank, and the amber moon showed low above 
 the purple Arcadian hills, Ion felt the rising pulse of the 
 Olympian excitement. In a few short shades the silver 
 trumpets would sound. 
 
 136
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 137 
 
 As Ion swept into the warm, golden night, his step upon 
 the blistered hillslope was winged with joy. The quick- 
 ened throb upon the air, the familiar beat upon the Elian 
 night of a world making ready, the tumult and clamour 
 of these moving, agitated thousands thrilled every quiver- 
 ing nerve. 
 
 Ion found his father standing at the opening of Nirias' 
 tent. He was staring down at the Altis. He was stamp- 
 ing, with impatience; he called, aloud, to a dozen gods to 
 come and look upon Nirias in his role of a fatuous 
 fool. 
 
 " Yea ! go in in, I say, and see a man as vain as a 
 woman! We've wasted a whole shade, to have Nirias' 
 hair properly curled ! " was Crates' angry greeting to his 
 son. 
 
 Ion's eyes danced with mirth. He took in with amused 
 delight, his father's characteristic indifference to the nice- 
 ties of display. Crates' festival robes had been long since 
 donned. The flowers of his garland were already fading. 
 What cared he at his age how his robes hung? As 
 for Nirias this his passion for dress he cried out 
 in renewed disgust, marked the weakness of his nature. 
 When a man nearly sixty took to women and clothes ! 
 Crates finished his comment with a fresh oath. 
 
 Ion's laughter was still warming him, as he hastened to 
 enter the tent. 
 
 Nirias had no eyes for the young man's festival splen- 
 dour. Its effects of studied simplicity were lost upon the 
 Corinthian. 
 
 Mago was in the very act of clasping a huge jewel about 
 his master's stout arm. Nirias' eyes strayed from his mir- 
 ror to take in one point of Ion's costume 
 
 " Ah-h ! I see you wear your breast garlands as though 
 they were a wreath " he cried, as he studied the effect of
 
 i 3 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 the thick, closely woven rope of flowers, above wnose 
 illiptical curves, Ion's bared breast and throat rose, with the 
 noble lines of young strength. 
 
 " Yes," answered Ion, his eyes dancing. 
 
 " Then it is thus I will wear mine. Change the flow- 
 ers Mago put them a little lower than Ion's thus." 
 The garland was finally settled to Nirias' satisfaction. 
 His mirror showed him the full expanse of his fat neck, 
 a pulpy white mass of flesh, rising above the roses. 
 
 Ion secretly wondered if vanity as dense could seize upon 
 a man, like some disfiguring disease, and leave the victim 
 all unconscious of the hideous face it wore. He thought 
 of Maia and of her possible marriage to this lump of 
 selfishness and his anger rose to boiling point. " Come 
 O Nirias we are late even now father is fuming ." 
 He could scarce control his voice. 
 
 " Your father has been fretting since the sun rose. He 
 would have started for the Altis at dawn to hold his 
 place had I been willing." 
 
 At this outburst Ion's anger melted in mirth this 
 comedy of two elderly men's bad temper, kept his lips 
 quivering even as the two now passed toward the tent 
 opening. 
 
 At the door, Nirias' fussiness broke forth anew. 
 
 " Mago the bottle of unguent have you thought of 
 that? And the wine ? " 
 
 "Yes! yes, master all are here." Mago pointed to 
 the full basket he held to the cushions a slave was carry- 
 ing. 
 
 ' Then for goodness sake let us go forth ! " cried 
 Crates, his impatience now gnawing as though it had liv- 
 ing fangs. 
 
 But Ion had flung his arm about his father. Under the
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 139 
 
 pressure of that dear clasp, Crates' anger soon melted 
 away. 
 
 Ion's exhilerant delight was found contagious. Crates' 
 lips presently reflected Ion's smile of joyous assurance. 
 Ah-h, this dearest of sons! What a nature what high 
 courage, what serene belief in the god of chance, and his 
 sure blessing! 
 
 " We'll take a turn in the Altis first, dear father," Ion 
 cried, as he swept his father onward. " We'll see all the 
 more distinguished celebrities and then, after a little, 
 we'll press onward, toward the Temple. I chose a place 
 on the Temple steps I think we can surely secure ." 
 
 " You think of all things, my Ion you leave nothing 
 to chance," cried Crates, in parental rapture at having 
 fathered such a prodigy. 
 
 "Alas! my race is in Hermes' hands!" mocked Ion. 
 "There's no outwitting that dear god." 
 
 " But surely you have no fears " 
 
 His words were lost. He was borne backwards, toward 
 Nirias. A company of youths, dashing downward, had 
 swept Ion before them. These young lads had their arms 
 about each other's necks. Their heads, arms, and necks 
 were garlanded with roses and jasmine. They shed a 
 delicious fragrance, as they made their way half dancing, 
 half gliding, and gaily singing, as they swept onwards. 
 
 The five slender bodies, swaying harmoniously to the 
 steps of an improvised dance, were as beautiful as a sculp- 
 tured frieze. 
 
 "Saw you those lads? One of them reminded me of 
 Ion at his age. " Ah-h, but here you are! " Crates cried 
 out, as Ion rejoined his party. 
 
 " Come " Ion cried, his voice full of quivering ex- 
 citement, " the crowd is enormous, this year. I never saw
 
 i 4 o ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 so many barbarians. I have already spoken to some Persian 
 courtiers I met, at court, last spring. They tell me they 
 slept on deck the whole of the voyage the ships were so 
 full mattresses were not to be had, for a king's ransom." 
 
 Crates laughed, and nodded responsive joy, at the pros- 
 pect of an overcrowded Olympia. His shrewd eyes took 
 in the brilliant scene. 
 
 Like a great theatre awaiting its audience, the Altis lay 
 below, white, silent, all but emptied of life. Fenced in by 
 its walls the sacred city seemed now some fabled realm. 
 The population of its massed statues lifted warm, flesh- 
 tinted arms, or wreaths, or olive branches, to the gods shin- 
 ing down, from the deep pediments ; the fluttering robes of 
 the Victories, the mute prayers on the lips of suppliant 
 contestants, and the pressing feet of racing youths, were 
 fixed in immutable impotency. This marble multitude was 
 awaiting, as were the Temples, the great altar, the shining 
 rows of the Zanes, the stately line of the Treasuries, and 
 the glistening gods, for the entrance of living throngs, to 
 give to Zeus the glad worship of tongues that could shout, 
 and of hearts that could swell, as the Syrian incense rose. 
 
 As the Altis was in itself the very centre and focal point 
 of Olympia, so the throng now assembling, within its walls, 
 seemed to present to Greek eyes a summary of all mankind. 
 Pig-like Arcadians, with coarse faces and tangled hair were 
 close beside god-like limbed young Athenians, whose gar- 
 lands and bronze skins shone as did those of the statues above 
 them. Wreathed poets and musicians stood near or talked 
 to wrestlers among whom were some whose eyes, set 
 obliquely, whose long ears, and bristling hair, gave them an 
 animal look. Athletes, whose chaste lines of feature told of 
 long months of hard training, naked, with but a garland
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 141 
 
 for ornament, made the centre of a group of Athenian 
 gentlemen whose rich robes, carefully placed floral adorn- 
 ments, and distinguished bearing, proclaimed them noble. 
 
 Sicilians; fierce-beaked Jews; curly-headed Medes, whose 
 white arms and legs shone out, against their costly robes 
 thick with gold and silver embroideries; liquid-eyed 
 Persians, whose arms and fingers glistened with gems; 
 Gauls, with locks streaming upon their shoulders like a 
 moon-lighted river; and Greeks of widely contrasting types, 
 some with skins blackened by Eastern suns, others em- 
 browned by Italia's kindlier light, yet all whether white, 
 black, or brown, proving alike the extent of Hellenic do- 
 minion and its adventurous spirit here within this nar- 
 row strip of holy ground were men from every clime and 
 country. 
 
 Upon them all, the moon poured its transfiguring light. 
 Whether noble or slave, whether beautiful or hideous, 
 forms and faces were softened, were etherealized. 
 
 As a great sculptor gives to his perfected statue a pecu- 
 liar bloom some quality of shining only flowers and 
 leaves in nature show so this moon of Hellas touched 
 the statue-like youths and young men with a celestial lustre. 
 
 Nirias forgot his ailments. Crates even forgot his Ion. 
 They walked about, with eyes wide with delight. 
 
 "Look! saw you ever such a wonder?" Nirias 
 pointed toward a white-wreathed youth, walking past their 
 group. 
 
 "Yes he is very beautiful. But see yonder is Soc- 
 rates," cried Ion, " he is surrounded, as usual even here 
 and at such a time, by a cluster of beautiful young men. 
 Look" 
 
 A scene as familiar in the Hellas of their day, as it has 
 since become one of the immortal possessions of mankind, 
 presented itself.
 
 142 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 A manly form, with broad shoulders, whose breast was 
 carelessly bared, a loose coarse mantle escaping the confin- 
 ing clutch of the relaxed upper arm for hands and arms 
 were being constantly used, in graceful, effective gesture 
 this was the famous shape standing beneath a broad plane 
 tree. The face was partly in shadow. When it emerged 
 from the dimmer tree shade, the light upon the face did 
 not borrow its glow from the moon's splendour. It was 
 a face rather lighted from within, than from without. 
 Homely, inharmonious as were the features, so radiant were 
 the spiritual forces, the whole face was fused and blent, into 
 a kind of sublimity. The sweetness, serenity, and the trained 
 capacity of sustained exaltation, furnished the inward light 
 that had sublimated the coarser physical clay. 
 
 The group about Socrates was the one still, separate cir- 
 cle in all that sea of moving thousands. 
 
 Many, as they passed the group, stopped, idly, to listen; 
 some were caught by a phrase, or by some startling truth, 
 presented in a new, unlooked-for form, and were held. 
 Thus the circle widened. 
 
 "What a man! A true sorcerer! " Crates grunted, dis- 
 dainfully, turning his back on the philosopher. " Wasting 
 thus the time of our youth ! filling their heads with non- 
 sense and impiety. Ah well my Ion you escaped the 
 contagion. I have never ceased to rejoice I sent you to 
 Anaxagoras " 
 
 " Father, father, how constant is your hate ! " was Ion's 
 smiling answer. Then his voice rose to quickened excite- 
 ment, as his eyes caught sight of some gentlemen moving 
 slowly, toward them. " See the lion comes and the 
 crowd scatters, as before its king! " 
 
 Ion and Crates, as well as Nirias, took up their position. 
 They stood facing the familiar shape. Others, hearing the 
 cry and the growing buzz of expectation, with the monkey-
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 143 
 
 like, imitative nature of crowds, crept, also, backwards, 
 pressing against pedestals and tree-trunks. 
 
 Between the human aisles thus made, a kingly form of 
 composed, majestic bearing moved with a certain deliberate 
 grace of leisure. 
 
 All Hellas knew that princely stride. A breathless world 
 of curious, eager-eyed barbarians pressed beyond the close- 
 packed Hellenic wall, to look upon Athens' idol. 
 
 Alcibiades wore his festival robes with the same negligent 
 grace with which he trailed his purples in the mud of 
 Athenian streets. He swept the great scene with measur- 
 ing, yet semi-indifferent gaze. Men, statues, garlanded ath- 
 letes, beautiful human forms clothed, like the nudity of 
 the gods, in celestial light the critical, sensuous-lidded, 
 haughty eyes swept them all, as though the Altis were but 
 a magnificent setting and the world gathered therein an 
 army, assembled that he, Alcibiades, might pass the multi- 
 tude in review. 
 
 With an arm swept indolently about the neck of Glau- 
 cus, Alcibiades turned to Timoleon, whose dark face was 
 beside him. 
 
 " Look Timoleon yonder is the new beauty. That 
 little Serapion will give Hermes himself a lesson in jeal- 
 ousy. I never saw lovely modesty and young beauty as 
 perfectly wed ! " 
 
 The crowd swallowed his words. Serapion, whoever he 
 might be, was as now as famous for comeliness as were 
 Thebes or Ion of the Piraeus, for having horses that could 
 run. 
 
 It was with a certain wonder those Athenian-born, 
 among the mass of onlookers, saw the great leader slow his 
 steps, before a well known un-aristocratic face. A few of 
 the politically well-informed smiled, as they watched and 
 heard Alcibiades' well-phrased flatteries.
 
 144 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Crates of the Pirasus and his son, then, were of large 
 account, in Alcibiades' clever calculations ! Even here, even 
 in this heady festival hour, this god among politicians could 
 remember to win men, by showing them honour before the 
 eyes of all. 
 
 Alcibiades had, indeed, stopped, as his all-seeing eyes met 
 Crates' shrewd flaming glance, and Ion's steady gaze. 
 
 Glaucus and Timoleon smiled their greeting; they stood 
 talking to Ion, as Alcibiades lisped his flatteries. 
 
 "Ah-h here's Crates! Greeting, dear man! And to 
 you, too, dear Ion. Only this morning I saw your four 
 again. I took a turn about your stalls. That Pollux is a 
 horse in a thousand ! he and Xenias would win in any 
 race. Yet if I am not much mistaken, Thebes' coursers 
 will give your car a hard tussle for a victory. And Corinth, 
 too, will not be far behind " 
 
 Crates could find no words to prove a belief in his own 
 stable. Stammering, he faltered a doubt as to Thebes' wis- 
 dom in choosing as reckless a driver as Porus one known 
 to be as tricky. 
 
 Alcibiades appeared to extract a certain amount of amuse- 
 ment out of the Piraean's terrorised state, and then, with 
 an insolent haughtiness, proceeded to ignore him. 
 
 " Come," he lisped softly, turning to Timoleon. " See 
 yonder stands Socrates. By Minerva's wise eyes even 
 here he gathers an audience. Let us hear whether he is 
 still talking about holiness and the soul and those Sicil- 
 ians where are they? They must be made to talk " 
 
 The splendid figure resumed its graceful walk. One 
 of the gods, descended from his pedestal, and turned mor- 
 tal, could not have had a more detached, separate air of 
 conscious divinity. 
 
 Yet had Olympia but known ! had Athens but known ! 
 Above the sweet-voiced flatteries, above the tinkle of cym-
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 145 
 
 bals, and the songs of lovely youth, the grave figure of an 
 avenging Fate was lifting its tragic mumur! 
 
 For the Sicilians were whispering to the great leader and 
 to Timoleon news of Syracuse that made the four Athenian 
 eyes meet and glisten as they met. And thus amid the 
 sound of flutes, of festal laughter, and of dancing steps, the 
 doom of Athens was sealed. 
 
 On the broad Temple steps, as Ion had foretold, the 
 party had found a footing. They were part now of a 
 spectacle difficult to surpass, for beauty and effectiveness, 
 even in Olympia. 
 
 The wide steps surrounding the great Temple of Zeus 
 were packed with a dense, white crowd. The graceful folds 
 of tunics and flowing himatia gave to the moving, shifting 
 multitude an indescribable dignity. Heads and breasts were 
 garlanded with thick wreaths and ropes of flowers. Thus 
 these worshippers symbolized their union with their god. 
 
 Massed thus, this festal throng seemed to form the liv- 
 ing base of the stern Doric Temple. Aloft, far above the 
 crowd of worshippers, the gods leaned forth, from beneath 
 their heavy cornice. The one shape missing in the vast 
 masculine world seemed now, silently, with still calm, to 
 have joined the multitude. Out of the stately central 
 group, Hippodamia stood; she fingered her veil, as though 
 she was uplifting it in the nuptial chamber. 
 
 Meanwhile the moon rose higher and ever higher. 
 When the sky was fully flooded with the thick golden light, 
 the time was near. 
 
 The Pompic Way was being cleared. The great mo- 
 ment had come. There was an instant of perfect, awed 
 silence.
 
 146 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 So still was the crowd, that, in the clear Elian air, a 
 quick ear could hear the slipping of the river. 
 
 Out of the hushed quiet, silver-tongued notes suddenly 
 pierced the sweet silence. From end to end of the sacred 
 valley, the silver trumpets rang out their brazen chords. 
 
 The multitude shook, as with a common tremor. The 
 whole Greek world thrilled, as one. 
 
 As the sonorous trumpets shrilled their strains, other dear 
 familiar sounds came to the ears of these listening thousands. 
 There was the bite upon the air of clinking armour; there 
 was the soft fall of hundreds of sandalled feet, and the snort 
 and dash of plunging horses told every waiting worshipper 
 the line, at last, had formed. 
 
 After the trumpets, came the soaring voices of chanting 
 youths. The procession was moving onward, without the 
 walls. Its progress could be distinctly traced, as near and 
 ever nearer came the heavenly voices, blent in choral har- 
 monies. Those heading the splendid train were now pass- 
 ing the tinted columns of the Heroon; now they were close 
 to the tomb of Pelops; next mighty Zeus, in his great tem- 
 ple, would hear the celestial prayers chanted in his honour, 
 as he sat on his gilded throne, awaiting the worship of men. 
 
 Nearer and nearer swept the thrill-awakening notes of 
 resonant lyres and of melodious harps. The lark-like sweep 
 of summer-tongued flutes rose, shrilling, above less piercing 
 notes. 
 
 The shouts of those without the walls, these glad mur- 
 murous acclamations, rang upon the ear like a mighty song 
 sung to a tumultuous accompaniment. Strong men felt 
 their breath indrawn; young men showed awed faces, and 
 even to barbarians was communicated the quick contagion 
 of this supreme Greek emotion.
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 147 
 
 Timoleon and Glaucus stood beyond the Temple steps. 
 They had lost Alcibiades, at the very moment of taking 
 their places. He had murmured something about one of 
 the priests having begged him to accept a seat on the steps 
 of the Treasury of Athena, and he had left them. Tim- 
 oleon and Glaucus had remained where they were, below 
 the tall pedestal of Paionias's Victory; they could scarcely 
 have had a better outlook. 
 
 As the choir rang out its clear harmonies, both the young 
 men felt the common thrill pulsing within. 
 
 " Timoleon I never hear that hymn but I am once 
 more a lad innocent and pure and and " Glaucus' 
 emotion overcame him. 
 
 Timoleon flung an arm about his friend's shoulder. At 
 such a moment, all small personal feelings were over- 
 whelmed by the mounting tide of this divine experience. 
 Timoleon, also, was inexpressibly moved, stirred, melted. 
 Love and worship are, indeed, singularly akin, he thought. 
 
 He felt Glaucus suddenly writhe, beneath his grasp. 
 With an angry twitch, he was turning, he was crying, up- 
 ward, backward, 
 
 " Don't crowd keep off I say my shoulders are 
 not a footstool " 
 
 Then his voice broke, as he gurgled "Well of 
 things unheard of, to slide thus down a pedestal!" He 
 laughed as he lisped his protest. 
 
 Ion had noiselessly slipped along an edge of the broad 
 base of the pedestal, thus making his way over the heads of 
 the crowd. He was now beside his friends. 
 
 The crowd gave Ion place. A murmur rose up, as he 
 made his appearance. Was not this beautiful young man 
 the Pirasan the Ion of Piraeus whose horses were to 
 run? Admiring eyes ran over the nobly-formed features, 
 the broad, slightly panting chest, and the straight limbs.
 
 i 4 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Ion's costly festival tunic, his few but perfect gems, and 
 his rich garlands made his coming contest bring imagined 
 victory. Several among the on-lookers determined to in- 
 crease their bets. 
 
 Ion stood between his friends. Timoleon gave him a 
 scrutinizing glance. 
 
 " So you are not to mount your car, after all that has 
 been said ? " Timoleon narrowed his eyes. For this had 
 been a much-discussed point. 
 
 At any other time not to have Ion take his advice would 
 have angered him. But now well anger, with that 
 music swelling up with the gods all about, gloriously 
 lighted with Ion looking unusually handsome, and, as 
 usual, his eyes beaming trust and a great sweetness, Timoleon 
 found even irritation pass from him. 
 
 Ion had clasped Timoleon's firm back; he was pressing 
 him, with loving ardour. " Dear Timoleon you must 
 forgive me. I felt Glaucus, and not we, were in the right 
 about this matter. You would not, surely, have me lower 
 myself before the eyes of all ? " 
 
 Beneath the power of Ion's pleading gaze, Timoleon felt 
 saintly qualities grow within. "Indeed, no! dear man 
 you were right and I wrong. I only thought of the ef- 
 fect your beauty might produce " 
 
 And Ion laughed, drew Caucus and Timoleon the closer, 
 strained his long neck outward, and cried softly, joyously, 
 ' They are coming dear men they are turning 
 even now " 
 
 And they, and all about them, stood rigid, fixed. 
 
 The procession had entered the Altis. 
 
 A choir of youths showing the pink and browns of per- 
 fect bloom, moved slowly into the moon's full light. Their 
 rounded arms were uplifted. From beneath their festive 
 wreaths the harmonious features, showing no defective strain
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 149 
 
 of thought, were as joyous and as serene as those of the 
 gods they invoked. 
 
 Their trained steps were attuned to the hymn they 
 chanted. Behind this youthful choir swept long lines of 
 priests. Their ample white or purple robes fell in statu- 
 esque perfection. Chosen for their venerable beauty, many 
 showed Jove-like features. 
 
 The Hellanadocae followed. The warm purples of these 
 Elian judges' robes made deep notes of contrasting colours. 
 These umpires stepped with proud courage. Conscious of 
 their high place, in this, their worship of the gods, they 
 moved with stately, noble grace. 
 
 Bursts of martial music preceded groups of warriors in 
 shining armour. The Pyrrhic dance was skillfully stepped 
 by youthful Athenians new to military service, yet whose 
 finished athletic training gave to every motion and gesture 
 harmonious beauty. The warlike dance; the shining em- 
 browned limbs below the burnished shields; the scultured 
 helmets that flashed forth the figures of Mars, of Pallas 
 Athene, of Hermes; the following lines of light that flamed 
 from the high-held spears and the spirited, intoxicating 
 strains of the familiar military music woke to sudden frenzy 
 the whole Greek world. Every man saw passing before him 
 the battles, the hand-to-hand death struggles, the madness 
 and the glory of war. Strong men shook, as with a palsy; 
 others wept; and when some deep rich voice lifted a true, 
 pure note, in unison with the music, such a shout of song 
 burst forth as shook the very hills. 
 
 Already the famous Apolline Hymn was filling every ear 
 with ecstacy. Beautiful youths, their curls crisp gold, their 
 forms wonders of soft grace, specially selected for their 
 skill in dancing and posturing, were next in line, presenting 
 exquisite poses, and intricate steps. 
 
 Behind the dancers came gorgeously garmented priests
 
 i 5 o ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 priests of Apollo from Delphi and Delos. They had each' 
 brought from these, the two most famous shrines of the 
 god, the best and most noted singers and dancers. The 
 whole world was the gainer by the jealous rivalry between 
 the two houses of the gods, to prove each its special sanctu- 
 ary the superior. The gods were worshipped as they 
 reigned over men Immortals fired with mortal passions. 
 
 The flutter of excitement and curiosity deepened. An 
 awed religious feeling permeated throughout Olympia. 
 
 Merely to look upon the priests of the Eleusinian Mys- 
 teries and the one priestess this advancing priestess of 
 Demeter who was allowed to participate in the Olym- 
 pian ceremonies merely to witness as thrill-giving a spec- 
 tacle, men would have come from the ends of the Greek 
 world. 
 
 Homer's immortal hymn to Demeter rose up, in strong 
 choral harmonies. This Eleusinian choir was larger than 
 had been any other. The orchestral accompaniment of 
 lyres, zithers, flutes, harps, and trumpets made the air thick 
 with the soaring flight of song, and of carefully studied har- 
 monic effects. 
 
 Eyes were gladdened by a long line of the dancing 
 youths, whose symmetrical motions and perfectly matched 
 steps could have served, at any moment of changeful posture 
 or motion, for the model of the frieze of temples. 
 
 A space separated the Priestess and her dancing hiero- 
 phants. The moon shone bright between. Its gold 
 secerned to pave the way with glory for the coming of the 
 sorrowing goddess. 
 
 ' The blue robe gathered itself, as she walked, in many 
 folds about her feet." Out of the folds, the ever-advanc- 
 ing figure of the priestess moved. Before her, even as the 
 voices hymned "a fragrant odour fell from her raiment 
 The spirit of beauty breathed about her And her flesh
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 151 
 
 shone from afar " into the golden pathway of light, De- 
 meter's priestess moved, the living embodiment of her whom 
 she served. 
 
 As the lovely priestess passed, men breathed deep and 
 long. Tears rose; even strong men were not ashamed to 
 let them fall. For Demeter came close, in her innumer- 
 able varied phases, to the heart of every Greek. Long be- 
 fore Homer, the husbandman, the farmer, ancestors of those 
 now present, had worshipped the primitive mother of all 
 growth. To others, as her blue robe paled in the distance, 
 the priestess had evoked the memory of those who had 
 passed into the world beyond; thoughts of lost children, of 
 dead wives, rose up, to blot out joy. And others felt the 
 stirring of a more mystic union with the deeper forces of 
 life, with the mysterious enigmas of human destiny. 
 
 And so, beyond and above the flutes and the melodious 
 melting of young voices and harps, the Greek world heard 
 other voices; it thrilled to this passing of woman who 
 held, like Demeter, within her bosom, the deep sources of 
 life and love and a belief in better things. 
 
 Scarcely had the mighty chorus come to an end, when 
 fresh ringing shouts greeted the true Olympian contestants. 
 
 The runners, who on the morrow were to open the 
 Games, and their trainers, were followed by long lines of 
 wrestlers, boxers, and discus throwers. 
 
 Glaucus made a swift note, on his tablet. He would 
 change his bets. The favourite runner looked better now, 
 seen thus in full clear contrast with his compeers, than he 
 had appeared in the running track. 
 
 " Wilt venture a hundred on the Megarian my Ion ? " 
 he lisped, insinuatingly, as he leaned affectionately nearer to 
 his friend. 
 
 " Two if you like," answered Ion, dreamily. The 
 favourites, for a wonder, had left him cold. The passing
 
 i 5 2 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of Demeter had stirred a deeper, a stronger chord of feel- 
 ing. Thought had taken a strange flight. Above the flutes 
 and the dancing, as beyond the splendour of these moving 
 figures, the shadow of fate seemed to have fallen. Some- 
 thing a fear a spectral shape, wearing terrifying looks, 
 had blotted out, for an instant, all Olympia. The strangest 
 part of the momentary horror was his seeing Maia's face 
 loom, adorably kind and loving, above and beyond the dread- 
 ful spectre. 
 
 Ion shuddered, shook himself, rubbed his eyes, and en- 
 tered a bet with Glaucus of such fabulous enormity as to 
 make even Glaucus cry " You are mad yet, who knows? 
 But here come the chariots." 
 
 Ion quivered. Yes Glaucus had heard aright. The 
 jingle of moving wheels, the plunging, snorting, and deep 
 breathing of restive steeds now filled the air. Ion was con- 
 scious of quick trembling but he managed to keep his 
 face firm. 
 
 A long murmurous wave swept the packed crowds. 
 Heads, far as one could see, were stretched above other heads ; 
 every eye that could catch sight of the cars was wide with 
 delight. The most exciting moment of the long procession 
 was culminating. 
 
 First Thebes, then Corinth, then Syracuse and some of 
 the lesser cities' chariots passed, one after the other. The 
 burnished cars, with their perfectly adjusted running gear, 
 the grace of the charioteers, as they stood, erect, gently 
 swaying to the motion of the chariot, and the contrasting 
 points of beauty in the teams, made that triple combination 
 of men, horses, and gleaming chariots work its ever-stir- 
 ring enthusiasm. 
 
 A break in the passing of the cars had occurred. Out of 
 a pause, in which a quick stillness came, a sudden distant 
 ripple, as of subdued laughter, rose up.
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 153 
 
 Ion, Timoleon, Glaucus, as did those about them, looked 
 into each other's eyes, to ask of the other the reason of this 
 strange sound. What had happened? Was it delight or 
 was it mockery this laughter? Ion felt premonitory 
 shivers. He was certain this amazing growing mirth was 
 occasioned, in some way, by his car. It was the very mo- 
 ment when his own chariot should pass its place in the 
 procession had long since been settled. 
 
 "Timoleon Glaucus see you aught the matter?" 
 Ion felt his vision was suddenly clouded. So great was his 
 emotion, his eyes no longer seemed to see his ears heard 
 no longer aright. 
 
 Timoleon and Glaucus, for all answer, were, also, seen to 
 be struggling with laughter. 
 
 " Look, dear boy Pollux, also, honours the gods with 
 dancing! " cried Glaucus, his voice shaken with a tremor of 
 
 I delight. 
 
 Ion's chill of fear no longer shook him. A warm, sweet 
 flood of joy suffused his frame. His chariot was now in 
 full view. Those near by, as they caught sight of that 
 which had aroused such universal merriment, in their turn, 
 broke forth into muffled applause. Ion caught the percepti- 
 ble swell of pleased, delighted chuckling, the quick Greek 
 joy in horses. 
 
 The chariot, he noted, had never run more smoothly. 
 The stallions moved with spirited, rhythmic steps. Their 
 coats glittered and glistened. The small shapely heads, 
 short muscular necks, powerful shoulders, and haunches 
 tapering to the slender hocks, each one of the four was a 
 model of equine perfection. 
 
 Ion breathed short, joyous breaths. Even he could not 
 have wished his " four " to make a braver show. 
 
 As Pollux passed, Ion's smothered shout burst from him. 
 As though the sensitive creature had conscious knowledge
 
 154 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of the great moment, of the true inner meaning of the festal 
 occasion, with delicate, graceful steps, Pollux was danc- 
 ing. The freedom of his motions was practically unhin- 
 dered. Held by a loose rein, as the nigh leader, Pollux was 
 left free to practice his steps. Before his great audience, 
 Pollus continued to perform, with wondrous skill and dex- 
 terity. Now curvetting, now prancing, now lifting hind 
 legs or fore legs, Pollux kept step with his fellows, yet prac- 
 tised, with perfect freedom and surety, his graceful evolu- 
 tions. 
 
 " Provided he runs as well as he dances yonder stallion 
 has already won his master's race," cried a stalwart Thessal- 
 ian, with eyes trained to grasp all the points of a horse. 
 
 Ion longed to answer. But his chariot had now passed. 
 Other private cars were calling forth admiring comments. 
 Ion was forced to admit, as a new splendid quadriga slowly 
 stepped past, the beauty of the Libyan chariot. 
 
 As the last car passed, Ion felt a conscious drop of in- 
 terest. The great moment of the pageant, for him, at 
 least, had been lived through. The glory of the spectacle 
 seemed to have led up but to the appearance of his quadriga. 
 What followed could be but anti-climax. Could he man- 
 age to escape? Would the crowds let him pass? 
 
 Glaucus and Timoleon turned, simultaneously, with won- 
 der in their eyes. 
 
 " What in heaven's name possesses thee ? " cried Timoleon, 
 as He watched Ion's desperate efforts to force a passage. 
 
 "I I would find my father," said Ion, rather at a 
 loss for adequate excuse. It did indeed seem poor taste to 
 turn one's back on the procession, once his quadriga had 
 passed. Yet, the bare truth was, now that he had seen the 
 chariots, Ion was eager to be gone. Elsewhere there 
 was promised better amusement. In yonder woods 
 across the river at the very thought of what awaited
 
 THE POMPIC WAY 155 
 
 him, Ion felt his breath hot upon his lips. A growing, 
 gnawing impatience was upon him. It angered him to see 
 the thick unyielding mass behind, before him at every 
 point men were massed as thick as figs in a basket. None 
 would yield him space. 
 
 Ion found himself, indeed, forced to wait. 
 
 And then, suddenly, once more the glow and stir of the 
 Olympian ecstacy touched him, caught, and held him. He 
 was filled anew with a divine emotion he was one with 
 his fellows, in this moment of mounting exaltation. 
 
 Hymns and paeons had thickened upon the stilled air. 
 The sacred bull was being led onward, to the great altar. 
 White as snow, its gilded horns were roped with garlands. 
 
 From temple steps and terrace heights, the multitude had 
 now slowly swept downward, to move into line. With up- 
 lifted arms, with trained, tuneful voices, the whole Greek 
 world burst into song, as they marched. The mighty hymn 
 was swung aloft, upon the breath of thousands, and the lis- 
 tening hills echoed the praise of this world of men, to Zeus, 
 mighty Saviour of Men. 
 
 Superb, triumphant, the rolling sonorous paeon smote 
 upon the ears of the god. In the golden nimbus of the 
 light that poured through the hypzethral opening of his 
 Temple, Zeus sat, in his separate divine calm, clothed in 
 kingly vestment. In his bright courts, enthroned in splen- 
 dour, bland, compassionate, divinely remote from human 
 weaknesses, Zeus heard and waited waited as gods wait, 
 for this worship to roll on through the long aisles of yet 
 unbuilt temples. 
 
 The great altar, once crimsoned with the blood of the 
 victim, incense rose, a dense scented column. 
 
 A new madness next possessed the multitude. The paeon 
 scarcely ended, and the crowd, with common impulse, made 
 a wild, frenzied rush for the Stadion. To sit out the night
 
 156 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 to be sure of a seat on the marble benches of the great 
 building, these struggling thousands would have out- 
 stepped their nearest and dearest to gain a coveted place 
 from which to view the runners' race, at dawn. 
 
 Ion was beside himself with impatience for his own 
 great moment had come, yet he took time to look about 
 him where had Nirias where had his father gone? 
 They were nowhere to be seen. He then could fly ! 
 
 At last at last he was free! 
 
 As he ran, his heart beat in wild pulsations. The great 
 emotions of the night, the chants and the mighty paeon, 
 throbbed still, upon his responsive ear. Yet, louder than 
 twanging lyres or tuneful hymn, sang the voice of flutter- 
 ing hope. The strength of the great longing that shook 
 him, made the glory of beholding even to-morrow's race, 
 seem a secondary matter, to reaching the banks of the 
 Alpheios in time.
 
 Chapter XIV 
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 
 
 ION'S way took him through the moonlit streets of the great 
 Fair. They were as still as a deserted city. The breath- 
 less quiet of stalls and bazaars, after the prodigious anima- 
 tion of the Altis, made Ion's beating heart throb the louder. 
 He had passed into an unreal, spiritual world. 
 
 Radiant-eyed Victories held out bronze crowns, to his 
 hope and longing. Steeds plunging in the soft air, taking 
 flight from marble base, lured him to remember that the 
 crown of wild olive was above Aphrodite's giving. 
 
 But to Ion's hot impatience, every looming pedestal was 
 an obstacle as huge as a mountain. One thought one 
 ache of passionate anxiety possessed him ; would Maia have 
 come? Had Persia found her? Would she have managed 
 to escape the Pisan woman's vigilance? 
 
 At the river bank Ion stood fixed, staring, his hot blood 
 turning cold in the warmth of the night. He could not 
 believe his eyes. The Alpheios was as deserted as was the 
 City of the Fair! 
 
 Ion sent his eyes wide and far. No moving boat, not 
 even a motionless shallop was to be discerned. Ion's quick 
 breath seemed frozen upon his lips. Until he was con- 
 fronted with the silent languor of the scarce rippling river, 
 he had not measured the true depth, the fulness of his great 
 longing. 
 
 Not to see Maia, on this night of nights, not to know 
 her his, not to consecrate this, their mighty love Ion 
 knew at last, as he stood, still, shuddering, fixed in the stiff- 
 
 157
 
 i 5 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ened agony of disappointment that Maia beside him in this 
 silver night, and Maia housed and captive, meant the proud 
 exultant wearing of the crown of all life held as best, or 
 life to flow on, meaningless, void, carrying to lesser things 
 the cruel knowledge of having missed the central jewel in 
 the crown of joy. 
 
 Never before in his varied love-life had Ion felt as Maia 
 had made him, feel toward love toward life. Not 
 knowing her, he had lived his life lightly, almost aimlessly, 
 letting the gay stream carry him onward. Once seen and 
 loved, all life seemed concentrated in that one single form 
 
 in that soul, whose divine qualities were laced with fiery 
 mortal passion! 
 
 The knowledge of this, rose before Ion, as he faced his 
 slow acceptance of defeat. For there could be no other 
 meeting. Were the gods to refuse to bless their union now 
 
 But Ion's soul courageous as it was, could not face 
 the awful possibility. He felt, he knew that he would 
 pace on and on, till dawn. He would outwatch the stars. 
 
 Now up, now down he strode. The silent river barely 
 lisped its feeble paces. The opposite Arcadian hills bloomed 
 and glowed, as though to mock his hope. Save for the dis- 
 tant whir of Olympia the world was very still. 
 
 Out of the stillness, a faint, far-away splash was heard. 
 Could it be Persia? Was he steering his boat had the 
 moment of moments actually come? In the swift revulsion 
 of feeling, Ion felt himself grow faint. Lest he fall so 
 mighty was this tremor of returning hope he grasped at 
 the base of a near-standing pedestal. 
 
 As Ion strained his neck, to catch the first sight of the 
 advancing boat, his wild eyes caught a glimpse of the statue 
 above him. With a shout of delighted rapture Ion flung his 
 arms about the divinity. His cry rang up. It was pseon 
 and prayer in one.
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 159 
 
 "Beloved Eros! I take thy meaning and thou shalt 
 be duly worshipped. Oh son of that divinest of women 
 be merciful! Since thou hast pierced our hearts, be thou 
 our advocate! Let Aphrodite open her bright courts! 
 Ah-h he comes I hear him ! Thou art a god indeed ! " 
 
 In the glad tumult of his joy, Ion had talked to the dear 
 god as he might to a comrade. Eros' dimples seemed to 
 deepen. Ion felt certain the palpable flutter the divine 
 presence was beating upon the air. What his eyes were be- 
 holding made every sense quiver with renewed lust of life. 
 
 Below the golden Arcadian hills, a boat and a man were 
 slipping. The oars, in rythmical beat, swept the shallow 
 waters. Persia's great eyes shone above his craft, the one 
 moving, living feature of the still landscape. 
 
 Across the river Ion's shout rang out. 
 
 "You are alone! She is not you have not found 
 her?" 
 
 The hills echoed back the quiver of the sonorous Greek 
 syllables, that seemed to turn to bronze, as they struck upon 
 the air. 
 
 Persia's liquid speech carried along the carrying waters. 
 
 " Yes dear Master she is waiting. She is close to 
 the glen. I am to bring you ! " 
 
 The oars splashed anew. Persia's skilled feathering made 
 the drip, drip from the oar blades appear to repeat his 
 sybillant phrases. 
 
 Along the hills, Ion's glad cry circled, to die in dim 
 moonlit groves. Once more, he flung his arms about Eros' 
 dimpled feet. 
 
 Presently, with Ion seated before him, Persia told his mas- 
 ter how Maia had evaded detection. The household, as 
 though solely to thwart her purpose had insisted on drag- 
 ging her to a certain hill-slope, close to Pisa. From that 
 elevation, certain features of the great Procession could, it
 
 160 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 appeared, be watched. The women at least, could hear the 
 louder hymns, and the shouting. 
 
 Maia had pled fatigue. As soon as the farm had been 
 emptied, she had fled. For saftey's sake she was still hidden. 
 In a certain grove, above Pisa, she had found enveloping 
 thickets and many trees. 
 
 Ion was not wholly within his world, as he listened. 
 Though every quick stroke bore him nearer closer it 
 seemed long eternities until Persia turned the boat, until 
 its keel struck along the smooth sands, to come to a rest. 
 
 At a bound, Ion was upon the shore. He recovered suf- 
 ficient sanity, to shout back: "Remember there is not 
 a moment to be lost. All is in readiness Mago is re- 
 turned is awaiting you to dress you : The signal 
 to-morrow is to be a purple handkerchief " He was 
 running, as he cried the words. For Persia, disguised, was 
 to keep Ion's place for him in the Stadion. A slave, Persia 
 had no right to a place in the vast enclosure. 
 
 "I remember! And may the gods of thy fathers bless 
 thee ! For thou goest to mate with a divinity ! " The first 
 two words were in answer to Ion's command. The latter 
 sentences were murmured in Arabic, to the stars. For 
 Persia, though a slave, was also a man, and by birth he was 
 a prince. He had carried into bondage a long inherited 
 knowledge of the points of beauty in women. 
 
 Ion had not wandered far, before he found her. Maia 
 was standing, or rather she was leaning, against a broad 
 tree-trunk. 
 
 Motionless, pale with expectancy, her lips parted, Maia 
 seemed a fixed, integral part of this world of gold. The 
 wide branches above her shadowed her form. Yet so thick 
 was the moonlight, Maia's shape, like a true divinity, was 
 lighted from above. 
 
 As she stood, still, breathless, waiting, a glad exultant
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 161 
 
 cry burst from her lips. Yet Ion could not yet clasp 
 could not scarce dared, to claim her embrace. 
 
 For Maia was changed. The Maia of the day before 
 yesterday was gone. The look of the hetasrae was lost 
 and all semblance to those her sisters. This Maia had the 
 state and the dignity of one nobly-born. A look of sweet 
 chastity such a mien as a maiden might wear who, like 
 Hippodamia, was uplifting her bridal veil, in the nuptial 
 chamber, shone from the pure, perfect features. 
 
 This look held Ion it made him tremble. The woman 
 he had come to capture to kiss onward to quick bliss 
 this woman was no longer before him. The Maia who now 
 leant forward, whose exquisite pallor imprinted a singular 
 purity upon the quivering features this Maia he scarce 
 dared as yet claim. 
 
 It was Maia who drew her lover to her. And the third 
 that had stepped between, she named, as their lips finally 
 parted. 
 
 " Ah-h you draw my very soul forth ! " . It was in- 
 deed this new-born, this heavenly spirit that seemed to take 
 possession to reveal itself, in wondrous ways, as though 
 to show to Ion the immortal part of this lovely mortal he 
 had won as his. 
 
 This birth of her soul had touched Maia with its divine 
 imprint. The grosser elements had dropped away. Her 
 beautiful face seemed purged of every earthly impurity. 
 The moon's golden day showed it illumined, from within. 
 
 Maia's inward feeling was, that her soul seemed a bird, 
 and this bird had suddenly found its voice and sang. 
 How delicious this singing of one's soul! How its joy- 
 ous notes harmonized the whole being. Surely never be- 
 fore, Maia said, low, in tremulous tones as something 
 of this she told to Ion never before this moment had 
 she truly lived. The dead part of her that which hard
 
 162 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 toil, and disappointment, and despair, had all but killed, was 
 now alive. 
 
 The very intensity of her feeling lent its calm of sus- 
 tained passionate exaltation, to Maia's every action. Gath- 
 ering her scarf and an instrument of some sort to her arm, 
 she stretched forth her hand. It was the compelling ges- 
 ture a goddess might have used, in summoning a mortal 
 lover to follow, where she led. 
 
 " Do you know the wood ? " she asked. And she smiled, 
 with adorable simplicity, into Ion's eyes, as though they had 
 come solely to explore its beauty. 
 
 " No but lead on Beloved you are one with it ! 
 
 your sisters, the woodland Oreades must be jealous 
 
 The music of Maia's laughter filled the still woods. 
 Hand in hand they wandered on. Ion was content. For 
 goddess though she seemed, yet was divine Maia mortal 
 and near. 
 
 A part of the night, indeed, did Maia seem. The chiton 
 she had chosen was the short Doric one. Some threads of 
 silver shone from out the clinging folds. Her high-placed 
 girdle was, also, of shining silver. The slimness of her 
 snowy ankles was outlined by bands of the same pure metal. 
 At every turn of her rounded perfect shape, silvery rings 
 circled about her, making her seem mysteriously engirdled 
 with a something celestial under divine protection of some 
 loving god. 
 
 Something whiter than Maia shone out suddenly before 
 them. An altar of snow, glistening in the moon's light, 
 stood in their path. Above the altar, shrined in its marble 
 niche, with his shapely fingers touching his lyre, Apollo's 
 benign features beamed forth. His shrine was happily 
 placed. A circle of tall firs and poplars surrounded it. 
 
 With light, swift impulse Maia swept below the god. 
 With uplifted hands she was praying to him. The prayer 
 was ended before Ion had reached her side.
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 163 
 
 "Shall I truly worship him? Would you care to see 
 me dance ? " 
 
 Before Ion's answer was whispered, Maia was circling 
 the altar. She had opened the long filmy scarf that had 
 been wound about her shoulders. Spreading it to its fullest 
 extent, it took the rhythm and measure of her steps. 
 
 Ion drew in his breath. His delight in this new charm 
 made a fresh joy leap up. 
 
 With the art of one who had been born and bred in the 
 mysteries of the dance motion, Maia was circling the altar. 
 Her steps were now wide, free, swift as wind; one of 
 the Muses must step thus, when Apollo held his airy court, 
 summoning his train. The fleecy mantle was a cloud out 
 of which grew grace and symmetry ; the next instant the 
 mortal was lost a dim shadowy form was melting behind 
 tree-trunks. When Maia emerged, a grave priestess, 
 crowned and garlanded, moved slowly into the light, an 
 Apolline hymn upon her lips. 
 
 Ion's ears were flooded with Maia's airy flight of song. 
 As piously as she paced her steps, her new-born soul seemed 
 escaping through her exquisite notes. 
 
 All the forest world bent to listen. The faint wind had 
 died. Tree-branches and leaves were motionless. The 
 drowsy night's hum of cicada, of rustling birds, was stilled. 
 The very air seemed to hold its breath, lest one of the notes 
 be lost. 
 
 Lark-like pure yet impassioned, the hymn soared up 
 to the golden sky vault. 
 
 Maia, her chiton lengthened by some mysterious process, 
 wound and rewound her stately steps, about Apollo's altar. 
 
 Ion's ache of longing was suddenly, miraculously stilled. 
 He slowed his steps he breathed softly. His soul was 
 flooded with delight. Maia's voice entered into it, pene- 
 trated the innermost recesses of his being. As he moved
 
 164 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 toward her, scarcely daring to breathe, lest he lose a note, 
 Ion felt a new rapture, a fresh wave of adoration. What 
 ravishing trills! what a powder of expression! what soul- 
 reaching sadness! what lark-like thrilling notes of joy! 
 
 When she had done, she trilled her notes close to Ion. 
 The joyous hymn came to its finish, upon her lover's lips. 
 
 As suddenly as she had swung her voice aloft, as quickly 
 she released herself. There seemed a dread of prolonging 
 the embrace of breaking the spell of the night. 
 
 " Come dearest I hear water coursing I am 
 athirst." 
 
 Once again she led him onward. 
 
 A murmuring stream was indeed flowing somewhere 
 its drowsy trickle pealed faint notes upon the stilled air. 
 
 This moment of quiet was the nightingale's chance. As 
 though attempting to outrival Maia's trills, these choristers 
 of the night burst forth. Maia and Ion moved on through 
 the music-flooded grove. 
 
 Pan's goat-like features startled them, at a turn above 
 the stream. He held his syrinx in between his long fingers. 
 Thus sang he, all the livelong day and night, to this Arca- 
 dian rivulet. 
 
 "Oh it is divine every god is near! See how he 
 smiles!" and Maia threw her arms about the dear, mys- 
 terious deity. She leant her pliant grace, in loving fond- 
 ness, against the base, as Ion bent to the stream to catch 
 its silvery drops in a cup he had fashioned, out of a broad 
 oak leaf. 
 
 When their thirst was assuaged, once more they took up 
 their journey. The giant oaks, the towering firs, and the 
 temple stillness of the night seemed awaiting them. The 
 mounting hymn of their love sang upon the airy spaces; it 
 breathed forth the echo of a love so perfect and complete, 
 it scarce needed crowning.
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 165 
 
 " Art happy as I am dear Ion ? " Mala asked, her 
 eyes raining joy. 
 
 " I am indeed crowned at last, beloved," Ion mur- 
 mured, drawing the dear shape closer. 
 
 After a moment he lipped 
 
 " Drink with me be young with me, 
 
 " Love with me, be mad with my madness, 
 
 " And I will be serious with you in your seriousness." 
 
 ' 'Tis the cycle of life of true love it has always 
 seemed to me. And that, you, alone, among all women, 
 can be trusted to complete. Oh Maia! was there ever such 
 a woman? Have others loved thus been content, as we 
 are, to walk on and on ? But Oh ! " he suddenly 
 flamed, as, trembling he clutched Maia fiercely to him 
 
 Gently, persistently, she held him away. As though 
 there were an actual presence in this golden world, one to 
 hold passion at bay, she whispered hurriedly, fearfully: 
 
 " Hush-h see yonder lies Endymion. Step softly 
 We must not wake him " 
 
 Through the opening of giant walnuts, Ion espied a wide 
 grassy stretch. Maia was tip-toeing towards the lawn. 
 
 Upon the greensward, curled in sleep, lay the curved 
 woolly forms of a sheep fold. In their midst, with his 
 curls and face to the moon, a lad lay stretched, his staff be- 
 side him. In his rude young strength, his features wore a 
 look of happy expectancy for his lips were wreathed with 
 a smile. The shepherd lad might, indeed, be he whom the 
 chaste goddess had loved. 
 
 " Sh-h stir not I must kiss him for Diana's 
 sake," whispered Maia, a roguish light in her eyes. 
 
 Ion sprang forward. But he was too late, Light as air, 
 Maia's kiss had fallen upon the boyish brow.
 
 166 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Come ! quick," Maia was crying, " he may awake ! " 
 And she clasped Ion's hand she was speeding across the 
 slope of the high grasses. 
 
 Once, indeed, she turned. And at what she saw, her 
 crystal laughter burst upon the startled air. 
 
 For the shepherd had risen. He was sitting upright. 
 His heavy sleep was still weighing down eyelids and senses. 
 Yet he groped for his staff. And he was looking Diana's 
 orb full in the face as though the moon, at least, was to 
 assure him he had not been dreaming. 
 
 " See how you have frightened the lad ! Be contented 
 you have done mischief enough. Now sing me one more 
 song and " 
 
 " Oh Ion," gasped Maia, cutting his words in two, " Tell 
 me, dearest, dost know the great song Sophocles' ode 
 ' Great Unconquerable Love ' ? " 
 
 Ion nodded his affirmative. Maia then swept her arm 
 upon her lover's shoulder. Walking thus, and singing to- 
 gether, Maia felt would make the last, the one perfect touch. 
 The edifice of joy would then be all but complete. 
 
 ''Then let us sing it. I will sing the strophe, and you 
 join in the anti-strophe." 
 
 As though she had come, in some miraculous manner, to 
 greet her worshippers, a rude shrine, with an early image 
 of Aphrodite stood at their left. Insensibly both turned to 
 stand before it. The goddess seemed to smile through over 
 full, primitive-cut lips. Remote as was this her altar, other 
 and quite recent lovers had left votive offerings. Fading 
 garlands enwreathed the rude base, and upon the goddess's 
 breast a rose lay. 
 
 Maia unbound her jown lilies. Aphrodite wore now her 
 white wreath. Before the mute : mage, crowned, shedding 
 sacrificial odours, the lovers stood silent, transfixed with 
 emotion.
 
 A NIGHT IN ARCADIA 167 
 
 Then Mala held out her hand. 
 " Let us begin," she whispered. 
 
 Hand in hand they stood, before the divine image. Their 
 voices rang up in sweet swelling unison. 
 
 "Mighty power, all powers above, 
 Great unconquerable love; 
 Thou who liest in the dimple sleek 
 On the tender virgin's cheek, 
 Thee the rich and great obey, 
 Every creature owns thy sway. 
 O'er the wide earth and o'er the main 
 Extends thy universal reign ; 
 All thy maddening influence know, 
 Gods above and men below ; 
 All thy powers resistless prove 
 Great Unconquerable Love ! " 
 
 The first strophe was sung. Then they paused. Before 
 beginning the anti-strophe, Maia moved, away from the 
 altar. The cool dim forest yonder further and fur- 
 ther away, seemed calling its dark aisles were beckoning. 
 
 " Let us go yonder 'tis darker there, Diana's rays 
 cannot follow " she whispered, as she leant her pliant 
 shape to press the closer to her lover. 
 
 They moved onwards. The bright forest world was left 
 behind. Giant trees, ivy-circled, had interwoven their lofty 
 branches, shutting out the light. Cool, fresh wood scents 
 swept the nostril. Tall shrubs, and herbacious weeds made 
 close walls about them. 
 
 And this part of the forest was strangely still remote 
 and secret. 
 
 Still singing, the lovers walked on. Then, as by common 
 consent, they stopped, and their lips met, trembling as they 
 met.
 
 Chapter XV 
 
 BEFORE THE RACE 
 
 For the few days that remained, before the time set for 
 the chariot race, Ion felt himself to be living a hundred 
 lives in one. From long before dawn until the dropping 
 of the sun, he was standing, shouting, making extravagant 
 bets, or shrieking, as victors or losers made of him alter- 
 nately a winner or loser, in his turn. 
 
 From sunset to far into the night, he was feasting or 
 giving a banquet. And his own race was drawing nearer 
 and ever nearer. 
 
 And yet yet how through every moment of emo- 
 tional excitement came the remembered ecstacy of Maia's 
 touch of the thrilling power of her melodious voice, of 
 those moving tones so deep so tremulous when she 
 was quivering under the weight of strong feeling! What 
 a divine woman to love! What a glorious moment of life 
 to live here at great Olympia where even the poorest 
 Greek felt himself to be treading on air! Never had Ion 
 been so near to celestial heights of never-fading, never-end- 
 ing sensation. Every varying phase of his intensified ex- 
 istence was a delirium worker. 
 
 The most beautiful woman in all Hellas loved him ! 
 
 The most famous stallion in Olympia was his was to 
 bring victory to his car. 
 
 What could mortal ask more, of gods or men? 
 
 Yet, as the sun dropped, at the end of the long day 
 the last before the cars were to run, Ion had a very human, 
 tremulous moment. 
 
 168
 
 BEFORE THE RACE 169 
 
 He and his father had bent their steps towards the stables. 
 Here was a little world apart. 
 
 In and out of the stalls, close to the Hippodrome, grooms 
 were busy exercising shining-coated horses. The air rang 
 with the names of animals, of cities, and of contestants. 
 Owners had come to look after the condition of their stal- 
 lions, betting clerks had brought noted experts, whose pri- 
 vate views would soon be made public, affecting the rise 
 and fall of the betting. 
 
 Ion and his father were soon the centre of an animated 
 circle. For the hundredth time, Ion gave to inquisitive 
 strangers full particulars concerning his steeds. Ancestry, 
 age, the races in which two of the stallions had already 
 figured when as two-years old, they had won at the Ne- 
 mzean festival, in the horse race the superior merits of 
 Pollox to all three of his " four," as well as to all other 
 stallions sent by any other contestant to this Olympiad 
 these inexhaustible topics for heated argument, refutation, 
 demonstration, and courteous affirmation, Ion rehearsed 
 again and again. 
 
 For the last time, in as hot an aside as when he had 
 stated his doubts, for the first time, to his father, Ion had 
 whispered, with narrowed, anxious eyes : " I distrust 
 Porus. The Theban has a villainous look. I have cau- 
 tioned Xenias to have the stallions watched. Porus, I feel 
 certain, would be capable of any low trick." 
 
 " Poison is that in your mind ? " cried Crates, clasp- 
 ing his hands in affright, his voice trembling with emotion. 
 
 " That, or worse. The Theban has his eye on Pollux 
 he knows where his true rival is see him, now, as he 
 eyes darkly the animal's steps. If one were supersti- 
 tious " 
 
 " Nonsense, Ion you are as foolish as a woman. Re- 
 member the symptoms of our last sacrifice how favoura-
 
 170 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ble was every one. Why, even that Egyptian soothsayer 
 at the Fair" 
 
 "Who is foolish now father? Do you really believe 
 the flesh of a goat can reflect the will of the gods? Or 
 that, by the burning of strange lights and unguents, the 
 future is made clear to us?" Bitter as were Ion's words 
 of unbelief, his tone was gentle, for his eyes were now on 
 his beautiful stallion. His true belief was centred there 
 in those iron muscles, in those quick, sensitive nerves, in 
 the glorious haunches and the perfect head, lit by the fiery 
 eyes. 
 
 Ion's sceptical outburst shook Crates. An inward, shrink- 
 ing tremor possessed him. Suppose the gods should be 
 hovering near! What sacrifice could he offer, to propitiate 
 their favor? Crates' terrified expostulations were checked 
 by the coming of Timoleon and Glaucus. 
 
 Fresh from the porticoes of the stadium, they brought 
 the very latest news. 
 
 " The betting is even few odds are given," cried Glau- 
 cus, with flushed cheek and eyes aflame. " It is one to 
 ten on Thebes, and one and a fraction on your car Ion, 
 dear boy." 
 
 Glaucus' tone was one of excitement; yet Ion felt its 
 accents sensibly lacking in that passionate espousal of his 
 own venture, every contestant longs to hear, in a friend's 
 voice. 
 
 " One would think you were betting on both cars 
 my Glaucus," Ion said, his bitter note again in the ascend- 
 ant. Racing breeds strange distempers, in the best of men. 
 
 " As indeed I am ! " lisped Glaucus, throwing back his 
 light mantle, with a flourish, as he sent his eyes abroad. 
 " I am wise my boy I straddle my bets. Why 
 see what I won by my wisdom in yesterday's cock-fight. 
 That Syracusan was ruined, while, I by dividing my bets,
 
 BEFORE THE RACE 171 
 
 won a pile of drachmae." Glaucus' face was fairly 
 ablaze with the memory of his triumph. He felt himself 
 to be the wisest of men, in all things connected with races 
 and bets. No one, on the ground, he felt absolutely certain, 
 could prophecy the failure or success of the cars as could he. 
 
 The three young men were standing just outside of the 
 stalls. Ion's " four " were in the open their grooms 
 were exercising them. All three men's eyes had been cen- 
 tred on Pollux. Every step the animal took showed the 
 perfection of his condition. His eyes were bright, were 
 bristling with intelligence; the small sensitive ears turned 
 like weathercocks, at every breeze of change; the glossy 
 coat sheathed nerves as quick to act as a woman's; and 
 the free, long, even strides that made running seem easier 
 than walking, revealed the iron muscles and flexible tissues. 
 Pollux was a horse, indeed, to rouse in any horse-lover a 
 pardonable enthusiasm. Glaucus, in his heart, believed 
 none other could match him. 
 
 Ion's lips, during Glaucus' outburst, had curled with un- 
 disguised contempt. Glaucus' innate meanness, the real 
 smallness of his nature, were fully revealed to Ion, and for 
 the first time. To feel passionately lends lightning vision; 
 and Ion, in this, the crowning event of his life, looking 
 for support among his nearest friends, guaged Glaucus in 
 one swift judging. A man who would not be true in 
 such a moment, Ion cried, in smothered rage, to his beating 
 heart but Timoleon was talking. 
 
 " You made an excellent beginning my Glaucus but 
 a lame ending. See here's Ion amiable and charming 
 as he is he'll never forgive you." Timoleon 's eyes were 
 fairly dancing with laughter. It was always a banquet to 
 his humourous sense, to witness men making an exhibition 
 of themselves, proving their dulness by their ignorance of 
 results. He, having no love for Glaucus, was delighted to
 
 172 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 see him exhibiting his folly. Ion, likewise, was showing his 
 weakness by his anger at Glaucus' treachery. Yet, what 
 else was to be looked for, in as fluid a nature? 
 
 Glaucus, meanwhile, had mounted a flush. He had a 
 dim vision that his frankness had, perhaps, not been in the 
 best possible taste. And taste was to Glaucus what religion 
 is to the pious. 
 
 " Nonthenth ! " he always affected a thicker lisp than 
 common, when embarrassed. " Ion knows well I was but 
 joking. Why, who indeed could look at such a horse as 
 Pollux yonder and not know where victory lay? Such 
 a horse would draw owls out of the meanest of men. I 
 as everyone knows, shall be half ruined if Ion fails to be 
 crowned," his tone was almost tremulous, for his statement 
 was almost wholly true. 
 
 Glaucus moved towards Ion, to fling a loving arm about 
 his friend. His smile was really full of warmth as he met 
 Ion's melting look. 
 
 Ion, in truth, could not long bear resentment. The 
 touch of his frost had passed. He clasped Glaucus' hand 
 as it hung over his shoulder. 
 
 Advancing, he bore Glaucus onward. 
 
 And yet and yet Glaucus' voice, assuredly, did not 
 ring true! 
 
 " Ye gods above, and all ye in the nether world ! " cried 
 Ion, later, when, once more he was alone, Timoleon and 
 Glaucus having suddenly remembered an engagement to meet 
 a friend in the Altis whom they were to conduct to 
 Phidias' studio " Is there, in all this wide world, a de- 
 pendable man? Even the best of friends wear a full suit 
 of armour one must guess at the real face worn behind 
 the shield!" 
 
 On his way to his tent, Ion sighed, as he made the above 
 philosophic reflection. Men revealed, indeed, strange qual-
 
 BEFORE THE RACE 173 
 
 ities in stalls of a hippodrome! Horses brought secrets 
 to light the most intimate intercourse failed to reveal. Well 
 he would know the worst and the best, in a few short 
 hours! The night to pass and at dawn, on the morrow, 
 his fate would be sealed!
 
 Chapter XVI 
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 
 
 ON the following morning, long before dawn, the slip- 
 ping of thousands of naked and sandalled feet, hurrying 
 over stone seats, or pressing through the entrance aisles of 
 the hippodrome struck the ear. The bustle and stir of 
 the multitude, the roar of laughter, the coarse jests, the 
 neighing of the horses, their kicking and plunging, and the 
 yells of the hucksters, without the huge enclosure, made 
 an ever increasing confusion of sound. 
 
 In the purple dusk, the stars hung low, golden balls of 
 light. 
 
 The dawn presaged its coming by the refreshing coolness 
 of its breath. Fragrant airs swept up and through the val- 
 leys and river bed. Night went out in illumined serenity 
 of skies that only parted with their paling glory to wear 
 Aurora's splendour. 
 
 With the sharp suddenness of dawn, peculiar to Hellas, 
 the day brightened and all was made clear. 
 
 The breaking day showed the elliptical immensity of the 
 Hippodrome to be already packed. The terraced seats curv- 
 ing about the prow-shaped enclosure, were sheeted in white. 
 Garlanded heads rose above festival robes. Statues and 
 statute-like forms showed bronzed and tinted skins. Hasty 
 toilettes were being made. Gemmed ringers swept tangled 
 locks to rights; beards were caressed into shape, and gar- 
 lands were straightened, or fresh ones brought forth. 
 
 Those who were already awake were noisy. These 
 laughed and joked. Many were playing tricks on their 
 
 174
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 175 
 
 neighbours. Those still huddled in the coil of sleep, were 
 kept from sitting in too comfortable a posture; others were 
 doing their best to make such as had brought a store of 
 goodly provisions, share them with those who had brought 
 none, but were quick with their ringers. 
 
 " Figs Figs fresh figs ! " " Garlands roses 
 wreaths garlands for all ! " " Honey cakes, sweet honey 
 cakes! Who'll buy my home-baked cakes?" "Here's 
 Chian and fresh water! here's Rhodian who is thirsty? 
 Here's wine and cool water!" 
 
 Such were the tantalizing cries of vendors crowding about 
 the entrance to the Hippodrome, that rang up to madden 
 the ears of those who had not forestalled this critical mom- 
 ent, by bringing the necessary provisions. For the Hippo- 
 drome interior was freed from the shrill voices of com- 
 petitive petty hucksters. 
 
 Crates, with Nirias beside him, was among those who 
 had carried full baskets. Having sat in his seat since mid- 
 night, Crates had the hunger of a tired man. Nirias had 
 managed to sleep on through most of the long slow shades. 
 
 As Crates moved, to make a better table of his knees, 
 a gathering growl below his feet made him lift his eyes 
 from his bread and honey. A coarse voice was sounding 
 threatening notes. 
 
 " Hey you look out, I say ! What are your elbows 
 doing on my back? Is it a signal for a trial throw, my 
 friend?" 
 
 As the shoulders bent backward, and the huddled shape 
 came to an upright, Crates stopped his munching. For a 
 single instant, he felt his breath indrawn. The man's form, 
 as it towered forth out of the dawn, rose up like a mighty 
 column. 
 
 He must, in his youth and best manhood, have been a 
 famous boxer. Both his ears were crushed. Some straight
 
 i 7 6 
 
 home- thrusts had marred his features to the jumble athletes 
 gloried in, one that proved them the heroes of a hundred 
 battles and victories. 
 
 As Crates caught a closer glimpse of his man, he smiled. 
 With a quick gesture, he put his hand to his girdle; he 
 took out some coins. He had seen old athletes before. He 
 knew their quick tempers, and also how to quiet them. 
 
 " There there my friend, I owe you my excuses. 
 Here's my way of proving it to you." And Crates put a 
 jingling mass of owls into the man's open palm. 
 
 " Well," the giant laughed, with a pleased grunt, " I 
 accept your excuses, and I like your manner of rendering 
 them. Here, you! Here, some breakfast for a rich man! " 
 The monster clincked his coins in the teeth of a neighbour 
 near by, who was sharing some cakes and figs, with a 
 friend. 
 
 The crowd laughed, and looked for the end. And the 
 and came quickly. " Ah-h, you will not ? You prefer to 
 play the benefactor ? " The athlete grinned unpleasantly, 
 as he leant across a lap or two. " Those figs, my friend, 
 if you please." 
 
 The knotty fingers seemed scarcely to have touched the 
 man's lean hand, and the fig was already lifted to his lip. 
 Yet the fig dropped as though the hand of him who held 
 it had suffered a lightning stroke. Those laughed loudest 
 who had brought no breakfast. Having won his audience, 
 the athlete proposed to play up to it. 
 
 " And you, yonder, your cake takes my fancy! " he cried. 
 The man holding the honeycakes thought fit to put one be- 
 yond the reach of those terrible fingers. Before the cake 
 was fairly between his teeth, he felt the world turn and 
 his jaw lock. He was sitting in a heap, with empty hands, 
 and a feeling of tightness and pain about his face. 
 
 The crowd shrieked its delight at such rough play. Sorry
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 177 
 
 indeed must be the joke that did not evoke delighted laugh- 
 ter at dawn, from the waiting thousands in the Hippodrome. 
 The scarred face of the athlete, eating another man's break- 
 fast, with an innocent look, was the kind of jest peculiarly 
 to the taste of Olympian pilgrims. 
 
 Into the midst of the shouting, rocking, shrieking crowd, 
 Ion passed from the outer stalls, to take up his place in the 
 contestant's stand. His own excitement all but benumbed 
 him. The tumult about him, like the warmth and bril- 
 liancy of the full day, soothed his shaking limbs. Once 
 he had faced the great crowd, and the white chill of hi? 
 over-mastering anxiety passed from him, as by miraculous 
 command. 
 
 Out of the hundreds of faces pressing above and about 
 him, Timeleon's and Glaucus' countenances shone forth, 
 wreathed with smiles. They had cleverly edged their way 
 close to the stoa they stood almost within the privileged 
 place. 
 
 Ion's appearance was the signal for joyful greetings. 
 
 " Here he is ! here he is ! " cried Timoleon. Never 
 had Ion seen his friend as elated as stirred with ex- 
 citement. Timoleon seemed proud to have captured him, 
 to have as distinguished a contestant to acclaim as friend. 
 
 " Cool as a morning in Thrace by all the Powers ! " 
 lisped Glaucus, as he slanted his eyes, looking Ion's fresh- 
 ness over as he might a woman's. " Enviable creature, to 
 show such eyes thus to face your fate ! " 
 
 Other eyes than those of his friends were upon Ion. 
 Wherever he looked, he met curious, eager, devouring 
 glances. A buzzing of tongues about him whispered his 
 name, the name also of Xenias, of his horses, of the stud 
 farm, and of his own birthplace. Those whose information 
 was the most precise were eagerly listened to. He heard 
 bets made that startled, and yet delighted his ears. Every
 
 i 7 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 sense seemed to have been doubled, to have greatly intensi- 
 fied its sensory powers. It was even sweet to feel his own 
 breath upon his lip. It came, like the warmth of the 
 growing day, fragrant, yet pulsing with heat. 
 
 While the course was being swept and freshly raked, 
 Ion had time to respond to the greetings and signals from 
 friends in the nearer seats. 
 
 " Greeting dear boy dear son, I may say ! " cried 
 Critias, a distinguished Athenian, attempting to stretch forth 
 his white hand, over a dozen heads and shoulders. 
 
 "I say, dear old man why are you not mad just a 
 little frenzied ? Dost feel the swelling rapture of all this ? " 
 And Glaucus swung his arm towards the heaving, shouting, 
 cursing, staring crowds, filling every inch of the Hippo- 
 drome's space. 
 
 Ion straightened himself; he tucked his forefingers in his 
 jewelled girdle. Looking straight before him, and at the 
 terrible, yet most fascinating of all the objects in that im- 
 mense ellipse, he set his eyes and fixed them on the Tarax- 
 ippos. 
 
 " I am, perhaps, feeling it all so deeply, my Glaucus, 
 I feel naught. I can only be sensible of one thing of 
 that awful Taraxippos of its horror, and wondering how 
 my stallions will pass it." 
 
 As a woman might move near to comfort a sister, in 
 suffering, Glaucus crept close to Ion. " Neither you nor I, 
 dear Ion," he whispered, " can imagine fiery Pollux as 
 lying beneath the wreck of chariots. See yonder 
 your father waves ! " 
 
 As Ion returned, gaily, Crates' frantic salute, he managed 
 to clasp his friend's hand. Never, he felt, had he loved 
 him as now. 
 
 " Perhaps, dear man, I am indeed mad perhaps the 
 frenzy is upon me. God! how long will it be before the
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 179 
 
 trumpet sounds?" Ion looked towards the judges' stand 
 with staring eyes, and then his trained eyes swept the course. 
 
 In the now bright daylight, the whole course lay bared 
 to the light. Each and every feature of the famous ellipse 
 was clearly to be seen. 
 
 In the axis of its length, ran the long dividing barrier. 
 At one end stood an altar. At the farther end, on its tall 
 column, uprose the dreaded Taraxippos. This latter, " The 
 Terror of Horses," would show the awful mask that would 
 strike to terrified trembling, or would throw into a panic 
 of fear, each and every one of the competing stallions. 
 
 The lower end of the Hippodrome was filled with the 
 celebrated stall-arrangement the Aphesis. This was a 
 prow-shaped enclosure, that projected into the course. The 
 contestants must draw for position. 
 
 It had been Ion's bad luck to draw one of the worst of 
 all the stalls. His place came at the very end next to 
 the last stall. But he and his driver had had time to work 
 out a plan to make this bad stroke of luck help rather than 
 spoil their play for position. 
 
 All eyes were now fixed, with signs of growing impa- 
 tience, on the altar that stood in the centre of the Aphesis. 
 An eagle was hidden within this altar. Worked by invisi- 
 ble springs, when the eagle uprose, to spread its wings, a 
 bronze dolphin, placed in full view at the very tip end of 
 the prow-shaped compartment, would be seen to sink earth- 
 wards. This downward plunge was the signal for the be- 
 ginning of the race. 
 
 The goal was in the very centre of the barrier, marked by 
 a statue of Hippodamia. The judges' stand was placed 
 directly opposite. 
 
 As his cry had burst from him, Ion felt the cold sweat 
 break. This physical chill was the sign of the pulsing flame 
 within. His brain seemed a ball of fire; every nerve
 
 180 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 pricked, and his whole frame tingled with the sense of over- 
 mastering emotion. He seemed to be living a dozen lives 
 in as many instants. The consciousness of this intensified 
 existence was still further heightened by the contagion of 
 the mounting excitement of the mighty throng. Their cries 
 and oaths, the laughter that seemed strangely hard, un- 
 natural, their stampings, and impatient clapping made the 
 air vibrant with frenzied human feeling. 
 
 A single trumpet note suddenly stilled the clamour to 
 breathless quiet. For the great moment had come. 
 
 After the herald had sounded his notes, thousands of 
 eyes were fixed upon the bronze dolphin. Out of the still- 
 ness the pawing of the still invisible stallions, their snortings 
 and plungings, the sharp cries of charioteers, and the clan- 
 guer of metallic grinding rose up to whet to keener edge 
 the passion of the waiting throng. 
 
 The dolphin had now sunk to earth. The eagle had 
 spread its wings. 
 
 At the instant of the bird's soaring flight above the whit- 
 ened altar, came the clincking rattle of loosening chains. 
 A crunching of wheels, the dash of steeds in spirited action, 
 and forth from their stalls first one chariot and then another 
 was seen to leap into view. 
 
 For less than a breath, the cars then stood in line. 
 
 Then the rope fell. And a thunderous roar rose up 
 from the throng that shook the very hills. 
 
 ''They are off! They are off!" Ion heard Timoleon 
 and Glaucus and other thousands of voices shouting. " Yes, 
 they are off," Ion echoed, not knowing that he was whis- 
 pering and not shouting. For now the race had begun, 
 blurred senses even blurred vision had come. 
 
 Yet he knew, in some dull blind way, the course to be 
 one blaze of bronze. The sun beat fiercely on the shining 
 polished wheels; the intense rays flashed upon golden bits,
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 181 
 
 the bright reins seemed long lines of light, and the short 
 tunics of the charioteers, filled with air, made whiter or 
 browner the knotty sinewy calves, the muscular arms, and 
 the bending of the straining necks. Yet more and more, 
 horses, cars, and charioteers were becoming one whirling 
 indistinguishable mass. 
 
 Little by little, however, Ion made out the position of 
 each one of the favorites. 
 
 The Syracusan, famous for his perfectly matched white 
 stallions that had already a hard-won victory to their credit, 
 no longer ago than last year, at Delphi, this dark-eyed 
 young charioteer had won the prize stall. Forth from the 
 very top of the prow he had shot. Directly in line with 
 the inside track, the Syracusan had swept his four close to 
 the inner edge of the barrier. 
 
 Ion's most dangerous rival, Poms, had managed to swing 
 his beautiful car, with its superb Thessalian steeds, close 
 beside the Sicilian. 
 
 Next in turn came Corinth's quadriga driven by a noted 
 charioteer with a dozen victories already won. 
 
 Several less sensationally equipped cars came in between 
 a new-comer a fiery eyed young Arabian, with stallions, 
 small, slender-limbed, who stepped as lightly as a summer 
 breeze blows, and who ran, quick as light, at a word from 
 their youthful driver. 
 
 Xenias held the outside edge. But those who watched, 
 might have seen how cleverly this most wary of all the 
 charioteers crept up at every plunge of his fiery yet easily 
 managed " four." 
 
 As Ion had caught sight of the Theban car his heart had 
 seemed to die within him. 
 
 The perfection of its running gear, its lightness and 
 strength, the perfect mating of the Thessalian steeds, their 
 mingled fire and gentleness, and the superb ease and free-
 
 182 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 dom of Porus' driving, made Ion almost confess the race 
 already won. A wild hot wave of agonized fear rose up : 
 could Xenias thus control ^clean's fiery temper? Would 
 the other trace-horse answer to the curb as did Porus' 
 steeds ? 
 
 And then Ion felt the whole earth turn. For his car 
 was being cheered. 
 
 Cries and shouts of resounding applause greeted its ap- 
 pearance. Ion came back to life. All he distinctly felt 
 or saw was that, if anything, his dear Xenias had his " four " 
 in even firmer hand than had his rival his restive steeds. 
 His own four stepped as one. The car rolled as though 
 upon a silken carpet. 
 
 Suddenly, a great shout rose up. 
 
 " Ah-h See ! Look ! By the gods almighty, but one is 
 down already!" 
 
 Above the whirring tumult of the rushing chariots, a 
 dull, ominous crash broke upon the ear. The sound of 
 breaking timber and crushed bronze, of horses' cries of 
 rage and fear, and a driver's maddened roar were drowned 
 by the long groan that burst from the shrieking, contemp- 
 tuous crowd. 
 
 Hisses, curses, cries of "Coward!" "Fool!" "Mule- 
 driver ! " and worse were yelled by those whose money was 
 on the fallen car. Crushed and splintered lay the Achsean 
 car against the inner sides of the course. The horses had 
 fallen as the car struck. The driver was making frantic 
 efforts to get them upon their feet. 
 
 But the wrecked car was quickly forgotten. For the re- 
 maining eleven were flying past, in the fury of the steeds' 
 first heat. Thousands of eyes followed the now swaying 
 figures of the charioteers. Brown, lustrous arms, limbs and 
 necks shone with the glitter of perfect health; the grace 
 and firm stand of the drivers, within the rocking cars, the
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 183 
 
 floating streamers flying out, stiffened and straight, the reins 
 high held, the splendid picture held every eye spell bound. 
 
 On and on the cars swept, and the shouts of the bettors 
 followed their course. Voices were heard shouting 
 
 " The Syracusan still holds his place ! " 
 
 " Wait till he passes the Terror ! " 
 
 "A hundred to anything he does!" 
 
 " Ten to one the Theban cuts in ! " 
 
 Shrieking, yelling, groaning, the vast white crowd swayed 
 as did the charioteers, rocked by the frenzy of the mounting 
 excitement. 
 
 Then an instant's lull came, in the tempestuous clamour. 
 For the Taraxippos was all but reached. 
 
 The Syracusan was seen to gather his reins with nervous 
 grasp. His neighbour, the Theban, who, from the start had 
 been neck and neck with his four, swerved, slightly, to the 
 right, to give his car a wider swing. This effort was 
 quickly checked, for the Corinthian charioteer closed in, 
 pressing Porus to perilous closeness against the shining Syra- 
 cusan wheels. 
 
 With a curse that cut the air, Porus took his revenge by 
 crowding the Syracusan to the danger point at the very mo- 
 ment the latter's steeds first caught sight of the dreaded 
 mask. 
 
 The " horror," the terror of horses had risen ; its hideous 
 features loomed forth with the demoniac unexpectedness of 
 a supernatural apparition. 
 
 As the awful mask lifted its leering face, a blast from 
 an invisible trumpet shook the air. 
 
 The crisis of panic was upon the horses. The on-rushing 
 speed of every car was suddenly checked. The terrorized 
 shrieks of stallions rent the air. Some plunged and kicked ; 
 others, becoming utterly unmanageable, sped with frenzied 
 fear past the Terror, to collide with other cars whose
 
 184 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 charioteers were bent double over their reins, in their mad- 
 'dened effort to regain control of their frightened steeds. 
 Crash after crash announced the dreaded, yet expected dis- 
 aster, of the ruin of half the chariots that had entered 
 the lists. The wrecks of crushed cars and of kicking fallen 
 horses were now added to the difficulties that must be met 
 and surmounted, by those who had survived the awful test. 
 
 After the first shiver of affright, the Syracusan was seen 
 still to hold his position. His four had been startled, had 
 plunged and shown symptoms of panic. But the char- 
 ioteer's iron wrist and cheering shouts had all but produced 
 their effect. He still lead the race, but Porus, whose nigh 
 trace horse had emitted a shriek of terror, pricked the an- 
 imal with his goad, as, with masterly skill, he swung his 
 car to the right, a clearer space having been yielded by 
 the simultaneous rearing of the Syracusan pole horses. 
 
 With a shout and a yell of triumph, Porus sent his own 
 four, at furious speed, across the course from right to left. 
 He had used the maddened terror of his horses to gain 
 position. Their fright lent them wings of flame. He 
 crossed the Syracusan's axle pole by a bare inch. But he 
 crossed it. 
 
 Porus now led the race. 
 
 This brilliant manoevre won frantic applause. Porus ran 
 his four now, to the ringing music of intoxicating applause. 
 
 He felt the race to be his. 
 
 For his animals were well in hand. They ran with the 
 fury of thoroughbreds whose Thessalian racing blood was 
 fully fired. 
 
 The Syracusan, Porus knew, however, was once more 
 close beside him. 
 
 And Xenias, he instinctively felt, rather than saw, was 
 executing some dangerous feat of skill. For the crowd was 
 now shouting " The Pirasan ! " " The Piraan ! " Even as
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE j8 5 
 
 he bent over his reins, Porus heard, above all the clamorous 
 fury of the rushing cars, extravagant bets cried out on the 
 Pirasan favourite. 
 
 Ion's aching eyes, at last, descried Xenias' floating stream- 
 ers. His car had been held with rigid steering close to the 
 wall, away from the awful horror. This point had been 
 agreed upon, from the very first. Xenias was not to strive 
 for place, he was to hold in the team, until the Taraxippos 
 had been past at least once. After the worst had been 
 tested, once the team had become used to facing the awful 
 terror, and the wrecks sure to encumber this end of the 
 course could be reckoned with, then and then only, was 
 Xenias to put his gallant four to their speed. 
 
 " He holds back ! Xenias is holding back ! " cried Glau- 
 cus, in wild frenzy, as his trained eyes caught sight of the 
 trick. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ion, a huge sigh of relief bursting from 
 him, " Yes, he holds in his steed see he is turning now 
 the four are actually facing the Taraxippos." 
 
 With a mastery of the moment even Ion had not be- 
 lieved his driver capable of displaying, Xenias had let the 
 Theban, the Syracusan and the Corinthian, who had man- 
 aged to get their terrified steeds past the Terror he al- 
 lowed them to pass his car. 
 
 Deliberately, he drove his stallions close to the terror 
 of horses. Tightening his rein on the nigh horse, he gave 
 Pollux his head. With a prick of his goad, he brought the 
 beautiful creature face to face with the dreaded mask. 
 
 Pollux stared, started, trembled. His fear was instantly 
 communicated to his mates. The four were now franti- 
 cally plunging, wild with mingled terror and the novel sen- 
 sation of palzied inaction. As one, the four reared. The 
 car was all but overturned. 
 
 " Ah-h. By the great god 'tis going! No, he has them
 
 186 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 still in hand! he's pulling, for all his might Ion Ion 
 he'll master them yet! he'll do it! By all the heavenly 
 powers, what is he now attempting to do? " 
 
 Xenias was performing a feat far more wonderful than 
 merely to get his four well in hand. For the Corinthian 
 and the Syracusan, in swinging about the upper end of the 
 barrier, had lost ground. Quick as light Xenias was over 
 his horses' back, his cheers and cries calling to each to do 
 his utmost. He cut across the Syracusan's pole, at the very 
 moment when the charioteer was busy in goading his re- 
 bellious off-horse to do his best work. He had left the 
 Corinthian a whole length behind. 
 
 Xenias' masterly play for position had won. He and 
 Porus were now leading the race. 
 
 And Ion was tasting his first sip of rapture. 
 
 For the air was split, rent, pierced with praise of Xenias. 
 Sixty thousand eyes were fixed on the charioteer's bent 
 shoulders, on his set, obstinate jawed face, on the beautiful 
 steeds now once more in perfect step, rounding the course 
 with lightning speed. 
 
 Round and round they rushed, Porus and Xenias neck 
 and neck, with the Corinthian, the Syracusan, and the 
 Libyan once more disputing for place at every turn in the 
 course. The five surviving cars were swinging as one, about 
 the altar end of the barrier. 
 
 " Hey ! Corinth ! at you ! at you you fiend ! " cried the 
 Sicilian. Then his hoarse laugh, senseless, brutalized with 
 mounting madness, was shrieked to the suddenly quieted air. 
 For the crowd had stilled its voice to listen for the coming 
 tragedy that now rocked upon the silence. 
 
 The Sicilian's madness was as a gathering ecstasy. He 
 felt the Hippodrome his for one glorious moment. 
 
 " Ha-a! you hound! you come, do you? You'll bite the 
 dust, then, for by the pest of the furies I'll drive you to
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 187 
 
 hell ! " And with the cry of one rushing to glory, he locked 
 wheels with the Corinthian. 
 
 The shrill crash of splintering wheels, the thud of the 
 cars as they rode to destruction, and the agonized cries of 
 the Corinthian rose above the terrorized equine shrieks. 
 
 And the crowd shivered and felt the sweet, delicious 
 thrill of chilly horror. For the two wrecked chariots lay 
 directly in the very middle of the course. 
 
 "By Zeus in Heaven! but Xenias can never pass! 
 There's no room. I tell you there's no room ! " Ion was 
 beside himself. He was screaming his fear. For he, as 
 well as the Hippodrome audience now saw, with the wrecked 
 chariots directly in the course, the space between the barrier 
 and the fallen cars was all too narrow for the competing 
 cars to pass. 
 
 All three, Porus and Xenias, close to the inner track, and 
 the Libyan, were now running neck and neck. They were 
 rounding the course, for the tenth time. They were near- 
 ing the chariot-wrecks that lay in the middle of the course. 
 
 Men, above upon the stone seats, could be heard sucking 
 in their breath ; some laughed foolishly ; a few emitted 
 hoarse cries. But the proof of the multitude's overmaster- 
 ing emotion was felt, rather than heard; they leant over, 
 craning necks and stretching bodies forth, with eyes that 
 had the look of men on the brink of some fearful personal 
 tragedy. 
 
 " Ah! " " Zeus! " " Ye heavenly powers! " " He'll do it! 
 I tell you he will ! " " Ten thousand to one hundred he 
 won't!" "The Libyan!" "The Libyan!" "Piraeus 
 look out he's gaining, he's " 
 
 Then a fearful cry rang up. 
 
 " Oh-h-h ! " The long groan that swept from the hot 
 lips of swaying thousands was the mighty dirge that sang the 
 Theban to earth.
 
 188 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 For Porus, as he had gathered his reins to pull in his four 
 he led Xenias by half a length found his pole horses 
 terrorized at the sight of the still kicking, plunging stallions, 
 caught in the ruin of the overturned chariots. His pole 
 suddenly shot up in air ; and the pole horses with it ; the off 
 trace-horse swerved madly to the left, close to the wreck, 
 and the splendid Thessalian chariot overturned and went 
 to pieces, its left wheel crashing the two wheels that lay just 
 beside the nearest wrecked car. 
 
 The long, loud wail burst to gather anew into prolonged, 
 resounding groans. The fame of the Thessalian steeds, 
 Porus' many-times proven skill, together with the beauty of 
 the chariot and the enormous losses the ruin of the first 
 favourite would bring to thousands, made Porus' tragedy 
 the chief disaster of the great race. Men turned pale. 
 Ruin stared many a Theban in the face ; and every Thessa- 
 lian's soul went down to the uttermost depths of despair 
 with the fall of the splendid venture. Some sobbed, others 
 tore off garlands, and others struck at their breasts as the 
 tears streamed. For the Thessalian thousands gathered 
 upon the seats, the day was going down in utter blackness. 
 
 In the loud uproar, scarce a shout was to be heard. Un- 
 til, presently, at the eleventh rounding, a particularly mas- 
 terly movement on the part of the Libyan, gave the crowd 
 a fresh sensation. 
 
 Xenias, as Porus had fallen, had pushed his four to their 
 utmost speed. The Libyan was now his sole rival. On 
 passing the obstructing wreck, the Libyan held back. He 
 swerved, with cool deliberation, to the right. He gave rein 
 to the off trace-horse, and reined in, with fierce grasp, his 
 nigh stallion. After passing the crushed chariots on the 
 outer edge of the course, close to the uprising of the Hippo- 
 drome wall, he was seen, for the first time to lean over. 
 His young, flushed face was stretched far forward, over
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 189 
 
 the four plunging stallions. And he spoke to them, gently, 
 calling each by name, in the tongue strange to Greek ears; 
 and the stallions answered. With a single bound they 
 cleared the space, rounding the upper end of the barrier 
 where leered the Terror. They passed the horror without 
 turning a white hair. A simultaneous spurt of speed, and 
 they had crossed Xenias' axle pole ! 
 
 The Libyan led the race ! 
 
 The thunderous shouts that rose up to the skies, secerned 
 to rock the very hills. On and up the thunder rolled. The 
 horses from the desert heard the mad paeon of rapture. 
 They settled down to their work of rounding the last heat 
 with eyes that blazed fire, with stretching necks, and deep 
 breath. 
 
 The air rang now as loud with bets as it had with frantic 
 applause. 
 
 " A thousand dradmae to ten he'll keep the lead! " 
 
 "Two thousand that he won't!" Ion thought, but in 
 his white fear he could not be sure, that he heard his father's 
 voice. Whoever it was Glaucus took up the bet. " Ten 
 thousand that the Libyan wins! " 
 
 The deep roar of the shouting multitude engulfed the an- 
 swer. For Xenias had performed a prodigy of skill. 
 
 After losing his place, his one thought had been to make 
 up in speed what he had lost in position. With his four 
 still in perfect hand, and working beautifully, he steered 
 close to the Libyan. There lay scarce an inch of space be- 
 tween their whirling wheels. The eight horses' heads and 
 haunches were so near a level, a child might have leapt from 
 back to back. Xenias did not urge his steeds; there was 
 still the Terror and the wreck to pass, and the altar at the 
 upper end of the course, before the last final curve was to 
 be made before the goal was passed. 
 
 On and on, neck and neck, the two cars ran. They had
 
 igo ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 passed the awful genii, where the wrecks were piled high; 
 where cars, crushed to bits, broken harnesses and stallions 
 were piled in intricable masses. 
 
 One more danger lay between both, and victory. In an- 
 other instant the competing charioteers were before it. 
 
 The mass of the Corinthian and Syracusan wreck must 
 now be passed must be met, at perilously close quarters. 
 
 Xenias, as the sixty thousand bending, agonized, enrap- 
 tured on-lookers perceived, intended to keep his place. He 
 was pulling his four together preparatory to driving his car 
 between the Libyan and the fallen chariots. His prac- 
 ticed eye had calculated the space; with his skill in steer- 
 ing he could do it! But there would not be an inch to 
 spare. 
 
 The whole vast audience now stood upon their feet. 
 Every eye was fixed, and each man felt his breath upon his 
 lip. For there was impending tragedy in the very air. 
 Porus was about to furnish an incident never before seen in 
 the Hippodrome. 
 
 As he lay, squeezed tight between two wheels, he had seen 
 the light of victory in Xenias' eyes. 
 
 Porus peered forth. The moment was propitious. Porus 
 proceeded to crawl forth from between wheels and traces. 
 At the very instant of Xenias' flight past his ruin, Porus 
 lifted his fallen goad. He smiled, joyously, as might one in 
 delirium, at re-capturing a toy. But as he lifted the torture 
 instrument, he cunningly managed to point its murderous 
 end outward. 
 
 As Xenias flew past, the goad caught in his out-blown 
 tunic. The goad held good; its sharp point dug deep into 
 the coarse garment's light-texture. 
 
 In an instant Xenias had been flung out of his car, and 
 the Theban had dropped. His kicking horses were better 
 than to meet the rage of that flame-lit face.
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 191 
 
 But the car had kept on! The eight horses still were 
 neck and neck. And there was such a little, such a very 
 short way to run, before the column of Hippodamia was to 
 be reached. 
 
 As Pollux had felt his driver drop, and the reins flap, he 
 had turned. His fierce eyes appeared to take in the situa- 
 tion. 
 
 He sprang to his work like one possessed, but one full, 
 also, of a mighty purpose. The near pole horse showed 
 signs of breaking. Pollux tossed his head, gave the beast 
 a knock, as he plunged onward. Raising his noble head, 
 with a snort he increased his speed. The others seemed 
 willing to be led. 
 
 .The car was now a good head's length ahead. But the 
 Libyan's Arabians were pressing close now they gained a 
 little now they lost. 
 
 " By the gods of luck ! " shouted Glaucus, " I believe he'll 
 do it." He was beside himself he hugged Ion without 
 knowing it. 
 
 Ion felt himself ' suddenly frozen with a strange calm. 
 
 " Yes, I agree with you I think he will " 
 
 " Provided only he passes the goal at that pace." 
 
 " The goal at that pace " Ion heard himself faintly 
 echoing. 
 
 Then the mighty thunder of sixty thousand shouting 
 voices rocked the very earth. It rolled on and on it 
 broke only to begin anew. 
 
 For Xenias was, also, proving his mettle. He was seen 
 running, for dear life. He ran like an athlete. He had 
 crossed the track, while all eyes had been fixed on wonder- 
 ful Pollux. He was making unheard-of time, as he rushed 
 towards the goal. 
 
 Ion's heart, and the hearts of thousands of that suddenly 
 silenced crowd, stopped beating.
 
 i 9 2 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " He intends to head them off," cried Timoleon. 
 
 " He intends " Then Ion heard a deafening roar in his 
 ears. Yet he was able to remember, quite distinctly, having 
 seen Xenias race once, in full armour, on the beach, at 
 Phalerum, against Glaucus' famous four. Dazed, weak- 
 ened with the long strain, Ion could not now clearly see his 
 racing charioteer. 
 
 Yet, there he was, panting, breathless. He had done his 
 stint in unrecorded swiftness of time. 
 
 Just beyond the goal, indeed, Xenias stood waiting 
 what was he waiting for? Why, in God's name, did he not 
 make a dash for the car? 
 
 Then "The horse! The horse! Long live Pollux !'* 
 came like crashing thunder with long reverberating roll 
 from the crowd. For the crowd was gone mad. 
 
 And Ion woke up. 
 
 As out of a dream he had seen Pollux tearing ahead, keep- 
 ing the lead. The Libyan was close beside was within 
 half a length. He was over the haunches of his dashing 
 Arabians, whose swiftness was now like the wind. 
 
 For a single, awful moment the two cars were side 
 by side. The eight stallions were eight maddened racers, 
 each conscious the great moment was theirs to win or 
 lose. 
 
 The vast crowd hung as one man, breathless, gasping 
 too far gone in an ecstasy of rapt excitement to shout. 
 
 Then, as all looked, Pollux was seen to toss his spirited 
 head he drew the team on he made a frantic plunge 
 forward 
 
 He had passed the Libyan He was half a head's length 
 beyond ! 
 
 The crowd had found its voice. Pollux was called to, 
 was cursed, was blessed, was acclaimed as though he were 
 a deity made mortal, racing to divine honours.
 
 THE CHARIOT RACE 193 
 
 Did Pollux hear? He held his lead. A second spurt, 
 and he had passed the Goal! 
 
 The race was his ! 
 
 Scarcely had he passed the Judges' stand, when he found 
 Xenias beside the car. The charioteer gathered the reins 
 in his firm wrists just as they were falling about ^Eolean's 
 feet. 
 
 As Xenias sprang into his car, as he grasped the ribbons, 
 such a thunderous roar burst forth as shook the very hills. 
 The over-wrought crowd shouted, wept, sang, men 
 clasped strangers to their breasts, and others tore their gar- 
 lands to fling them down, hoping to crown Xenias, as he 
 made the tour of the course. 
 
 The Herald was now sounding his trumpet, and for a mo- 
 ment the roar of applause died down. 
 
 Who would be acclaimed? Would it be the car or the 
 horse ? When " Pollux " was melodiously voiced, the multi- 
 tude went into fresh raptures. 
 
 As the beautiful car passed before the judges' stand, Ion 
 saw his father sway, and those beside him upheld him. Joy 
 had overwhelmed him. 
 
 Ion made his way as best he could, through the ever 
 gathering sea of faces, of pressing, obstrusive figures. He 
 answered as well as he could, the ringing shouts, the ap- 
 plause, the almost loving salutations of men whose faces 
 were those of strangers. 
 
 At last he stood beside his car. Those who were crowd- 
 ing about the victorious quadriga made way for its owner to 
 come nearer. 
 
 As though he felt his dear Master's nearness, Pollux 
 turned his head. His quickened breath was still lifting the 
 round belly, and the beautiful eyes glowed with fiery flame. 
 But as they met Ion's, Pollux seemed to send his dumb soul 
 through the blazing orbs.
 
 194 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 With an irresistable, overwhelming impulse, Ion flung 
 himself forward. In an instant he had his arms about his 
 beloved winner. He lay, sobbing, upon the moist shoulder. 
 Pollux moved his head. He sent his warm breath upon his 
 Master's neck, for his reward was come to him.
 
 BOOK III ATHENS 
 
 Chapter XVII 
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 
 
 A MONTH later, the Piraean Port and its three harbours 
 were astir with life and motion. Through the great gates 
 in the walls, the sea sparkled and spoke. 
 
 Ships slipped from out their moorings; their sails' snowy 
 whiteness, and the browns, blues, and tan-coloured shrouds 
 of smaller craft cast long trails of colour across the violet- 
 blue waters. 
 
 Such pictures, bristling with motion, were framed in 
 stone. Flanked by their tall square towers, the double 
 gates showed to the sea their fortified strength. 
 
 Aloft, the hills arose, on either side, sloping to the plain 
 whereon mighty Athens and its Port lay cradled, as though 
 rocked by the chorusing hills. 
 
 Across the shore, beyond the sea, azure blue, the gauzy 
 hills of Argolis hung like filmy draperies, stretched against 
 the golden tinted horizon. And wherever the eye rested, 
 temples and statues of the gods uprose, rosy, bloom-touched, 
 in the pink of the morning glow. 
 
 A world of men was gathered in the Agoras, and under 
 the colonnades. Shrieks, calls, and yells made a deafening 
 confusion of sound. Local and foreign deities were in- 
 voked, in every known tongue and dialect, to bless a bar- 
 gain, to be witness to truth, and to visit immediate punish- 
 ment were not the maker of a vow to fulfil the same. 
 
 Busy as was the scene, a sudden lull came. To the cries 
 195
 
 i 9 6 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 and yells of buyers and of officials, there succeeded that 
 peculiar hush that announces, in a crowd, the hearing of 
 news. Groups were formed, and men stumbled over each 
 other to listen. 
 
 Suddenly, a shout rang out. 
 
 And the cause of the excitement was quickly commun- 
 icated. 
 
 " Ion's ship has been sighted ! " 
 
 " The chorus is already assembling ! 
 
 " All the Piraeus and half Athens are down on quais 
 already!" 
 
 The news had spread, indeed, and with the rapidity of 
 contagion. The inner Agora was soon as deserted as 
 though plague-stricken. The crowds thronging the colon- 
 nades had made a rush for the quais; and every inch of 
 standing space on the docks and quais was soon packed with 
 bare and with sandalled feet. All other business save that 
 of helping to celebrate the home-coming of the now world- 
 famous Olympian victor had been suspended. 
 
 Ion, standing on the deck of his trim ship, felt his very 
 heart stand still. 
 
 How many months had passed since he had seen the violet 
 home seas! Ah-h! there were the giant walls golden- 
 tinted, yet showing their fortified strength! Here, skim- 
 ming over the waters, were the purple and crimson sails! 
 There were the huge gates and the uplifted towers, and, 
 shining like a glorified city, far away, out of some fair 
 dream, yonder, its tinted temples and marbles painted 
 against the azure was the home of Pallas Athena ! 
 
 As Ion sailed into the inner harbour, his eyes, sharpened 
 to see each and every detail, as never he had seen them 
 before, saw another vision, shining from out the depths of 
 the sea. Beneath the wine-tinted waters, the rounded
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 197 
 
 columns of the great docks, sunk below the sea-level, shone 
 like those of a submerged city. 
 
 How clear was every line and curve of that temple of 
 commerce whose base was the sea level and whose roof was 
 the liquid sky! 
 
 " Oh ! Athens ! Athens ! what or who can equal thee, in 
 either beauty or trade?" burst from Ion, in uncontrollable 
 delight. 
 
 Then, the next instant, he felt his very breath taken from 
 him. 
 
 For now he saw, in his turn, that all the Piraeus and half 
 Athens had, indeed, assembled to greet him. 
 
 Thick as was the crowd, Ion soon caught the bloom of 
 Glaucus' corn locks, shining beneath the golden shield of a 
 high-placed Athena. For even along the quais and the 
 outer colonnade, statues and living men were inextricably 
 mixed. Timoleon he saw smiling his welcome from below 
 his favourite Hermes. His father was stretching eager 
 arms towards him close to one of Fortune's altars, and the 
 dear goddess seemed to be tripping out to him, as though, 
 also, to greet him, with her outstretched wings and her 
 speeding feet. 
 
 Then, with a crash, there rang upon his ears the melo- 
 dious outburst of cheering thousands. As the resonant 
 Greek voices rilled the clear air, Ion had need of all his 
 self-control, for he seemed not standing but soaring, and 
 out of the bright skies the twelve gods were surely shining 
 down upon him. 
 
 As his father clasped him to his heart, ringing plaudits 
 smote Ion's dazed ears. The commoner crowd gave way. 
 The higher powers of the Port were eager to salute the 
 victor. Ion was told he had conferred the greatest possible 
 honour upon his birth-place; he had lifted the Pirasus to an
 
 i 9 8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 envied plane this day would be remembered long after 
 he was dead. To celebrate as glorious a victory, one the 
 port must claim as its own, the whole town was given over 
 to feasting. To prove this truth, thunderous cheers rent 
 the air. 
 
 To the glad music of shouting voices Ion was led on as 
 a conqueror, to a breach in the wall. 
 
 Through the mighty thickness Themistocles had built, an 
 opening had been made. The Olympian victor must enter 
 his birthplace, by a new and an unused door. 
 
 Scarcely had Ion passed through the breach, when melo- 
 dious voices burst forth, in sonorous unison, to the accom- 
 paniment of many-tongued lyres. The costumed chorus of 
 hired singers and dancers awaited the victor, to accompany 
 him to his father's house. Even Ion's fiercest detracters 
 must listen to the honied Pseon. His name w T as being 
 chanted, in strophe and anti-strophe; he heard his feats of 
 strength, the glories of his recent victory, the praises of his 
 person and house compared to the most glorious achievements 
 of old historic houses, of Homeric heroes. Once under the 
 familiar house porch, his emotion found vent in sudden, 
 passionate outburst. 
 
 Before the eyes of all, he swept his arms about his father. 
 
 " Tell me, dear father, that you are satisfied. Then will 
 this hour of glory be crowned indeed ! " 
 
 Crates clasped Ion close. His breaking voice could scarce 
 command itself. The real answer to his son's words, was 
 his own beating heart, throbbing its gratified emotion against 
 Ion's breast. The eyes of both were wet, as Crates half 
 chanted, half sang 
 
 " The life of the gods themselves, in Heaven, dearest Ion, 
 is not as full of bliss as mine, through thee." 
 
 The chorus, circling before the door, burst then into
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 199 
 
 melodious finale. A fresh garland was flung toward Ion, 
 and fell, where it was designed to fall, across his heaving 
 breast. To mark the finish of this triumph as complete, 
 three runners, from Athens, brought Ion the news of fresh 
 honours. Place would be made for his votive statue, the 
 one his father had ordered to commemorate his victory, 
 close to the gardens of Aphrodite. In the Pirzeus, the city 
 itself was to take charge of his portrait-statue, the archon 
 announced, at the long and splendid banquet given by 
 Crates, to the most illustrious guests. 
 
 In the days and weeks that followed, Ion experienced, in 
 practical ways, the privileges Athens accorded to an Olym- 
 pian victor. His appearance, at the Prytanieum, where, as 
 Olympian victor, it was his privilege to eat at the City's 
 expense, became the event of the day. He was made to 
 rehearse his race, to the last detail. The cleverest, the most 
 distinguished, listened to his recital with a kind of awe. 
 
 Political preferment had followed swift on social and 
 civic honours. Ion's name was on men's lips, for election 
 as a regimental commander, at the next meeting of the 
 phyle. 
 
 Shortly after his election, Alcibiades, through Timoleon, 
 made flattering propositions would Ion undertake a secret 
 mission to Delos? Some one, who could be trusted, must 
 be sent to learn if the mighty priests of Apollo would be 
 friendly, in their attitude, were the Sicilian war to come off. 
 
 This was a mission exactly suited to Ion's tastes. He 
 went forth with spirit as light as though he were equipped 
 with Mercury's wings. 
 
 It was during his absence, that the Fates began to twist 
 the tangled threads that were to bind together the future 
 destinies of several lives. 
 
 On one brilliant morning, in late Pyanepsion (October) 
 a very distinguished Athenian, the famous art-critic, Critias
 
 200 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 giver of banquets, much addicted to a turning of couplets, 
 in the style that was in vogue in Pericles' day and equally 
 given to lavish expenditure a folly that made his dull 
 verses and silly conundrums alone endurable this elderly 
 aristocrat went down to the Piraeus on his usual errand 
 that of borrowing money. 
 
 Also as usual, Critias sought, among the bankers assem- 
 bled in the inner Agora, for Crates' familiar figure. Crates, 
 his clerks said, in reply to the Athenian's inquiries, was down 
 at the docks. And down at the docks, striding the quais 
 with agitated steps, Critias found his man. To his annoy- 
 ance, however, Crates, for a banker with vast sums to loan, 
 had a mind a hundred stadia away from business. 
 
 " Conceive of my disappointment O Critias ! Ion, who 
 was to have been here this very day now cannot possibly 
 set sail from Delos for another day or more the winds 
 have driven the sea to tremendous heights " 
 
 Critias' somewhat fatigued features took on the polite 
 mask of sympathy. Critias had not come down from Athens 
 to discuss the state of Delian weather with a banker and 
 shipping merchant. He had come to replenish a depleted 
 purse. 
 
 Gradually, Crates was led on to business. Once the 
 Athenian's errand was made known, and Crates, at the 
 third turn of the quays, was once more banker and mer- 
 chant. The strong eyes had narrowed. The glow had gone 
 out of the face. Crates was, at last, wearing the mask of 
 those part of whose vast business it is to lend, but to lend, 
 at the highest possible interest. 
 
 Critias, as usual, was magnificently indifferent to the terms 
 set. He belonged to the class of men who pocket borrowed 
 money with an air of having come into an inheritance. 
 
 Self-centred, like all of his class, Critias, having secured
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 201 
 
 the loan at not too ruinous terms, was in haste to be off. 
 His favourite roadster and his town-cart were awaiting him, 
 at the outer gate of the inner Agora. 
 
 He was in the very act of turning, with hasty farewell, 
 when he felt his arm gripped. 
 
 Crates' face, he saw, was aglow the warm colour was 
 dyeing cheeks and brow. 
 
 Crates stopped, turned a flushed face towards Critias, and 
 seemed to be struggling with an attempt to frame words that 
 were difficult to utter. Critias, whose eyes were sharpened, 
 as are all art-critics, to detect the slightest changes in the 
 human countenance, felt his curiosity suddenly on edge. 
 What, in the name of the lesser gods could the banker- 
 merchant have to say to him thus to dye his cheeks? 
 
 To Crates, the second most critical moment of his whole 
 life seemed to be before him. Next to having seen Pollux 
 clear the goal, the question that now trembled on his lips 
 was to bring highest happiness or failure failure too hu- 
 miliating to face. 
 
 Why it should have been here, in this busy mart of men, 
 with all the cries of the Port ringing in their ears, why 
 he should have been inspired to put the great test of his 
 burning desire the hope that had been nursed these months 
 here Crates could never make clear, to his own mind, 
 in later periods of reflection. 
 
 Yet, it was as if a god had spoken ! He felt himself im- 
 pelled to speak. 
 
 "Ah-h my friend a word before you go, if you 
 please " 
 
 " Twenty if you wish " 
 
 Encouraged by the Athenian's courtesy, Crates sucked in 
 his breath. 
 
 "You have a daughter, I hear?" Crates presently said,
 
 202 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 with an innocent, casual air. His wary, calculating eyes 
 were aslant, and his lean ringers played calmly with his tab- 
 let, as he scanned Critias' aristocratic, sunken features. 
 
 " I have but only one the gods be thanked ! " cried 
 Critias, and he re-adjusted the folds of his mantle. 
 
 " And I have a son," Crates announced, laconically. He 
 faced Critias' questioning eyes with a deep glance laden with 
 meaning. 
 
 " You have and one who is a credit to you, or to any 
 Athenian father," Critias was in haste to cry out. The 
 scent of possibilities was, indeed, now thick upon him. 
 
 " Well and that is the sort of man he seems to me. 
 All praise him, and with justice." Crates leaned back 
 against a column. Still he was fixing Critias with his keen, 
 clear eyes. He paused to give a better emphasis to what 
 was coming. " Why then, not marry him to your daugh- 
 ter?" he asked, suddenly, starting to an upright, as if the 
 thought had been born of the moment. 
 
 Why not?" he continued, as though willing to debate 
 the question, in an impersonal, passionless way, " he has 
 honour and distinction. If, however, it be a question, also, 
 of money " 
 
 Critias here raised his arm. A slow, pompous gesture 
 seemed to sweep away into the bright air so vulgar a sugges- 
 tion. Critias' eyes however had brightened. A covetous 
 glow suffused his features. " Come," he cried, softly, in 
 the tones a man uses when caressing an agreeable project. 
 " Come dear friend and let us walk up the colonnade 
 you can tell me more of what is in your mind." 
 
 What Critias found to be in Crates' mind enraptured him. 
 Ion, as the son of this wealthy Pirasan ship-merchant, so far 
 from his father demanding a dowry, would himself bring a 
 large fortune for the privilege of allying his son with as 
 noble a maiden as Myrto, For Crates to aspire to such
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 203 
 
 connections was in itself proof of where his wealth and Ion's 
 victory had placed him. Critias found, indeed, that Crates 
 understood the laws of good society, almost as well as he 
 had ship-building and commerce. He took the exactly right 
 view of the part money should play in matrimonial bargains, 
 to wit: that he who had most to gain should pay, and 
 pay high. 
 
 As for Ion himself, although like Myrto, he was only a 
 necessary detail of the transaction, he was, fortunately, a 
 son-in-law with whom even Critias could have something in 
 common. He was handsome, extravagant, a lover of the 
 chase and become famous. At several of the Symposia 
 also, as Critias reflected with patronising condescension 
 he had heard him turn a couplet as neatly as he, Critias, 
 could himself. 
 
 After a few moment's further talk, Critias considered the 
 matter as good as settled. He thought it wise, indeed, to 
 clinch the match by making the project known, and at once, 
 to his wife Hermione. 
 
 Crates, on his part, had moved towards his waiting litter. 
 His heart was surging with rapture. He noted little or 
 nothing of the stir and bustle about him. 
 
 One picture, alone, was to rivet his gaze, as he gained a 
 certain elevation. 
 
 Across the plain, upon the opposite hill-slope, a priestess 
 came forth from the inner gloom of the temple of Aphro- 
 dite. Long after, Crates remembered that the priestess had 
 worn a violet robe. The delicate draperies bloomed and 
 fluttered, for a moment's space, against the harmonies of the 
 polychrome structure. 
 
 Aphrodite's priestess was busy, apparently, with some tem- 
 ple treasure. A vase of some sort glittered and sparkled, 
 as she stood rubbing the precious object. Had Aphrodite 
 sent her messenger? Had the great goddess deigned to give
 
 204 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 celestial warning, in human shape, that in such transactions 
 when men bargained in human hearts they should 
 sometimes count with the sea-born, laughter-loving divinity ? 
 
 Yet Love except of the feeble matrimonial sort, had 
 assuredly, no weight in Athenian marriage contracts. Even 
 Crates, who might be termed a man of sentiment, looked 
 with calm, unheeding eyes at Aphrodite's Temple. That in 
 any way the divine goddess should feel her altars or her 
 worship slighted, by uniting a man and a maiden who, as 
 yet, knew nothing, except in a vague way, of each other's 
 existence, demanded a stretch of the imagination as great as 
 such a thought was in itself, surely, an act of impiety to 
 great Hestia the goddess of marriage. 
 
 Crates forgot the familiar incident, only to remember it 
 years later. Now his one thought was 
 
 What news for Ion! Smiling Fortune had crowned, at 
 last, Crates cried to his exultant senses, his most ambitious 
 hopes. With such a marriage and all that its great con- 
 nections would bring Ion surely might now aspire to all 
 Athens had to give. 
 
 On Ion's return, however, Crates was to find that there 
 were two ways of looking at a matrimonial project. 
 
 When Crates announced the great news, Ion turned upon 
 his father as though the latter had struck him a blow. 
 
 " O father ! father ! why could you not let well enough 
 alone ! " was Ion's bitter outburst. 
 
 Crates, in his turn, experienced the first shock of severe 
 disappointment Ion had ever given him. 
 
 "What is the meaning of this?" he asked, angrily. 
 " Have you some secret something you wish to conceal ? " 
 And Ion met the flaming eyes that seemed to scorch him 
 with the feeling of one who was seeing a new man in his 
 own father. 
 
 In an instant Ion's anger died within him. For to see
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 205 
 
 his father thus wrought upon by passionate indignation, 
 brought Ion to the melting point at once. After all, what 
 valid excuse could he present? Why should he not seek 
 to please his father ? There was no tie in his love-life, suffi- 
 ciently binding, to prevent his contracting marriage. That 
 adorable Maia the one woman he had ever seen, worthy of 
 love in spite of her letters, of her repeated assurances she 
 would come to join him, here in Athens the possibility 
 of her fulfilling her promises, was very unlikely. That old 
 Nirias, who had married her, on his return from the Games, 
 was very slow in dying. 
 
 Except for a young man's love of his liberty, and an in- 
 stinctive horror of marriage, and all that such a tie must 
 bring with it, Ion, whip his inventive genius as he might, 
 could find no plausible plea for compelling his father to stop 
 the hateful project. 
 
 Ion heaved a deep sigh. Then, straightening his firm 
 frame, he accepted his doom. " Tell me this, dear father 
 how far has the matter gone? " he asked. 
 
 Crates lifted eyes that showed positive fear. " Surely 
 you have no thought of entirely withdrawing? " 
 
 " No-o Oh no ! " cried Ion with a drop in his voice 
 " not if you wish it to go through. Only, you see I 
 had counted on a few more years of freedom " 
 
 " Early marriages are best," Crates said, with quick de- 
 cision and imipense relief. " I was married before I was 
 five and twenty." Crates had still the true countryman's 
 views of life. 
 
 " Oh father the world has moved on since then. 
 
 Men marry later and later every year. Ah well," Ion 
 added quickly, seeing his father's face darken again, " We'll 
 wait till this war is over. You see something may hap- 
 pen. I might be taken prisoner, or be killed outright - 
 
 But Ion's gay laughter died upon his lip. The look of
 
 206 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 anguish that convulsed his father's face moved him to place 
 his arm about his parent's neck, and to lay his cheek close 
 to the burning one beside it, as he said half soothingly, half 
 in joke, " Well, since you have set your heart upon the 
 match I'll marry to please you only, give me a few 
 more weeks let the time be fixed for Gamelion." 
 
 Having gained his great point, Crates found concession 
 easy. 
 
 First he kissed Ion and then he told him how this mar- 
 riage had been his dearest heart's desire, and what a coping 
 stone as brilliant an alliance would place upon Ion's own 
 ambitions. 
 
 " I remember now " Crates added, as though answering 
 an inner doubt " Critias spoke of Myrto's youth, as one 
 objection her mother might possibly bring up. They may 
 well be pleased to postpone the marriage till the winter." 
 
 " Is the girl a beauty do you know anything of her 
 father? " asked Ion, his tone not much more interested than 
 had he been asking the character of a new slave. 
 
 It was Crates who showed warmth. He was quick with 
 his answer. Myrto, he had learned, on excellent authority, 
 was the living image of her mother only, of course, as her 
 mother was years ago, when Phidias had called her " the most 
 beautiful woman in all Athens," and had promptly put her 
 into marble. For, as all Athens knew, her features were 
 those of the famous Juno. . 
 
 " Humph ! I had rather have a wife who resembled an 
 Aphrodite the Juno type is not, and never was, to my 
 liking." Ion laughed lightly but he also frowned. This 
 being mated to a model of all the domestic virtues No ! 
 there was nothing attractive in such a prospect. The Furies 
 take all this talk of marriage! However, if he could but 
 manage to put it off, for a few months, he might be willing 
 to entertain the project. If the child were really a beauty,
 
 A MARRIAGE PROJECT 207 
 
 and not too much of the Juno-type, one might do worse 
 things in life than to marry Critias' daughter. 
 
 Then, as the morning wore on, Ion felt the mounting 
 of a certain dry humour. What a comical sight would be 
 Timoleon's would Glaucus' face present, when he should 
 divulge the great news! Timoleon, for one, would assur- 
 edly not be pleased, for once he, Ion, married to the daughter 
 of as celebrated a house as that of the Alcmaeonidae and 
 Timoleon must sheath his sword of contempt. An Olym- 
 pian victor and the member of as great a family, and there 
 would be few in all Athens to be considered his, Ion's, 
 superior. 
 
 Long before the mid-day meal had finished, Ion had begun 
 to see in this proposed alliance several glorious possibilities.
 
 Chapter XVIII 
 
 AN ATHENIAN DAWN 
 
 ON the site of that busy labyrinth of narrow streets where 
 devout strangers and learned men are still searching for the 
 sure signs that shall fix, beyond the questionings of doubt, 
 the limits of Athens' ancient thoroughfares, other streets, far 
 more crooked, converged upon the street of Hermes. 
 Towards this winding dromos a tall, lithe shape was hurry- 
 ing, in the greyish blue of dawn, in the year 415 before our 
 Lord came. Dim as was the light, this early riser made 
 his way, with effortless ease, from out the lower precinct of 
 the Agora. 
 
 No one, indeed, knew better than Timoleon his crooked 
 Athenian streets. None had a sweeter patience with the ob- 
 stacles to quick progress Athenians on foot must expect in 
 this crowded time, when every nook and secret hole in the 
 famous city were as highly prized as a refuge, as though 
 they were a palace. 
 
 As Timoleon neared his goal, sweeter, cleaner scents met 
 the nostrils. Tiny garden enclosures sent forth the pun- 
 gent scents of parsley, narcissi, and roses. Timoleon slipped 
 his grace, with his mantle held tight, in between dairymen's 
 carts redolent of cheeses and milk, fresh from the Attic plain. 
 Tradesmen fumbling at the locks of their wooden shutters; 
 butchers and fishmongers sleepily opening out their broad 
 counters; and the flower-vendors, their baskets piled high, 
 would glance at the hurrying figure, only to see it disappear 
 around the next street corner. A lengthening row of low 
 irregularly built houses here and there a tall poplar or 
 
 208
 
 AN ATHENIAN DAWN 209 
 
 the circle of a cypress rising above garden walls black 
 shapes against the violet dawn the painted face of a 
 Hecate, or a sculptured Apollo Aquieus built into the dead 
 walls of the houses, together with the regimented Hermae 
 the common gods of households such dim outlines and 
 shapes told Timoleon he had reached Athens' most fashion- 
 able street of residences the Street of Hermes. 
 
 Past all such Timoleon slipped with noiseless ease. 
 Closer still, about his chin, he drew his mantle. His long- 
 ing was to pass by unsaluted, should he meet a friend. 
 Of all things secrecy was essential. To carry the little 
 adventure before him to a successful finish, he must be both 
 unseen and his progress be unimpeded. The gods be 
 praised at least no banqueters were abroad in this all- 
 too-fashionable thoroughfare ! 
 
 At a certain turn in the street Timoleon started, stopped 
 short as, in his turn, his oath broke from him. His prayer 
 of praise had been premature. His impious outburst, how- 
 ever, helped him to think, and quickly. 
 
 With a swift turn of his hand, he swept his himation 
 from its tight folds about his chin; he flung it in its usual 
 formal sweep, beneath the right arm and over the left 
 shoulder. 
 
 He straightened his head and walked forward. 
 A receding porch, and two or three narrow, upper win- 
 dows told him the facade of a familiar house was before 
 him. The torches, on house and porch, played their fitful 
 light. Loosened chitons, mantles trailing in the dust 
 flushed faces and garlanded heads these shapes trembled 
 and swayed, danced or staggered, upon the yellow wall sur- 
 faces. With the subsidence of the torches, the picture was 
 g 0ne lost in the violet blues of the dusk. 
 
 When next the torches flared, they showed contrasting 
 shapes. The faces of the revellers were grey or empurpled,
 
 2io ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 in the conflicting dawn and resin-tangled light. Pure-fea- 
 tured, calm-eyed, as gods should be, the guardian Hermae 
 stood straight and stiff in their midst, yet with benign as- 
 pect, as though to breathe a divine compassion upon human 
 frailty. 
 
 Timoleon's set, fixed features, with the smile he had suc- 
 ceeded in summoning to his expressive lips, confessed the 
 young man's annoyance only in its complete absence of merri- 
 ment. 
 
 A merry shout greeted his appearance. The more youth- 
 ful shapes swept towards him. 
 
 " Ah-h and here's Timoleon ! Well met ! Come, lend 
 us thy shoulder." 
 
 " No ! come hither 'tis my legs that are weakest ! " 
 
 " No mine mine ! " 
 
 "And what of ours? we who have been singing and 
 playing all night are, surely, of all of you, in greatest need 
 of firm support ! " With the glee of children, two flute- 
 girls made a sudden dash for Timoleon's composed figure. 
 With frolicsome laughter they flung themselves upon him, 
 flutes and lyres whirling in mid-air. They and their draper- 
 ies were swept against the young man's dark-clad form. 
 
 The group of young men fell back. With a joyous shout, 
 they watched the girls circling the young man's neck with 
 their arms. Each was struggling for complete capture. 
 
 " That settles it Timoleon there's no fighting such 
 weapons as those." 
 
 Timoleon, however, appeared to think otherwise. He 
 smiled with sober gravity. He paid his salute to the fair 
 girlish faces close to his own. Then, with quick and dex- 
 terous fingers, he loosened the clasp of the encircling arms. 
 
 To Erinna he gave Phocia's shoulder, as a supporting 
 base for slackened muscles ; Phocia, in lieu of Timoleon's un- 
 yielding form, found she must furnish, instead of seeking,
 
 AN ATHENIAN DAWN 211 
 
 support. The girls laughed and looked foolish; but they 
 kept the pose Timoleon's deft hand had given to them. 
 
 " Manifestly, Timoleon, thou art not drunk," lisped a 
 flat-nosed youth. 
 
 " Manifestly also, Critias' porter is either drunk or dead," 
 cried Timoleon, now proceeding to smite the door, before 
 which all were standing, with all his might. " Confound 
 the creature { why can't he hear that which would wake the 
 dead in the Ceramicus? " 
 
 Timoleon kept on pounding the door. His Irritation at 
 this unlucky encounter made vigorous action grateful. He 
 could have cursed aloud in his anger. 
 
 " T Tim oleon " a voice cried, faint at first, but 
 gathering a certain accent, of pompous dignity as the speaker 
 went on " If dear boy you would but train your 
 own slaves as you seek to govern those of others." 
 
 The torches showed an elderly shape, whose rich, em- 
 broidered mantle was close-drawn. The thick wreath of 
 myrtle and hyacinths hanging awry about the brows was 
 no beautifier of the sunken cheeks, the pendant lips, and the 
 wine-drugged eyes. Yet a certain dignity of bearing pro- 
 claimed the aristocrat. Even after a long night of banquet- 
 ing Critias could confront his own door with firm knees and 
 a jest upon his lips. 
 
 A shout of delighted laughter greeted Critias' witticism. 
 "Bravo! Critias well put. Timoleon longs to govern 
 us all. Why not rule your own kingdom? Surely Kro- 
 nos " 
 
 The door had now been opened. In the narrow gap stood 
 a tall Nubian, whose rudely modelled brows were knit. He 
 surveyed the group before him with a contemptuous expres- 
 sion. 
 
 "Well and are you all here at last?" he cried out, 
 as he folded his long-sleeved arms. " Have none of you
 
 212 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 been lost on the way? I seem to miss a philosopher or 
 two!" 
 
 A joyous clapping of hands greeted this outburst. For 
 this had the group waited. To hear what Critias' porter 
 would have to say, after a night of feasting, was one among 
 the very best ways of ending a festival. While all Athens 
 talked of freedom, this Nubian alone had the courage to 
 practice that which he did not happen to own. 
 
 The slave had moved forward, in this, his moment of 
 success. His rude features softened, as he grasped his mas- 
 ter's arm. He encircled his master's form with quick, ex- 
 perienced ease. As Critias leaned against the huge frame, 
 he breathed a short sigh of relief; his slave's firm grasp he 
 found almost as soothing as would be the couch yonder, in 
 the quiet thalamos. 
 
 " Socius," he breathed, as he sank against the strong 
 shoulder, " bear me within I am very weary." 
 
 Socius smiled with loving indulgence. He moved in- 
 wards, slowly, towards the narrow vestibule. " Ah-h, Mas- 
 ter," he cried, loud enough for all to hear, " you are at 
 your old tricks I see ever longing to give a good ex- 
 ample to the young." Even as he walked he shot back a 
 humourous glance at the group still gathered below the door 
 steps. 
 
 The younger men clapped loudly, as though at a play. 
 Their delighted laughter smote the air. A slave's tangled, 
 hairy face shot through one of the upper windows, looked 
 down upon the revellers with sleepy, wondering eyes; the 
 horses stirred in their stalls close to the vestibule door 
 pounded the concrete of their stable's pavement, snorting 
 as though to greet the new day. They woke the dogs. 
 With short, rapturous barks these latter now greeted the 
 entering figures of their master, his house-guests, and Socius. 
 
 On the figure of the last house-guest, Socius quickly closed
 
 AN ATHENIAN DAWN 213 
 
 the door. The inner bolt was shot firmly into its place. A 
 dog barked harshly, protestingly, from within the house. 
 One heard the agitated thumping of horses' hoofs in their 
 stalls, the dogs' barking ceased, and all was still. 
 
 This moment of silence, apparently, was the one for which 
 Timoleon had waited. With quick, decisive action, he pro- 
 ceeded to take command of the party. 
 
 Like babes staring at the sun, most of those left standing 
 in the open street, were now blinking at the brightening 
 gold of the new day in a helpless way. For the streets 
 were full of light. 
 
 Timoleon's brisk, authoritatives tones sounded like a trum- 
 pet call. 
 
 "Ariston my lad straighten thy mantle," he cried, 
 in his clear, bright voice ; " dost want all Athens to know 
 you drank your wine neat? There, that is better now 
 march the sooner you get your bath, the sounder you'll 
 sleep. Yes at the Stoa this afternoon, at the usual 
 hour and you two," and Timoleon turned to the two 
 flute-girls who, suddenly roused by the surprise of daylight 
 had instinctively, after the fashion of women, begun to re- 
 arrange their crumpled draperies, " now off with you. There 
 Phocia there's your flute hold it tight. Ah the lyre 
 yes, Erinna grasp it thus 'twill be safest beneath 
 your arm. So now farewell and walk your straight- 
 est. As I said," Timoleon cried after the two, now slowly 
 moving onward, " one wants no scandal in the street of 
 Hermes. Agesilaus and Ariston, wait pray. I'll give 
 you each a shoulder I go your way or part of it." 
 
 The magic of a man with a will or a purpose worked 
 its common miracle. One by one the revellers melted away. 
 Wisps of crocus-coloured draperies floated in the faint dawn- 
 breeze, in mazy swirl about sandalled feet. The yellow 
 streaks of light now tinting the house-fronts beat out glints
 
 214 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 of silver in Phocia's bee-embroidered chiton. The two girls' 
 fair skins, their trailing locks, rose garlanded, the outlines 
 of their perfect shapes moving within the delicate transparen- 
 cies, grew fainter and fainter. The street was soon emptied 
 of all save the growing glory of the Athenian day.
 
 Chapter XIX 
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 
 
 AT the turn of the next street, Timoleon found himself 
 alone. The slaves had taken their respective masters in 
 charge. 
 
 Once more Timoleon lifted his eyes to trace the dawn's 
 progress. The clear, bright skies showed a pink, flushed 
 surface. Lycabettus' crown had caught the first blaze. Its 
 tall, cragged peak glowed like a star dropped from the 
 night's blue. Beyond, the hills bloomed, rosy, mist-en- 
 wrapped. The streets were now white with light. The 
 features of the carved faces on walls and pedestals shone out, 
 those freshly carved clear and strong; those of an ancient 
 date, stained and weather-worn. 
 
 Timoleon's decision wavered perceptibly, as he noticed 
 these signs of the breaking day. With characteristic daring, 
 however, he determined to proceed. After all, a little ear- 
 lier, or a little later, what did it matter? Had he not tried 
 every sort of light? He made a quick, sudden plunge into 
 a side alley. 
 
 This narrower street seemed almost deserted. Here high 
 garden walls were intersected by house-fronts of a mean 
 appearance. 
 
 Timoleon glanced anxiously upwards. Not a slit of an 
 upper window but was covered by his quick eye. Neither 
 slave's or woman's face was to be seen. 
 
 A garden wall now rose high before him. The spirals of 
 tapering trees and groups of tall shrubs proved the garden, 
 for Athens, a fairly spacious one. Over the top wall fell 
 a mass of vines, whose green growth framed a door. 
 
 215
 
 216 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Timoleon placed his foot on the lower step of the green 
 door. He let his mantle trail. He stood rigid as a dog 
 with its bird in sight. Certain sounds coming from within 
 the walled garden sounds he had been waiting long weeks 
 to hear reached his ear. He could scarcely breathe for 
 
 joy- 
 First came a dog's sharp, rapture-laden bark. Then a 
 girl's voice soft and low. Then a long silence. 
 
 Once more Timoleon's breath came quickly, with gratified 
 content. The third voice the one he had dreaded might 
 again spoil his sport was unheard. Could it be possible 
 the girl within the garden was really alone? If so Hermes, 
 his sometimes kind god would, indeed, have rich reward. 
 
 Even as his vow escaped him, as though to earn the prom- 
 ised tribute, the god of luck sent the steps within, nearer 
 and ever nearer. 
 
 Timoleon felt his moment had come. 
 
 Suddenly opening his tunic, Timoleon tore from its hid- 
 ing place a withered garland. With a skilful toss, the chap- 
 let was flung across the garden wall. 
 
 A soft cry came from within. The flurried rustling of a 
 woman's garments, in among the shrubbery, caught Timo- 
 leon's ear. So still was the morning, the now swift, hard 
 breathing of one startled, almost panting this blessed 
 human sound came over the garden wall. Once again, be- 
 fore he spoke, Timoleon cautiously listened. Save that quick 
 breathing, all was still. 
 
 " Myrto is it indeed thou? " 
 
 Timoleon's voice was excellently tuned to the music of 
 his speech. It was low and tremulous. His eyes had deep- 
 ened in colour for in this stake for which he was playing, 
 there was danger. When facing danger, the bronze of 
 Timoleon's eyes turned to blackened marble. 
 
 The stillness assured Timoleon the words had been heard.
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 217 
 
 There came a low, smothered gasp, as of wonder mixed 
 with joy. A long moment passed. Then a soft voice called 
 out, in affrighted tones: 
 
 " Timoleon is it indeed Timoleon ? " 
 
 "Ah-h dearest Myrto with all my heart I salute 
 thee!" 
 
 Timoleon was listening to the tones of his voice as an 
 actor might when practising a lover's part. Being a* ex- 
 cellent critic, he judged the note sufficiently tender. 
 
 Once more there was a perfect stillness. The reedy 
 branches, growing below the garden wall did, indeed, creak 
 softly. Myrto, presumably, had stirred within her hiding 
 place. A long moment passed before her answer came. 
 
 " I shall wear your chaplet always." 
 
 The voice was faint was it from weakening courage, or 
 from a reticent desire to veil a shyness of feeling? Timo- 
 leon felt he must fan the flickering flame and with all his 
 might. 
 
 " And I what have I ? I must go into strange, far- 
 away countries, with no warmer assurance than that? Ah 
 sweet Myrto look into thy heart, and see if there be 
 no message there for him who longs to press that dear 
 heart for evermore to his ! " 
 
 As he was delivered of his impassioned outcry, Timoleon 
 felt at last, and to the full the excitement of the situ- 
 ation. Caught red-handed at this low trick of wooing 
 Critias' daughter, in this back-handed way and all his 
 chances of success were gone. Undiscovered, and with 
 Myrto's love avowed and his whole life might possibly 
 be changed his fortunes crowned with success. 
 
 He had to wait for his answer. When it came, the child- 
 ish tones were laden with feeling. 
 
 " Is it indeed true, Timoleon this I hear that you 
 are intending to leave us? " Along with the cry, there came
 
 218 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 the sound of a nervous crumbling of leaves. In her agita- 
 tion the girl was doubtless punishing the nearer shrubs 
 about her. 
 
 Timoleon smiled his cynical smile. How quickly news 
 travelled in Athens! He had taken care to talk, casually, 
 in the Market Place, of a possible journey to Sparta. 
 
 "Alas!" the smooth, sad tones came pearling over the 
 wall ; " I fear I must. But though I may go mighty love 
 goes with me. I shall pray the gods, daily, to bring me 
 back." 
 
 " Oh and I " the young voice answered, its tones 
 were now thrilled and strong with feeling " I shall pray 
 I shall do naught but pray." 
 
 " May I then hope to carry your love with me as my 
 safeguard, sweet one?" 
 
 He had put into his tones all the simulated passion he 
 could summon. True gambler that he was, he would risk 
 all his fortunes on this last throw. 
 
 Timoleon's luck was proverbially poor. Hermes appeared 
 to have suddenly abandoned his cause. Myrto's fresh, pure 
 voice had begun to chant, melodiously, tremulously its 
 first love vow 
 
 " If Hera hear my prayer may I ne'er wed " when 
 steps were heard, and deep tones cried out, as from a dis- 
 tance: 
 
 "And what in Heaven's name, child, does this hiding 
 mean? How came you here in the garden and 
 alone?" 
 
 At the sound of the rich Nubian voice, Timoleon felt a 
 murderous instinct. Hateful, fateful voice! A second 
 more, and he would have had that foolish child's promise 
 with all that a pious maiden's vow might bring to pass. 
 
 He could have cried aloud in his anger. Instead, he must 
 stand as rigid as a statue. He must stay his very breath.
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 219 
 
 That Asia's, Myrto's nurse, that her slave's ears were as 
 long as her knowledge of life was complete, all Athens 
 knew. No need of a Molossian hound in Critias' house- 
 hold.* 
 
 Timoleon caught Myrto's broken, embarrassed laugh. 
 The crackle of the branches told him that she had sprung, 
 almost at a bound, into the open pathway. Obviously also, 
 the girl had either released, or she had trickily pinched, her 
 dog, for he was barking furiously. Under cover of this 
 diversion, Myrto's tone had grown more and more reas- 
 sured. She had regained, apparently, sufficiently self-pos- 
 session to cry out: 
 
 " Nonsense Asia ! It is you, surely, who must have a 
 lover yourself. Ah ha ! you are always so mightily 
 suspicious of others. Where is mother? Let us seek her." 
 
 Asia's reply was lost. She and her charge must be now 
 entering the house. In the garden, as in the street, all was 
 still. 
 
 As Timoleon sauntered down the now almost blindingly 
 lighted street, he cursed his luck anew. This then was 
 the end of all his long patience of his persistent spying! 
 How many weeks it had taken to effect this longed-for meet- 
 ing! To find out the time and the moment when this child 
 Myrto might be counted upon to come into the garden 
 had he not been there at the same early hour morning 
 after morning hoping against hope for the lucky chance 
 when the hateful Asia might be absent and Myrto within 
 the walls alone? 
 
 The great chance had come at last ; and his usual luck 
 had pursued him the meeting had all but come to naught. 
 
 * Such hounds were sometimes kept by jealous husbands as 
 guardians of the women's quarters, in the master's absence.
 
 220 ON f HE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 It was nothing to Timoleon's hard heart that he had 
 heard the delicate flutterings of that girl-love. At the pres- 
 ent pass to which his life and fortunes had come, love of the 
 poorer, purer sort was the last gift he asked of the gods 
 unless of course as in Myrto's case, he saw a way to 
 work the feeling to his own advantage. The pretty ways 
 of maiden-love shyness, timidity and freshness all this 
 was lost on Timoleon, as was the glory of this brilliant 
 morning. 
 
 In a city like Athens, where noble women and maidens 
 were virtual prisoners in the gyneconitis, for Timoleon to 
 have seen, even once, and face-to-face, as carefully guarded a 
 maiden as Myrto, was nothing short of the work of the 
 gods. 
 
 On another dawn, some weeks before, Timoleon had been 
 preceding the corpse of a cousin to its long rest in the outer 
 Ceramicus. Near the Dipylon gate, both the funeral and 
 a covered carriage had been stopped. A long train of mules, 
 heavily laden, had blocked the way. 
 
 Critias and his family were entering the city. The an- 
 nual drive, from their Eubaean estates to the town house, 
 was nearly ended. 
 
 The wail and chant of the mourners even the funeral 
 dirge fell almost gratefully on the wearied senses. The 
 familiar strains told the elders they were nearing home, after 
 the long night's rough drive. 
 
 Myrto alone had leaned forth to look her fill of the show. 
 The train of relations, the hired mourners, the musicians 
 heading the procession had delighted the child's love of pomp. 
 There was ever a festive air about an Athenian funeral 
 that seemed to make burial pleasant. 
 
 Myrto suddenly encountered a full, strong gaze. Two
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 221 
 
 beautiful brown-gold eyes were fixed full upon her. By the 
 luckiest of winds that ever blew, the light dawn breeze had 
 lifted her own veil. In re-adjusting its folds Myrto took 
 occasion to give the stranger a swift return glance. In her 
 delight at the young man's beauty, and in the excitement 
 of experiencing a new thrill one that ran through her 
 young veins like warm sunlight Myrto had remained 
 transfixed. She was experiencing a wholly new a divine 
 sensation one that seemed to change her whole being. 
 
 Before her, as in a mirror, there was the quickening fire 
 of two brown-gold eyes, that looked wise and masterful for 
 loving. A music deeper and more searching than that 
 breathed through festival pipes, was making every pulse beat 
 in tune with a rapture that could only be love's own. 
 
 As if she had lost all power to summon her maiden's 
 modesty, Myrto had found herself smiling back. For that 
 one entrancing instant, looking and smiling thus into the 
 other's eyes, to Myrto, at least, it was as if everything that 
 youth could say to youth had been felt, and spoken, and 
 answered. 
 
 Then Myrto's lashes, in meek obedience to their training, 
 had swept the burn of her cheek. She had hurriedly bent 
 her head, as she folded her veil about her. The flute notes 
 had freshened upon the morning air. The wail and chant 
 of the mourners once more rose and fell, in rhythmic itera- 
 tion, as Critias's coach had dashed city-wards. 
 
 It had taken the patience of weeks for Timoleon to ac- 
 complish this second meeting. 
 
 Hermione and her daughter Myrto had gone to none of 
 the autumn festivals. Critias had had a fit of economy. 
 Such righteous impulses were usually left for his women- 
 kind to work out. Timoleon, therefore, had had no chance 
 of even exchanging a glance with Myrto. 
 
 N ow a t last his patience had been rewarded. The
 
 222 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 mornings he had haunted that tiresome, dull garden wall 
 had not been lost. Even though Myrto's silly love-vow 
 had been cut in two, if the interchange of a smile, and a 
 single admiring stare could work the miracle of love in a 
 child's heart, what might not impassioned utterance ac- 
 complish? Timoleon felt he could safely leave the love- 
 filter of his daring avowal to work its results. 
 
 The shadow of a better fortune, as he walked towards the 
 western end of the Agora, seemed to flit beside him. It 
 was destined he should have one more adventure before he 
 gained his home door. As he came upon the long row of 
 gods and goddesses, close to the western end of the Agora, he 
 heard a well-known voice. 
 
 " Ah-h, Timoleon out and so early? 'Tis hours be- 
 fore your usual time." 
 
 Glaucus looked as fresh as a girl. His blond curls were 
 crisp and shining; they fell over his brow in a perfect circle. 
 The pink skin, the shapely nose flattened to make a 
 straight line with the smooth brow, the full lips and beauti- 
 fully rounded cheeks, were in striking contrast to Timo- 
 leon's dark, thought-worked face. 
 
 Timoleon noticed his friend wore a hat, and that he car- 
 ried a goad in lieu of his usual long cane. 
 
 In answer to Timoleon's quick survey, Glaucus cried out : 
 
 " Well met! I was looking for some one to join me " 
 
 " And where now gay Glaucus ? " smiled Timoleon, 
 scenting an agreeable invitation. 
 
 " Out through the Dipylon gate, into the country and 
 back. Will you come? I long to try those new coacH- 
 horses." 
 
 Timoleon considered. His next engagement must be met 
 in an hour or less. Presently he nodded assent. It would 
 soothe him to take the air. The two passed quickly out of 
 the market shade, to wend their way to the stables.
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 223 
 
 Once seated in the high coach, and the horses put to 
 their speed, after a few commonplaces, Timoleon felt a re- 
 turn of his depression. The thought would come why, 
 of all the men he knew, had he alone been singled out for 
 wretchedness? Why should it not have been Glaucus who 
 was turned poor and he, Timoleon, who had continued his 
 old, pleasant life, with horses, and country houses, and a 
 generous giving of banquets? 
 
 "The wine too strong after all, last night Timo- 
 leon? Yet no one carried his cups as well as you," lisped 
 Glaucus, a touch of sympathy in his voice. Glaucus was 
 not noted for quick insight. 
 
 " Oh Bacchus never scourges me," almost bitterly re- 
 plied Timoleon, noticing how near they were to the very 
 garden where Hermes had played him false. 
 
 " It is Hermes always, who has me under his displeas- 
 ure. Can you imagine anything more tormenting," he 
 added, with a sudden, rare impulse of frankness, " than to 
 have a beautiful young girl about to avow her love to you 
 in broad daylight, and for her slave to make a point of 
 coming, hours before her time, from market as though solely 
 to keep the vow from being uttered ? " 
 
 Glaucus compassionately agreed few situations in life 
 were more tantalizing. Then, as he touched his steeds with 
 his goad, he wondered who, in the name of all the gods, 
 Timoleon could have found to listen to his love-vows in 
 Athens, of all places, where every one knew his history. 
 Some men were unaccountably successful in love! Timo- 
 leon, for example, was always having adventures or, at 
 least, was always recounting them. What could women see 
 in him? 
 
 As if to inspect his friend anew as though he had 
 never properly seen him before Glaucus turned. He gave 
 all the seconds he could safely steal from his horses, to
 
 224 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 looking over Timoleon's physical equipment. Well yes 
 
 one must acknowledge the features were well-cut the 
 nose a little too thin perhaps at the base, and the lips needed 
 more colour and fulness. Any one could see, Timoleon was 
 of noble blood, and a gentleman. He was careful to keep 
 up his training, as a gentleman should and poor as he was 
 
 and sponge as every one knew him to be, there was a 
 certain pride and cleverness about him that made his com- 
 pany desirable. As a result of this summing-up, Glaucus 
 saw fit to change his mind on an important decision. 
 
 " By the way, Timoleon I give a banquet to Ion in 
 a night or two will you come ? " 
 
 Timoleon forced a smile. 
 
 " Gladly I hear he returns to-morrow his mission 
 was successful I hear." 
 
 " Yes Now everything Ion does, the gods crown as 
 Olympia crowned him. Once a man has luck " 
 
 " And money," quickly interrupted Timoleon, the jarring 
 note of bitterness cutting the clear air " Where would 
 Ion be now, were it not for his father's trading ships ? " 
 
 All the hate of the penniless aristocat was in the bitter 
 tone. 
 
 Glaucus laughed good humouredly. " Well dear man, 
 Plutos is a good friend but Ion is also a charming man 
 
 and our gods love beauty and a sweet nature and men 
 are only mortals For my part, I always loved Ion." 
 
 Timoleon was about to make a crushing retort, if only 
 to remind Glaucus of a time when he would scarce be seen 
 with the Piraean in the Poikile, but the off leader just then 
 stood upright, frightened at a drove of sheep a shepherd was 
 driving across the road, and Glaucus had need of all his 
 mind and skill to avert disaster. When the animal was 
 quieted to the point of walking on four legs, Glaucus asked
 
 OVER A GARDEN WALL 225 
 
 Timoleon the last war news. In talking war Timoleon 
 forgot Ion. Syracuse and her enemies were of larger prom- 
 ise for one with empty pockets, than sowing seeds of dissen- 
 sion between two rich men.
 
 Chapter XX 
 
 MYRTO'S AWAKENING 
 
 Two days later, in the gynaeconitis of Critias' house, Myrto, 
 as she stood in the open court, heard the voices of her dull 
 life calling to her. The whir of the loom in the spinning- 
 room called loudest. Whatever happened, to attempt to 
 spin on this morning of mornings she felt she could not. 
 To sit at the loom, or to weigh out the wools or flax for the 
 slaves would be, she felt, intolerable. At least she might 
 wait until her mother appeared. 
 
 Myrto slipped between the pillars of the sun-flooded court. 
 
 Below the square opening, the very dogs were asleep. 
 Under the shade of the columns they lay, curled and coiled, 
 as if anxious to kill a day that offered nothing better than 
 a great deal of sun and a warmth in the air that made 
 sleep better than keeping awake, since there was no outlet 
 for the dance in the pulse save a slow wagging of the 
 tail until Serapion, their true boy comrade should appear. 
 
 Myrto's own pulses were throbbing too noisily for quick, 
 clear thought. The terrifying knowledge locked within her 
 childish soul seemed a burden greater than she could carry. 
 
 She was still dazed wrapt out of her little world. 
 Timoleon's withered love-token the bit of garland she 
 wore in her bosom was surely as binding as a betrothal! 
 She pressed the leaves the closer, as she smiled. She felt 
 their prick with secret rapture her blushes, she knew, were 
 dyeing her cheeks. The instant after, her heart-beats all but 
 died within her shaking frame. Were her mother above 
 all, were her father, to learn of that morning's adventure, 
 
 226
 
 MYRTO'S AWAKENING 227 
 
 the punishment and disgrace that would befall her were be- 
 yond imagining. 
 
 The spectre of fear vanished before the divine sensations 
 that next swept her young soul. 
 
 She was loved! She was loved! And by one of the 
 handsomest, cleverest, and most brilliant of Athenian no- 
 bles. The very knowledge of such a wondrous fact made 
 Myrto's young soul thrill with rapture. 
 
 Then, as the thought rose up, dark-visaged, sinister as 
 one of the faces of the Fates of the inexorable laws gov- 
 erning her life, Myrto's young soul was rocked with her 
 first sense of real anguish. Unless the gods themselves 
 should interfere how would her father ever consent to 
 accept Timoleon as her suitor? His father was in exile 
 the estates were confiscated Timoleon himself was living 
 on next to nothing ! child as she was, Myrto knew such a 
 man, thus circumstanced, had no more chance of being an 
 acceptable suitor than if he had been a pig-like Arcadian. 
 Yet Hermione yet possibly her dear mother might be 
 won over. She, surely, had been unhappy enough in her 
 own marriage ! Who knew if praying hard to Hestia 
 might not lead to a softening of that dear, fond mother's 
 heart ? 
 
 Rocked thus by the alterations of hope, sorrow, rapture, 
 and despair, Myrto sat in the sun, at the base of a column. 
 Idly, as from sheer habit, she went on stroking the silken 
 coat of her pet Maltese as her thoughts ran the wild 
 gamut of this new love-rhapsody. 
 
 Presently Myrto's fingers stiffened. Her breath seemed 
 to harden on her lips. Her heart's beating came to a full 
 stop. 
 
 She had heard her own name spoken by her father, 
 and not once, but twice! 
 
 The door of the thalamos was ajar. Through it and the
 
 228 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 thick curtain, hanging before the door, came the sound of 
 her parents' voices. They were disputing. There was noth- 
 ing unusual in the latter fact; they rarely, indeed, agreed 
 about anything although Hermione, being a great lady, 
 and a model of behaviour, never openly opposed her husband, 
 except when they were alone, behind their chamber curtain. 
 There was, therefore, nothing unusual in the sound of her 
 parents' voices, raised in the heat of their mutual anger, 
 to make her heart stop beating. 
 
 " Have you told Myrto?" That was the question that 
 had transfixed the girl into the immobility of a breathless 
 statute. 
 
 For her father to mention her at all was sufficiently 
 terrifying. Being a girl, he, of course, always either point- 
 edly ignored her existence, or failed to remember, as a rule, 
 her presence. 
 
 Her mother's answer Myrto could not hear. The tapes- 
 try was so aggravatingly thick! 
 
 Myrto now glanced hurriedly, excitedly about. No slave 
 shape was to be seen. Thereupon, deliberately, Myrto 
 planted her ear beside the curtain, as close as she dared. 
 She had caught Asia's, her slave's, trick. 
 
 "Have you told Myrto?" she now heard her father 
 plainly ask. 
 
 " No not yet," her mother's voice sounded less clear ; 
 it seemed fainter because of a certain sadness with which 
 it was laden. 
 
 " Do so then to-day he will be here shortly. I in- 
 tend to give him a banquet." 
 
 Standing now between the tapestry and the door Myrto 
 could catch the sound, but not the words, of her mother's 
 long sentences. Presently, however, some words rang out 
 clear and strong. 
 
 " I have long since known you have lost all pride. If
 
 MYRTO'S AWAKENING 229 
 
 you can but pass all your days abroad at the Assembly, 
 or the Gymnasia, or with Alcibiades or Polytion, and your 
 nights at the Symposia if you can but have at your own 
 banquets the wine to run like rivers and you can tell 
 your guests the singing-girls are all from Corinth you 
 care not how quickly my dower goes or whether your 
 sons marry maidens like Nausicaa or whom Myrto is to 
 marry." 
 
 " By the great gods ! Madam," here angrily interrupted 
 Critias Myrto could hear her father springing upright 
 for the bed-cords creaked beneath. him "Am I alive and 
 capable of walking about that I hear such language 
 and from a woman ? How often am I to be reminded that 
 it is your dowry, your money, your property that is keeping 
 the household going? Zeus! he who marries an heiress is 
 indeed under the curse of the gods! Is there no teaching 
 you your place ? " To the storm of that outburst, there 
 succeeded a silence. Myrto knew her mother was strug- 
 gling to contain herself. Her voice rose up sweet once 
 more. Its ring of habitual submission sounded clear and 
 distinct. 
 
 " I have long known I am naught We Athenian women 
 now have fallen thus to be as little regarded as slaves 
 sometimes as easily put away " 
 
 " Come come none of that. I was angered no 
 man will stand a woman ruling the house even if she 
 have the money. I assure you I have no desire to persist 
 in carrying out this plan, against your wish. I desire it 
 it will be an excellent match as you will see. When I 
 saw him the other day, I was struck with his beauty." 
 
 "Is he then so fair?" her mother asked, in a mollified 
 voice. Hermione's anger melted out of her whenever her 
 husband assumed a courteous tone. Myrto felt her own 
 breath hardening on her lips for if her mother yielded,
 
 230 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 whatever was to come to her was certain to be a doom as 
 fixed as fate. 
 
 " Yes his form is perfect. I was delighted. He is 
 as strong as he is fair. And since his Olympian victory, 
 every door is open to him. Hem ! tell the child to-day 
 and that I shall be pleased. Hem! the small farm in 
 Elis shall be hers." There was a slight pause. " By the 
 way, I must go to the slave-market. Nirias says the mines 
 will yield largely this year. He needs some strong young 
 slaves." 
 
 Her mother said nothing. Yet Hermione commonly flew 
 into a passion at the mere mention of the purchase of more 
 slaves. 
 
 The talk came to an end after that. Myrto could hear 
 her mother walking about. She had opened the great chest 
 
 she was taking out the plate for the day's use. Her 
 father had turned to finish his sleep. The bed-girths 
 groaned anew beneath him, as he changed his posture. 
 Myrto dropped the curtain. 
 
 For a long time she had strength only to lean against 
 the wall. She steadied herself with her outstretched palms, 
 as she flattened them against the cold stucco. She was too 
 shaken by the tremor of her mingled fear, curiosity, and 
 amazement to care now whether she was caught or not. 
 
 What could it all mean? That she was to be married? 
 Could that be the great, the real solution to this stupendous 
 riddle of conversation? If it all meant marriage then, 
 to whom? Whom could her father possibly have in mind? 
 
 As in a dream, every man she had ever heard mentioned, 
 by either her parents or her relations, in connection with 
 her marriage, was passed in view. It could not be Ccpis 
 
 he was far too old, nearly fifty. Yet he was rich; and 
 her father, as she knew, would never be " pleased " with 
 any son-in-law who was not wealthy. Then there was
 
 MYRTO'S AWAKENING 231 
 
 Cephalus, the richest of all the friend of Nirias, he who 
 had three houses: had he had an Olympian victory? 
 
 Could it Ah ! rapturous thought ! could it be Timo- 
 leon? Had Hera so quickly granted her prayer? Had 
 Timoleon's father been miraculously pardoned, out of exile 
 and above all had he come into his estates once more ? 
 Was it because of this Timoleon was going away? Alas! 
 hope had fled. Never had a single slave brought news from 
 the Agora of Timoleon's winning anything. 
 
 Myrto stumbled, she scarce knew how, to the door of her 
 room. For once its dulled light was welcome. She even 
 drew the hanging before the door as close as possible. Her 
 heated temples must be cooled. Her eyes were smarting 
 with pain. 
 
 As she groped about in search of a ewer, the hanging was 
 swept aside. Asia's large outlines filled the narrow space. 
 
 " Come come up with you, honey ! we are all of 
 us late this morning." Her voice, soft as it was, was like 
 a whip ; it stung Myrto's quivering soul into freshened sense 
 of its pain. 
 
 With a cry, Myrto ran forward to clasp her young arms 
 about her slave's neck. Brazier and ewer came to a quick 
 rest, on the plastered floor ; for lighted coals and water were 
 not safe things to handle when Mryto was in one of her 
 impassioned fits for caressing. 
 
 "Tell me, Asia has mother told you?" Myrto whis- 
 pered, as she clung to her slave's neck. " Do you know 
 what is to happen to me ? Is it Timoleon dear Asia 
 is it?" 
 
 Asia laid Myrto's beautiful young head on her broad 
 bosom. She patted the trembling shoulders with her strong 
 hands. As she soothed and petted the child, her own rich 
 voice was not free from a quiver of feeling. Whatever she 
 knew or did not know was not written upon her firmly-
 
 232 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 moulded, Nubian features. She had not carried the secret 
 counsels of one of Athens' most distinguished families for 
 near upon half a century to let a child read her mind. 
 " There ! There ! honey don't shake so, child. There's 
 no evil stroke of fate coming to you darling." And she 
 began, with her usual order, to lay out the garments of the 
 day one by one. 
 
 "Ah but if I am made to marry any one but Timo- 
 leon the worst of evils will befall," cried Myrto, giving 
 a despairing twitch to her golden locks, now freed for Asia's 
 skilled combing. 
 
 Asia shot a quick, investigating glance at the face between 
 its long falls of gold. What ailed the child? Could any- 
 thing have happened, in the garden while she was un- 
 watched? As Asia plied her comb, she thought it well to 
 sound the waters. Myrto's thoughts were no deeper than a 
 brook. Any one could fish therein. 
 
 " Tush tush child you are always babbling of 
 Timoleon. He is no match for you as I've often told 
 you. Poor a spy as every one says " 
 
 " Every one lies, then ! He is truth and honour 
 and all that is noble I tell you ! " Myrto's passionate 
 denial made Asia's dark brows lift. 
 
 " Ah-h and how came you to know so well a gentle- 
 man's character ? What can you know of men my honey ? 
 Those who know, tell strange tales of your Timoleon." 
 
 " Those who hate him do," hotly answered Myrto, push- 
 ing Asia from her. 
 
 " I bear him no hate but I know him and well." 
 Asia's face darkened as she thought of all the rumours 
 about, in the city, concerning Timoleon's latest love in- 
 trigue. A sudden, passionate heat half blinded the woman 
 at the thought of such a man owning her beloved Myrto. 
 In the violence of her indignation she actually shook the
 
 MYRTO'S AWAKENING 233 
 
 child. " What, pray, do you know of men you buried 
 here in your prison, with your amulets and your dolls, 
 your dogs and your child's games and with your precious 
 brother? Do such things teach you to know the base from 
 the noble, the mean man from him who is wise and generous ? 
 It is in the market place one learns to know men, I tell 
 you." 
 
 " Let me go " Myrto half shrieked, wrenching herself 
 free. In her turn her anger stifled her. " You are ridicu- 
 lous! You know well I have ceased and for years to 
 play with dolls and it is you who have covered yourself 
 all over with amulets, and as for a prison one can learn 
 a good deal even here " 
 
 Asia's face brightened. " Hoity-Toity! We're in a bad 
 temper this morning. Some one has been hearing that which 
 they should not. Let me see I'll take a look at the 
 thalamos door " Asia pushed her head beyond the cham- 
 ber doorway. When she turned and stood upright, her 
 lips were indulgently curved. She proceeded, with her usual 
 calm, to give her skilful touch to the draperies of Myrto's 
 chiton, as though the disgrace of listening at a parent's door 
 was a most forgiveable offence. Her sweet Nubian laughter 
 filled the dark room. " Well well listeners never hear 
 any good of themselves. And if Master has been talking, 
 you need consoling, honey, and no roughing of the tongue 
 from me." 
 
 " Dear Asia tell me and do they mean, really, to 
 marry me?" Myrto's soft, pleading eyes, and the persua- 
 sion of her clinging arms about Asia's neck would have 
 moved a less seasoned tongue to indiscretion. 
 
 " There! Don't shake so, honey. There's no evil stroke 
 of fate coming to you that much I can say. He's rich 
 and beautiful this other and famous the gods have 
 been good but what silly words am I babbling? By the
 
 234 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 way, I was to tell you my lady says that you need not be 
 at the loom this morning. You can play till noon. She 
 will see you in the pastas. How shall I ever get you dressed, 
 if you tremble so? " 
 
 That was all Myrto could wrench from the lips of the 
 best and most loving friend, except her mother, she had in 
 the world. During the long dressing hour, while she was 
 being bathed and perfumed, her hair dressed, the richer 
 chiton for the day shaken out and draped, Myrto pled, she 
 cajoled, she lavished tears and kisses on her dear slave's 
 cheeks and neck, but Asia would tell her nothing. 
 
 Then Myrto had a change of mood. Her naturally gay, 
 still childish nature took a swift, upward flight. After all, 
 whatever this great change was, it would be at least a 
 change, she said to herself. The same dull, dreary waste of 
 days, for a time, would be diversified by scenes and emotions 
 that would surely be soul-stirring. The child in her could 
 dance, thus, through the arcades of fancy. 
 
 Before she was fully dressed, she had already seen dis- 
 tinctly before her one perfect one delicious moment. 
 What a triumph to drag Serapion behind a column, before 
 the noon meal, and there, in the court's full sunlight, to 
 watch his face, when she told him she was going to be mar- 
 ried! By that time, she would surely know to whom..
 
 Chapter XXI 
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 
 
 THE last loop in the long garlands had been taken. The 
 banqueting hall was now ready for the evening's feast. 
 Breaking though she felt her heart to be, Hermione had not 
 slighted her task. 
 
 The grinning masks that served to support the garlands 
 leered, at correct intervals, through a thick frame of clus- 
 tering roses, tulips, and hyacinths. Hermione's trained eyes 
 swept the floral frieze; a sculptor might have taken the rope 
 of flowers and their grotesque supports as a model for the 
 capital of a column. 
 
 " Tighten that last loop give it a firmer twist that 
 will suffice. And now you may go to your quarters." 
 
 With what patience she could summon, Hermione watched 
 the last long-sleeved figure and bared heel pass beyond the 
 doors opening. Then, with a sudden passionate movement, 
 she swept her hands to her face. The long held-in sobs shook 
 her frame. 
 
 This instant of solitude in this busy, feast-giving, Andron 
 
 this one still moment brought a soothing, physical re- 
 lief to Hermione's tortured heart. She let the sobs shake 
 her frame. Neither fear of her husband, nor fear of the 
 slaves' eyes, nor of Myrto's distressed wonder were to be 
 dreaded. She could weep, and weeping, feel somewhat eased 
 of her anguish. 
 
 On the figure of the weeping mistress the masques looked 
 
 and looking, grinned on. This silent, decked chamber, 
 with its perfumed garlands and its rose-hued walls, that 
 
 235
 
 236 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 seemed waiting for the entrance of crowned happiness, of 
 a laughing train of garlanded youths and gay nymphs 
 was filled instead with a bowed figure and with the sounds 
 of stifled sobbing. 
 
 Hermione quickly mastered her emotion. Myrto, she re- 
 minded herself, with a sudden start, must already be await- 
 ing her in the pastas. 
 
 She passed quickly from the banqueting-room into the 
 peristyle. 
 
 The whole court was flooded with sunlight. Its airy 
 coolness, its beauty, and its orderliness were a delight to the 
 senses. The third most beautiful peristyle, in a private 
 house, in all Athens, the houses of the wealthy Polytion and 
 of Alcibiades alone surpassed this andron. Had there been 
 more money in the Euboean farm, and more slaves to pay 
 the artists' bill, Critias would assuredly have striven to have 
 surpassed his rivals. 
 
 Hermione, at first, had been angered at this loss of slaves 
 that had gone for a tinting of walls and of Doric columns. 
 In time she came, however, to rejoice in the beauty of the 
 court. Her " Athenian prison," as she called the town house, 
 was made, by its beauty, a little more endurable. When 
 Critias was abroad, she, at least, could revel in its coolness 
 and beauty. 
 
 The prick of the air now touched Hermione's open throat 
 and bared neck and arms. Her whole frame was stung into 
 freshened activity. Though the tears were still in her eyes, 
 she smiled involuntarily, as the winds swirled downwards 
 through the open square, and her draperies wound about 
 her limbs, tightening like a coil. The thin house-chiton 
 revealed the true Juno model lines full and chaste, yet 
 delicately voluptuous. 
 
 With a sudden, passionate movement, Hermione raised
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 237 
 
 her arms. The true, preferred god of her ancestral house 
 her beloved Apollo stood before her. 
 
 She lifted her soul in prayer. She besought the god to 
 give her wisdom, to counsel her in this dark hour. She 
 omitted none of his attributes, ending with the usual form- 
 ula: "Whoever thou art or mayst be" that she might 
 win his special regard. He might show her the way out 
 of her trouble might whisper to her how to delay Myrto's 
 marriage how to keep the child near her for a few 
 months longer, at the very least. 
 
 The light from his jewelled eyes surely sparkled with 
 living flame! 
 
 Hermione, tall as she was, could not quite reach her 
 adored deity's neck. In a rapture of pious ecstacy she flung 
 her arms about the amber-hued pedestal. All her trouble 
 then seemed taken from her. She felt certain a miracle 
 would come to pass. 
 
 Hermione's pious mood quickly changed for she had 
 opened the court door into the gynaeconitis. 
 
 As never before, it struck her how small and mean was 
 this tiny women's court! How stunted the columns of the 
 rude peristyle! The very bases of the columns were stained, 
 defaced. 
 
 From the open kitchen came the smell of cooking. The 
 noise of loud, coarse talk, and rude laughter rose above 
 the clashing of dishes and the rattle of the looms, now in 
 full activity in the spinning-rooms. Smells, clattering 
 tongues, and the slaves' laughter, rolled out like a nauseous, 
 deafening flood. 
 
 Hermione, in her quick anger and passionate hate of it 
 all forgot her prayer for wisdom. She remembered, through 
 the mists of her wrath, that, small and mean as was this 
 court, she was at least mistress within its narrow confines.
 
 238 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Hermione once more lifted her hands. This time it 
 was to clap them and loud. A dozen slaves' heads filled 
 the door openings. The famous cook hired for the day to 
 prepare the evening's banquet stood, ladle in hand, gap- 
 ing-mouthed. 
 
 Hermione, in the middle of her mean court, looked as 
 imperious as Athena herself, and as threatening as any one 
 of the Dark Sisters. Her words cut like a sword-thrust. 
 
 " Cook the court has the smell of a charnel-house. 
 Cooks who come with a reputation ahead of them should 
 work to improve them, or they may find themselves without 
 the article." 
 
 The cook gave Hermione a dazed glare, all but dropped 
 his ladle, recovered it, slunk behind the faded rag that did 
 duty for a hanging, drew it, and closed the creaking door. 
 Behind the door, the cook's helpers were then given a lesson 
 in profanity, and an arraignment of the sex to whom he 
 owed his existence, that proved Euripides might have taken 
 his famous invectives against women hot from the lips of a 
 cook in a rage. Hermione's voice was heard still lifted 
 high in command. 
 
 " Megara all of you, out there, in the spinning-room 
 follow cook's example shut both mouth and doors. 
 Cease trying to rival the noise of a copper-smith's shop." 
 
 A frightened group of slaves' faces, clustering about the 
 spinning-room, suddenly disappeared. More creaking an- 
 nounced that another reluctant door had been closed. The 
 court was suddenly still, save for the ring of childish laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 As the gay babble swept Hermione's ears, the beautiful 
 face softened. Every feature was harmonized. The Juno- 
 like mingled dignity and loveliness that once Phidias had 
 caught, with his quick eyes of discerning genius, and, years 
 ago, had transfixed into marble, this sudden glow of worn-
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 339 
 
 anly emotion made Hermione as glorious as was now her 
 living portrait, the famous masterpiece. 
 
 The mounting throb of tenderness reminded Hermione 
 her eyes and cheeks must be wearing the tell-tale signs of 
 her late emotion. She passed unnnoticed into her chamber. 
 Hermione looked quickly about her dark room. By instinct 
 rather than sight, she grasped her brushes. Her mirror 
 was held with a firm hand, and the pigments plied with skill. 
 
 The pastas the family sitting-room was almost as 
 bright as was the small court. The noon shadows on the 
 rude columns without were blue. This inner, enclosed 
 room, with its bright hangings, its graceful chairs, its inlaid 
 klinai, with its mound of embroidered pillows, its altar to 
 Hestia, and its tall reed-like candelabra?, was at its very 
 best and cosiest moment. The noon radiance swept through 
 columns the bright Athenian light. The room was suffused 
 with colour and warmth. 
 
 When Myrto had entered the room, to await her mother, 
 its gay aspect had re-acted on her sensitive Greek nature. 
 
 " Oh Asia " she cried, in hot, impatient accents, 
 "how are we to pass the time till mother comes?" It 
 seemed to her childish mind as if anything were better than 
 inaction. If the worst were to befall her then let it 
 but let the doom come quickly. Meanwhile with all this 
 sun and brightness about, one could not sit with folded 
 hands, awaiting grim fate. 
 
 Even as she had asked her question, Myrto walked quickly 
 towards a large-backed, ivory chair. Across its seat lay a 
 young lion's skin. This covering Myrto exchanged for a 
 pillow, lying on the nearest couch. Having placed her 
 cushion, she proceeded to sit down upon it, to test its sink-
 
 240 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ing properties. As she sank into its depths, she breathed a 
 gratified sigh. Then she began to spread out her draperies, 
 with a careful elaboration. To sit on high chairs, with one's 
 chiton flowing about one, and with one's foot on a stool, 
 made Myrto feel quite mature and fully grown. 
 
 " Softly child we who are of age to sit in high chairs 
 and of the rank to use footstools, sit softly, remembering 
 that carved woods and ivories are precious things." 
 
 " Asia " said Myrto, her large eyes were fixed on her 
 slave's face, with a quick affectation of great gravity, and 
 she leaned forward in her chair, her small hands brought 
 together at the finger tips. She had seen her father sit 
 thus, in his more condescending, severe moments " if I 
 must needs speak my real mind, it is to tell you you are a 
 fool." 
 
 Then both laughed as at an excellent bit of comedy. 
 Myrto had caught her father's very accent and gesture, when 
 he was playing the part of mentor to his quaking house- 
 hold. 
 
 " And now " Myrto went on, still with the perfect 
 mimicry which was one of her small accomplishments, " how 
 would you rather have me prove my point in a myth, as 
 an old man does to young people or by means of argu- 
 ment?" 
 
 Asia had been making a pretence of dusting the few statu- 
 ettes about the room. She now stood at her ease, with her 
 hands on her hips, and eyes over-running with laughter. 
 
 ' The actors themselves yes, and even Aristophanes 
 should hear you child." 
 
 Myrto narrowed her beautiful eyes and pinched her pout- 
 ing lips. She was trying to look as much like her father as 
 she could. " As I hold you to be a woman of varied expe- 
 rience, who has learned may things from others, and who 
 has found out many for yourself I believe you are right."
 
 HE&MIONE AND MYRTO 241 
 
 As Myrto finished her phrase a perfect copy of her father's 
 lofty language her childish face changed, as a fresh im- 
 pulse seized her. She hopped to the ground she began 
 suddenly to spin about. Round and round she spun, whirl- 
 ing her draperies till they stood about her, stiffened with 
 air. 
 
 " See Asia I am as large as watery moon in mid- 
 summer," she cried, in her natural voice. Presently she took 
 a plunge downward, to come to a swift upright, on her knees, 
 in the very middle of her successful cheese. Then she 
 laughed, outright. Her childish nature was as light as 
 froth, once more. It was so much easier to be gay than 
 sad ! Even the bitter-sweet of love was not a taste one could 
 wish for every moment of the day. When her mother 
 came in it would be time to be sorrowful. She might as 
 well enjoy this thrill born of the giddy thought of the great 
 coming event. 
 
 Hermione caught sight of Myrto as she entered the pastas. 
 The child's laughing radiance, her gay rebound, as she 
 brought her slender shape to an upright, the toss of the 
 spirited golden-crowned head, made Hermione's heart tighten 
 anew, with keen anguish. How passing fair was her dar- 
 ling! 
 
 At Myrto's cry "Ah here's mother at last ! " Her- 
 mione nerved herself to smile. Some of her moral energy 
 had returned to her with the play of her brushes. She 
 kissed Myrto lovingly, with calm eyes. 
 
 Myrto started. She did not return the kiss. She had 
 caught sight of her mother's faintly-tinted cheeks. Her 
 mother's care in dressing thus early, brought anew to Myrto, 
 in dreadful clearness, the phantoms of fear she had been 
 fighting all the morning. Never would Hermione have 
 taken the pains to make herself so beautiful, unless something 
 quite terrible was to be said or done.
 
 242 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Mother, mother " cried Myrto terror-stricken, with 
 outstretched hands " What is it that is to happen to me 
 what is it you wish to say to me? " and she flung herself 
 upon her mother's neck. 
 
 Hermione patted the soft, hot cheek, laying her own 
 scarcely less heated, upon it. 
 
 " Hush, child ! Be calm ! Remember the old saying 
 that there are the gates for us all the gates that open on 
 the paths of night and day. Who knows but the gate for 
 you may be opening upon the day? Come let us walk 
 forth into the sun. We need to quiet our nerves. The 
 air will bring healing " 
 
 Quieted, she scracely knew why or how, save that always 
 her mother had this power of soothing, Myrto let herself be 
 led outward beyond the open door. 
 
 The two passed out into the tiny square that did duty 
 for a garden. It had been twice as large only two short 
 years ago. Like so much of Hermione's property that had 
 been eaten and drunk up, the other half had been sold to 
 pay for some of Critias' extravagances. 
 
 Small as was the enclosed bit of green, under the warm 
 Athenian sun, it bloomed as brightly as the rich valleys of 
 their own Euboean fields. 
 
 Critias, whose economies always took the form of such 
 acts as might minister directly or indirectly to his own 
 comfort, or to increase of pocket, had forbidden all plants or 
 flowers or even trees to be grown that were purely orna- 
 mental. Roses, violets, lilies, narcissi, the sweet-breathed 
 margeraine, cyclamen these were useful for either chap- 
 lets or for funeral wreaths. Peach blossoms, also, in their 
 season, were good to behold on fresh, fair beauties, at one's 
 symposia. 
 
 Critias could not, however, stay the flight of birds, nor 
 their instinct for nest-building; nor could he shut out rac-
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 243 
 
 ing clouds across the blue shield of the Athenian sky; nor 
 could he stop bees on their way from Hymettus to their 
 hives in the Attican plains from buzzing loudly about Her- 
 mione's carefully tended flowers. So birds twittered and 
 sang, the sky rained brightness and warmth, bees hummed 
 merrily, and the noise and tumult of an eager, restless, pas- 
 sionate-veined people beat in unceasing pulsations upon the 
 resonant Athenian air. 
 
 On this lovely Spring morning, the peach trees were in 
 their rosiest bloom. Their shell-like blossoms, tossing in a 
 light wind against the clear azure, made a pink screen. 
 Against these traceries Hermione's delicately-sprigged gar- 
 ments, and the golden yellow of Myrto's chiton were flutter- 
 ing, as the two walked onward, like larger flowers in motion. 
 
 Down the narrow path, between the budding stalks, the 
 two passed, still with their arms about each other. Her- 
 mione wore now her most abstracted air. The knot of her 
 anxious thought was gathered in between her brows. As 
 she passed the buds, she fingered them as though asking 
 counsel of nature. 
 
 Presently she loosened her arm, to raise it, high above 
 her head. She broke one of the larger branches of a tree, 
 in full blossom. She held it, still in the trance of her 
 thought, above their heads, in lieu of a parasol. For the 
 Spring sun was hot at this hour. 
 
 A moment later Hermione found her voice. Above the 
 insect-whirring sounds it broke on Myrto's ear, in its rare 
 note of parental authority. 
 
 " There is not in all the world, my child, a moment so 
 important for us women, as that which brings to us the 
 news that our parents have chosen for us the man who is 
 to be our husband " 
 
 Myrto groaned. When her mother took upon her to 
 lecture her thus, the very worst was to follow.
 
 244 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Hermione went on, to gain time : " Sore is the burden 
 God has laid upon us women; sorer yet a gift worse 
 than death is an unmated life. Dreadful is such a future 
 -hideous, dishonoured! Old age looms up, a fearful fate 
 
 the worst that may befall a woman. To sit in obscurity, 
 while others, our friends, our cousins, our relations, have 
 an honoured place in men's eyes, for as mothers as house- 
 wives Ah and alas! even as wives we were once hon- 
 oured " 
 
 " Oh Mother! Mother! " cried Myrto, in feverish tones, 
 " Why lecture me thus ? Why not tell me what is before 
 me?" 
 
 " Because, my child, it is well you should know these 
 things because I want' you to remember the married 
 woman's portion and the horror of the unmated. It is 
 better for a woman to be dead than to have no household 
 of her own to manage. To be unprayed for by one's chil- 
 dren and one's children's children no curse of the gods is 
 so fearful." 
 
 Myrto laid her cheek on her mother's bare shoulder. 
 She knew full well what was meant. It was to prepare her 
 mind for the very worst. 
 
 " Then it will not be Timoleon mother dear ? " she 
 ventured to breathe. 
 
 "You are always babbling of Timoleon." (In point of 
 fact it was but the second time Myrto had dared to breathe 
 his name before her mother.) "He is no match for you 
 
 or for any one, even one much less high born. His father 
 an exile the estates confiscated Timoleon living on a 
 petty sandal shop, with a handful of slaves! Such a match 
 would make you the laughing stock of Athens." 
 
 " He is reputed to be clever mother, and he is noble 
 and in the best society," Myrto persisted, with a grieving 
 voice.
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 245 
 
 "Your subtle thinkers are ever beggars! Look at Soc- 
 rates ! As for the best society Timoleon belongs there 
 that no one can deny. Yet he lowers himself to turn spy 
 
 to be the ear of Alcibiades." 
 
 At this point of their talk, mother and daughter had 
 reached a low marble seat; its crescent-curved back, and its 
 lion's claws, lay beneath the one poplar of their little gar- 
 den. So many late Autumns and early Springs had seen the 
 two seated there, that both sat down, as much from habit, 
 as because of the shade afforded by the thick bushes behind 
 the tree. No sooner were they seated than Hermione put 
 her firm hand on her child's round arm. 
 
 " Myrto you must think no more of Timoleon. You 
 must be reasonable. Have courage. Show me show the 
 gods you know how to accept your fate." 
 
 "Mother is it so terrible? Oh, who is it?" And 
 Myrto clasped her hands, bending face and shoulders for- 
 ward, as if to wring the answer from her mother. 
 
 "'Tis Ion!" 
 
 Myrto sprang to her feet, as though stung. With eyes 
 starting from her lids, with her breath hardening on her 
 lips, her nostrils wide apart, she looked, as she stood before 
 her mother, a breathing statue of outraged pride. 
 
 "Ion the son of Crates of the Piraeus?" she cried 
 out, in a tone of horror. 
 
 " The same." Her mother's voice was as laden with 
 resignation as was Myrto's with hot anger. Myrto's voice 
 
 one new to her mother rang out now, with a trumpet- 
 like resonance. 
 
 " Ion ? I am to wed Ion a low-bred, low-born ship- 
 merchant's son? Mother are you mad? Is my father 
 crazed ? Timoleon no match for me ? and yet is the son 
 of a low tradesman given me as my soul's companion ! Oh 
 mother, mother J Let me die first, and so end my miseries."
 
 246 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 In the passion of her high-wrought feeling, Myrto flung 
 herself at her mother's feet. She buried her head in Her- 
 mione's lap, in a burst of weeping. Hermione wisely at- 
 tempted, at first, merely to soothe and quiet the sobbing 
 girl. Her talk of persuasion would come later. 
 
 Even as she soothed her Myrto, above her bowed head, 
 as in a vision, Hermione saw other figures than those of 
 stately lily and blooming rose-stalk, quivering in the noon 
 radiance. 
 
 The vision of her own youth rose up, clear and plainly 
 imaged. The noble, ancestral house so old it had stood 
 in the very Agora; her mother's stately presence in the 
 court where she had reigned and ruled, equal in authority, 
 as she was in birth and fortune, to her distinguished hus- 
 band, and treated as such: her father's importance in 
 Athens as one of its most noted, influential citizens, as one 
 of the Alcmaeonids whose magnificence had rebuilt the Silver 
 Gates of the great Temple at Delphi Ah! the happy, 
 sheltered, joyous youth ! these honoured parents ! 
 
 Could a contrast be grimmer, more poignantly sorrowful 
 than her life, after marriage, with Critias? 
 
 With the hope and buoyant gaiety of a budding Psyche 
 she had gone to her husband. One by one the illusions of 
 love and happiness had fled. Critias knew but one law for 
 women the convenient law Pericles, her own hated kins- 
 man, had made with his deep political designs on men's 
 time and their ambitions. Hermione had lived out her life 
 in this her "Athenian prison." Children had come, to 
 bloom, as did the flowers in this crowded garden, the sole 
 solace of her narrow life. Critias had found a way to strike 
 her even in this her one holy happiness. When a fourth 
 daughter was born Critias had revolted. 
 
 Hermione awoke, after her sleep following her delivery, 
 to find the newly-born babe gone. Critias' labour had taken
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 247 
 
 the form of economy: he had ordered the girl-babe exposed 
 on the Temple steps. 
 
 At this period of their fortunes, Critias' cruel act would 
 have been judged leniently, by most Athenians. Having 
 married an heiress, Hermione's father had proved most 
 amazingly long-lived. Three girls and a son, born in quick 
 succession, and next to no income! Surely few Athenian 
 fathers would find voice to condemn so prudent an act as 
 to place the one girl too many under the care of Theseus. 
 
 Hermione had arisen from her bed of pain with a curse 
 on her lips. Hecate had answered her and her curse 
 had struck her own soul hardest. For a short while after 
 her child was taken, the plague came. Her girl babies, 
 one by one, were carried off. Her arms were all but left 
 empty. Her eldest born alone remained to her, Thrasy- 
 bulous. Then Juno and Hestia heard her agonized prayers. 
 And Myrto was born. As though to placate Critias, Sera- 
 pion the great beauty of the family had come in the 
 following year. The lost babe, however, had never ceased to 
 be mourned. 
 
 Into what houses had she not sent Asia, to search for 
 her lost darling? Into how many a flute-girl's face had she 
 not herself peered on the occasions of her rare outings 
 dreading, yet hoping to see some feature, some hint of 
 resemblance! The thought of her child's possible fate dark- 
 ened every waking moment, as the hope of finding her lit 
 up her darkest hour. 
 
 To Myrto's young lips the cup of married misery must 
 now be pressed. How could she bear it? How could she 
 find strength to beat down this agony of rebellion, of hurt 
 pride, and above all, how nerve her lips to praise this 
 low-born suitor, who was to take her Myrto from her? 
 
 Hermione, nevertheless, found her words. 
 
 " Who knows, child but you may grow to love him ?
 
 248 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 He is amiable and tender the women say and he is 
 beautiful to look upon and now he is famous." 
 
 "Is he old, mother?" Myrto's voice bleated, from be- 
 tween the folds covering her mother's bosom, where she had 
 lain her head. 
 
 "No, child quite young not thirty yet. If you are 
 wise and careful you may have power over him. Young 
 men are more easily led than a man who is nearer forty " 
 and her mother sighed. " All rests with you, child," she 
 went on, softly, patting Myrto's beautiful head. " You 
 know how to sing prettily, to dance, and to touch the strings 
 of the cithara you know more than merely how to weave 
 wool into a garment, or to weigh out the stores for the 
 slaves " 
 
 " You know more than I mother and yet " 
 
 " Hush, child ! " cried Hermione, with the bitter note in 
 her voice any reference to her own marriage always brought 
 " times are changed. We wives once had our place we 
 were the counsellors of men their companions. It is that 
 vile democrat, it was Pericles who brought us to this Asiatic 
 nullity. Our husbands find it more agreeable, more con- 
 venient to lock us in with the slaves when they go 
 abroad to air their idleness. But you in your case 
 things will be different. Ion will look up to you for you 
 are noble. If you speak to him fair, he may treat you with 
 respect. Wives higher born than their husbands may still 
 hope to win a fair crown of honour. If he live in the coun- 
 try away from Athens " 
 
 For the second time since the beginning of their talk, 
 Myrto stood upright. But this time it was to clasp her 
 hands tight. She cried out, with a great ring of joy in her 
 young voice: 
 
 "We will live in the country? Mother Oh mother, 
 darling, shall I have power enough to make him live in the
 
 HERMIONE AND MYRTO 249 
 
 country? " Myrto was only uttering the cry that lay on the 
 lips of every Athenian woman; since, for women, a life in 
 the country meant comparative freedom from restraint, and 
 a daily walk, at least, under the open sky. 
 
 " He rears his own horses, it appears," Hermione went on, 
 impartially. " His father has given him a great estate in 
 Arcadia. He may wish to bring up his children there also." 
 Suddenly Hermione's voice changed, and her eyes started 
 outwards. " One misfortune the gods will avert from you 
 he is rich enough to rear all the children that may come 
 to you none need be taken from you!" It was her 
 mother's turn now to have a sob rise in her throat. 
 
 Folding her arms about her mother, Myrto cooed lov- 
 ingly: "Never mind mother darling you have had 
 me and who knows ? Perhaps when I am gone, we may 
 find her. Fortune is good sometimes her wheel turns. If 
 I travel and go as far as Arcadia but what is Asia trying 
 to tell us ? " Asia stood now in the open door of the 
 pastas. 
 
 " The lady Nausicaa is come." There were snapping 
 tones in Asia's voice. Her great eyes shone fierce. The 
 nobly-set head was flung backward, with the haughty pose 
 she had caught from Hermione. 
 
 "Ah-h is there any news?" asked Hermione, hastily, 
 as she rose, wiping away the last traces of her tears. 
 
 " Oh there's news enough. Nausicaa remembers the 
 proverb that ' Once in the olden time the Milesians were 
 brave,' She has proved her bravery once more by flaunting 
 her face in the Market Place," snorted, disdainfully, the old 
 slave. 
 
 " Hush Asia she'll hear you." 
 
 " She'd hear the truth then, for once in her wicked life," 
 grunted Asia, standing aside to let her mistress and Myrto 
 cross the threshold.
 
 Chapter XXII 
 
 NAUSICAA 
 
 Nausicaa was leaning, with indolent grace, against the 
 one column that was still, at high noon, in the shade. Two 
 of her women were kneeling at her feet. They were per- 
 forming the customary ablutions. The perfumed stream 
 poured over the white feet had the quality of density it 
 played about Nausicaa's robes like a rising cloud. The 
 splendid figure, its breadth of bust and shoulder lines topped 
 by the delicately-modelled head and the expressive-featured 
 face, rose out of the scented mist with the grace and bloom 
 of an opulent flower. 
 
 At every turn of the flexible figure a gleam of silver, or 
 of gold, or the deep light of rich gems shone and glittered. 
 The fillet into which the reddish-brown locks were gathered, 
 was of wrought gold and silver, pearl-studded; the clasps 
 confining the low-cut chiton at the shoulders and along the 
 arms, were cloudy agates set about with deep-hued garnets; 
 the swaying ear-rings were exquisitely wrought doves hover- 
 ing above a tiny Venus. Each of the doves bore a priceless 
 pearl in his beak. The border of the chiton was a mass of 
 embroidery one marvelled to see as delicate a tissue sus- 
 tain as heavy a weight of golden bees and silver-wrought 
 flowers. 
 
 Nausicaa brought into this mean little court something 
 of the gay tumult, the ceaseless motion, and the excitable 
 stir of the outer Athenian life. The fact that she did was, 
 as she well knew, accounted unto her as a crime. Hermione 
 
 250
 
 NAUSICAA 251 
 
 might have forgiven Nausicaa her beauty; she might even 
 have managed to forget the stain of her foreign birth, her 
 want of Athenian breeding and refinement: it was the 
 shameless independence of life she had brought with her 
 from her Asian-ruled Greek Island that made her relation- 
 ship a daily disgrace. 
 
 Nausicaa presented an unabashed front to the wall of her 
 mother-in-law's hate. She made a point of never stepping 
 her white feet within the Critias' court, unless she had some- 
 thing to gain by the move. 
 
 Had Hermione given her consent to this marriage project? 
 Had Myrto's silly little heart been touched by Timoleon's 
 daring? Had Timoleon's presumably impassioned utter- 
 ances over the garden wall, for one of Nausicaa's slaves 
 had seen him had these worked the miracle of revolt in 
 that childish nature? Nausicaa might not be able to unseal 
 Hermione's proud lips, but her own eyes could be trusted 
 to tell her all she wished to know. 
 
 Even as she stood waiting for Hermione and Myrto to 
 appear, Nausicaa felt herself to be still tingling with ex- 
 citement. The streets had been fuller than common. 
 Every shop had been ablaze with news; gossip was as busy 
 on men's lips as were the whir of bees' wings on the hill- 
 slopes of Hymettus. The whole city was thrilling, as one 
 man, with the stirrings of curiosity and of wildest con- 
 jecture. Athens, in a word, on this brilliant morning, was 
 experiencing one of her most delectable sensations she was 
 rioting in a complicated play of emotions centering in a 
 single individual, and that individual one both hated and 
 adored. 
 
 Out from the bright-tongued, witty-lipped crowd, 
 Nausicaa and her woman had hurried. To pass from the 
 contagion of the excitable, moving, and moved groups of 
 citizens into the dulness and stagnant pool of Hermione's
 
 252 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 gynaeconitis was like exchanging the gift of life itself for 
 death's rigidity. 
 
 Nausicaa's temper proved how little to her liking was her 
 enforced indoor coming. A deep frown darkened her brow. 
 With her white foot extended for the drying process, her 
 impatience burst from her. 
 
 " That is right, Chloe, put the parasol out of the sun 
 if you can find a spot of shade in this miserable court! 
 Philippa you fool ! can't you even fold a veil decently 
 without crumpling? One would think you were hired 
 by the day at an obol the hour ! " 
 
 Hermione's stately figure, she now perceived, was moving 
 slowly towards her. Myrto, like a kid following its moth- 
 er's lead, was at her heels. Nausicaa's look quickly changed. 
 She greeted her relatives with her usual air of superiority 
 and effrontery. 
 
 "Ah mother-in-law I've brought you a new per- 
 fume, as you see. I picked it up on my way it clears 
 the skin, they say. Such a time as I had getting it! May 
 I perish if I every try to get through the crowds under 
 the colonnades again, at mid-day. Such a rush ! I 
 thought I should have been mobbed. But good gracious ! 
 Here am I babbling of perfumes, when neither of you 
 I'll warrant know the morning's news." 
 
 Between her swift sentences, Nausicaa's eyes were scan- 
 ning the faces before her. The marriage obviously had 
 been talked over; Hermione was furious, Myrto had been 
 crying " I must make them talk " was her quick, inward 
 summary. 
 
 Hermione, meanwhile, had led the way silently, to the 
 shaded interior of the pastas. Nausicaa proceeded at once, 
 and as a matter of course, to take her favourite seat and 
 attitude. She threw herself at full length on the one lux- 
 urious cpuch. Propping the pillows behind her, until she
 
 NAUSICAA 253 
 
 sat at an upright, with her limbs comfortably outstretched, 
 she was now ready to begin. 
 
 She would first startle and delight her listeners, and 
 then draw them on. 
 
 "You say the Market Place was full this morning?" 
 Hermione remarked, distantly. Her calm, critical eyes 
 watched Nausicaa building her rampart of pillows behind 
 her. 
 
 " Full ? " Nausicaa echoed, as she gave the last cushions a 
 shove with her elbow "the streets were packed. Such 
 a rabble! All Athens is in an uproar !" Then she stopped. 
 She also smiled with tantalizing composure. She made 
 a pretence of re-adjusting a clasp upon her shoulder. Hav- 
 ing thrown her bait, it was her pleasure to see the fishes 
 nibble. 
 
 " Ah-h and what is your news?" Hermione asked, 
 eagerly. She disapproved of her daughter-in-law, but she 
 was too true an Athenian not to be bitten by the gnat of 
 curiosity. She leaned forward, her close draperies tight 
 about her knees. 
 
 " Is it possible you have not heard that of which all 
 Athens is talking? " cried Nausicaa, ironically, as she arched 
 her slim throat. She was secretly relishing her little mo- 
 ment of triumph. 
 
 " The slaves are not all home from market yet," replied 
 Hermione, collectedly, disdaining to notice the scorn in 
 Nausicaa's voice. 
 
 " They'll be late then, this morning; for, as I said, Athens 
 is in an uproar." Nausicaa arched her slim throat. She 
 lifted her clever, spirited head in high air. Her voice 
 took on its most supercilious tones. Presently she broke 
 forth : 
 
 "Why do you sit here, moping at home, while Athens is 
 making history enough for all the rest of Greece? Thanks
 
 254 O N THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 be to Zeus I'm not an Athenian! We women of the col- 
 onies know life don't frown, mother ! As long as you 
 live, the catalogue of good women won't be exhausted. Yes 
 
 yes I'm coming to my point which is more than 
 the philosophers do. But really, haven't you heard ? " and 
 Nausicaa gasped, in well-feigned horror, as she threw up 
 her hands. 
 
 "You forget we are allowed to go out but seldom." 
 Hermione, as she drew her noble form to a more rigid pos- 
 ure, looked more like a statue than ever. Her very draper- 
 ies seemed turned into stone. 
 
 " Not allowed ! " burst forth the uncontrollable Nausi- 
 caa, lifting her chin. "Great Jupiter! A fine joke that 
 
 asking one's husband to go out. In Ionia such a ques- 
 tion would make a woman a laughing stock " 
 
 " The ways of the Ionian Islands are not the ways of the 
 nobility of Athens," said Hermione, in her iciest tone, lean- 
 ing back in her chair, her hands clasping the ivory inlaid 
 lions' heads. 
 
 " Indeed they are not," cried the unabashed young for- 
 eigner. " Dull indeed should we be if they were. Little 
 wonder your husbands are always abroad and in the so- 
 ciety of " 
 
 " Nausicaa silence ! " In her anger, Hermione's cheeks 
 burned fiery red through her light rouge. 
 
 " Well well I was only about to make a joke. 
 There's no sin in that," cried Nausicaa, pouting like an 
 angry child. Then she laughed outright. The knowledge 
 of all she knew, and all she withheld, was like oil upon a 
 heaving water surface. Did she but choose what an 
 awakening she could bring! About Critias! About Myrto 
 
 and the modest child's stolen interviews! But what use 
 in getting angry with one who preferred to sit in ignorance ? 
 One must talk to such women as Hermione as one would to
 
 NAUSICAA 255 
 
 children. She would go on with her tale. Later on she 
 would make Hermione tell her all she wanted to know. 
 
 " Well then you must know," and Nausicaa settled 
 herself still more comfortably among her pillows she 
 patted the folds of her gown contentedly, for she dearly loved 
 the telling of a long tale " that just as I was passing the 
 Stoa, near the Kolonos it was shady there, and I kept 
 as near to the houses as I could, and well it was for me I 
 did otherwise I and my women might have come forth 
 flat as cakes what should we hear but a loud shout 
 as loud as the roar of battle. Just as I had turned my head 
 to look at the sprigs on the gown of that flute-girl every 
 one is calling her the new beauty those flute-girls al- 
 ways have the latest inventions, whatever one may think of 
 their beauty well, behind us came this noise, loud enough 
 to wake the dead. Out from the Agora, on this side of the 
 Ceramicus, hundreds and hundreds were hurrying, rushing 
 pell-mell, as though the furies were behind them towards 
 the Prytanieum " 
 
 " Oh-h of course Hipparate was to go before the 
 Archon this morning*," excitedly interrupted Hermione. 
 Both she and Myrto were now leaning forward on their 
 chairs, with eyes wide with eagerness. 
 
 " Exactly," confirmed Nausicaa, with a superior nod of 
 her head. " She was to go in person to present, as is 
 usual, the causes which entitle her to her divorce. Well 
 I had the luck to see her go in her brother, and the 
 Archon all went in together." Nausicaa emphasized her 
 words with pats on her embroidered robe covering her 
 pointed knee. 
 
 "How did she look? Frightened? Abashed? Sad? 
 Poor Hipparate! What a plight for a modest woman to 
 
 "This incident, as related by Plutarch, is said to have trans- 
 pired just prior to the departure of Alcibiades for Ephesus.
 
 256 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 come to ! " Hermione's cheeks were crimson. Her voice 
 was full of loving sympathy. In the excitement of the mo- 
 ment Myrto had flung herself beside her mother. The two 
 clasped each other close their draperies melted as one. 
 
 " You may well say so," purred Nausicaa, as though mod- 
 'esty were her own pet virtue. " She looked her tragedy, I 
 can tell you. She was veiled from head to foot, with her 
 head bowed, as though she was following a corpse." 
 
 " And so she was the corpse of her married happi- 
 ness! " Hermione's voice seemed to be chanting the dirge 
 of her own married joys, as her arm tightened about Myrto. 
 But Nausicaa's flute-like tones rang on, unheeding. She 
 was indeed, greatly enjoying the scene. Her sense of hu- 
 mour was keen. To make her two listeners quake and 
 thrill at the news she brought them from the haunts of 
 men knowing how they scourged her behind her back for 
 her shameless ways was the relish to the sauce of her 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " Well my dear mother to be rid of Alcibiades, one 
 might think, would call rather for pasons than dirges. 
 Hipparate's ideal of life can now be realized she can spend 
 all her life at home alone, and in chastity." Nausicaa 
 gave Hermione a peculiar, slanting look, with lips curving 
 with mischievous meaning. 
 
 Hermione leaned back in the deep curve of her chair. 
 Myrto's head sank upon the beautiful shoulder. Hermione 
 had recaptured her calm, and with her calm, her iced dig- 
 nity. " Did you also see Alcibiades? " She lifted cool eyes 
 to Nausicaa's impertinence. 
 
 "Oh that was enough to make one curse one's luck! 
 I missed him by not more than a minute. I had just turned 
 into the nearest street, to get out of the crowd and its 
 jostling, when but in Heaven's name what noise is 
 that?"
 
 NAUSICAA 257 
 
 With a common impulse the women rose to their feet. 
 Hermione's and Nausicaa's eyes were interlocked. Won- 
 der, excitement, fear the startled eyes as they met, said 
 all and more than this. Hostility died out. They were 
 women with a common fate a common passion. 
 
 The noisy tumult to those Athens-born the bustle 
 and cries to all dwellers, indeed, in that drama-yielding city 
 could mean but one thing. A great event was happening, 
 and all Athens was thrilling to it ! 
 
 Hermione, with -swift strides, had now reached the gar- 
 den path. Nausicaa and Myrto were close upon her heels. 
 Though they could see naught, yet the best chances of their 
 hearing, at least an echo of the tumult beating upon the air, 
 was to stand within the little garden paths. 
 
 Over the tall garden walls came the sounds of rustling 
 garments, and of sandalled feet, rushing onwards. Cries, 
 exclamations, and bursts of laughter would rise, like a loud 
 and boisterous wind, from some of the groups hurrying past. 
 Graver tones, freighted with awed wonder, succeeded to the 
 more explosive mirth. Then all would be still. Through 
 the narrow alley on which the garden opened, these groups 
 of excited citizens had passed, the quicker to gain the broader 
 dromos. 
 
 " Oh is there no way of looking out upon the street? " 
 cried Nausicaa. She was fairly wringing her hands in de- 
 spair. 
 
 She faced her relatives for the first time with longing, al- 
 most loving looks. Hermione returned the wild gaze. 
 
 Myrto turned from the shrubs nearest to the walls, to 
 face her mother with beaming eyes. 
 
 "Oh mother! I hear voices one can hear all that is 
 said!" 
 
 The two ladies hurried toward Myrto. 
 
 '"' Where where is the best place ? " They turned ap-
 
 258 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 pealing eyes to Myrto, as though questioning an authority. 
 
 Myrto squeezed herself closer to the wall and did not 
 think it necessary to explain how her knowledge had been 
 gained. 
 
 Up from the street, to the women's outstretched ears, 
 came broken, disjointed sentences, ejaculations, gasps of 
 mingled wonder and horror. 
 
 " I tell you 'tis true," cried a strong assured voice. " He 
 took Phocia, Irene, and Korinna the latter out of pity 
 doubtless, and gratitude to see how painted columns look, 
 in a gentleman's house." 
 
 " Surely you do not mean he took these creatures to his 
 house?" ejaculated a younger voice, in a tone of horror. 
 
 " That is the truth in a nutshell. Like a true artist, he 
 wished for new backgrounds, doubtless." The first speak- 
 er's witticism won him a chorus of admiring laughter. 
 
 "By the offended majesty of Juno! I call the act an 
 atrocious one," cried some one, hotly, the tones thrilled with 
 indignation. 
 
 " Hipparate you see was exactly of your opinion 
 for she left him." 
 
 The first speaker sniffed, as he threw his head back. 
 " Even the gods blessed be they one and all may count 
 too much on human patience. And Alcibiades is but mor- 
 tal. Being mortal, he argued persumably that, since Hip- 
 parate had borne so much, she would bear more. He took 
 one fatal step, it appears too far. Hipparate as he now 
 knows is but mortal." 
 
 "And he an Immortal," cried out suddenly, a clear 
 sonorous voice. At the sound of the ringing accents, both 
 Nausicaa and Myrto started. Nausicaa paled beneath her 
 rouge and Myrto blushed. The voice went on. "Who 
 else would dare defy gods and men? Who else before 
 the very throne of justice itself, would have outraged the
 
 NAUSICAA 259 
 
 law, have openly scorned the presence of King Archon and 
 have picked up his wife, laughing, as though the whole pro- 
 ceedings were a play and have carried her bodily out into 
 the public places ? The ways of Alcibiades are the ways of 
 the gods themselves I tell you I " 
 
 "Hear! Hear!" 
 
 " Evoe! Evoe! " a dozen admiring, derisive tongues cried, 
 and the group apparently circled closer in about Timoleon 
 for it was he. 
 
 A prolonged murmurous applause greeted this outburst. 
 
 " He'll lead us to ruin if he goes on with the mad 
 Sicilian adventure," a rough voice broke in, stopping the 
 chorus of cheers. 
 
 "He'll lead Athens to glory! We shall rule the world 
 once Sicily is ours ! " was Timoleon's shouting rejoinder. 
 
 A confused clamour of cries and shrill-tongued voices 
 rilled the street. Quarrelling, shouting war talk, the crowd 
 broke, and moved down towards the street of Hermes. The 
 voices grew fainter and fainter. 
 
 The three ladies swept from their hiding. With ears 
 tingling with the excitement of the street scene, with minds 
 and spirits strung to fever-point by all they had heard, they 
 hurried towards the quiet pastas. 
 
 Once seated, their draperies carefully spread out, their 
 faces were a blank; they were ready now for Critias, should 
 he appear, and his dreaded inspection. Though not a sylla- 
 ble was interchanged concerning the great event, even Nau- 
 sicaa had no intention of drawing down upon herself a 
 parental outburst by any betraying signs of the garden epi- 
 sode. 
 
 All three talked at once, as they waited for Critias. 
 Hermione saw in her great kinsman's audacity the prophecy 
 of a double doom a new obstacle to women's having jus- 
 tice done them, as well as the larger fear of what Alcibiades
 
 2 6o ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 might bring upon Athens were he indeed to rule the 
 city, and to begin this new war. Nausicaa took a man's 
 lighter, wider view of Hipparate's tragedy. 
 
 " Humph this will make him as popular as though he 
 had invented a new dance or philosophy. We Athenians 
 love novelties " and then she quickly pictured to herself 
 how she herself would arrange her draperies were Thrasy- 
 bulous ever taken with a similar impulse for making a public 
 exhibition of his marital power. At least she would never 
 let her feet dangle. 
 
 Myrto's young soul was shaken with mingled fear and 
 dazed amazement. Although she too talked, volubly, in- 
 wardly, she had made up her mind to give up Timoleon, 
 and even to throw his garland away, and at once. One 
 now, knew not what might happen. Surely no woman or 
 maiden could feel safe. Were her father to know of that 
 wonderful garden-scene poor Myrto ! her very soul 
 seemed to grow pale with fear.
 
 Chapter XXIII 
 
 A FAMILY SCENE 
 
 AFTER listening, with admirably feigned innocence, to Cri- 
 tias' meagre details of the Alcibidian episode details ar- 
 ranged strictly with a view to what it was proper mere 
 women should hear of that which was agitating all Athens 
 
 and after wasting time in the playing of the usual femi- 
 nine comedy of deceit, Nausicaa had managed to rid the 
 room of Hermoine and Myrto. She feigned hunger and 
 the necessity of being at home, to greet her husband on his 
 return from a cock-fight, at Sunion. 
 
 Hermione had instantly hastened to the kitchen Myrto 
 following at her heels. Nausicaa, at last, had the room 
 and her father-in-law to herself. 
 
 She had quickly dropped to her knees, beside Critias. 
 Lifting her spirited, mobile face, she crept close to the bent, 
 wondering eyes. " Dear, dear Critias, tell me, and quickly 
 
 for she may come back at any moment tell me is 
 this marriage with Ion to go through ? " 
 
 Critias smiled down at the lovely face so close to his. He 
 disapproved of his daughter-in-law, but it was beyond a 
 man's power not to feel her attraction. " And why should 
 you be so curious my young beauty about this mar- 
 riage? " 
 
 Nausicaa arched her long neck. "And why should I 
 not ? Is Ion not to become one of us ? " 
 
 Critias laughed aloud. This Ionian's pride! But Cri- 
 tias started. His hand suddenly released Nausicaa. He 
 moved towards the hangings screening the court. For his 
 
 261
 
 262 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ears had caught sounds that rang like soothing music to his 
 excitement. 
 
 Along the plastered floor of the arcades he had heard the 
 tripping of a well-known, much-beloved step. The sound 
 brought disgust and quick anger to Nausicaa. All her deep 
 planning was brought to naught. To tell Timoleon, Myrto 
 was surely to wed Ion was her one longing one hope of 
 happiness and now ! 
 
 Meanwhile, a lad not much more than twelve was bound- 
 ing towards Hermione, just issuing from the thalamos. The 
 boy was clad in a short tunic. On his head he wore a 
 crown of blossoms. In his hand he was waving, as though 
 in triumph, a sprig of myrtle. He ran straight into his 
 mother's arms. After receiving her tight embrace, he rushed 
 towards the pastas, to fling himself as impetuously upon his 
 father's breast. 
 
 Critias stooped. He kissed the boy with passionate fer- 
 vour. 
 
 Releasing him, but still holding him at arm's length, Cri- 
 tias cried, in a voice no one ever heard, save when he spoke 
 to this, his true idol: 
 
 "And what have we learned at school to-day, my Sera- 
 pion?" 
 
 The boy's face in a moment was aglow. He blushed, as 
 he cast down his eyes. 
 
 " I took my first lesson in the Pyrrhic dance, Sir. And 
 so well did I perform my part that the master gave me 
 this " and Serapion held up his sprig of myrtle, " and the 
 boys crowned me." The boy blushed again, with a maiden's 
 modesty. It was Critias's boast that no young noble in all 
 Greece could match his son in perfection of breeding and 
 training. No expense had been spared to make him beauti- 
 ful, to keep him modest, and to give him strength. He 
 was, in truth, the very image of modesty.
 
 A FAMILY SCENE 263 
 
 " You must show us what you can do, later on," said 
 Critias looking at the lad, with swimming eyes. His lov- 
 ing admiration of his son touched the point of idolatry. 
 " You may go and play now I need to say a word with 
 your mother." 
 
 " Come, Myrto," cried Serapion, taking, as usual, the in- 
 itiative with his sister. 
 
 Myrto had stood watching the familiar scene. She must 
 wait for her moment, until her father released Serapion. 
 He now began to drag Myrto along by her chiton. 
 
 " Serapion," Myrto whispered, as she hurried on- 
 wards, "go to the column opposite the kitchen, and hide 
 there." 
 
 " Why? " Serapion eyed her suspiciously. 
 " Because I have something amazing to tell you." 
 Serapion threw upwards his bright, intelligent glance. 
 Perceiving that Myrto was not lying, he strode before her. 
 He took his seat at the base of a certain column both had 
 found best suited to confidential moments. 
 
 "Well and what's this new disturbance?" asked Sera- 
 pion, half petulantly. He was in haste to begin a showing- 
 off of his acquirements. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Myrto, with a quick gasp, " it's most im- 
 portant news." Myrto gathered her elbows together, in the 
 palms of both hands, and rocked her body. It was her way 
 of showing excitement. 
 
 " I know it's that story about Alcibiades " 
 " No we know that too. It's much more astound- 
 ing. I I I am going to be married." 
 
 Serapion threw back his blossom-crowned head. " Ha! 
 Ha ! that's a very good joke ! " and his boyish laughter rang 
 out. 
 
 " But I tell you, in the name of the gods, it is true," 
 cried Myrto, indignantly, with a falling lip. She was half
 
 264 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 ready to cry. Serapion was not taking the great news in 
 the least as she had expected. 
 
 "And whom have they got to marry you?" asked the 
 teasing Serapion. 
 
 " I'm to marry Ion, the son of Crates the richest of all 
 the ship-merchants, and " 
 
 " In the name of the gods ! Are you not ashamed to 
 figure before all Athens as a common merchant's wife ? " 
 almost screamed the boy. He rose in his quick anger and 
 disgust he struck at her arm, angrily, with his myrtle branch. 
 
 Myrto answered hotly. She also had risen; she faced 
 Serapion with flaming eyes. " He is not a merchant he 
 is only a merchant's son and he won the prize at Olympia 
 
 for charioteering. His horses are they are famous 
 and he is clever he can turn a couplet and guess riddles 
 
 and he is rich." To her own surprise Myrto found her- 
 self the advocate, and a hot, impassioned advocate of her un- 
 known suitor. 
 
 A change came over Serapion's beautiful, flushed face. 
 He gave his sister serious eyes and a sober look. 
 
 "You say he is the Ion who won the quadriga race?" 
 and he narrowed his luminous eyes. " I remember, now, 
 we boys were talking about him in the palestrae only 
 yesterday. You are right he is well known, and well 
 spoken of, if it be the Ion whose horses are so renowned. 
 That alters matters. Do you think he will lend me a 
 horse?" 
 
 " We will give you two! " cried Myrto, superbly. " We 
 are to live in the country. I mean to make him fond of me 
 
 so that I may do with him as I like. And since I have 
 made up my mind to that I am willing to marry him. 
 You shall come and stay with us." 
 
 " Very well," Serapion assented, with a lad's important 
 air of being fully grown "If I like the horses he gives
 
 A FAMILY SCENE 265 
 
 me, I will come and stay with you for a year when 
 I am a man of leisure. What colour shall the horses be? " 
 
 The two children bent their heads close together, as they 
 proceeded to settle the grave question of the prospective 
 horses' colour. 
 
 Meanwhile, under the upper end of the arcade the hus- 
 band and wife were slowly walking. " Have you told 
 Myrto ? " had been Critias' first question. His eyes were 
 calm and controlled once more. 
 
 " Yes she knows and accepts her doom," Hermione had 
 answered, with a drop in her voice, as she moved beside her 
 lord. 
 
 " Pooh ! Doom ! You are ever for a wearing of the 
 tragic mask. She'll be a lucky girl, as she will find, once 
 she is married to so courteous, handsome, and rich a man 
 as Ion. He'll prove a husband in a thousand. Those low- 
 born men are soft on their women. By the way hem ! 
 you must now tell her to keep quiet about the matter." 
 
 " Oh-h Critias, and is the marriage off? " Hermione cried, 
 in joyful tones, her heart leaping within her. She faced 
 her husband with shining, radiant eyes. 
 
 " No-o but I saw Crates this morning. He tells me 
 Ion would like to be free for a few weeks yet. He appears 
 to be very sensible of the honour we confer upon him." 
 Critias now put on his most impressive swagger. Once more 
 he resumed his stroll. " I quite agreed with him. Myrto 
 ought to be sixteen at least, before she marries." 
 
 " Oh you are good you are good ! " cried Hermione. 
 Her heart was overflowing with rapture. She could have 
 embraced her husband surely he had arranged the matter 
 thus to please her. He had seen how great was her sor- 
 row at losing her darling. What a quick answer to prayer ! 
 Apollo the dear god! should have a rich offering. She 
 would go, on the morrow, to the priest's house, herself.
 
 266 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Strange that his name should come, just now, from her 
 husband's lips. The god must be actually hovering over 
 them! Hermione felt a thrill of pious rapture. 
 
 " By Apollo himself ! how the boy dances ! " her hus- 
 band cried out. 
 
 Under the bright, white light, shaded by the drawn awn- 
 ing, in and out among the white columns, Serapion was 
 indeed dancing. As he poised his body, first on one foot, then 
 on another, pointing his steps in time with the rhythm of 
 the war-song he was humming, he looked and was the very 
 incarnation of symmetrical grace. The slender, lithe shape; 
 the supple muscles, trained to perfect response of any change 
 or posture; the skin, embrowned, of a beautiful tone, and 
 already hard as marble, face and limbs radiant with the 
 brilliancy of blooming youth it was little wonder that 
 such a breathing statue of loveliness, instinct with rhythmic 
 motion, should have made the whole household, now assem- 
 bled under the arcades, break forth into a paeon of rap- 
 ture. 
 
 But all the praise was not given to Serapion. Myrto's 
 high-strung mood had found its vent in an unwonted mo- 
 ment of self-forgetfulness. The ode on her brother's lips 
 had sent the thrill of a musical impulse to burst into song 
 on her own account. 
 
 Seizing a lute a slave had been cleaning and re-stringing, 
 and had brought with her into the court, Myrto struck a 
 few chords on its silken strings. In an instant Serapion had 
 changed his own steps to take hers one he had taught her 
 long ago. 
 
 "Well done Myrto, my daughter! " Critias cried out, 
 as both the children swept onward. Myrto, as she passed 
 her father, was in full, sweeping spring her head well 
 back, her hair loosened and flying, her draperies full of wind. 
 For perfection of rhythm her movements equalled her
 
 A FAMILY SCENE 267 
 
 brother's trained -step. In the Panathenze Myrto's dancing 
 in honour of Athena had been greatly admired. 
 
 Critias caught the lovely creature to him. For the first 
 time since she could remember, Myrto felt her father's lips 
 upon her brow. Even after kissing her he did not release 
 her. Holding her by the shoulders, he looked down into 
 her averted eyes, forcing them back to meet his. 
 
 " You'll be a bride in a thousand, for any young husband 
 
 and prettier still with six months' fuller growth. Come 
 
 give me a kiss." 
 
 Myrto felt as though she should sink through the floor 
 of the court. To be noticed and in public, before every 
 one, and by her father! When she lifted her cheek to re- 
 ceive his salute, it was as cold as marble. 
 
 The noon meal was the most joyous that had been eaten 
 in the Critias household for many a day. Every one had a 
 secret satisfaction to hug. Hermione had her Myrto back 
 again. Nausicaa felt her grip tightened on Timoleon, for 
 he was her latest lover ; Myrto was sure she could make Ion 
 love her and perhaps later both Timoleon and Serapion 
 might come and visit them, in their estates in Arcadia. 
 For, in her innocence, to Myrto such projects seemed as 
 easy as to make figures with her bread, her pet table habit. 
 
 Critias's own satisfaction was also complete. With the 
 marriage portion safe in Athena's Treasury, he could borrow 
 as much money as he pleased. He could give two banquets 
 instead of one, during the festival time. 
 
 Clotho, that skilled spinner of men's fates, was busy with 
 her secret, dark designs. As though in sinister sport, far 
 and wide she had cast her dread threads. For a Corinthian 
 merchant lay dying, and Maia would soon be free.
 
 Chapter XXIV 
 
 THE BREATH OF MARS 
 
 WITH his marriage postponed till mid-winter, Ion lived his 
 life as never he had lived it before. His banquets, cock 
 rights, and bets succeeded each other with a ruinous rapidity. 
 Never had he so loved his horses, never had he so delighted 
 in the exhilaration yielded by vigorous athletics. And yet 
 and yet and yet something was lacking there was 
 a note that could sing in his soul and that had sung, and 
 that now was silent. What could it be, in this luxurious, 
 brilliant Athenian existence that was lacking? 
 
 A hundred times had Ion been on the point of journeying 
 to Corinth. Yet, never did the shade fall that seemed a 
 feasible one. Twice he had sent Persia, on a special mis- 
 sion, to Maia; the letters he bore were to be delivered in 
 utmost secrecy. Persia had returned from his last journey 
 with news that sent Ion's pulses to wild beating; Nirias, 
 Maia wrote, was dying and of a mortal disease. Not even 
 the gods, now, could help him. Should he indeed die, then 
 Ion must be prepared to open wide his arms. What home 
 for Maia was there save there in the nest of his love? 
 Once she was free, she would, indeed, fly to Athens. Mean- 
 while, she bade Ion pray to the gods for patience; she 
 needed the help of prayers. This was " her dark hour." 
 The only light, in this her land of darkness, was the 
 " flashing fiery glow " of their love. 
 
 Such words stirred Ion to mingled emotions. Maia he 
 desired, with all the powers of his soul and body. After 
 
 268
 
 THE BREATH OF MARS 269 
 
 having known her, no other woman could satisfy, could 
 yield the full of bliss. Yet, did she indeed make good her 
 promise, what would happen? He, alas, would no longer 
 be free! That hateful nuptial tie would, only too surely, 
 be irrevocably tied, and within the year. 
 
 After such reflections, Ion would pour down neat wine, 
 to drown thought, at the banquets and then swear because 
 even Bacchus would not bless him with oblivion. 
 
 The breath of Mars, however, was to bring Ion a fever of 
 forgetfulness that the wine cup could not yield. 
 
 Ion, as well as Athens, was thrilling to the strongest, to 
 the most powerful of human passions. The war madness 
 was upon the city. The passionate speeches of Nicias and 
 Alcibiades, that had aroused to frenzied excitement all 
 Athens in the assembly, were re-told in every court, farm 
 house, and shepherd's huts, on the hillslopes. Athens was 
 longing to rush onward to battle, as a Maenad to worship. 
 Athena's mighty shield, with its sculptured figures breathing 
 of slaughter, and horror, and carnage, had no terrors for 
 this renewed youth of Athens, with its full treasuries, its 
 golden harvests, its gymnasia bursting with young vigorous 
 manhood, and its belief in its all-conquering fleet and mighty 
 army. 
 
 Ion, and all of his set, were caught in the sweep and fury 
 of the mounting madness. Glaucus, Ariston, and above all 
 others Timoleon, each in their different ways, were seized 
 with the universal contagion for furthering the enterprise. 
 
 In this tumultuous sea of action Timoleon swam, as in 
 his true element. His time and moment, he felt, were come. 
 The opportunity to prove to his great leader, the value of his 
 gifts, and the resources of his talents, he could fully, he 
 felt, at last, demonstrate, after long waiting. 
 
 Timoleon was a dozen men, in a dozen different places. 
 He was in the Agora, early and late; he haunted the porti-
 
 270 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 coes; he could be heard haranguing an audience wherever 
 one was to be gathered. 
 
 Timoleon had the gift of true oratory; he caught the 
 flame of his own skillfully worked enthusiasms. His words 
 sung eloquently in his own ears. He was the first victim 
 of his admirably marshalled argumentation. Personal con- 
 viction had little to do with his intensity ; he caught the glow 
 from his own richly coloured oratory. His enthusiasm was 
 lighted from within. Greed lured at fiery-featured am- 
 bition ; together they fashioned brilliant wings to Timoleon's 
 oratory. 
 
 His candour, his assumed frankness, his knowledge of how 
 to play upon other men's lower passions and greed, were 
 part of his power. Timoleon, for example, in the role of 
 trying to please and convince old men, was something new; 
 yet he had thus won innumerable adherents. When Nicias' 
 smooth, specious arguments were terrorizing the more timid, 
 Timoleon developed extraordinary powers of persuasion. 
 
 " Is it Themistocles, Cimon, Pericles, and his great dis- 
 ciples his true ward Alcibiades, who are to be heeded ? 
 or is Nicias to be listened to, with his womanish, non- 
 interfering policy? What do ye wise old heads think would 
 become of Athenian energies, ambitions, ideals, if pious, cow- 
 ardly Nicias were to rule our City? " Timoleon's mocking 
 malice cut even deeper than his eloquence. 
 
 " Nicias listens to soothsayers, he is the slave of magic. 
 Alcibiades puts his ear to Athens heart, its beat and throb 
 and those of his own pulse are one. His trust is in our 
 Lady of Athens." 
 
 A group of elderly white haired men, seated in a half- 
 moon, under the columns of the gymnasia listened, open- 
 mouthed to Timoleon's malicious contrasts. 
 
 "What a fighter thou art! my Timoleon. If Greece be 
 not mistress of Sicily in a six months time, 'tis not because
 
 271 
 
 thou art not giving Nicias uneasy hours!" was Ion's out- 
 burst. 
 
 Timoleon laughed, silently, as he glanced backwards. He 
 could indulge in laughter. He had left the old men drawing 
 diagrams of Sicily, in the sand, with their canes. 
 
 Ion and Timoleon left the circle of these elderly citizens. 
 Timoleon having sown his seed, could trust it to ripen. 
 
 The two young men swept onward, through the columns 
 of the great peristyle. The disputatious voices of the phi- 
 losophers followed them, as they passed into the Ephebeion. 
 
 Here the familiar sounds were of another sort. There 
 was the pounding of the strong fists on the sacks filled with 
 chaff athletes practicing thus before beginning to wrestle. 
 In the Conisterium, sharp young voices were calling to at- 
 tendants for prompt sprinkling; one could hear the dash 
 of sand against firm, naked bodies; and, in the inner xyste 
 
 in the depressed central part, below the raised platforms 
 
 the usual scene confronted Timoleon's and Ion's eyes. 
 The number of wrestlers here was amazing, and all were 
 
 in fine form. There was scant space for all, for the place 
 was crowded. There was the sound of short, panting 
 breathing; of swift rushes; of the deadly grip and groan, as 
 athletes, clasped together in tight coil, came to earth, with a 
 thud, continuing their contest on the ground. These sounds 
 were ever and anon drowned. For shouts and passionate 
 outcries arose from the crowds, gathered thick under the cov- 
 ered spaces. 
 
 Eager, tensely knit, were the bent faces of the spectators. 
 Every looker-on had his favourite, in that struggling mass 
 of oiled and sanded bodies. The brutal sport of the pan- 
 crationists delighted these Greek eyes. 
 
 One athlete had his antagonist's throat between thumb 
 and finger ; his mighty legs straddled the writhing body. 
 
 " Choke him ! Choke him ! No mercy. Remember he
 
 272 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 broke Eudemes's leg but yesterday ! " cried, in savage voice, 
 a man close to Ion's shoulder. The cry was taken up. The 
 demand for cruel punishment, became a chorus. A group 
 of Furies seemed yelling vengeance. 
 
 Timoleon raised himself on his tip-toes. His keen eyes 
 peering over men's shoulders, into the open space, were fixed, 
 with singularly intensity, on the swollen muscles, on the 
 purplish face, and on the convulsive agonized motions of 
 the man who was getting the worst of the sport. 
 
 " Is not that Thrasybulous ? " he said, in an aside to Ion, 
 nodding to the mass that was a man. 
 
 " The very same," answered Ion, in an equally low voice. 
 This view of his future brother-in-law was not one calcu- 
 lated to enkindle warmth of feeling. 
 
 Ion gave a humourous side-glance. " With such an ath- 
 lete in one's family, my boy " he began but he covered 
 the sentence with, " Come, let us be off you'll do no talk- 
 ing here." 
 
 Timoleon's smile was enigmatic, as he swept Ion's shoul- 
 der with his arm. 
 
 He proposed, if this war turned out as he hoped it would, 
 to have Thrasybulous placed in the front of battle he 
 would pass the hint to Alcibiades that particular member 
 of the Critias household would be as well left on the deck of 
 a war trireme. 
 
 The mere thought of what the war might bring union 
 with that sweet Myrto and the comfort of her dowry, 
 warmed Timoleon. His next words came gaily. 
 
 " Well, my Ion, once the war is upon us, and such train- 
 ing as that will be as useless as maiden's playing at ball." 
 
 A voice answered, from a near standing group, " Ah-h 
 Timoleon, you speak of the war as though it was indeed 
 a certainty," and Agonides laughed, with light mockery. 
 
 Timoleon turned, squared himself, as he faced Agonides,
 
 THE BREATH OF MARS 273 
 
 with his most alluring smile. He was careful to edge his 
 way close to the group, behind the speaker. His chance had 
 come, and he closed with it. The group clustered 
 gathered he had his true audience at last. 
 
 The familiar arguments were gone over. Every point 
 bearing on the situation was skillfully elaborated. Athens 
 owed it to herself to her allies, to fight ; her inaction was 
 working mischief. Sparta was already presuming on Athens' 
 inertia. It was high time Athens proved to Sparta to 
 all the world she was as mighty as ever, could strike where 
 she would, could hold and force submission. Any pretext 
 would serve to teach the Peloponnesians that needed lesson. 
 
 " For the real object of the war is the capture and con- 
 quest of Sicily." 
 
 The group stirred. The faces wore changed looks. Eyes 
 sought eyes half terrified, yet secretly pleased. Timo- 
 leon's boldness was refreshing. So many had thought this 
 yet none as yet, had dared openly affirm the truth. 
 
 Ion breathed hard. He looked at Timoleon with new 
 admiration. Timoleon went on " The merchant's houses 
 are heaped with rich stuffs and jewels. The city streets, 
 the theatres, the gymnasium, all men say of Syracuse, are 
 almost as crowded with statues of the gods, as are Corinth 
 and Athens. Not a soldier, not a hoplite, not even a bag- 
 gage slave but will come back from the war as rich as a 
 Persian satrap. 
 
 " To know as great Island, one as rich and powerful, and 
 yet not ours, is surely humiliation for Athens. As lords 
 of the sea, how can we live and yet know our sovereignty 
 disputed ? Set at naught by these rude Sikels? Surely, we 
 are entitled, by the very superiority of our dominion, to 
 demand and receive tribute from all Islands." 
 
 "This, our Empire of Athens, O men of Athens! de- 
 mands this 'extension of her power. How can we hope to
 
 274 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 strike terror to Sparta? how impress the world except by 
 presenting fresh proofs of our power? Surely, the first 
 duty of the great, of the strong, is to go to the rescue of the 
 weak. For her own good for the good of the world, if 
 only to bring peace where all is discord the Empire of 
 Athens should own Sicily. The distracted Island needs to 
 be owned and governed by those who understand the art of 
 ruling by wise Athenians whom mighty Pallas Athena 
 guides and protects." 
 
 The clever Athenian faces about Timoleon were aflame. 
 The right chords had been touched. Ambition patriot- 
 ism greed what more was needed to stir men to a war- 
 fever? 
 
 Even those who were of the peace-party showed dubious, 
 doubting brows. Dull, indeed, it would be to remain at 
 home, with flat purses, and to witness, in bitterness, the 
 return of mean slaves, of obscure contractors, of pipers and 
 singers even, swollen with plunder! The prospect tempted 
 the greatest lover of agreeable inaction to shout for war. 
 
 These flaming eyes and thought-worked brows were 
 Timoleon's true plaudits. He had made his stroke. He 
 was now bent on other business. 
 
 " I go towards the Plain, my Ion, and where go you ? " 
 he asked, with a meaning smile, as he turned toward the 
 latter. 
 
 " And I to meet a prospective father-in-law " Ion an- 
 swered, his eyes shining with laughter. In less than a 
 month now, his marriage would come off, and surely Tim- 
 oleon, of all his friends, should be among the first to be 
 advised. 
 
 Ion could never have believed the prospect of marrying 
 could make him so merry for Timoleon's face had lost its 
 glow he had taken on one more familiar. He walked 
 along with something of his old, supercilious indifference.
 
 THE BREATH OF MARS 275 
 
 "And whom, pray, is the fortunate maiden? Has your 
 father has the merchant-king selected a bride?" 
 
 Ion gave Timoleon's somewhat scornful features an 
 amused smile. 
 
 " It appears it is rather the maiden's father who wishes 
 the match." And Ion felt a quick relish at the thought of 
 his coming announcement. 
 
 " And this most discerning of fathers a wealthy Piraean 
 I presume ? " Timoleon, for the life of him, could not 
 help a certain disdain tinging his tone. 
 Ion's eyes gleamed. 
 
 " It is an Athenian, as it happens, old man.'* 
 " May one learn his name? " Timoleon's face was now 
 pushed out, beyond his tall cane. For he had stopped, and 
 was facing Ion. 
 
 Ion hesitated. Then his eyes sparkled, once again, with 
 mirth. "Yes if you are discreet. But it is not to be 
 talked about as yet " 
 " I promise " 
 
 " Well it is Critias if you must know. He has 
 promised his daughter Myrto. Have you ever chanced, at 
 any of the festivals, to see her ? " Ion's tone, indifferent 
 as he tried to make its accents, was full of pride. 
 
 The effect of his announcement Ion could not possibly 
 have foreseen. With a crash, Timoleon's cane fell to the 
 ground. As he stooped to re-capture it, Timoleon crim- 
 soned. 
 
 Ion eyed his friend's discomfiture with amazement. Timo- 
 leon's usually perfectly composed features were perceptibly 
 disturbed. His under-lip visibly trembled. A pallor had 
 succeeded the scarlet hue. Never had Timoleon displayed 
 such uncontrolled feeling save when the dice had gone too 
 heavily against him in Ion's long years of acquaintance. 
 Ion thought it best to banter.
 
 276 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Well well and what does all this mean ? What 
 have you to say for or against the match I should like 
 to know ! You appear singularly moved what has been 
 going on in my absence ? " Ion's laughter was light. His 
 manly eyes, however, were now scanning his friend's face, 
 with keen shrewdness. 
 
 Timoleon threw his head back; he gave a fresh fling to 
 his mantle. " In one sense, Ion, I am delighted, of course. 
 It will be a great match for both of you." 
 
 " Well if you turn white and red each time you hear 
 of a friend's marriage flushing and paling like a girl 
 all I can say is " 
 
 " What an absurdity ! Of course I we shall all be 
 sorry to lose you " 
 
 " Oh, I'm not buried yet," Ion cried out, joyously. 
 
 " No-o, but Critias will want to hurry the match, that 
 I foresee, and the reasons for it. As for my turning red 
 Ah-h here they come ! " Timoleon had now entirely re- 
 covered himself. Yet his face visibly brightened as he turned 
 toward the group of young men whose slow saunter under 
 the great trees had finally brought them close to their 
 side. 
 
 " Not a word you understand Timoleon," Ion cried, 
 hastily, as the group came slowly towards them. 
 
 " Not a syllable," gravely responded Timoleon. 
 
 Yet he was counting the hours before he could possibly 
 get a message to Nausicaa she, surely, must have known 
 something of this or should know 
 
 Ion, as he smiled down at his friends, was also saying 
 inwardly, with conviction: "There's more in this than 
 he will confess I must find out his secret. Ah 
 Glaucus ! " he cried, " you've worn the mantle I brought 
 I see. Yes it is a fine shade. It becomes him amazingly 
 does it not?"
 
 THE BREATH OF MARS 277 
 
 Glaucus lifted languid eyes to the admiring gaze of his 
 followers. 
 
 But Glaucus had brought news, and even fine garments 
 were disregarded. 
 
 " I say dear men do you remember that beauty 
 the one who came with your father, Ion, to the Dionysia 
 and was in the train of two other old men ? " 
 
 It was Ion's turn to mount a flush. He could hardly 
 command his tongue, as he stammered, " Well my Glau- 
 cus and what new infidelity has my father been commit- 
 ting?" 
 
 Above the shout of the gay laughter, Glaucus, who was 
 too interested to stammer, cried " The news has nothing to 
 do with your father, as yet But, on the contrary, with 
 Manes." 
 
 " With Manes ! " exclaimed the young men, in chorus. 
 And now Ion was feeling his heart in his throat. For it 
 was he who had brought Manes, from the Isthmus, to cos- 
 tume the chorus for " Electra " he being choregus, at the 
 coming Dionysia. And what, in the name of all the gods 
 of chance, had this chorus-master, to do with divine Maia? 
 
 Glaucus was presently telling them. 
 
 " Well, you see, those of us who keep our ears open, hear, 
 in time all we desire to learn. I should never have gone 
 down the shades in peace, had I not had the mystery cleared 
 up, concerning the most beautiful woman I ever saw. And 
 now I know her history! Oh-h you needn't look so hun- 
 gry my Ion I intend to be more generous than were 
 you for whatever your father told you about her, you 
 were both as close as a mean man with your knowledge. 
 
 " Well I see you are all bursting, and so I'll proceed. 
 Manes and I have been sitting this good hour, on the steps 
 of the Theseum. The holy place made him talk. It ap- 
 pears this wonderful creature's name is Maia. And of all
 
 278 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 wonders, she is Athenian born. He Manes of Corinth 
 found her on the night of the festival of the Panathense 
 in our Ceramicus. She was an exposed child. And he 
 took her and carried her to Corinth. There he trained her. 
 She became famous as a flute-player and dancer. That rich 
 old Nirias, the famous wool merchant, you've all heard of 
 his art collection well, he added a living statue to his col- 
 lection. He fell in love with Maia, bought, and freed her. 
 And lately, on his death bed, he has married her. And as 
 soon as her house can be sold, she is to come to Athens, and 
 will live here." 
 
 The young men, all save Ion, made a chorusing series of 
 remarks. Some avowed they should do their best to be the 
 first to meet as great a heroine, others secretly made a vow 
 to marry her. Ion alone was silent. The news of Maia's 
 freedom, and of her approaching arrival had temporarily 
 stunned him. 
 
 The gates of love, of happiness seemed to close, before 
 his very eyes. He could have no more part in this coming 
 of lovely Maia than if he had been buried. 
 
 He turned from the laughing group with a new bitter- 
 ness in his heart, one new to him. And out of his angry 
 disgust, he poured out his gall upon his father. " Oh-h 
 father ! father ! why indeed could you not leave me alone 
 in my happiness? " 
 
 With the tears smarting upon his lids, he went his way 
 sorrowfully. 
 
 For Critias had intimated to Crates that the month Game- 
 lion was near, and the time must be set for the bethrothal 
 banquet.
 
 Chapter XXV 
 
 A BETROTHAL 
 
 " MARRY her the quicker the better ! " had been Her- 
 mione's outburst, a few days before Critias had last seen 
 Crates. 
 
 Hermione was wearied of moping looks and listless ways. 
 She was at the end of her patience. Myrto, for some weeks, 
 had been, if not ailing, in a state of depression that had 
 taken her and her mother as far as Delphi, that the famous 
 Castalian spring might be tried, as a cure for lost spirits, 
 and faded cheeks. 
 
 Myrto had merely been passing from the state of child- 
 hood to that of a certain maturity. The growing stage is 
 ever accompanied by pain of some sort. Myrto had learned 
 the meaning of suffering. After the first excitement of the 
 great news of her coming marriage had passed, Myrto, left 
 alone with her thoughts, had seen all her life stretch out 
 before her like a dreary waste. Ion did not really care 
 for her, or for marriage, any more than did she. How could 
 he, since he did not even know the colour of her locks? 
 Had he been eager as was Timoleon already she would 
 have heard the nuptial hymn. 
 
 Ah-h Timoleon! 'twas he that had wrought upon simple 
 Myrto's heart, setting all its tender chords to quick vibra- 
 tion, and to make marriage with Ion seem a closing of all 
 gates opening upon happiness. For Timoleon had come not 
 once, but again and again to the garden wall. Myrto had 
 been given a greater freedom, since her marriage was a fixed 
 fact. She was allowed to walk in the garden, could even 
 sit there, with her needle, and sew, with only the birds for 
 
 279
 
 2 8o ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 company. Her guilty meetings with Timoleon, after the 
 betrothal banquet had been set as far away as Gamelion 
 these clandestine talks had been more and more frequent. 
 Myrto had supposed Timoleon aware of her coming mar- 
 riage. Finding him still in ignorance of the hateful doom, 
 Myrto, each time Timoleon 's garland had been flung across 
 the garden wall, had summoned her courage to tell him she 
 was no longer free. Then the music of those thrilling love- 
 notes voiced by Timoleon's ardent utterance, made con- 
 fession die upon her lip. To hear Timoleon whisper pas- 
 sionate phrases, and to live on the secret ecstasy of those 
 outbursts, melodiously singing in her ears like celestial music 
 to continue to hear Timoleon speak thus, across the gar- 
 den wall Myrto felt she would face death itself. 
 
 The guarding of as great a secret had brought its own 
 punishment. Myrto, living in constant dread of discovery, 
 and her love for Timoleon having grown to a mounting 
 madness, the child's health had suffered. The going to 
 Delphi had been almost a boon. At least once away from 
 Athens, she would not be torn by a hundred fears, dreads, 
 and the ever-pursuing thought that each day that dawned 
 brought her marriage nearer this her hateful doom might 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Delphi's sacred spring, and still more the great splendour 
 of Delphi itself, had given a fresh zest to life, and had con- 
 sequently brought back the roses to Myrto's cheeks. 
 
 But once the Dipylon Gate in sight, and Myrto drooped, 
 as though struck by some sudden blight. 
 
 Hermione had noted the change with a sinking heart. 
 She had so counted on the familiar spectacle of this coming 
 up to Athens to work the perfect cure! And here was 
 Myrto showing the old dreaded pallor beneath her veil, 
 and no more interest in this home-coming than if she had 
 been going to slaves' quarters!
 
 A BETROTHAL 281 
 
 " See dear Myrto there goes a newly made bride 
 that party over yonder in the bright cart ! " cried Her- 
 mione, trying to awaken some show of interest in the girl. 
 
 Myrto surveyed the hill-folk wedding party with dejected 
 air. 
 
 " Is not that ass coming towards them laden with pars- 
 ley? 'Tis a bad sign, 'tis said;" and Myrto gathered her 
 veil the closer about her. 
 
 " I know not I care not ! you are impossible to 
 please ! " the mother burst forth, in sudden, passionate anger. 
 " Any other girl who was going up to Athens as the bride 
 of as distinguished an Olympian to say nothing of the 
 place Ion has won in the political world would be mad 
 with delight. Instead, one would think you were on your 
 way to a funeral to hear dirges instead of marriage 
 
 songs 
 
 As the town chariot rolled through Athens' crooked, 
 streets, Hermione's wrathful impatience grew and was in- 
 tensified. The hopes of months were blown to the winds. 
 Hermione having now become reconciled to this marriage, 
 had indeed counted upon the excitement as upon the vibrat- 
 ing influences of the new life that lay before Myrto, to win 
 back the child's lost health, and her lovely rapturous quality, 
 that had been like a bird's perpetual song in the house. 
 
 It was she, therefore, who incited Critias to hasten the 
 wedding. " Yes marry her I say ! and the quicker the 
 better!" 
 
 " You you think then that the child is in fitting con- 
 dition for marriage?" To his wife's amazement Critias 
 presented confused looks and blinking eyes. Hermione could 
 scarce believe her ears. Critias to consider a woman 
 and that woman his own child ! 
 
 Critias appeared, indeed, quite guiltily sensible of his error. 
 His throb of paternal weakness had surprised no one not
 
 282 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 even his wife more than it had himself. Myrto's pallor 
 and the pathos of her young bent shoulders were to blame. 
 Confound women ! their stupid ways were always making the 
 wisest of men listen to soft promptings. Hermione was in 
 the right let marriage be given, as a corrective, to all this 
 nonsense. The fondest of fathers could not conceive of a 
 better restorative to health than the closed doors of the 
 thalamos. To slough off responsibility, on another man's 
 shoulders, was to Critias the best possible method of reliev- 
 ing the tension of the rarely-touched chord of parental anx- 
 iety. 
 
 The plans for the marriage were soon speedily outlined. 
 " Have everything on the grandest possible scale," Critias 
 cried. " Let the betrothal banquet make Athens ring. I'll 
 hire some famous singers we'll have the best dancers Cor- 
 inth has trained for our male guests, after the ladies have 
 retired." 
 
 Critias felt a mounting glow of pleasure, as he gave his 
 commands. Few things gave him such joy as the ordering 
 of costly banquets. This first marriage in the family, and 
 of his only daughter, to Ion now the most popular young 
 man in the city one whom the noblest might be proud to 
 have as a son-in-law this was the greatest festival oppor- 
 tunity of Critias' life. He would empty the markets, he 
 would send direct to Euboea to their estates for eggs 
 of the pea- fowl, for boars' livers ; for fruits he would send 
 to Italy the wines in his cellars could furnish a dozen 
 wedding feasts. 
 
 Hermione listened and this time with a smile. She, 
 also, took pride in having the wedding festivities as magnifi- 
 cent as they could be made. Diligently she noted on her 
 tablets, her husband's elaborate suggestions. Before she 
 closed the list, she lifted her head a quick thought 
 an inspiration had come to her. It seemed easy now to ask
 
 A BETROTHAL 283 
 
 anything of Critias. For the first time in years they were 
 wholly of one mind. 
 
 Hermione's longing to ask this hoped-for boon of Critias 
 was prompted by the common feminine instinct to relive, 
 in a daughter's marriage, her own short-lived, connubial emo- 
 tional excitement. The flicker of those early nuptial rap- 
 tures flared, in brief shining, across Hermione's now pallid 
 matrimonial sky. She longed, therefore, the more to pro- 
 long the sensational moment. The intensity of her desire 
 lent her courage. For that which she was about to ask was 
 a daring innovation. 
 
 " Suppose, dear husband, we offer our guests a rarity in- 
 deed suppose before the banquet you let the dancer 
 come in, to us in to us women ? We women are so rarely 
 entertained." 
 
 Hermione's pleading eyes and her soft blush made her 
 husband look at her with surprised eyes. This novel excite- 
 ment fired Hermione's beauty to a youthful glow. Or was 
 it some weeks in the country that had made the roses bloom 
 anew on cheeks that were full and firm full and rounded 
 as Alcamenes' famous Aphrodite as hers of the gar- 
 dens! 
 
 With his tired eyes on Hermione's radiant skin, Critias 
 cried, to his wife's joyed amazement " Capital ! Capital ! 
 The notion is a good one. It will set the women's tongues 
 to wagging. And," he added, for Hermione's beautiful 
 eyes had deepened in colour and he suddenly remembered 
 how Phidias had admired their colour, " By the white feet 
 of the Graces! but you shall have the andron. In your 
 woman's court, a professional worthy the name, could scarce 
 trip her steps." 
 
 It brought no surprise to Critias' self-complacent sense of 
 large generosity to have Hermione spring upward, that she 
 might fling her glad arms about his neck. No expression of
 
 284 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 gratitude from a wife could be considered excessive rendered 
 to as fond and indulgent a husband and father! 
 
 A few days later Critias brought Ion to his house. 
 For the first time the young man made one of the family 
 circle. He was thus informally made acquainted with his 
 future bride's household. 
 
 Myrto, of course, was not present. Neither could Nau- 
 sicaa manage to make her appearance. Her husband 
 brought several excuses. Hermione could have her choice, 
 among so many, of the true one. The agreeable flutter 
 Hermione herself was experiencing left no room for her 
 usual bitterness of distrust where Nausicaa was concerned. 
 She was in a transport of joy, of delight, a transport dashed 
 with a certain agreeable awe of her impressive son-in- 
 law. 
 
 Ion had changed. A new dignity, an air of composure 
 made his strength and beauty doubly effective. His greet- 
 ings to Hermione to Thrasybulous his deference to- 
 wards Critias were in perfect taste. They were also as cold 
 as the snows on Mount Olympus. He talked well and 
 easily of all things of nothing. He did not forget there 
 was a stately, nobly-born mother-in-law to please. 
 
 " Your sitting-room has a delightful exposure," Ion re- 
 marked, as he leant, with perfect grace, on the couch to the 
 right of Hermione's thrones, " and the tinting of the col- 
 umns is agreeable to the eyes." Ion's cool gaze swept col- 
 umns, the palms, the birds in their cages, and then returned 
 to make the tour of the pastas of its hangings, and of 
 Critias's collection of Egyptian deities. 
 
 " Yes when Critias first proposed to follow Alcibiades' 
 example, and paint the courts, I confess I was angry. It 
 seemed a waste of drachmae. Now, neither Myrto nor I 
 could endure our town life without these pleasant colours 
 about us." Hermione had purposely mentioned Myrto.
 
 A BETROTHAL 2^5 
 
 She kept her gaze steadily fixed on Ion's handsome face, as 
 he bent forward. 
 
 Ion was in the act of leaning over his couch. He trans- 
 ferred a particularly spicy morsel a bit of sheep's head 
 seasoned with caraway seeds to his lips, without hurry. 
 He finished the delicacy before he made answer. 
 
 ' Then it becomes me I see to fill my town house 
 with painters and at once. Your daughter must not miss 
 accustomed luxuries," and Ion drank his wine, with un- 
 moved composure. After setting down the golden goblet, 
 he changed the subject, almost immediately; he led the talk 
 on to the universal topic to the war news. He and 
 Thrasybulous were soon deep in the intricacies of the newest 
 fashions in armour. 
 
 Hermione, at Ion's calm answer, had all but bounded 
 from her chair. " You daughter ! " Not even to call 
 Myrto by name now that the right was his! He might 
 thus have spoken of the unknown dead his tone could not 
 have been more indifferent. And this coldness and distance 
 from a merchant's son one whom it was an immense con- 
 descension to receive into the family! 
 
 Hermione felt her hurt pride, her wounded vanity prick- 
 ing her to uncontrollable anger. Olympian victor though 
 he was ; and handsome clever master of himself as he was 
 proving himself, Hermione vowed, as her wrath warmed her 
 quick thought, she would yet teach this cool son-in-law a 
 lesson in humility. He should be brought to a realizing 
 sense of the honour conferred upon him. He should go to 
 the altar with quaking knees and a bounding heart. 
 
 All mothers worthy the name, believe in the conquering 
 power of a marriageable daughter. Hermione was a true 
 believer. She felt Ion had only to see Myrto, to speak with 
 her, though it were but once, and he would, he must fall 
 at her feet, as he might below the knees of a divinity.
 
 286 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Hermione matured a quick, bold plan. Its daring made 
 her tremble yet she would dare. There was really only 
 Critias' displeasure to dread. And in these pleasant days, 
 Critias was almost a lover again. Hermione felt she could 
 do with him as she pleased. No one else would know. 
 Even Asia was gone to the Piraeus to see to the bringing 
 to town of the costly Coan bridal robes. The coast there- 
 fore was cleared for action. Thank the blessed gods of 
 Hymen, prying hateful Nausicaa had been kept at home 
 or abroad it mattered not nothing mattered now, since 
 Hermione was as agreeably hatching out her plot as a proud 
 hen warms the stir of life in an egg. 
 
 The war-talk was in full heat, as the meal came to a 
 close. The libations were duly poured. Thrasybulous 
 pled an immediate engagement at the Lyceum, to see a 
 young foreigner box. Critias sauntered towards the court 
 
 he wished a last word with his son. The chance for 
 Hermione to act had come. 
 
 Hermione swept quickly to Ion's side. She ventured to 
 lay her hand upon his arm. The gesture was full of timid 
 grace of womanly dignity. There was pride as well as 
 the sweetness of giving in the noble face. 
 
 " Ion my son that is to be I see you are to be 
 trusted. Myrto in less than a turn of the glass will be 
 yonder in the garden. Let none see you I will keep 
 guard." 
 
 Ion's reserve fell from him. With a start of surprise his 
 strong palm fell upon Hermione's. The two hands clasped 
 
 impulsively irresistibly. What a noble lady it was 
 this Hermione ! What a strange an unacccountable per- 
 mission was this to have even brief speech with Myrto, 
 before marriage. Yet the action the impulse was surely 
 flattering. Ion rose to the height of the moment, and the 
 more easily because the prospect of meeting his prospective
 
 A BETROTHAL 287 
 
 bride either before or after marriage had no power whatever 
 
 he felt bitterly to stir a heart-throb. 
 
 Yet Ion's eyes met the anxious, questioning mother-look 
 with manly courage. " Dear lady you honour me, in- 
 deed. Believe me I appreciate such distinction. I shall 
 pray to Hymen to bless our union. I shall try to love her 
 
 your Myrto shall not be made unhappy." 
 
 The simple strength of Ion's words, their candid avowal, 
 free from all dissembling, won Hermione's moved heart. 
 She leant towards the young man. In broken, disjointed 
 sentences she poured forth her fond tears, hopes, and the 
 weight of her anguish. 
 
 " O be gentle be kind ! Your looks win one to trust 
 you. Myrto is indeed a lovely maiden no man can fail 
 to love her once she is known. Only make excuses 
 be soft. She is not herself " (Hermione dared not avow the 
 truth men, all men, put such exaggerated emphasis on a 
 woman's health) , " she has not been since since she 
 
 Hermione stopped short. She drew away with a sense 
 of guilt from Ion. She had heard her husband's step along 
 the arcade. 
 
 Ion swept her a re-assuring glance. " I shall be here 
 at the appointed time. You may imagine my eagerness," 
 Ion managed to send a glow to his eyes. 
 
 Still he could not warm his voice. But Hermione smiled, 
 with tender sweetness. If she missed the true heat of long- 
 ing in his words, she showed it not. 
 
 Critias linked his arm in Ion's ; together they passed into 
 the andronitis, for an uninterrupted talk. 
 
 Later on, in the pastas, Hermione was making full con- 
 fession. Critias, who believed his guest gone, heard with
 
 288 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 amazement that he was without, was actually in the garden 
 and but the rest was too overwhelming to be believed. 
 
 Critias stood over his wife. He raised hands that were 
 shaking with anger. His eyes were terrible to face. He 
 was taking the matter far more seriously than Hermione 
 had conceived possible. 
 
 " And you tell me this with calm lips that the two 
 are actually together in broad daylight and talking?" 
 
 Hermione dared clasp her husband's agitated hands in 
 hers. She soothed him her words came easily. To her 
 delight she saw a softening look come into his eyes at her 
 touch. 
 
 " Surely dear husband, 'tis better they should meet in day- 
 time than at night." 
 
 She sent a meaning, laughing eye upwards. Both laughed. 
 Peace thus made, Hermione went on with her persuasive ar- 
 guments. 
 
 Surely Myrto's condition warranted any experiment. Her 
 whole future, as well as her present state of depression, 
 might be influenced, and mightily, by as extraordinary a 
 measure. She, Hermione and Critias had had just such a 
 wonderful adventure Hermione reminded her husband 
 with a blush as virginal on her matronly cheeks as the one 
 he had surprised on her lovely young face two days before 
 marriage years before. Did he not remember how they 
 had been allowed to meet, in the garden and to talk, for 
 half a shade? And surely it had had no evil results 
 this innovation. Her dear mother had been wise when she 
 courageously reverted to better to more primitive to 
 almost Homeric ways. 
 
 Critias nodded, as he blinked his eyes. He was experi- 
 encing some difficulty in placing the incident. He had met 
 so many in gardens since that far away time. And 
 he had kissed so many!
 
 A BETROTHAL 289 
 
 Solely from habit, doubtless, he bent now, to kiss his 
 wife. Yet she was as pretty as any in that long procession 
 of women and as young, he vowed. Her sojourn in the 
 country had certainly improved her looks. 
 
 As for this matter of the young people's meeting, before 
 marriage, that, after all, was well enough, Critias conceded, 
 in his present mollified mood. Whatever they two heads 
 of the proudest Athenian families approved and whatever 
 Hermione's mother had done was surely wise. Such a 
 fashion might be wisely revived indeed better marriages 
 might come about, were young people to know each other, 
 before marriage. 
 
 "But not Spartan ways O dear no! not Spartan 
 liberties ! " Critias cried out, in virtuous horror, his hands 
 uplifted, repelling the dreadful image of Spartan marital in- 
 decencies. " And mind, you are not to let Asia scent this 
 novelty I've no mind to have Athens ringing with it." 
 
 When Ion came in from the garden, flushed, with a new 
 glow in his face, Hermione swept her husband a triumphant 
 look. How the plan had worked! Here was Ion with a 
 bridegroom's flush on his face. 
 
 With true delicacy Ion made no reference to his walk in 
 the garden, save to say, with infinite tact : 
 
 " Hermione was good enough to let me see your peach 
 trees in blossom. I have plucked a branch as you see." 
 With dancing eyes he showed a thickly grouped branch of 
 pink buds. " I shall carry it home with me to remind 
 me of the bloom I found and the promise of youth I carry 
 with me." 
 
 Nothing Ion had said had so delighted Hermione. His 
 manners were perfect as perfect as had been her ruse for 
 firing love's flame. She could have clasped him to her heart, 
 then and there. 
 
 But Ion was being borne rapidly away by Critias. The
 
 290 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 latter was proving his joy in the success of his wife's ven- 
 turesome plan, by pouring out a flood of words. 
 
 Before the andron door closed, shutting the two out, 
 Hermione caught Ion's words. 
 
 " Yes yes I promise to speak to Manes. He is cer- 
 tain to know of some new dancer. Yes yes I am en- 
 tirely of your mind. Let the banquet be set for a week 
 from to-morrow." 
 
 Myrto also had heard. She had drifted to the pastas. 
 She held her dog in her arms. She stood for a moment quite 
 still, as though to digest the true meaning of the sentence. 
 
 Hermione had now her arms about her darling. Half- 
 laughing, half-sobbing, the two clasped each other. With a 
 sharp protesting bark, Myrto's Maltese pet escaped death 
 only by a quick bounding to earth. 
 
 "My darling darling love is all well?" asked Her- 
 mione, holding Myrto's face between her hands, to scan, 
 with strained eyes, the lovely features. 
 
 Myrto's cheek wore the first roses of the season. Surely 
 'twas maiden modesty made the eyes droop the heavy 
 lashes sweep the rose bloom 
 
 "You are right, dear mother. He is kind and tender 
 he will let me have my dog " 
 
 And Myrto stooped to recapture her pet. 
 
 Surely her voice had a new note the old gay tremor 
 was in the sweet tones, as she asked, shyly, " And the 
 betrothal mother did we hear aright Is it indeed to 
 be so soon ? " 
 
 Hermione pressed her darling close, as she choked a fresh 
 sob. 
 
 " Yes In a week beloved a short week ! And 
 how are we ever to accomplish all there is to be done ? "
 
 Chapter XXVI 
 
 THE DANCER 
 
 A WEEK later the dancer had swung into the middle of the 
 court with a step so light she stood before her audience, ere 
 they were fully conscious of her presence. 
 
 The ladies, seated within the arcades, stared, emitted a 
 few amazed ejaculations, and then the hum and buzz of 
 women's voices rilled the peristyle. 
 
 All were now unveiled ; all were in full splendour of fes- 
 tival array. Golden fillets, studded with pearls adorned 
 dyed locks, whose owners had painted their faces to match 
 the youth of their tresses. Sunken cheeks, wrinkled eyes 
 and hands ribboned with blue veins, gave to all eyes the 
 hidden secret of age. Some were fat, others lean ; few sat or 
 reclined with grace or dignity. The seal of their narrow, 
 contracted lives was stamped upon all. These were indeed 
 the faces of imprisoned women. 
 
 The dancer's verdict might almost have been read, by 
 clever insight, in her expressive face. This assemblage of 
 women the ladies so jealously guarded in the prison of 
 the gynseconitis ! what a mean cradle for a great race! 
 Yet these meaningless faces before her, these contracted- 
 browed, these childish-lipped women were the mothers of 
 those mighty Athenians whose prowess and intellectual 
 achievements made them the first power in the world ! 
 
 Restless, eager, excited, the audience was not yet sub- 
 dued to attentive calm. These Athenian ladies were noisy, 
 rebellious; the buzz of their chatter and gossip must be 
 stilled before she could begin her performance. 
 
 291
 
 292 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 The luminous eyes, for a single instant, caught Iler- 
 mione's gaze. And the two women, as each looked into 
 the other's deep orbs, experienced the shock of communicated 
 emotion. Hermione visibly paled, she felt her heart wildly 
 flutter. Her hands clutched at the inlaid lion's head of 
 her thronos, as her startled cry burst from her. 
 
 " Why 'tis she surely 'tis ! " 
 
 "Whom? Ah-h so you have seen her before? And 
 yet you promised us a novelty ! " Hermione's nearest neigh- 
 bor cried, in a hurt tone, as though her hostess had done her 
 an injury in palming off a second-rate article. 
 
 Hermione regained, immediately, her stately calm. She 
 resettled herself among her cushions. " Be assured you have 
 not been deceived," she answered, her lips curving with 
 gentle scorn at her guest's unconscious impertinence. " She 
 is as new to me as to Athens I merely thought to 
 have discovered a resemblance to to some one I knew." 
 
 Hermione's second glance had re-assured her. Lovely as 
 was the being on whom most eyes were now fixed, she was 
 assuredly not the Corinthian of the Dionysia. That lovely 
 shape was slimmer of more girlish grace. Beautiful as 
 were the face and figure of this Corinthian, her lines were 
 fuller, the look of experience was more complete, while her 
 hair alone would have proved to Hermione the folly of her 
 wild surmise. The girl she had seen at the Dionysia, a 
 year ago, had tresses the very shade of Myrto's bright 
 gold. These hyacinthine locks were beautiful indeed, but 
 they crowned a stranger. 
 
 Quieted, at ease in her mind, Hermione settled herself 
 back into the curve of her deep chair. For the dancer, she 
 saw, was sending her own eyes abroad, as though, true 
 artist that she seemed, to compel her audience to silence ere 
 she began her poses. 
 
 A sharpened look of pain, had, indeed, lined the dancer's
 
 THE DANCER 293 
 
 face, for an Instant's transient passing, as she had caught 
 sight of her hostess's moved face. Then the spasm of feeling 
 was mastered. The Corinthian had given a fresh draping 
 to her chiton. When she lifted her eyes from the folds of 
 her gown, she was mistress of face and of every gesture. 
 
 A mighty buzzing filled the court. Even with the dancer 
 standing, waiting, ready to begin her poses, these chattering, 
 gossiping tongues could not lose a chance of uttering the 
 last word. The waiting artist came in for her share of 
 candid airing of private opinion, generously shared with all 
 who were willing to listen. 
 
 " Well, for my part, I don't see that she is such a won- 
 der. Her skin is fair, I admit that " 
 
 " Oh-h, that hyacinthine shade of hair will turn any skin 
 white." 
 
 "You are right, when I wore that shade, my husband 
 gave me all the embroidered chitons I wanted." 
 
 " Oh-h husbands are always the same old or young. 
 You please their eyes, and you please them. Men have only 
 two senses sight and taste. Fill their stomachs and " 
 
 " Do look at those tapestries ! Isn't Hermione lucky to 
 have a husband who knows how to spend her money! Such 
 a man as Critias is a gift of the gods to an heiress. As for 
 mine, he pulls the purse strings as tight as though " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know you've told me a thousand times of 
 his mean ways. But don't lose sight of those figures yon- 
 der. They aren't woven they are alive! And that mass 
 of golden goblets, shirring in the sun Ah-h, we'll have a 
 grand feast! " 
 
 The lady's eyes and those of her companion sent curious, 
 excited glances beyond the court, into the decorated hall. 
 The deepening gold of the afternoon sunlight smote the thick 
 array of golden ewers and goblets, already placed on the 
 small tables, set before the lounges; on the silver and gold
 
 294 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 plate; on the costly coverings, of cushions and klinai, and on 
 the rich tapestries. The long garlands, looped from be- 
 tween grinning masks, that swung high, that a sculptor 
 might have taken as a model for an altar's decoration, were 
 admiringly surveyed. 
 
 The pinch-mouthed lady withdrew her gaze. She gave 
 a somewhat vicious twist to her diplois that mercifully 
 covered a vast unlovely expanse of formless flesh. The 
 thought of how long it might be before her own and only 
 daughter might be sitting as bride at a betrothal banquet, 
 made Myrto's luck evoke just critical comment. Her tones 
 were biting, as she went on 
 
 " This Ion, now, everyone is talking of he's rich enough 
 I admit, to make any mother grieve that he's been caught, 
 even if he be a ship-merchant's son. But really, the way 
 some people run after money I call it in the worst of 
 taste grasping avaricious ! " 
 
 " O ! the rich always run after riches. 'Tis the way of 
 the world to long for increase. Ah-h look. Keep quiet, 
 can't you? Your ceaseless chatter scrapes the ear. See! 
 the dancer is beginning to take a graceful pose." 
 
 " She's been long enough about it I must say ! " 
 
 The dancer had, indeed, taken an effective pose. She 
 had lifted her bared arms, her pink palms outermost. 
 
 The dancer, with swift grace, now swung her volumious 
 draperies round and round." As the billowy mass circled 
 about her, her face was seen to change. A dawning look of 
 mingled terror and awe transformed its beauty to the 
 rigidity of a tragic mask. To all she showed this stricken 
 face. Then, with incredible swiftness, figure and face were 
 hidden, were shrouded. She had flung her loosely-held 
 himation to veil her completely from view. 
 
 The grace of the expressive pantomime, its hint of poetic 
 imaginary, silenced the buzz of talk. A perfect silence en-
 
 THE DANCER 295 
 
 sued. Having captured her audience, the dancer proceeded 
 with her poses. 
 
 Out from the folds of the veil, unwrapped with purpose- 
 ful slowness, the face re-appeared. The features were still 
 tight-knit ; the inward fear that made the flexible shape now 
 writhe and shrink was moving hands and arms to out- 
 stretched length-palms, fluttering outward. Some form of 
 invisible horror must be kept at bay must be prayed to 
 was being placated. 
 
 Presently, the hands were lowered; the face lost its ter- 
 rorised look, the muscles relaxed the mantle fell to 
 the ground. Upon the softened features, a look of dawning 
 expectancy of mounting delight grew and deepened. The 
 eyes were aflame, the whole shape was suffused now with 
 joy the very draperies trembled, as though sensibly shaken 
 by the flutter of intimate quivering. Hands were once more 
 outstretched, but in joyous out-going, and shape and dra- 
 peries were now swayed, were now bent, were now sent fly- 
 ing, from court end to court end. The lovely shape might 
 have been a petal blown from a rose ; or a leaf whirled across 
 the plain; or a rain of blossoms sent fluttering before the 
 breath of the wind. Now she was floating, borne onwards 
 by a strong breeze; now she rose to it, alert, exhilarant; 
 now an eddy had caught her and she was torn and worsted, 
 her tresses loosened and wild. 
 
 The movement was suddenly changed. 
 
 Upon bared heels the dancer turned and turned. Like 
 waves whipped by a rising wind, the draperies swirled about 
 the white limbs, describing lovely curves, little hollows and 
 billowy steeps that followed and circled about the revolv- 
 ing form as waves part and follow after dolphins. As a 
 watery nymph might part the waves, immerging, rosy, glis- 
 tening with Neptune's pearls, the artist swept her body 
 bare, to the waist ; she presently lay coiled upon the ground,
 
 296 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 in the familiar spiral ; she was all woman above and serpent 
 below. 
 
 The eyes of the ladies seated about the court had followed 
 every change, every movement of the dancer's pantomime 
 with eager intentness. Each phase in its development had 
 been interpreted with quick, intelligent rendering. 
 
 " Ah ! see it is the night, shuddering at the dawn's ad- 
 vent!" 
 
 " Ah those billows are the sea, whipped by the dawn- 
 breeze! " 
 
 "Yes! yes, it is indeed the sea one might imagine 
 dolphins were playing in those hilly undulations ! " cried 
 Hermione, with quick delight, clasping her hands with girl- 
 ish joy. 
 
 Myrto leant toward her mother. " How beautifully she 
 personified terror! Oh mother ! is she not lovely ?" Myrto 
 was beside herself with rapture. She had actually for- 
 gotten it was her betrothal banquet! 
 
 " Ah-h, now she is personating a sea nymph. How 
 beautiful she is ! What shoulders ! What an arm ! " 
 
 The hawk-eyed woman, a cousin of Hermione's, one sit- 
 ting close to her thronos, and one who did not fear to visit 
 a sculptor's studio, and even boasted of her daring, was also 
 in an ecstacy of delight. She began clapping her hands, like 
 a man, at the theatre, but the ladies silenced her, with 
 angry looks. For all ears were being rocked by a lul- 
 laby 
 
 For the dancer was singing, softly, as the Syrens might 
 have sung to Ulysses. 
 
 " She has the voice of a bird ! " 
 
 " What her full voice must be if these be but her half- 
 tone notes! " 
 
 With incomparable skill the dancer as she sang, had coiled 
 her draperies to take the fishy, tail-like finish to the legen-
 
 THE DANCER 297 
 
 dary mermaid shape. With a dexterous touch the long tres- 
 ses had been loosened. The hyacinthine rain fell over and 
 covered the bared shoulders, arms, and the fair bosom. 
 With a playful toss, the enveloping mass was parted, and 
 now the white fingers were busied, plaiting the fallen tres- 
 ses. As she braided, she sang, on and on, still soft and low, 
 the notes at first of weird unearthly remoteness. Then, as 
 the song rose to fill the court, there was a burst of ap- 
 plause. The notes thrilled to ecstasy the rapt audience. 
 
 Song and braiding came to stop. The woman above the 
 serpent now sent forth terror-stricken eyes. A curious 
 gurgling sound, as of one plunging into deep seas, and the 
 coil of draperies submerged the nymph. Out of the coil a 
 new wonder grew. 
 
 With magical art, the displaced garments had been swept 
 into lines of grace. The fallen tresses were re-looped; the 
 jeweled clasps sparkled anew on the dazzling shoulder- 
 slopes, and a fresh pose was taken. From being fluid as 
 water, the dancer was now turned to stone. Her eyes were 
 sent outwards high up as though to a mountain top. 
 The expressive facial play told of wonder, rapture, awe. 
 An invisible miracle in upper heaven produced a mysterious, 
 sensuous delight. Eyes were closed; delicate sighs were 
 breathed; and gently, the whole figure was soon swaying 
 in cadenced rhythmical grace, as though blown hither and 
 thither by a celestial breeze. The face of the dancer was 
 now like unto the heart of a rose, the light upon it that of 
 intimate, illuminate seclusion. Presently, she gathered her 
 veil about her. Through its gauze the face bloomed forth 
 like rosy dawn through mist. 
 
 One last figure completed the poetic pantomime. 
 
 The dancer swiftly circled about the court with wide- 
 sweeping steps. Erect, with head held high, with regal air, 
 the veil was now a scarf, and so swift were the cadenced
 
 298 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 steps, Zepher filled it. Ever and anon the head was turned, 
 as though to smile at some shape moving beside. Thus 
 might one of the Graces have stepped, on aerial heights, 
 keeping pace with the sun-god's golden chariot. 
 
 A last sweeping rhythmic motion a swirl of her scarf 
 and the draperies were gathered close, the shape fluttered, 
 swam, and was gone. 
 
 The dancer was come to her rest behind the columns of 
 the lower end of the court. 
 
 Loud and long were the plaudits. Flowers rained into 
 the court. The artist must come forth to receive these 
 tributes to her talent. The ladies clapped now as loud as 
 men. Their delight was manifested in exuberant praise, in 
 noisy applause. They called again and again for the artist's 
 appearance. A new distraction alone left the dancer free. 
 Hermione had ordered the slaves to serve the sweets and 
 fruits, as well as the cooling drinks. 
 
 This Nausicaa felt to be her great moment. It was out 
 of the question for her to accept a secondary place at this 
 first festival in the family. She had been at Hermione's side 
 to receive the guests; she was now telling the ladies, in her 
 most consequential tone, exactly what they were to think 
 about the dancer's qualities as an artist, and how experienced 
 critical judgment should gauge her attractions as a woman. 
 The ladies listened as ladies are wont to listen to one of their 
 own sex whose daily actions outrage the feminine rule of de- 
 corum. 
 
 " Ump ! you think she is pretty but not beautiful ? And 
 that her pantomime is poetic but is lacking in originality ? " 
 the nearest neighbor began, with fierce combativeness. 
 " Well let me tell you, you Ionian ladies have standards 
 of taste we Athenians regard as contemptible. For this 
 Corinthian has the lines of a goddess! " 
 
 "Has she not?" cried Hermione, coming to her guest's
 
 THE DANCER 299 
 
 side. Hermione's softened, happy look, the genuine de- 
 light that thrilled her tones, silenced her guest, but not 
 Nausicaa. She gave an angry twist to her resplendent 
 robe about whose magnificence not half enough had been 
 said by these envipus Athenian cats! and was about to 
 open a real war of words, when Hermione's eyes flamed. 
 She lifted a silencing finger. 
 
 "Oh-h see! She is about to play to us now!" And 
 Hermione sank into her chair, with a radiant look of antici- 
 patory pleasure. 
 
 The ladies once more re-seated, the dancer stilled their 
 voices by a shrill note on her flute. Above her piercing 
 notes she heard the chorusing exclamations. She stood at 
 her tallest; she lifted her lovely head and formed her lips 
 obediently to pour her breath into the stops. A poem of 
 pastural life trilled through the reed. 
 
 Down light blue hills, came the pattering of slipping 
 sheep. Many and many were there, and the kids were full 
 of glee. One could hear their pleasant bleating, under the 
 tinted beaches, under the dark roofs of the cypress. The 
 whir of bees was, also, heard in sweet clover; and birds 
 gossiped and sang in close branches. There were notes 
 that made the smell of mint in flower come straight from 
 garden beds, and asphodels seemed blowing, light as down, 
 tinting the meadows to pale whites and violets. 
 
 Now upon the hill tops, the shepherd was piping to his 
 flock. Through rushes and reeds the flocks moved. The 
 shepherd trilled to the nibbling sheep and then forgot them. 
 He was now wooing his love. A rustic divinity had dawned 
 among the olives. And beneath their sea-green tones, the 
 old, eternal battle was fought anew, of man wooing, con- 
 quering, and of maiden's consenting. 
 
 As the last, long drawn love note quivered and died upon 
 the perfect stillness, the player heard but one voice above
 
 3 oo ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 the delighted applause. Hermione had broken forth into 
 ejaculatory plaudits. She had awakened from the trance 
 into which the exquisite playing had plunged her. She had 
 almost forgotten her coming anguish and sorrow in the fierce 
 tumult of emotion aroused by the music. All thoughts of 
 losing Myrto had been quieted, almost submerged, indeed, 
 by the waves of delight the artist's playing had produced. 
 Hermione had been in Euboea; she had wandered about on 
 her great hillslopes ; had heard the quiet sheep moving to 
 the sweet river bank; and below her own great plane trees 
 she had found peace. 
 
 As she piped the shepherd's lyrical romance, the dancer's 
 eyes, above the rude flute, roved wide. She had scarcely 
 appeared, as yet, to have noticed her audience. Even Her- 
 mione had marvelled at the power of absorption, at the con- 
 centred energies of this gifted creature. 
 
 The ease of executing this simple lay left her eyes and 
 thoughts free. The beautiful sea-grey eyes now swept the 
 hawk-eyed brightness of Hermione's clever but over-inde- 
 pendent cousin's countenance; on Nausicaa's wanton Ion- 
 ian grace the full orbs rested, with curious questioning 
 glance; but it was on Myrto's young face the player fixed 
 her eyes, with singular intentness. The girl could not 
 move, nor could she lower her eyes; nor could the colour 
 flame, to some sudden emotion, nor could the face be set, 
 the eyes sent staring outward, as some chord of emotion 
 was played upon but the dancer had caught, noted, did, 
 indeed, appear to reflect Myrto's quick changes. 
 
 Upon her and upon Hermione the large luminous eyes 
 dwelt again and again, with fierce questioning. 
 
 At the end of the flute playing, the dancer again took a 
 short rest. 
 
 The audience broke up, and quickly laughter and cries 
 filled the court.
 
 THE DANCER 301 
 
 Myrto, greatly to her annoyance, found herself imme- 
 diately surrounded. Hateful, inquisitive voices were ask- 
 ing her questions impossible to answer. How rude were 
 even very great ladies! Because one was cousin to Alicib- 
 iades, should a matron think she had a right to ask a bride 
 what she intended to wear the first night of her marriage? 
 And how hard to bear were the chorusing voices, prophe- 
 sying, mysteriously, of the effects of roses, strewn on a mar- 
 riage-bed ; of the peculiar taste of kisses, before the bride had 
 hardly swallowed her last morsel of quince and of how 
 tormenting was the sound of the bridesmaid's voices, teas- 
 ingly chanting the epithalamium, at dawn, when one's eyes 
 and limbs ached with sleep ! 
 
 Myrto turned away; she hid her face from the circle of 
 the laughing, boisterous matrons. How wanting in taste 
 were their allusions, how revolting, to a sensitive nature, 
 their coarse jesting! The sight of a defenseless maiden 
 seemed to whet the edge of these rude appetites for revell- 
 ing in sensuous suggestion. 
 
 Myrto's one longing was for escape. She sent her mother 
 pleading looks. Might she not be released? Did courtesy 
 demand her submitting to further torture? 
 
 Hermione came to her darling's rescue. She understood 
 Athenian feminity. Little as she saw of her immediate cir- 
 cle, whenever she appeared, she ruled as a queen among 
 willing subjects. Hermione, therefore, swept the teasing 
 group away. She drew them by the surest of magnets. 
 Those who would follow into the gynaeconitis might look 
 upon the bridal veil, the costly wedding chiton, and other 
 
 fineries. 
 
 Freed from her tormentors, Myrto swept quick, fierce eyes 
 about. Hermione, she saw, had crossed the court, drawing 
 the ladies after her. Even Nausicaa had gone, and also the 
 hawk-eyed cousin. The brilliantly lighted andron was al-
 
 302 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 most deserted. The dancer yonder could be heard 
 giving her low commands to her assistant. Even she now 
 was alone. For the chorus-master who had brought her, 
 had gone had been sent, apparently, on some business con- 
 nected with the coming attraction. 
 
 Myrto felt her very knees quaking. Dared she? Yes, 
 and why should she not ? There was none to see none to 
 chide. And even were there, 'twas no great sin, surely, for 
 a girl at her own betrothal to speak to a hired dancer! Be- 
 ing married ought to bring one some enjoyment and free- 
 dom such poor freedom as marriage brought to Athenian 
 matrons would be hers in a short week ! 
 
 Myrto felt drawn to that bending shape as a needle to a 
 magnet. She would give worlds her last free hours of 
 maidenhood, her costliest marriage gifts she felt, for 
 speech with as wondrous a being. Never in all her young 
 life, had she been as moved, save once, as by the dancer's 
 poetic imagery. Timoleon's love notes, in the far distance, 
 had resung their stirring emotion; the sweetness and ecstasy 
 of her love's young dream had recaptured her senses; the 
 player had thrilled her to her very soul depths, with her 
 moving notes of song. 
 
 Myrto courageously crossed the court. She would brave 
 all; she felt suddenly upborne by a puissant energy and dar- 
 ing. 
 
 Before she had time to be frightened, she had slipped be- 
 hind the column that almost hid the dancer. 
 
 As Myrto's light footfall fell upon the concrete, the dan- 
 cer had come to a startled, affrighted upright, and the four 
 eyes, as they met, were interlocked. Wonder, the shock of 
 a great surprise, looked out of eyes that seemed to have 
 borrowed each their deep sea-tones, their luminous quality, 
 and their black fringe of silken lashes from the other's orbs. 
 Below the elder woman's eyes a half circle of pale violet was
 
 THE DANCER 303 
 
 the rest for the lower lids; the secrets of a more fully de- 
 veloped experience shown forth from eyes and circle. 
 
 The artist was in the very act of crowning her locks. 
 Myrto gazed upward in amazement. The wreath had 
 dropped from the artist's hand. Wonder appeared to con- 
 sume the dancer! She was devouring the maiden before her 
 with eyes in which a hundred emotions seemed struggling 
 for mastery. 
 
 As though in sudden pain, the hands were now clasped. 
 She was wringing them; and soft groans broke from 
 her pallid lips. " Oh Oh-h " she murmured, in pitiful 
 tones. 
 
 "Are you in pain? Can I be of any help?" Myrto 
 asked, raising her own lids. She felt she could never be 
 done with looking at this radiant, transformed being this 
 marvellous artist who, a moment before had seemed lovely 
 indeed, but older, of womanly growth and maturity. 
 The girl who now confronted Myrto's rapt gaze was- 
 scarcely older than herself, and her hair like her own, 
 was bright gold ! What a miracle to perform, and all in a 
 moment ! 
 
 The dancer had shaken her head at Myrto's questioning. 
 She appeared, if not in pain, to be still strangely moved. 
 Myrto's serious, innocent-eyed gaze, with its look of ador- 
 ing delight, had stirred some uncontrollable spring of emo- 
 tion. 
 
 Myrto noticed the dancer's fingers were all of a tremble, 
 yet she was smiling in a way to make one feel all her 
 thoughts and feelings must be nobly set. 
 
 Myrto crept closer. 
 
 She felt herself, in her turn, strangely, unaccountably 
 moved and stirred. Yet there was something so tender, so 
 loving in the looks bent down upon her, from these soul- 
 speaking eyes. Such a moving eloquence in the trembling, 
 speaking yet mute mouth that Myrto had the instinct of
 
 304 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 a kitten to nestle closer still to be warmed, to purr for the 
 gift of a sudden caress. 
 
 The caress was proffered. But its character was as amaz- 
 ing as was the question that broke, at last, from the dancer's 
 lips. 
 
 She had grasped Myrto's wrist with swift impetuous 
 fierceness. She sent her great eyes about, to learn if still 
 they two were alone could count on the moment's se- 
 curity. Then, as though the matter had long been the 
 subject of previent thought, she bent close to Myrto's ear 
 she whispered in pained, compelling tones, yet of a thrilling 
 sweetness, 
 
 " Tell me, sweet one, Oh tell me ! This marriage this 
 union, with him with Ion is not what you desire?" 
 
 Myrto's amazement, her shock of surprise were such as to 
 shake her strength. She felt suddenly giddy, but the firm 
 hold on her wrist steadied her. The sweetly agonized eyes, 
 still raining pain as they seemed, also, to be flooded with 
 a yearning passion of feeling, caught the child's terrorized 
 gaze, calmed, soothed, controlled it, even as the artist's 
 warm arm now encircling her, gave Myrto fresh hold upon 
 her senses. 
 
 A larger speech than lips could frame was passing be- 
 tween the two. A compelling power, one Myrto had never 
 known, seemed to move her to be wholly herself, to give up 
 the treasured secrets of her timid soul. When she looked 
 into the dancer's deep eyes, and met her probing searching 
 gaze, Myrto felt as though some goddess were before her, 
 with heavenly powers to unseal her lips. 
 
 " Oh be not afraid dear Myrto you know me not 
 you cannot dream of who I am but indeed, indeed, 
 I am to be trusted. And it is your fate and mine that is 
 now to be decided." 
 
 And Maia, with passionate pleading, drew Myrto's slim
 
 THE DANCER 3 o 5 
 
 shape to her. What powers of persuasion could she sum- 
 mon to make the dear girl speak? 
 
 Myrto answered to that last appeal. This then, was, pos- 
 sibly, the woman whom Ion loved, loving whom he had not 
 wished to marry? 
 
 Myrto withdrew, ever so slightly. She did not herself 
 wish to marry Ion, nor did she love him. But to be con- 
 fronted with the woman he loved, and she a dancer! 
 Myrto's reconquered dignity moved her to straighten to a 
 stiffened upright. A dim sense of injury, as of having been 
 trapped into a false position, of being forced to admit things 
 that were outrageous coming from such a source this 
 rising tide of indignation was blanching Myrto's lip and 
 cheek. 
 
 Maia divined this barrier of wounded pride building be- 
 tween them. She must use new forces to break it down. 
 Yet how find right words when she herself was all un- 
 done? The sight of Myrto, of this lovely, timid, innocent 
 darling the girl she might have been, but for her father's 
 cruelty! the feeling of this nearness, yet remoteness, with as 
 adorable a sister one all her own the vague conscious- 
 ness of the strange intermingling of their fates, and, above 
 all else, the overmastering drawing of the blood-tie, pulling, 
 straining for acknowledged oneness Maia was all but 
 overcome by the many conflicting emotions. 
 
 Trembling, shuddering, torn by her agony of suppressed 
 passion of mingled love and of longing, the wave that had 
 carried Maia to this crisis, broke. A rising sob came to 
 choke all utterance. The great tears fell. Unheeded they 
 dropped, round and glistening, upon her white neck. 
 
 For an instant of thrilled wonder Myrto watched them 
 fall. Then, unaccountably moved, and as irresistibly 
 drawn, she drew near to the weeping dancer. " Oh-h I 
 do not know but I think I divine why you weep^ Listen,
 
 3o6 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 you do not look wicked you look kind as you are beau- 
 tiful. I will trust you. No-o Ion is not beloved by me, 
 but we must, alas! marry. Our fathers wish it, and the 
 gods the fates demand our union." 
 
 The dancer's happy laughter that bubbled now like music 
 from her lips, was as wonderful as had been her tears. 
 For Maia's face had suddenly become radiant. She was 
 holding Myrto's hands in hers, close to her heart, as she 
 cried 
 
 " Oh ! The fates, even the gods, blessed be they, one 
 and all, can be prayed to! Marry Ion you shall not, since 
 you love him not I will arrange matters." 
 
 Then she bent downwards; she breathed low her words: 
 and never had Myrto heard a woman's voice as tender. 
 
 "Will you will you kiss me, dear one? Will you let 
 me feel your cheek ? " 
 
 Obediently Myrto lifted her lips. The dancer touched 
 them with loving ardour. And as though the impulse were 
 beyond her power to restrain, she clutched the dear form 
 close. Releasing her, she whispered, brokenly, " Oh do 
 not wonder. All will be one day made clear. And be 
 comforted also dear one ! For Ion has been true, 
 wholly worthy of your confidence. He he will not speak, 
 he has not even seen but surely some calls! We must 
 not thus be seen. There! one more, and remember you 
 shall not marry unless " 
 
 Manes' tall form now darkened the brightly lit arcade. 
 And Myrto slid away. 
 
 The ladies who witnessed Maia's final exhibition of grace 
 and skill, were amazed at her novel presentation of a sub- 
 ject worn to shreds. 
 
 This dancer appeared to be able to surpass all others. 
 She gave her audience the favorite Greek rendering of Venus 
 and the Loves. One tiny boy, with fluttering wings, mi-
 
 THE DANCER 307 
 
 raculously fitted to his fat pink shoulders, was now perched 
 on one of the dancer's shoulders, as his twin sat upon her 
 knees. Next, both the Loves were harnessed with silken 
 reins, and Venus was driving them. Then other various 
 poses were given, till the last was reached. 
 
 The cherubs rolled in, from the inner arcade, a low 
 chariot. Into this the queen of Love stepped. Out of a 
 cloud of draperies her garlanded head rose like that of the 
 Cyprian goddess from the soft foam of the sea. And the 
 Loves ran nimbly, round and round the court, their pranc- 
 ing steps carrying the gilded car to its final rest behind the 
 columns. 
 
 Myrto clapped louder than all. She only longed to have 
 the wonderful pantomimist go on and on. For since this 
 her betrothal banquet was not to end in marriage, it was 
 amazing to find how great could be a bride's enjoyment.
 
 Chapter XXVII 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 
 
 THE news of Ion's approaching marriage had met Mala at 
 the Pirasan docks. It was Manes and not Ion who had 
 hurried from the crowd collected about the quais, to watch 
 the docking of Maia's gallant ship. It was Manes who had 
 brought the fair structure of Maia's bright hopes to sudden 
 ruin. 
 
 Maia had set sail for Athens with the winged feeling of 
 one driving her car of happiness to its goal, at full speed! 
 Free, at last, since Nirias was dead, Maia had flown to 
 receive her victor's crown. Ion's tightening arms, his kiss 
 of approbation, for right sacrifice, for long waiting, would 
 be her conqueror's wreath. In lieu of the victor's crown, 
 Maia was to drink the cup of misery to its very dregs. 
 
 The chorus-master, on hearing of Nirias' death, had re- 
 ceived from Mago the glad news that " his mistress Maia 
 was to come to Athens, and shortly: would Manes select a 
 proper house, one near the gardens if possible, and with a 
 garden of its own." 
 
 The right house having been found, one providentially but 
 recently finished, large, for Athens, and with a fine garden, 
 Manes was all eagerness to see his former pupil installed 
 therein. He had learnt many things since coming to Athens. 
 Among others there was a chapter to be added to the story 
 he had told Maia, long months ago, on his Corinthian ter- 
 race. 
 
 Manes had, therefore, gone down to the docks, with the 
 eager joy of one who brings glad tidings. 
 
 308
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 309 
 
 Mala, though she stood under a fringed pavilion, he found 
 in no state to hear drama. She was pale, distraught. The 
 glory of her looks was dimmed. He could scarce fix her 
 eyes or her thoughts; surely Nirias had not really captured 
 Maia's heart! The mere conjecture seemed to exceed the 
 bounds of belief. Yet here was Maia, robed in costly gar- 
 ments, with captains and ships' crews, and with a multi- 
 tude of slaves crowding her deep ship's hold, looking the 
 very picture of woe ! The situation was one beyond Manes' 
 grasping. 
 
 Thinking to divert such obvious misery, Manes had quick- 
 ened speech. The very latest Athenian gossip he spread be- 
 fore her. She lent courteous but unheeding ears. At last, 
 however, a chance word a stray sentence fixed her wan- 
 dering eyes. 
 
 " Timoleon the new leader every one is talking of 
 he and young Ion " at these names Maia had turned. 
 Her cheeks crimsoned only to pale to Parian whiteness. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Timoleon and Ion what of them ? " Maia 
 now started to a quick upright. She was clutching Manes' 
 arm j the nervous pressure of her fingers told him more of 
 her state. 
 
 " Well, well ? " Maia cried, insistently. 
 
 " Ah-h, you know these gentlemen my dear ? " Manes 
 asked, but did not wait for his answer. He would learn 
 all there was to know, by skillful handling of a woman's 
 emotion. 
 
 "Well, these two gentlemen are making history, and 
 fast. They are helping Alcibiades to his purpose for the 
 war fever now consumes all Athens all the Piraeus 
 
 "Ah-h!" cried Maia, still with fixed, strained eyes; she 
 was suddenly grown rigid and tense. " Go on Manes - 
 the the war news I find interesting." 
 
 " Well you'll hear nothing else talked of, in all Athens.
 
 3io ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 The city has gone mad. Plays, the theatre, even the spring 
 festivals are barely mentioned. Even my patron has lost 
 interest barely finds time to assist at a rehearsal." 
 Manes sent Maia's white face a searching side-glance. 
 Could it be that handsome, rich young Ion who had brought 
 Maia to a love sick stage? If so but Maia was con- 
 firming his clever surmise. Her fingers had relaxed their 
 pressure. She had taken on marble hues. 
 
 " Your your patron and what of him ? " Never had 
 Manes imagined Maia's voice could show such trembling. 
 For all the itching of his curiosity, the chorus-master's strong 
 heart stirred within him. He longed to proffer comfort, 
 to show his sympathy, and, instead, awkward blunderer that 
 he was, he must blurt out a truth that struck the dear 
 creature to earth. 
 
 " Why nothing only Ion the Piraean victor you 
 know, I have told you I am in his pay since his marriage 
 is so soon to come off, finds no time, but, in Heaven's 
 name, what ails thee, dear Maia ? " 
 
 Maia, like one bereft of her wits, had started, with wild 
 fluttering motion, to her feet. Her arms shot out of her 
 enveloping draperies. She was tossing them above her head 
 as might a Masnad in Bacchic frenzy. A sharp cry stabbed 
 the air. Hardly had the shriek of anguish rent all ears, 
 when Maia's shape fell, in the limp of a swoon, across 
 Manes' arm. 
 
 Love, in truth having entered Maia's soul, had come as 
 conqueror. She was among those few women whom a 
 strong passion consumes and makes separate. As the 
 earth receives from the sun its light, and life, and beauty, 
 so Ion and love of Ion were to make for Maia the one sole 
 luminary. Her poets had sung of such consecrating passion. 
 She had smiled and doubted. Now her life, her sad days, 
 and sadder nights proved the poet's singing a living truth.
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 311 
 
 By Nirias's bedside, in her long waiting, she had lived by 
 that high flame of love. Every act, every thought and deed, 
 had been fed by the torch of that illuminating inspiration. 
 
 In her care of Nirias, during his illness, she had, she felt 
 but fully repaid her debt. Ion, surely Ion would love her 
 the more for this her sacrifice! With passion at the helm 
 of her high spirit, still Maia's better, nobler past would not 
 let loose its hold. Till weak and dying Nirias was dead, 
 she said, again and again to her hot impatience, Love and 
 Ion must wait. Once freed and then, Ah then ! What 
 singing together, in the crowded choir! How love tri- 
 umphant would be pressed from their full souls, even as 
 wine bursts from the trodden grape yielding its full in- 
 toxicant ! 
 
 And now ! 
 
 After the first agony of suffering had passed, the heroic 
 element in Maia's soul helped her to creep back to life. 
 Ion married, was, she well knew, Ion lost. Maia had 
 sounded the nature of the dear man she loved. He was not 
 yet wholly Athenian; the root of loyalty was there, deeply 
 imbedded. If he married, he would, at least, for a time be 
 true. And during that time, she, Maia, would be follow- 
 ing, day by day, the funeral of her own youth, of her great 
 beauty. The Maia Ion had loved would be buried long t 
 fore Ion, as a middle-aged man, would presumably resume 
 the customary life of highly placed Athenians. 
 
 Must she, therefore, as long as life lasted, sit down wit! 
 
 sorrow ? ,, 
 
 The vigorous Athenian air brought one answer, 
 mendous Athenian stir of life and the tumult of this war- 
 time, swirling about her, brought another. In the days to 
 come, the centre, she, Maia, and her " house m the garden 
 were to become, for all that was most brilliant and so 
 moving, in Athens, was to be the third determining facto
 
 312 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 in restoring new energies of life and mind to one who 
 could not be content, indeed, to sit down with sorrow. 
 
 The story Manes had to tell, and which he told at the 
 very beginning of Maia's stay, brought to Maia the first 
 great help in this re-building of her life. Its amazing, far- 
 reaching consequences stung her to action. And quick ac- 
 tion is grief's deadliest enemy. 
 
 The story Manes had to tell was this : 
 
 On his arrival in Athens certain things, stray bits of 
 gossip concerning Critias and his household, had aroused his 
 interest, Manes declared. A contract made with Kronos, 
 Timoleon's slave, for sandals, cothurni, and stuffs for the 
 fitting out of his chorus, had resulted in strange happen- 
 ings. 
 
 The secrets of the Critias household, among others, were 
 revealed. The story of their earlier struggles, before Her- 
 mione's wealth came to her ; of the " exposed child ;" the 
 death of the elder children, of all save Thrasybulous, of the 
 plague; of the birth of Myrto and Serapion; of Critias' 
 extravagant ways, once Hermione's fortune was come to 
 him; of his vices and dissipation; of Hermione's long pa- 
 tience, economy and proud bearing; of her hatred of her 
 daughter-in-law of her long opposition to Ion the Piraean 
 as a son-in-law, and finally, seeing Myrto's sinking to quick 
 decline, of her glad acceptance of the match. 
 
 With Asia, also, Manes next had many hours of talk. 
 Haunting the Agora brought a man strange friends and 
 stranger tales. 
 
 " These Athenians think to disgrace a man by dubbing 
 him " Agoraeious " but many a man's fortunes have been 
 made by knowing when to pace the porticoes " shrewdly 
 interpolated the Corinthian. 
 
 And this was not all he had to say. The most astounding 
 piece of news was still to be told.
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 313 
 
 It was Asia who had confirmed Mines' belief that the 
 missing child in Hermione's house, was the babe he had 
 found. No movement in Asia's life, she avowed, had been 
 so poignant in tragic consequences as when she had left " her 
 dear mistress's babe, in a basket, alone, among the dead, in 
 the Ceramicus." 
 
 Since that day her mistress had never been the same. 
 One longing, one terror possessed Hermione; the longing 
 to find her lost child among the innumerable Greeks or 
 barbarians coming to Athens, and the terror of discovering 
 in some mained or crippled creature, the victim of her hus- 
 band's cruelty. 
 
 At the familiar phraze, " alone among the dead, in the 
 Ceramicus " Manes confessed his excitement had made him 
 all but betray his great secret. He could not repress a cry 
 of mingled joy and amazement. Although Asia had used 
 all her wiles to make him explain this shout pleading, 
 coaxing, even bribing him to enlightenment yet Manes had 
 had the strength to keep silent. 
 
 " Knowing you were soon to come, dear Maia, feeling sure 
 Nirias could not live forever, I waited. Now all I know is 
 yours. Surely now you can separate your Ion from Myrto 
 for you need have no compunctions she loves him not." 
 And Manes brought his wondrous tale to a climax by telling 
 Maia all Kronos had hinted, of Timoleon's hopes, of his 
 having captured " that innocent child's fancy, for 'tis for 
 him she weeps, and not for Ion all Athens knows what 
 Asia knows. My master is indeed her true mate, a noble, 
 like herself, and now becoming a power in Athens," Kronos 
 had concluded, with mingled pride and affection. 
 
 Maia received this revelation of all that most nearly 
 touched her life, with mingled emotions. This all but cer- 
 tain knowledge of belonging to a great and noble house
 
 3H ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 thrilled her with an overwhelming joy. How many dark 
 and hidden impulses, motives, and aspirations such an an- 
 cestry made clear ! 
 
 Then the dark shadow fell across this glowing conscious- 
 ness. Ion about to marry Myrto, her own sister, and that 
 sister to be another victim to their common father's greed, 
 to his lust for gold! By all the powers below! but this 
 double crime must be prevented. The gods had put this 
 knowledge in her Maia's hands to be the human instru- 
 ment to work their will. She must go, and at once, with 
 her wondrous tale; she must fling herself upon Hermione's 
 bosom, clasp Myrto to her, and, together, they would con- 
 front Critias and force him to repentance, to justice! Im- 
 perious, overwhelming, this impulse to punish, to bring Cri- 
 tias to judgment drove Maia to a very fury of enthusiasm. 
 Orestes-like, she felt impelled to turn avenger. 
 
 Twice had Maia gone to the house in the Street of 
 Hermes. 
 
 And, though she faced the very door, had an invisible hand 
 withheld her! 
 
 Again and again, by night and by day, an inward, warn- 
 ing voice had risen up. " Wait! wait! " it whispered, " not 
 yet strange and wondrous things are yet to happen." 
 
 And Maia felt herself compelled to listen to the voice. 
 
 The more vehemently Manes urged disclosure, therefore, 
 the more fixed and obstinate had been Maia's refusal. 
 
 When Manes pled with her, when he showed the differ- 
 ence the knowledge of her relationship to Myrto might 
 make to Ion " Ion, surely, once he knew he was to wed 
 Maia's sister, might well hesitate, might find excuses," even 
 to this, the most potent of Manes' arguments, Maia found 
 plausible answer. 
 
 " Never fear, Ion will not wed Myrto, of that I am well 
 assured," she would cry, with eyes fixed and set, but with a
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 315 
 
 soft, radiant smile the smile of a believer. "No, no, 
 Nemesis, she who also holds the scales of hope, tells me 
 differently." 
 
 "And your mother, what of her? Have the fates whis- 
 pered their will to you concerning her, also?" was Manes' 
 satirical query. He was beginning to feel that this Maia 
 of Athens was no longer the same as the Maia of Corinth. 
 This enigmatic woman was as mysterious as was the winged 
 sphinx, at Delphi. 
 
 Maia continued to present, indeed, fresh proofs to her 
 former master, to her one time father, of his complete ig- 
 norance of a woman's mind. Her reply to his sarcasm gave 
 him further food for ruminating thought. 
 
 " Ah-h, my mother ! Believe me, O Manes, Hermione is 
 happier longing for me, than would she be to find me, since 
 I am the woman I am. She remembers the babe she lost. 
 'Tis that babe her arms long for. It has never truly grown 
 up. But for a grown woman, such as I and one with my 
 history ! Now tell me, Manes, what would Hermione and 
 I find to talk about, shut up, day after day, in a spinning- 
 room ? Can you picture me at a loom ? " 
 
 Both smiled, as Maia presented the strange prospect. 
 Manes was forced to concede the strength of this argument. 
 Maia went on 
 
 " Were I to announce our surmises, were we to show our 
 treasured casket, the amulet, and tell all and they should 
 receive me, what would become of me? In such surround- 
 ings, think you, one who has tasted life's freedom one who 
 has breathed the air men breathe has travelled far, has sor- 
 rowed, and lived, and loved, could such as I now 
 cramp my soul to low doors? No! No! Manes, I must 
 indeed live my life as the gods have decreed. I accept my 
 fate." Brave and convincing as were her words, Maia's 
 tone was shadowed with gloom. For she remembered the
 
 316 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 curse that lay upon the great house of Alcmaeonfd. Was this 
 dread destiny to descend upon her? Was this unrelenting 
 weaving of fate's web the secret of her thwarted life ? of 
 the ever-recurring anguish of handling the cup of joy only 
 to have it dashed from her grasp, at the very moment of the 
 glad sipping of life's nectar? How near she had come to 
 clasping hands with joy! How sure the cruel touch that 
 had swept the clasp asunder, to leave her life empty, deso- 
 late. Was this this, indeed, the end? To find noble 
 kindred, to be among those greatest in Athens, and yet not 
 to be able to claim one's place? To love and to know one's 
 self loved, and to have one's own sister step between ? What 
 must she what could she do ? For never must the dread- 
 ful crime be permitted of Ion's marrying Myrto! 
 
 The " Voice " said "Wait!" 
 
 As the days drew near, and rumours of the approaching 
 betrothal banquet thickened, Maia felt the mounting of re- 
 bellious forces. Every pulse-beat sang aloud its longing for 
 a quick finish. Act she must, and soon or let the true 
 end come let her drift onward toward Charon's waiting 
 boat. Yet the choir of ringing, inward voices counselled 
 patience; louder and louder they sang, until, two days 
 before the banquet they stopped. 
 
 Manes, in a mighty flutter, had rushed to Maia's court. 
 He had great news to announce and more than news. 
 The quick plan he had formed, he felt scarce needed speech. 
 His secret was given to Maia in his eager flame-lit features 
 and in his speaking eyes! 
 
 But Maia was overcome with a great trembling. She 
 heard nothing, knew nothing, apparently, save that Manes 
 had said he had talked with Ion. " How did he look? Did 
 he seem pale, worn, did he look happy, elate? Did his words 
 come easily, as one glad of the project? Is the wedding to 
 follow immediately after the banquet? Oh! why can't you
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 317 
 
 find a tongue? Where are your wits?" was Maia's dis- 
 tracted acceptance of Manes's statement. 
 
 Manes had seen women in such straits of passionate impa- 
 tience before. He calmed Maia's over-wrought state; he 
 bored himself with giving full, tiresome details. Ion looked 
 as usual, he thought ; perhaps a little less blooming 
 
 " Ah-h " was his reward. Maia looked rosier, on the in- 
 stant. 
 
 " He spoke as a man might speak of a relative's birthday, 
 he named the day of the wedding, indeed and of the be- 
 trothal, yet there was neither thrill nor throb in his tones." 
 
 " Dear Manes, how clever an observer you are! Go on, 
 on, I say. Why are you withholding the date of the mar- 
 riage ? " Maia's eyes had the glitter of steel. Her breath, 
 Manes saw, dried upon her lip, even as it flamed. 
 
 " The wedding is to come off in a week The be- 
 trothal" 
 
 But Maia had grasped Manes hands, as though they were 
 Fortune's own. She clung to them, caressed them, leaning 
 forward, as one who could not bear the full weight of golden 
 joy, as she cried, 
 
 " Manes, dear Manes, what a friend you've proved your- 
 self! A week, you say, a whole week! Surely, the gods 
 are good! For there will be time! I cannot fail to see 
 him, to speak with him before then. He cannot keep hid- 
 den a whole week, he must see to things, must practice 
 with his cavalry company yonder must walk to places, 
 must make at least a last appearance, and before " It 
 was Manes's voice cut her words short. 
 
 " Listen, Maia! I have a plan. The Fates have thrown 
 you a chance and one in a thousand for, changing per- 
 haps, all things. Will you take it? " Manes held the flut- 
 tering fingers still. He fixed, or rather attempted to fix, 
 Maia's wild, wandering eyes.
 
 3i8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " The Fates have thrown you one great chance. Will 
 you take it? " he repeated, insistently. 
 
 "Of course. What is it?" Maia was entirely herself 
 once more. She felt equal now to any form of action. Her 
 resolute soul was medicined was whole. Ion was not to 
 be married for a week. In a week the heavens might fall! 
 Sparta might come, knocking at Athen's doors! The fleet 
 might sail for Sicily! There was no wild, no daring impos- 
 sibility, Maia did not caress as probable, as certain to come 
 to pass, to stay the drop of Fate's bolt. 
 
 The full lips; the hands clasped tight about knees upon 
 which the clever, brilliant face rested, inspired with thrilled 
 thought, this new, yet old Maia the Maia Manes had 
 known in their days of old at Corinth, was indeed gloriously 
 herself once more. 
 
 The demand for a clever dancer and flute player at the 
 banquet, Manes was telling her, would open the doors of 
 Hermione's house to Maia. Did she but choose she could 
 thus present herself as the professional he, Manes, had se- 
 lected. As she was first to appear before women, her real 
 identity would, for a time at least, not be suspected. She 
 would be entirely free to disappear to fall ill, before the 
 great feast any excuse would serve. 
 
 Maia's soul rose to the plan. She felt the very gods willed 
 it. For the warning voices were stilled. This, obviously, 
 was the divinely appointed moment! 
 
 She was, therefore, to be permitted to enter the house of 
 her fathers ! She would actually see her mother might, 
 perhaps, herself all unknown, have speech with Hermione 
 with dear Myrto. Maia felt a strong sweet yearning 
 stretch out towards her sister. The abyss that lay between 
 their lives was bridged by Maia's tender longing to see the 
 girl she might have been one like Myrto her very twin 
 innocent, ignorant of sorrow and hardship, as of love.
 
 MAIA'S ARRIVAL 319 
 
 The project suited well with Maia's intense longing, also, 
 to look upon this hidden Athenian life of noble women. 
 The revelation this knowledge would bring might change all 
 things. Herself unknown, she would be the freer to see, 
 to judge, to make the final great decision of all their fates. 
 For more and more Maia felt herself directed. Invisible 
 forces were fluttering about her. Doubtless the dear god 
 of her ancestral house Apollo himself, was guiding her 
 actions. With such celestial guardianship, she could not go 
 wrong. Whatever was to come of this meeting with her 
 kindred, would be the dear god's will. 
 
 It was in this spirit Maia had gone up to the house of her 
 fathers.
 
 .Chapter XXVIII 
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 
 
 THE dance over, Maia found the impulse to act, and the 
 necessity for immediate action, driving her onward with the 
 relentless force of an imperious fate. One fierce desire con- 
 sumed her. She must see, she must find Timoleon. No 
 part of the mysterious drama of which Maia felt herself now 
 to be the chief actor, was more amazing, more startling, 
 than that Timoleon, of all those she had come to know in 
 Athens, should prove to be the one instrument best fitted to 
 further the mad, yet, also, entirely sane scheme that was to 
 precipitate the climax of this day of days. 
 
 The plan for disentangling the knotted threads of fate, 
 had been disclosed to Maia, in miraculous manner. 
 
 Had Apollo's voice, through his preferred priestess 
 through the Delphian lips shouted the divine command, 
 Maia could not have felt more assured of the celestial de- 
 cree. Clear as the aerial paths of light trod by the Im- 
 mortals on their way to Olympus, had Maia been led along 
 the road to action. 
 
 The secret of how to liberate Myrto, Ion, and herself, 
 had been delivered to her, as. though shot down from 
 Heaven's blue. Even as she had quivered within her mantle, 
 simulating the Dawn shudder, the scheme had opened, in 
 wondrous unfolding. It had grown to clear and definite 
 shape, as she had played the Syren ; it had assumed the calm 
 of easy feasibility, as she had fluted pastoral scenes and rustic 
 loves. Surely, through the lute his own loved instrument 
 Apollo, from his shrine, had breathed the miracle. 
 
 320
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 321 
 
 When she had sung the Apolline Hymn upon her double 
 flute, even as those women before her had visibly trembled, 
 swayed by their inner emotion, so had Maia quivered with 
 the triumphant sense of the coming of this quick deliverance. 
 
 Now, thrilling still, now cold, now hot, limp, alert, burn- 
 ing with impatience at the slow measured tread of her car- 
 riers now trembling with dread lest the human instru- 
 ment she had selected to accomplish this, her plotting, should 
 fail her Maia, within her litter, was also played upon by a 
 hundred emotions. 
 
 Before the curtains were fully drawn she had breathed 
 a command. " Tell the bearers, Mago, to carry me to the 
 street of the Tripods the lower end. There they are to 
 stop. I walk from thence to the gardens." With swift 
 gesture the curtains were then swung to. 
 
 As she sank among her full pillows, Maia buried her burn- 
 ing face in her cold hands. The reaction from the long 
 strain was proven in the ache of pulsing nerves. The dear 
 gods in heaven! but what a scene! What shades to have 
 lived through, and yet to be alive! 
 
 Swirling, like eddying currents, now rushing with tumul- 
 tuous force, now circling about some minor insignificant 
 detail, the overwhelming impressions, thoughts, incidents, as 
 well as the full force of the tragic facts of her late tremen- 
 dous experience, massed themselves before Maia's mind. 
 
 And so that nobly featured matron was her mother ! How 
 the dear face had worked how moved to exquisite tender- 
 ness had been the features when emotion stirred them! 
 Ah-h whence had come the power to withhold the cry 
 that had leapt forth at the sight of those tears, of those dear 
 work-worn hands, interlocked, when she, her lost daughter, 
 had wooed Hermione to think delicate thoughts to hear 
 Pan's flute among the river rushes! 
 
 Then, with a wild swirl, Maia's thoughts rushed to circle
 
 322 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 about that other vision. Myrto's pure, believing eyes con- 
 fronted hers; they spoke to her with a thrilling power, here, 
 beneath the swaying silken roof of her litter, as they had 
 when Myrto had looked her faith, her childish, rapturous 
 joy, within their father's painted court. Ah-h to that 
 faith, she, Maia, must indeed be true. She and she alone 
 could save them both, she felt, from the dreaded fate of 
 their common misery. Even as the thought of Myrto came, 
 with a start, Maia realized that every moment carried the 
 tragedy onwards, with lightening wings. A smothered cry, 
 wrenched from her sense of hopeless battle against time 
 against what, were it not prevented, would be a crime 
 indeed burst from her. 
 
 Then, with the cry came, as sweeps a lightning stroke 
 across dull skies, the full-orbed belief in the coming cer- 
 tainty of success. Still at such a critical time, every chance 
 of failure must be cleverly forestalled. 
 
 Maia, therefore, groped blindly for her tablets. Bidding 
 her bearers stop, while she wrote, she scratched the neces- 
 sary words tore and folded the leaves, bidding Mago, in 
 strained tones, " Should you fail to find Timoleon at his 
 house, look for him in the Gymnasium the one close by the 
 gardens and bring me word who among the officers is 
 practicing, with armour in the pit." Mago had listened, 
 had saluted as he seized the folded leaves, and was gone. 
 
 Having relieved her mind of the dread of missing the man, 
 the one man in all Athens who might be used as the Fates' 
 instrument Maia once more leaned back among the cush- 
 ions. 
 
 She was amazed to feel a now singular elation succeeding 
 the frenzy of a few moments before. She breathed, as in 
 months she had not breathed, the elastic air of recaptured 
 freedom of serene conviction. The feeling that before 
 the sun's setting, the deed would be done, touched her whole 
 being into flame. Never had she felt such command of
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 323 
 
 her powers; never had her intellect lent itself to her will as 
 now it did. 
 
 Scarcely had Mago left her, when the litter was brought 
 to a stop. The entrance to the famous street was before her. 
 
 It was the time and the season when the beautiful Athe- 
 nian thoroughfare was at its most brilliant shade. Maia 
 saw, at a glance, that all social Athens was gathered there. 
 Young men fresh from cavalry evolutions in the Lyceum, 
 had brought thither their heightened colour ; some still wore, 
 with gallant air, their peaked riding hats, and others han- 
 dled shining goads. 
 
 Handsome youths, of half foreign birth, who had passed 
 the afternoon in athletic exercises, in the Kynosarges, outside 
 the gate the gymnasia specially reserved for metics or the 
 illegitimate were now freely mingling with the rightly 
 born, without fear of disturbing the city's peace. Such 
 youths showed dark, liquid eyes and warmer skins than the 
 Athenian clearer-toned eyes and complexions. Eastern or 
 Ionian languor revealed itself in the lolling postures of these 
 young men of mixed blood. The glitter of their many jew- 
 els, on fingers, in tunic clasps, and on sandal thongs, made 
 one with the dazzle that lined the long winding street, whose 
 curve, beneath the Acropolis' stern eastern end, wound like a 
 glittering cincture of bronze and gilt, between the uprising 
 rock of the citadel, and the city wall. 
 
 The glow of the dropping sun harmonized tripods and 
 shrines, statues, and the living forms. 
 
 Some hetserae, whose crosus-coloured draperies caught and 
 seemed to hold the sun's glow, now deepening in the zenith, 
 carried their light grace hither and thither, from youths to 
 the more elderly, like butterflies who light but to flit anew. 
 
 Maia sent searching eyes from group to group. The face 
 she longed to see was alas! not there. Timoleon was 
 either late or was gone elsewhere. At the thought of all
 
 324 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 that hung upon her finding him, Maia's knees suddenly bent 
 like wax beneath her. Yet her lips wore the smile of vic- 
 tory rather than defeat. 
 
 Many were the eyes that met hers, sought to fix them, 
 and failing, pressed forward, to bar her swift steps. Some 
 advanced, indeed, and swept close beside her ; to those whom 
 she already knew, she made courteous excuse, her pressing 
 haste being clearly obvious. But her appearance, she soon 
 found, in the Tripods was become the event of the day. 
 She, the most talked-of among beauties the least seen 
 the least known, was come, at last, to take up her place as 
 queen of beauty. The press about her, the buzz of admiring 
 comment was thickening to an unbearable degree, when a 
 well-known voice came to her rescue. 
 
 " Maia of Corinth ! of all wonders for glad eyes ! " 
 
 " O dear Glaucus " cried Maia, hurrying towards the 
 young man as she gathered her flimsy draperies together with 
 nervous grasp, " how charming of you to come and at the 
 very moment I most needed you ! " Maia's elastic step car- 
 ried her free of her over-zealous admiring throng. 
 
 " Now I am crowned indeed, sweet Maia ! " lisped Glau- 
 cus as he threw back his head, with boyish glee. " 'Tis the 
 first time I've so much as won a recognition at your hands. 
 Pray tell me in what way I can be useful." 
 
 Between the bright aisle of glittering bronze, the two now 
 hurried on. Maia's calm had returned to her all her skill 
 for quick decisive action. Did Glaucus know where Tim- 
 oleon was to be found, she asked? Might he, indeed, be now 
 and at this very moment, near that dearest of all his friends 
 that mysterious Ion whom all talked of and whom no 
 one saw? 
 
 Maia's deep eyes slanted their glance at Glaucus' fair 
 cheeks. Glaucus, of all men, would be the last to read
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 325 
 
 aught but idle curious questioning in the eyes all Athens 
 found worthy of being talked about. 
 
 "You call Ion mysterious?" Glaucus blurted out, his 
 own eyes wide with the marvel of finding the strange things 
 women see in men. " Surely Ion is easy to read. It ap- 
 pears he must marry to please his father. And he prac- 
 tices, therefore, till the very last moment of freedom to 
 please himself. This betrothal banquet comes off no later 
 than to-night worse luck." 
 
 " Yes yes and so I have heard. But 'tis of Timo- 
 leon I'm thinking. If you chance to see him, will you tell 
 him, from me, I await him and am longing to see him? " 
 
 " Lucky Timoleon ! Why do the gods pour all the gifts 
 into one man's lap? You women are all alike you run 
 after a man once he is seated in Fortune's car. Don't frown, 
 sweet Maia! your message shall be delivered and quickly 
 and that it may bring him the quicker, I'll go, on the instant 
 to the gymnasium he's quite certain to be found there 
 applauding Ion's mighty thrusts." 
 
 And Glaucus, with his customary courtesy, sent backwards 
 a winning, graceful salute. Maia blessed him as he sped 
 onwards. Ten chances to one he would find Timoleon. 
 And to have learned that Ion was still exactly where she had 
 prayed he might be found, was surely direct answer to 
 prayer. 
 
 Through the goldening glow, Maia bent her steps down- 
 wards, to her home close to the " Gardens." Hymettus 
 bloomed, in deep purple hues, against the burnished sky; in 
 firm noble outlines the mass seemed to loom forth, with 
 tender protecting solemnity. The hour of all her life, Maia 
 felt, with sudden trembling, was before her. The very hills 
 breathed strength! 
 
 The slave whose duty it was to usher in visitors, received
 
 326 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Timoleon as he entered Maia's house, with a smile. He 
 soon brought word that his mistress was awaiting Timoleon 
 in the pastas. 
 
 In this inner court, where Maia hid her life, Timoleon 
 had not as yet entered. His eyes travelled fast, as he fol- 
 lowed her slave. He could not, he felt, take in rapidly, all 
 the details of a court whose perfection made one catch 
 their breath, so great was its contrast to that of the mean 
 Athenian interiors. 
 
 The walls he noted, were tinted a pale lilac. Against 
 them the Doric columns rose up like sturdy purple stalls; 
 their capitals bore touches of gold and deep crimson. East- 
 ern tapestries, whose deftly interwoven figures wore draper- 
 ies that repeated the polychrome tones of the court, hung at 
 the further end of the deep pastas. Upon inlaid couches 
 and chairs, embroideries, glittering with gold and silver 
 threads, formed a rich sombre background out of which the 
 tinted, brilliantly lighted court seemed to bloom, like a deli- 
 cate flower from a deep-toned vase. 
 
 In the midst of the shaded gloom of the pastas, Timoleon 
 saw Maia. She was seated; she held a frame upon her 
 knees. In and out of the frame, her fingers were pricking 
 stitches. The long threads she drew made her rounded 
 arms show off their snowy outlines to distracting perfection. 
 
 As Timoleon hastened towards her, Maia did not rise. 
 With a smile she motioned her visitor to a thronos one 
 close beside her. 
 
 " Pray be seated, and excuse my greeting. I have had 
 an exciting day and many visitors I was somewhat 
 weary." 
 
 " You are becoming the fashion Maia " Timoleon 
 bent forward, his eyes beaming admiringly. He took up a 
 silver thread, one that had slipped along Maia's robe. He 
 let its brightness run through his fingers, playing with it.
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 327 
 
 Maia slanted cautious, watchful eyes. When his fingers 
 had reached the point of her knee, she would pull the thread, 
 as though to wind it. 
 
 " Perhaps," was her quiet answer to his flattery. She 
 was fixing eyes now upon her work. " But, although these 
 young men came to see me, they remain, apparently, to listen 
 to Socrates." As Maia named the philosopher, her voice 
 had an accent of pride. 
 
 Timoleon dropped the thread. He leant back in the curv- 
 ing incline of his chair. He narrowed his eyes. " And so 
 Socrates has found you out ? " 
 
 " So it seems. He has, you see good taste in woman 
 at least so your Pericles thought." Maia's smile made her 
 face wear a youthful expression, whose malicious amusement 
 seemed that of a child. 
 
 Timoleon did not reflect Maia's mirth. Her gay little 
 thrust he had hardly heard. The naming of Socrates 
 brought the brood of doubt to shadow thought. 
 
 " Did he happen to mention the war ? " Timoleon sud- 
 denly asked, with a restless curiosity. 
 
 " He talked of little else. He was, indeed, very elo- 
 quent." Maia's eyes brightened. 
 
 " And convincing I presume," quickly retorted Timo- 
 leon, almost bitterly. " Did his specious arguments con- 
 vince you, also, of Athens' coming folly ? " And he leant 
 forward with an almost savage air. 
 
 Maia turned her frame, took time to insert her needle, 
 before she replied gravely " I am a true disciple, you see, 
 I was already a believer in these his views." 
 
 Maia's serious words made Timoleon bound from his 
 chair. "You believe, you believe! What ground for this 
 belief of yours have you? As for Socrates when a man 
 proclaims he hears voices, and bases on such absurdities 
 serious arguments for stopping an Empire's great enter-
 
 328 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 prise, sane men cannot be expected to listen as to a true 
 oracle. But you, you at least, are an outsider, you have 
 heard the men of Corinth talk. What have they said to 
 make you believe we are embarking on a foolish expedition ?" 
 
 Timoleon had brought his agitated steps about the pastas 
 to a stop; he stood before Maia as though before a Sybil, 
 from whose inspired lips he was to hear truth. 
 
 Maia put her frame aside. What lay before her was 
 the very opportunity to her hand. She pointed to the 
 empty chair. She smiled up willingly, pursuasively, as she 
 motioned Timoleon to his seat. 
 
 " Do sit down, dear man," she began, in her soft caress- 
 ing tones. " I cannot talk, as you would have me, if you 
 are stalking about the room like a wild beast, unchained. 
 Now listen." Maia drew nearer to her now quieted 
 visitor; she put her hands before her, joining the tips of her 
 forefingers, -showing a perfectly serious face above them, as 
 she began. 
 
 " I will begin by asking you certain questions. When 
 your famous Embassy returned from Egesta, they reported 
 to the Senate that the City was rich; that they had been 
 magnificently entertained; that at each one of the splendid 
 banquets given them, by different distinguished citizens, the 
 plate displayed was very costly pure gold. Even the 
 ewers were gold." Maia waited, her eyes asking confirma- 
 tion of a statement that was now common property. 
 
 " Yes," Timoleon replied ; wonder as to what this now 
 stale news had to do with what he hoped were more import- 
 ant revelations filled his eyes. 
 
 " Also," Maia went on, " When they were shown the 
 temples, the temples they found were also full of gold," 
 again she paused. 
 
 " Yes, all that is true." 
 
 " And therefore, Egesta being rich, could easily afford to
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 329 
 
 defray at least the first expenses of the war she could 
 easily give Athens sixty talents." 
 
 "Ye-es, all true." 
 
 Maia bent over her couch with rigid fixidity. Her 
 coming stroke would spell victory or defeat. She felt her- 
 self trembling, from the sense of all that hung on the way 
 Timoleon would take the great news. With a sudden pull 
 at her courage, she went on. 
 
 " Listen, then, Timoleon, to that which is also true." She 
 now spoke with rushing impetuosity, in the Corinthian 
 way, when Corinthians were stirred to great earnestness. 
 
 " The Egestaen merchants, you know, come yearly to 
 Corinth. Nirias knew several, and well. They brought his 
 house cargoes of corn, wool, fruits and even horses, for the 
 Isthmian games. Nirias sold to them, in return, finely 
 woven woolen stuffs, and other of our merchants veils and 
 chitons for their women, and Corinthian vases. When 
 Nirias was ill, of his last illness, one Egestaen came to us, as 
 a house-guest. He amused Nirias, for he talked much of 
 your war, of the means Egesta was using to induce you, as 
 allies, to come to her help. Well, seeing poor dear Nirias 
 revive under this war talk, he told him one night, a strange 
 tale. He thought dead men safe, and any one might read 
 death in Ninas' eyes. 
 
 " This is what he told us. 
 
 " When the Athenian envoys arrived, sent by the Senate 
 and the people, the Egestaens were terrorised. How en- 
 tertain them? How present a respectable state before 
 mighty Athens? How, poor as they were 
 
 Timoleon jumped in his chair. " Poor! " he gasped, and 
 he steadied his almost uncontrollable excitement by grasp- 
 ing at the two lion heads beneath his hands. 
 
 " Poor as they were," Maia echoed, her chill beginning 
 to be replaced by a delicious warmth, for Timoleon 's state
 
 330 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 was the very one fitted to her purpose, " Still Athens must 
 be impressed, must be persuaded to the contrary. Ban- 
 quets and banquets in plenty should be given. The richer 
 citizens would lend each other their plate. To this all 
 agreed. By night it was carried from house to house, so as 
 to make a fine impression. And when their temples and 
 the treasury were opened out for the Envoys to admire, all 
 the plate the City owned was piled up high, to present a 
 splendid appearance. And even then the plate that was 
 supposed to be pure gold, and very costly, was, alas but 
 paltry silver gilt! And as for ready money, there were 
 not a hundred talents in all the Treasury!" 
 
 Maia, as she finished her amazing statement, leant back 
 among her pillows. Her strained look passed from her face, 
 yet the excitement of imparting her secret and the deeper 
 anxiety as to how its results would affect her own great pro- 
 ject, had temporarily unnerved her. Her agitated breath 
 lifted her chiton. She found her gaze transfixed by Timo- 
 leon's changed countenance. 
 
 He stood over her with blanched features, with eyes that 
 seemed starting from his head. The \vords his pallid lips 
 attempted to frame Maia saw, were being formed with vio- 
 lence. The whole man was shaken, was, apparently, ex- 
 periencing a terrible moment. 
 
 The moment was, indeed, a terrible one. In Maia's 
 revelation Timoleon had seen the downfall of his own rising 
 fortunes, of Alcibiades' anger, of the people's rage, of, per- 
 haps, Athens' ruin. 
 
 With the dread vision cruelly clear before his eyes, of all 
 this that was to come to pass, Timoleon's passion of disap- 
 pointment, of despair, was making one last gesture of appeal. 
 
 " You are sure of all this ? You would be willing to 
 stand by what you say before all Athens? " 
 
 Maia lifted proud, defiant eyes. Her lip curled, as she
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 33I 
 
 made swift, indignant answer. " I am not given to lying 
 though I, too, am Athenian. But, if you think I have 
 told you all this, for Athens to be a sharer in the news, 
 you are greatly mistaken." 
 
 " But, but by all the gods ! they must know, and 
 quickly ! I must indeed go, and at once, to Alcibiades he 
 must consult with the generals, with the senate." 
 
 "Neither he nor you will confer with any one. Be sensi- 
 ble you are really not as clever as I thought " Maia's 
 eyes were now laden with mysterious meaning. Timoleon 
 suddenly felt, indeed, as he looked into her grave eyes, the 
 bare truth of her words. This girl, this hetaera from 
 Corinth, was teaching him a new strange lesson of humility. 
 No divining rod of his could touch her depth. 
 
 " Indeed, I do not understand you," he admitted, his 
 tones big with wonderment. 
 
 " So I perceive. I will enlighten you. This revelation 
 is to be a secret between us. If you spread it abroad, I 
 will deny all knowledge of the facts. So you see it is to 
 your advantage to keep silent about the matter. Your in- 
 terest," it pleased Maia to see Timoleon start to note the 
 life coming back into his face how accurately her insight 
 had read him ! " Your interest lies in possessing this knowl- 
 edge and in not acting upon it." 
 
 " You mean, surely you do not mean I am to let Athens 
 rush into a ruinous war into debt?" cried Timoleon, 
 feeling a virtuous impulse surge upwards. 
 
 " This going to war, on the contrary, will be of use to 
 Athens. She needs to be stirred, to have her fighting spirit 
 renewed. In that respect you and your leaders are in the 
 right. And Sicily, if not Egesta, has spoils enough to make 
 the adventure worth while, while your purse and that of 
 Alcibiades will come back replenished never fear." 
 
 Maia laughingly held out her hands towards Timoleon.
 
 332 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 She let him press them. His joy and relief at Maia's re- 
 assuring words and gestures were great. This wonderful 
 being appeared to hold in these her slim hands the destinies 
 of nations! What a divine creature it was! 
 
 Timoleon forgot, in his excitement and enthusiasm the 
 distance at which Maia had always held him. He at- 
 tempted to draw her to him. His eyes were full of the 
 question his lips dared not frame. 
 
 Maia wrenched her hands away. She put them safely 
 behind her. But she did not take pains to move away. 
 That which she intended next to say, would have power to 
 move him or she was greatly mistaken, far more than any 
 of the lower forms of passion. 
 
 " And now, as I have done you a favour, you are to confer 
 one upon me." Her sea-grey eyes met the bronze orbs so 
 close to her lids, with the level gaze of a commanding god- 
 dess. 
 
 " Ask me of me what you will, dear Maia, nothing is too 
 much." 
 
 '"You are to buy me a war-trireme, to man it, to equip 
 it, and and to command it ! " 
 
 Timoleon's amazed wonder, surprise, and the quick 
 mounting of delight, fairly transfixed him. Maia had 
 counted upon just such an effect. 
 
 " You see, therefore," she went on, with glad, smiling 
 lips, " since I make this offering to the State, I also, be- 
 lieve in your war! " 
 
 " Maia! " Timoleon was breathing hard and deep. The 
 one hope he had felt that could never be granted him, 
 to go worthily to this war, was now being tendered him 
 and in magnificent fashion. The prospect of his great good 
 luck gave Timoleon a heady sensation. He still felt the 
 agreeable reel of delirium at Maia's next sentence. 
 
 " With my gift, however, goes a condition, and one only,"
 
 333 
 
 Maia looked the very image of innocent pleading, as she 
 poured the effulgence of her steady gaze into Timoleon's 
 flame-lit eyes. 
 
 I Name it it is yours! " he gasped, clasping her hands. 
 " You must help me to prevent Ion's marriage, and now, 
 at once ! There is not an instant to lose." 
 
 Tmioleon started as though a lance had pierced him. He 
 dropped Maia's hands. His start carried him away from 
 her. Timoleon felt more than his breath taken from him. 
 First of all, evil-eyed suspicion leapt up. Had she known 
 Ion? Did she love him? Where had they met? He had 
 never once heard of Ion's having gone to Corinth and 
 Maia, by her own confession, had never but once before 
 been to Athens. 
 
 Maia appeared to read his mind as she might an open 
 scroll; she was calmly telling him his thoughts. 
 
 " I see, you leap at the common conclusion that I have 
 met Ion, at some time in my past, and have fallen in love of 
 him. Were this true, that alone would be reason enough, 
 surely. But this, for me, were it indeed true, would not be 
 cause enough, for the plan I wish you to help me execute. 
 There is another and far graver reason, one, however, that 
 must, for the present, be kept secret. Now listen, do not 
 gasp or start, until you hear the end. There is nothing 
 so very terrible in what I am about to propose. It can 
 be easily enough accomplished." 
 She told him her plan. 
 
 Ion, she reminded him, was even now practicing in full 
 armour, in the big gymnasium. His trainer was the well- 
 known swordsman, Clearckus. " Now Clearckus, like all 
 trainers, is susceptible, I hear and on good authority, to 
 bribes. The sight of minae disturbs his perception of the 
 true distance between right and wrong." 
 
 As Timoleon smiled, Maia paused. She must gather all
 
 334 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 her courage together. The saying of what was next to come 
 was indeed difficult. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You are to bribe Clearckus, you are to bribe him to 
 show Ion some new passes, and in the showing there is to 
 be some heavy work done the thrusts and passes must 
 be swift, must be furious." Again Maia paused. Her 
 lips were dry. She could scarcely slip the words. 
 
 "And, after?" Timoleon's gaze was now narrowed a 
 mere glint of bronze showed the line between the lids. 
 
 " During the struggle there would be nothing extra- 
 ordinary were a leg or an arm of Ion's to be broken. Such 
 accidents happen daily. Only in this case, Ion must have 
 his left leg or arm in a splint within a shade at the latest!" 
 With eyes that strove to be perfectly steady, Maia glanced 
 at the water-clock that stood in the court. There was still 
 time; Ion would not be leaving his trainer for at least a 
 good hour. The bath and dressing for the banquet would 
 consume the period intervening between his athletics and 
 the banquet. 
 
 Timoleon's face, meanwhile, had recorded the passing of 
 many emotions. His wonder, at Maia's startling proposi- 
 tion, had been replaced by a growing excitement. Delight, 
 joy, and the tinge of a malicious satisfaction now coloured 
 his mobile, expressive face. He was, indeed, experiencing an 
 almost completely happy moment. The prospect of strik- 
 ing Ion down, at the proudest moment, but one, of his 
 victorious career; the hope that leapt up, that, with Ion 
 winged, and this dreaded marriage indefinitely postponed, 
 lie, Timoleon could steer his boat into the longed-for har- 
 bour; the necessity for action, and for that kind of action 
 for which he felt himself peculiarly fitted for accomplish- 
 ing a deed in dark ways as these thrilling thoughts, 
 triumphs, hopes swept his mind, Timoleon felt that at last
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 335 
 
 Hermes had truly blessed him. None but a god could have 
 sent him a trireme to command and his rival stricken down 
 at one and the same instant ! 
 
 Timoleon managed to check the fury of his impatience; 
 he summonded a laugh; he threw his head back, in pre- 
 tended merriment, as though the wild proposition was to 
 be taken rather as comedy than drama. 
 
 " By the winged Gods! Maia, but you are indeed to be 
 feared. He whom you love has more reasons than one to 
 dread your embrace." 
 
 " I never said I loved Ion," Maia gravely answered, 
 " or, indeed, that I even know him. Now tell me, since I 
 see you accept my proposition in case a limb is skillfully 
 broken, how long will it take to heal ? It must heal before 
 summer but only just before the fleet sails." 
 
 " Ha! ha! she has it all planned, and to a nicety! And 
 this lovely face can hide such devil's plotting. This hand, 
 white as Parian marble, can strike as cruelly as Nemesis. 
 What harm has Ion done you, dear one, that you should be 
 so bent upon hurting him ? " 
 
 Maia let him fondle her limp hand. She felt, indeed, 
 her strength ebbing. She feared now the loss of a single 
 instant. She must be rid of her visitor, must get to rest 
 give her tortured thoughts time to regain their calm. 
 Clapping her hands, she bade the slave who appeared bring 
 refreshments. But Timoleon excused himself. He must 
 hurry off " Must try to find Clearckus," he added, laugh- 
 ing as though thus to pass the whole matter off as a joke. 
 
 Maia let him depart. Her mind was entirely at rest. 
 Timoleon, she knew perfectly well, did not intend to treat 
 her plan as a joke. He had reasons enough of his own, as 
 she well knew for setting the right machinery in motion. 
 Now that the accomplishment of her purpose was in an- 
 other's hands, all she could do was to wait. With a long
 
 336 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 moan of mingled exhaustion and of quivering expectancy, 
 Maia flung herself upon her couch. How many shades 
 must she wait, before the news came of the success of Timo- 
 leon's portentous errand? 
 
 Before nightfall, Athens rang with a sensational an- 
 nouncement. Ion of the Piraeus, the Olympian victor, on 
 the very eve of his betrothal to Critias' daughter, has been 
 severely wounded. While practicing sword-play, his train- 
 er's or his own foot had slipped. Those who stood watch- 
 ing the practice declared it was the trainer's blunder; Ti- 
 moleon, Ion's greatest friend, was of that opinion. But Ion 
 swore it was he himself who had been careless. He had 
 dashed forward to whirl a wild circling blow a new trick 
 
 and he had lifted his shield, instead of lowering it. 
 Clearckus' sharp sword, searching for the home-thrust, had 
 pricked Ion's thigh. And a soldier who gave an enemy such 
 a chance, had indeed a right to be laid upon his couch. A 
 wound was light punishment for what might, in battle, have 
 cost as awkward a blunderer his life. 
 
 The lady guests, it appeared, had already assembled in 
 Hermione's court. After having seen the new dancer per- 
 form, she, who later, was to be the chief novelty presented at 
 the banquet, after the bride had withdrawn, these feminine 
 guests had presented a comic scene to Athens' laughter-lov- 
 ing soul. Nausicaa, that clever, if reprehensible daughter- 
 in-law, had rehearsed the spectacle, for her slave's benefit. 
 And the slave had carried the comic features to every house 
 in the neighborhood. The ladies' cries of wonder and rage,* 
 
 the bustle and confusion ; the fears of some at not 
 finding their way home, in the early dark; the angry 
 reflections of others at the expense of providing new gowns 
 and costly wreaths, and " none to see " feminine eyes not 
 counting when masculine orbs were expected as mirrors ; 
 
 and the scene in the street, when all these wrathful guests
 
 MAIA'S LITTLE PLOT 337 
 
 and their disgust were become the talk of Athens every 
 feature of this amusing ending of a somewhat tragic accident 
 was in every one's mouth by night-fall. 
 
 Two there were who went to their rest with joy in their 
 hearts. Maia laughed, and wept, and sang and wailed. 
 For Ion was saved. Yet he lay wounded and by her 
 hand. 
 
 Myrto flung herself upon her pillows with a song and a 
 praper upon her lips. The lines of a paeon she had sung at 
 Athena's festival were murmurred, in glad triumph. And 
 once more she prayed to Hestia. " Till the fleet sail, dear 
 goddess, keep Ion away. And then, O then send me Ti- 
 moleon ! "
 
 Chapter XXIX 
 
 THE VOICE OF FATE 
 
 IN the months that followed, Maia wondered, if, after all 
 much had been accomplished by Ion's accident. The mar- 
 riage had, at best, but been post-poned. Were Ion suffi- 
 ciently recovered, the wedding would surely take place. 
 Then, to avert as great a crime, full confession must be 
 made. And what effect would the knowledge of her 
 Maia's kinship with Myrto have on her own fate? 
 Would her father would proud Hermione receive her? 
 Would they let her marry Ion? 
 
 Such were the harrassing doubts and fears that crowded 
 thick about Maia's inner life, every moment snatched from 
 the more and more exciting events that made each Athenian 
 day, in these early summer months, one continuous drama. 
 
 Athens was rushing to this her great war-adventure, as 
 though it were but play. Greek restlessness and the love 
 of righting chance were finding, at last, after years of peace, 
 their longed-for outlet. 
 
 Recitations of Homer, wooing the crowds to tears or ex- 
 citing them to impassioned longing for an Achillian moment, 
 rose up from every street corner. And no ephebi, fresh 
 from his first garrison duty on the frontier, but carried his 
 short chlamys light as air, as he swept Athenian streets, to 
 enroll himself as recruit in this his first real war. 
 
 In Maia's world, everyone she had grown to care for, 
 or loved, in secret, was heart and soul for the great ven- 
 ture. 
 
 Critias, who had been in turn traitor to every political 
 
 338
 
 THE VOICE OF FATE 339 
 
 principle of his treacherous oligarchical party, was fixed at 
 last. The State war tax imposed upon him, of a trireme, 
 had finally settled his unsettled mind. He was now dyed 
 in Alicibidian colours. Crates' deep pockets and Ion's mil- 
 itary ardour were to make taxation light. 
 
 Crates, he, also, had been finally caught in the war toils. 
 Like hundreds of others, now the great enterprise was de- 
 termined upon, Crates proposed to turn it to trade account. 
 He was sending ships and men to extend his commercial in- 
 terests. 
 
 Glaucus developed an equally keen mercantile sense. His 
 own trireme, he confessed, was to take, besides the required 
 number of hoplites, a large quantity of costly ewers and 
 golden goblets, all of the best Athenian workmanship. 
 
 " After we have conquered Sicily and have taken all the 
 spoils we ourselves can carry away, the Sicilians, who are 
 rich, will want to buy luxuries. Why not, therefore, win 
 a double benefit?" 
 
 This amazing shrewdness in Glaucus surprised all. So 
 true it is that those who live nearest to us, are the first to 
 be surprised at any unsuspected trait in character. 
 
 Ion on his couch, fretting at his captivity, yet knew not 
 an idle moment. As captain of the horse his time was fully 
 taken up in the outfitting of his squadron on a scale of utmost 
 splendour. 
 
 Timoleon, who had laughed at Glaucus' suddenly awak- 
 ened speculative spirit, had promptly copied him. Kronos 
 was driven mad with the orders to run the factory at full 
 speed, that his or rather Maia's trireme, might be ladened, 
 along with the necessary provisions, with a cargo of gold and 
 silver sandal thongs. 
 
 The beauty and perfection of Timoleon's trireme, was 
 indeed the wonder and admiration of all, as this, his new- 
 found wealth had also furnished malicious slander, for both
 
 340 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 enemies and friends. Timoleon smiled, gave no explana- 
 tions, and took his friends who abused him best in the porti- 
 coes, " to see the crews train." 
 
 Glaucus, Ion, and Ariston gave their praise according to 
 their nature. Glaucus praised the seaman-like qualities of 
 the beautiful ship, criticised the stroke of the Thranitae, 
 and asked the impertinent question, " Where has gold grown 
 so plentifully, my Timoleon ? " 
 
 Ariston begged to be taken as one of the commanding of- 
 ficers, and offered himself to equip a part of the company 
 of bowmen. Ion, who had been carried to the Harbour of 
 Zea in a litter, gave Timoleon a hearty embrace. "It is 
 none of my business, nor that of any one's, where you have 
 found the capital to purchase and fit out as perfect a boat. 
 But pray believe in my delight in your commanding as fine 
 a vessel! It is indeed beautiful, in every particular. By 
 the way, I see your own particular shield is the oval 
 shape " 
 
 " Yes," Timoleon quickly replied with obvious relief, as 
 though Ion's generous praises brought a sense of restraint 
 for even Timoleon, hardened though he was to most nice 
 points of honour, could not preserve a perfect indurability 
 before the victim whose wounds had been the price of his 
 prize-money, " Yes, I like that illeptical form it seems 
 to me to be the most workable of all." And Timoleon 
 proceeded to prove, by quick demonstration, how a shield 
 that was as tall as a man and one copied after the human 
 shape, was, indeed, the best fitted to offer protection. 
 
 Yet in spite of Timoleon's ability to display, proudly, 
 magnificent armour, and a ship as complete as any, his war- 
 like ardour, as the days went on, sensibly diminished. 
 
 Maia's amazing revelations kept ringing in his ears. He 
 was actually turning superstitious. For once in his life 
 there was a something within stronger than his will ; " the
 
 THE VOICE OF FATE 34I 
 
 divine sign " Socrates was forever boasting about, was being 
 upheld before him. He too, to his horror, to his in- 
 dignant despair, heard the " still small voice." " Don't go! 
 Stay remain the expedition will surely result in dis- 
 aster." Delphi's recent awful oracular warnings also rung 
 in his ears : yet what could a popular favorite, an Alicibidian 
 partisan, one whose eloquence had helped, and mightily, to 
 rouse the people to war what could one whose shouting 
 had been loudest, do ? His only course was to go on, to the 
 end, whatever the awful end might be. 
 
 Thus the day dawned that was to be the last before the 
 sailing of the fleet. 
 
 Timoleon went early to announce the news to Maia. 
 The fleet was to sail on the morrow, at dawn. All Athens, 
 he heard, was to go to the quais to witness the departure. 
 This might be the one chance for Maia to see Ion, and this 
 he had come to tell her. 
 
 Timoleon entered the peristyle with the first breaking of 
 the day. He was pale, distraught. Like Socrates, his eyes 
 rolled. Unlike the great philosopher, he had few, if any 
 words to say. He walked and talked as might one under a 
 spell. 
 
 His walking, with Maia beside him, was done in the 
 garden. Here the breaking lights of the day were beauti- 
 ful to watch. Between the thick tree-branches, Hymettus 
 was wearing its morning veils of mist, and towards the west, 
 the Acropolis was showing its purple and saffron tinting. 
 
 Neither Maia nor Timoleon were thinking of the glories 
 of the dawn. Maia was devouring Timoleon's words, for 
 he talked now, of Ion. She heard the news of the de- 
 parture of the fleet with an almost unmoved face. Ion was 
 to be there upon the quais! She should see him! She 
 might hope even to have speech with him! The very 
 thought made her faint with joy,
 
 342 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Timoleon, do this for me," she laid a hand on her 
 friend's shoulder. 
 
 Timoleon started, for the spell of thought was again upon 
 him. But his mind was clear as he met Maia's moved face 
 and her troubled, yet glowing eyes. 
 
 " Whatever you wish done, 'tis done already, dear Maia, 
 as you well know," he answered, gently. What a dear 
 woman it was, to be thus wrought upon by love! And 
 he sighed, as he inwardly voiced the thought. Could 
 women, indeed, love thus, as Maia loved? He wondered. 
 What was the dear creature saying ? 
 
 " Tell Ion, from me, I shall be on the quais. Let him 
 look for Socrates, for Euripides they are it has long 
 since been agreed they are to be my companions. They go 
 down in my town cart. We shall start long before dawn." 
 
 " Your company is always of the noblest Maia." In 
 Timoleon's best days, the remark would have been uttered 
 satirically. But the year's suffering and experience had 
 wrought a great change. Satire seemed now a poor weapon. 
 
 Maia's answer proved the changes that had come to her. 
 " Dear Timoleon, have you not noticed that if one love 
 nobly if Aphrodite Ourania be our choice, the best alone 
 is good enough ? That is what love teaches I think to 
 live nobly." 
 
 The exultation in Maia's face matched her voice. Ti- 
 moleon studied Maia and her impassioned look as he might 
 the scroll of a new book. Once more he sighed, as he made 
 answer, " ' Tis news to me I have not met women who 
 love thus. Plutos and Aphrodite appear to be the gods 
 most truly worshiped. You Ion you are both fortu- 
 nate." 
 
 Then, after a short pause he added "And I am glad 
 you and Ion are to meet. It will gladden his departure." 
 
 He thereupon took her slim hand in his. He lifted both
 
 THE VOICE OF FATE 343 
 
 as he pointed to the now empurpled Roch that shone 
 through the dark branches. 
 
 " Dear woman and friend you are thinking of your 
 lover don't start ! I have known of your love long since 
 dull indeed should I have been not to guess this mystery 
 of your life! But 'tis not of love I am thinking" he 
 paused, with his eyes still held aloft. 
 
 "And of what are you thinking, Timoleon?" 
 
 ' 'Tis of that! " he thrust their two interlocked hands 
 forward, upward, " I am wondering if ever again I shall 
 stand thus, in an Athenian garden, with a lovely woman be- 
 side me. If ever I shall see the dawn break, upon Hymettus 
 and the Citadel! If ever, Oh Maia! Maia! Why did 
 you tell me your awful prophetic tale? Why did Delphi 
 utter warning? Why did the Hermae fall? Call me cow- 
 ard, unmanly, untrue, weak as a woman all you will 
 but pity me! for I can only cry 'Me Miserable!' to my 
 doubting heart." Timoleon's impassioned confession was 
 ended upon the dimpled feet of the Graces. For their statue 
 stood beside him. 
 
 Maia comforted him ; she even caressed him ; and she trum- 
 petted Athens' might and magnificence into Timoleon's de- 
 spairing ears. But the tears that he was not ashamed to let 
 fall, were only dried when the next visitor appeared. 
 
 Yet, in spite of Timoleon's strange outburst, and the mem- 
 ory of his tremulous fear, Maia walked upon the planes 
 of exquisite light. For every moment of living now drew 
 her nearer to Ion.
 
 Chapter XXX 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 
 
 DOWN from hills and mountain slopes, far as the eye coul3 
 see, in the violet blue of the dawn, slow-moving masses, 
 trailing between vineyards and olive orchards, resolved them- 
 selves into strings of asses or mule-carts, crowded with peas- 
 ants. All heads were turned in one direction. 
 
 The port and quais of Piraeus were the goal for the coun- 
 try folk. 
 
 As the trails neared the plain, the resonant Attic voices 
 chorussed laughter, jests, and greetings. White goat's skin 
 coats, peaked caps, embroidered chitons, coarse but brilliant 
 of hue, began to spot, with ever-moving flashes of colour, 
 ripened grain fields and grey-green olive groves. 
 
 Above the gay robes, the women's faces wore sad or sober 
 looks. It was the husbands, fathers, and lads who shouted 
 coarse jests, or sent up the wild catch of a war-pason, start- 
 ling timid sheep to affrighted gamboling. 
 
 The women, for the most part, sat stiffened in grief. 
 Here and there, along the trail, a wrinkled crone wiped, 
 furtively, the slow-dropping tear. Young wives let the 
 bright rain fall unheeding. Scarce one among these sor- 
 rowing shapes, but counted husband, son, brother, or father 
 among the ships' crews or bow-men. Promised spoils and 
 money had lost, on this eve of departure, their intoxicating 
 effect. The awful realities of prolonged absence, of possi- 
 ble slavery, or death, loomed large through the dawn. 
 
 " Come! dry thy foolish tears," cried a ruddy-beaked peas- 
 ant to his wife. Both were sitting sideways on a stout ass 
 
 344
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 345 
 
 whose vigorous strides made the four human legs swing 
 from side to side. " The lad will come home rich as a Per- 
 sian. You'll be wearing naught but Coan robes, in six 
 month's time." The man laughed at the comical thought. 
 He tightened his arm about the broad shape whose face told 
 of long years in the vineyards. 
 
 The lines in the woman's face deepened. " Aye," she 
 answered, in a tone of bitter sadness, " so the men say, but 
 the gods for the most part are silent others send warning. 
 Since the Hermae fell we are under a curse, I tell you." 
 
 " Hum that's like a woman. Seeing curses and bad 
 omens in the fall of a leaf or a statue! Lucky we men are 
 stouter of heart, with courage enough for two, or there 
 would be precious little gain or glory in this world ! There ! 
 don't fidget, or the sack will fall ! " cried the farmer, who 
 intended to do a bit of lucrative barter and sale at Piraean 
 markets, after seeing a son off for the wars. 
 
 The woman re-adjusted the sack, with fierce grasp. Even 
 as she bent to her task, she summed up the women's fate. 
 " Oh-h I know well what is thought of us women-folk. We 
 are to work and go on working, making men or cheeses 
 according as the gods will. And in the theatres, we are 
 dished up for all to laugh at. But, little as men, or poets 
 either, for that matter, think of us, we read the signs the 
 gods send clearer than most. Who sits on the tripod, at 
 Delphi, I should like to know, if it be not a woman ? 
 Who " but even as the woman warmed to her theme, her 
 dolorous tone broke. Straining forward she cried: 
 "Surely, yonder, see! 'tis the shining of golden helmets! 
 Ah, the brave lads, what a fine show they make, up and so 
 early, and so light of step ! " 
 
 A company of trim hoplites were stepping briskly towards 
 the gate opening on the Plain, that led into the long walls. 
 
 The peasant's eyes flamed with pride at the gay spectacle.
 
 346 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 " Aye, 'tis a fine sight ! " he cried out lustily. " They and 
 all Athens, even the richest, like us plain hill-folk, have 
 closed no eyes this night." The man's tone had the relish 
 of one who feels that his own state of strained feeling lifts 
 him to the plane of the highest. 
 
 Few, indeed, there were who had sought their couch on 
 this eventful night. 
 
 In the Critias mansion, the sole slumberer had been the 
 warrior. Critias, Hermione declared, must be fresh for the 
 start at dawn. She and the slaves had been busied, during 
 the night, with all the last preparations. When the time 
 came for Critias to don his armour, Hermione feverishly 
 insisted she, and she alone, should be his helper. "No! 
 No! " she cried, wildly waiving the slaves to the courts, " I 
 and I alone must lace your corselet, dear Critias. Alas! 
 'tis all too little now I may do to make you feel my loss." 
 And the tears fell, as she bent over to place the leathern 
 armour that it might come rightly to meet its fastenings. 
 
 As she deftly fingered straps and buckles, abjurations, 
 pleadings, loving thoughts, crowded to her trembling lip. 
 
 " Darling Critias, you must remember, that, soldier and 
 commander though you are, yet you are not Ion's age. Even 
 in Corcyra the winds on the sea, at dawn, are cold, at times. 
 Promise to wear your chlamys." 
 
 " Yes, yes, never fear, sweet Hermione, I shall keep your 
 warning in mind. Thrasybulous and Ion will be near, they 
 will look after my health." 
 
 Hermione smiled. In the height of her fever of anxiety, 
 the thought of her athletic son's taking precautionary meas- 
 ures, for any one's health, aroused comical thoughts. She 
 kissed Critias, even as she smiled. To find aught but 
 tragedy at this time of sorrowful parting seemed sacrilege. 
 
 Critias returned the kiss, though he was in the act of 
 raising the mirror to see how his helmet sat.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 347 
 
 He stood at his tallest. He felt the pleasant fall of the 
 leather straps along his thighs. " Ah-h," he cried, with 
 brightening eye, his ears catching an agreeable sound, " I 
 hear Socius and the slaves they are leading the charger 
 forth. Come, dear one, Ion will soon be here. Call Sera- 
 pion, and Myrto, and the slaves. We must not miss our 
 prayers." 
 
 Critias exchanged his helmet for a wreath. After purify- 
 ing himself, with lustral water, he proceeded to the altar. 
 
 With Hermione, Serapion, and Myrto beside him, and 
 the assembled household immediately behind, Critias gave 
 the signal for the devotional moment. All arms and hands 
 were uplifted. Critias's voice filled the court. He prayed 
 as none had ever heard him pray before. He invoked the 
 protection of Zeus Herkios on those he left behind he 
 invoked the help and aid of each one of the household gods 
 on him " who went forth to fight for the gods and for their 
 temples." 
 
 WTien his voice rose, in passionate entreaty, to implore 
 Mighty Zeus to send him " home, back again to his beloved 
 wife and children, well, sound of mind and limb," his voice 
 broke upon his lip. The terrors of war took shapes of 
 horror never before fully defined. The possibility of re- 
 turning, bereft of any one of his loved and carefully pre- 
 served parts, loomed up as the most appalling disaster that 
 could befall Athens. 
 
 The loud sobbing of his household, the slaves' cries sound- 
 ing loudest of all, confirmed Critias in this his inward con- 
 viction. Who of all those going forth to Sicily, were as 
 wept over as he? Even his slaves were rocked with grief. 
 
 The slaves, ever delighting in emotional excitement, were 
 indeed weeping in chorus. Asia led the tearful dirge. 
 Though she had no love for her master, her sensuous African 
 nature rose in rapture to this moment of drama.
 
 348 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Hermione's highly-strung state made her grief dry-eyed. 
 This anguish of parting brought a pain too acute for easy 
 relief. A new dread had sprung upon her. 
 
 The awful conviction that never again should she hear 
 Critias's voice in prayer, never should she see his form 
 facing the household gods this inward horror had risen 
 up to dim Critias's actual shape. Above the altar, as though 
 hovering in visible form, Hermione had all but heard the 
 dread rustling of the Furies' robes. 
 
 She turned her terrorized eyes toward Myrto. The 
 child's quiet sobbing proved the lower divinities had, at least, 
 spared her darling. 
 
 Yet Myrto had, also, seen a vision of agonizing dis- 
 turbance. As her father's prayer had risen up, as he had 
 prayed passionately for safety, a dreadful series of possible 
 disasters had trooped before Myrto. Suppose her father, 
 or Thrasybulous were hurt, or were captured, sold into 
 slavery? Myrto's young heart was tortured at the bare 
 thought of such calamity. War came near indeed, now, 
 when one saw a father, a brother in bright armour, going 
 to face a fate many an ancestor had met. 
 
 Of Ion, Myrto barely thought. If he came back, un- 
 harmed, and her father were alive, she would, she presumed, 
 be forced to marry him. But before that far-distant time 
 there were long months wherein hope could be caressed. 
 
 At the thought of Timoleon, Myrto's very heart stood 
 still. Prayer burst from her with passionate intensity. Sup- 
 pose dear Timoleon were never to come back? At that 
 dread possibility Myrto fell into a spasm of weeping. Her 
 whole life stretched out, dull and commonplace, before her. 
 The sole happiness she had counted upon, in case of sacri- 
 ficial marriage, was to show Timoleon how good a wife she 
 could be, how superior to Nausicaa, although she was to 
 be wed to a merchant's son, and sold to please her father.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 349 
 
 With her tears still pearling downward, Myrto turned, 
 quickly, excitedly. 
 
 Who could it be who was entering the peristyle? 
 
 The tall figure that pressed forward, and then stood, as 
 though awaiting permission to enter the court, fixed every 
 eye. 
 
 Myrto, to her amazed surprise, found herself strangely 
 thrilled. Delight and admiration kept her tranced in the 
 joy of mere looking. For Ion, in the full glory of his 
 martial splendour, was as beautiful as a god. 
 
 Myrto had never imagined gold, and silver, and bronze, 
 and a shining helmet could make a god of a Pirasan. 
 
 Critias' greeting was one of martial lustiness. He was 
 glad of this chance of putting away unpleasant suggestion. 
 This handsome Ion, resplendent as Mars himself in shining 
 helmet, trailing horse-hair crest, gleaming cuirass, and pol- 
 ished shield was the very image of this war he, thus far, had 
 allowed himself solely to contemplate. The whole adventure 
 was to be like this striking Ion, of dazzling mien and suc- 
 cessful feature. 
 
 With both hands on Ion's shoulders, Critias cried out in 
 a loud, strong voice, " Ah-h Ion, on time I see, and on 
 the instant. You find me ready. Now tell me, where 
 is the squadron? Do we join it at the gate or on the 
 road?" 
 
 Critias had, indeed, entirely recovered his nerve. After 
 having told the gods what he expected them to perform, he 
 felt easy in his mind. He had made them, in a certain 
 measure, he felt, responsible for whatever might befall him. 
 The gods of his great house could scarcely forget to protect 
 so very distinguished a member of his gens, and so valuable a 
 citizen. 
 
 " We are to start," Ion was answering, quietly, " from 
 the outer Ceramicus. The men are already in the saddle.
 
 350 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Your horse, and mine, as are the shield bearers, are at the 
 door." 
 
 The announcement came like a knell to Hermione's ears. 
 Yet she had advanced, with a smile, to greet the young 
 man. 
 
 The tinge of pallor on Ion's handsome face, and the 
 thinned lines along cheeks and chin, made the more acute 
 from the close fitting helmet that framed the beautiful 
 features, spoke to Hermione's sensitive heart, moving her 
 to pity. This pallor and thinness, as did Ion's slight limp, 
 reminded her that but for the long months Ion had spent 
 upon his couch, Myrto would not be left, to comfort her 
 own great loneliness. 
 
 And, really, for the son of a merchant, this Ion was most 
 
 unexpectedly magnificent! His dignity and the lustre of 
 
 his finished perfection made one almost tremble before him. 
 
 Toward Myrto, Ion was slanting his eyes, even as he 
 
 answered Hermione. 
 
 Ion visibly paled. He could scarce repress his cry of 
 amazement. Caught thus for the first time unveiled, the 
 lovely face, upturned, with eyes widely disturbed, had 
 seemed, not Myrto's but Maia's very own. 
 
 With a wrench Ion brought himself back to his surround- 
 ings. He smiled, in an absent way, as he felt Serapion 
 fingering his shining armour. He answered Hermione's 
 questions, every one. But his soul was in a turmoil. What 
 a strange inexplicable fate was his! To love one woman, 
 with every force and passion of one's soul and body, and 
 to be promised in marrriage to the other to her who was 
 living Maia in the bud! 
 
 Ion felt Critias grasping his arm. He heard, as from a 
 distance, the latter's indulgent, benedictory tones: Critias 
 was pushing him onward, toward Myrto, who paled and 
 shrank backwards, as she clasped her hands.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 351 
 
 And Ion stood before the maiden as one stands in a 
 dream before unreal shapes. 
 
 ;< Take her, Ion, my boy," he heard Critias say, " imprint 
 your kiss. 'Tis no time to stand upon ceremonious cus- 
 toms. Had not tricksy fate played you false, this two 
 months you would have called her wife ! " 
 
 Ion had suddenly wakened. With Myrto's face uplifted 
 before him, the lovely lashes wet upon still wet cheeks, 
 he had come and quickly to all his senses. 
 
 He saw the child's trembling lip. The sight moved him 
 strangely. He bent his tall shape as he might over a 
 flower 
 
 " Myrto, sweet, let me, pray, but kiss away one of those 
 tears, even though, perchance, they be not for me." 
 
 With child-like obedience Myrto lifted her cheek. But 
 Ion's beautiful, moved face, the shining of his large eyes, 
 and the perfume of his scented locks, made Myrto feel a 
 sudden, inexplicable trembling and a new sweet warmth. A 
 flame swept her. Even as Ion's strong arm encircled her, 
 Myrto's inborn modesty fought the flame. Was it right for 
 a maiden to feel thus before she heard the bridesmaids' 
 singing the Epithalamium ? Would Timoleon forgive 
 
 Then she was back to earth, and Ion's ringing shout was 
 in her ear. 
 
 " But I have a mind to play the coward, and turn bride- 
 groom! Sweet, sweet Myrto! your fairness makes me long 
 to stay ! " Ion held Myrto by both hands, at arms' length. 
 He devoured her beauty; tinged with this new radiance of 
 feeling, she was indeed doubly lovely. True Greek that Ion 
 was, he found himself falling fast in love of this child who 
 looked like Maia! 
 
 "Oh-h, but you see, I shouldn't like that. You are 
 much more beautiful as a soldier." 
 
 There was a general laugh, as the family group, led by
 
 352 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Hermione and Critias, now made their way to the vestibule 
 door. There the women of the household stood, looking 
 out into the brightening dawn, and Critias and Ion also. 
 
 The breath of Mars seemed to touch one and all. 
 Through the open street door the horses' impatient stamping 
 brought the awful moment the nearer. The Epibates were 
 already mounted. Lances and spears were held stifly up- 
 right. Persia's lean face and liquid eyes, and Socius' huge 
 bulk, both men encased in new armour, loomed out of the 
 tinted dusk. 
 
 With a half sob, Critias drew Hermione to him. " Fare- 
 well fare thee well best of wives and noblest of 
 women ! " was his whisper, as he buried his lips in hers. 
 Hermione felt his very frame shaken. She found strength, 
 however, to soothe and comfort her lord. 
 
 With her arms about her husband, she breathed down 
 prayers and blessings. Above the sobbing voices of the 
 slaves, of Myrto's and Serapion's now convulsive weeping, 
 her voice, like the voice of a protecting divinity, filled the 
 morning quiet. 
 
 " May the god of our fathers, and mighty Zeus, O dearest 
 Critias, have you under their tender care, and bring you 
 safe to our home altars," and she kissed the wet cheek close 
 to her lips, with dry eyes. 
 
 Even Ion's lids were moist. With a parting tender clasp 
 he sprang to help Critias mount his charger. 
 
 Critias, whose emotional equipment was of short theatrical 
 duration, recovered his calm, as he stood beside his charger. 
 The dignified bearing of the soldiers holding stiff the shining 
 spears was the very tonic he needed. 
 
 He was able to jest as Ion and Socius both bent their 
 strength to give his stiff knees their right fling, across the 
 restless steed's bared back. He sent back brightened eyes
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 353 
 
 and a showy smile as Ion, poising his length sideways against 
 his lance, with a single spring, was in his seat. 
 
 There were a few last words. Hermione called to her 
 husband " to remember her signal a white veil waved 
 three times in air at the quais ;" and Ion had swept 
 Hermione and Myrto a brilliant beaming farewell. 
 
 The two warriors gave the spur to their chargers' flanks, 
 the lance bearers closed in, and down the crooked street the 
 waving crests, the gleaming armour and bronze, glittered, 
 and were gone. 
 
 There was no time to be lost. Critias and Ion spurred 
 their chargers into a brisk trot. Critias had a double reason 
 for gaining the Ceramicus. 
 
 Athens' streets were filled with the voices of crying women. 
 Those who were not already at or on their way to the docks, 
 were religiously lamenting the death of Adonis. Their 
 dolorous cries rang upon every side. 
 
 Critias felt a superstitious shiver. He could not hold 
 back his outburst. " Confound these dirges, Ion ! They 
 give me a creepy sensation ! Of all times, for a great expedi- 
 tion to set sail while the women are celebrating the 
 Adonaius! I confess it seems an unlucky venture what 
 with the Hermae, and now this lamenting, on the very eve 
 of our departure! " 
 
 As though to hurry away from ominous forebodings, 
 Critias spurred his steed to a brisk gallop. 
 
 " Nonsense," was Ion's reassuring answer. " If our fleets 
 waited for every omen to be favorable, there'd be no wars 
 in Hellas!" And he laughed the young warriors' light- 
 hearted confidence in the force of arms. 
 
 Critias did not answer the laugh. He told Ion he would 
 meet him at the quais. Since Ion was to head his company, 
 he, Critias could thus take his own gait. He real hope was, 
 to bribe a god or two, by secret offering, on his way to his 
 ship.
 
 354 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Ion and his cavalry troop were soon dashing down between 
 the great walls. 
 
 Ion found his thoughts strangely confused, as he rode 
 on, ahead of his men. Longing, desire, the wild wonder 
 at the feelings Myrto's lovely innocence had evoked, and the 
 now renewed ache of pain at leaving Maia behind, alone in 
 Athens, together with the welling up of auguish at parting 
 from his father, all these crossings of passion and pain made 
 the rattling speed at which he was going, inexpressibly 
 soothing. Once the parting over, and then the open seas 
 the wide unknown ! 
 
 Ion found the crowds assembled about the quais and colon- 
 nades such as to make progress all but impossible. He de- 
 cided to dismount, and to work his way to his boat on foot. 
 
 Among all those thousands of faces, there were but two 
 he longed to discover. Yet a hundred times Ion found him- 
 self stopped, embraced, and blessed. Every god in the 
 Pantheon was bidden to protect " him who had conferred 
 honour and distinction on the Piraeus." " Come back, and 
 you shall be our Archon ! " " Burial in the Ceramicus shall 
 be his who lifted the Piraeus from the dust ! " Such shouts 
 rang in Ion's ears. Ion gave short smiling answers, and 
 wrenched himself free. 
 
 A voice cried out from a dense group. Thrasybulous, 
 looking a very Hercules in his tall helmet, waved for Ion 
 to join him. Nausicaa with bent, veiled head, and Timoleon 
 beside her, smiled their welcome. One might have thought 
 Nausicaa a blameless wife, broken with grief, as she leant 
 upon her husband's arm, actual tears glistening behind her 
 veil. 
 
 The old provocative grace was in Nausicaa's gesture, as
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 355 
 
 she half lifted her veil, to let Ion see at least one pretty 
 woman, before sailing away. She was telling him Hermione 
 and Myrto had decided to remain behind, in the carriage, 
 on the hill. " Hermione could not trust her feelings, poor 
 woman at such a moment!" And Nausicaa smiled the 
 sad smile of conscious superiority. Her tears became her. 
 
 " My father, dear Timoleon have you seen him ? " 
 Ion asked, as both now edged their slow way onward. 
 
 "I saw him, a few moments ago, at the outer Colon- 
 nade," replied Timoleon. 
 
 And there they found him. 
 
 His grief consumed Crates utterly. The bravery he had 
 shown, in the earlier hours of the morning, had now fallen 
 from him. He had hidden his weakness, in among the 
 group of his household slaves. At sight of Ion his cry 
 burst from him. 
 
 " O my son ! and so this is the end the end ! " He 
 flung himself upon Ion's warm breast, as his son had neared 
 him. 
 
 " Not so, my father, 'tis surely but the stepping forth to 
 glory! Look up, dearest man, and let me kiss your cheek," 
 cried Ion, helping his father to a better upright. Now his 
 father had given way, in this amazing manner, it behooved 
 him to lend him of his own exuberant hope and a part of 
 his optimistic strength. 
 
 For long years, Crates was to see his Ion thus, flushed 
 with tremulous emotion, yet clear of voice and eye. 
 
 Ion gently unclasped his father's hold. The time had 
 come; he must speed away to gain his boat. 
 
 There was a last conclusive embrace, and Ion was gone. 
 He had a dim sense, of a confusion, of quick cries, and of 
 a sudden silence. His father, he was almost certain, had 
 swooned, his slaves were bearing him homewards. " Better 
 so," whispered Ion, to comfort his own heart. " The dear
 
 356 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 man will be spared the torture of seeing me sail away." 
 His own eyes were bedimmed with tears. 
 
 As Ion pushed blindly on, an arm and a slim hand, 
 gemmed with jewels, were thrust forward, out of the crowd. 
 Maia's hand lay upon his wrist. 
 
 He saw at a glance that she stood as the centre of a group 
 of distinguished Athenians. Ion's eyes grazed Socrates' face ; 
 his worn, coarse mantle was close to Euripides' more costly 
 raiment. Socrates was talking, as usual, and, as usual, his 
 eyes were rolling. Euripides was using his eyes, but in a 
 different way. Neither he nor Maia appeared to be listen- 
 ing to what the talkative philosopher was saying. 
 
 At sight of Ion, Maia had moved forward. Ion felt 
 rather than saw, Socrates' enlightened expression, as one who 
 had, at last, found the solution of a puzzling riddle. But 
 Euripides looked the other way. And upon his own 
 beating pulse, Ion felt the tremor of Maia's clasp. 
 
 In closing her hand within his palm, Ion drew her in- 
 stinctively away. In an instant he had her, close, in the 
 midst of the agitated groups of sailors, marines, of weeping 
 peasants, staring metics, and strangers. 
 
 The two were as completely alone as they had been in 
 the moonlit forests of Arcadia. 
 
 For a single moment, Ion held his beloved a white 
 image of grief upon his arm. His eyes must feed their 
 hungry lust of looking for one last intense survey. This 
 was the dear face that was to haunt his dreams, to warm his 
 days of chill absence, to make even glory seem but a poor 
 thing ! 
 
 Maia's broken, plaintive speech now filled his ears. " Be- 
 loved, come back, you you will find me waiting none 
 other" 
 
 But the lips had met. In the exquisite pain of that meet- 
 ing, no speech was needed.
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 357 
 
 Slowly, like a benumbed creature, as one who could scarce 
 bear the weight of this terrible moment Maia released 
 herself. The dear accents infinitely sweet, struggling to 
 be firm, came 
 
 " Dearest Ion, you you must look for me when your 
 
 boat moves, yonder, upon the steps of the sanctuary I 
 
 shall look till the last, I shall " 
 
 But the difficult effort for control was beyond Maia's 
 strength. In a convulsive agony of weeping she lay upon 
 Ion's breast. His broken, loving words, his confident breath- 
 ings of quick return, and the strength of his own moved 
 feeling brought quieted nerves. 
 
 When Maia lifted her lips for a final meeting, she lisped, 
 between the quickened gasps for breath, " There yonder 
 on on the steps of Aphrodite's temple, I I shall 
 watch your boat until " 
 
 Once more Ion's passionate kiss was drowning speech. As 
 she released herself, Maia found herself swept backwards. 
 Ion had led her to her friends. 
 
 " O listen ! and you, dear Socrates take care of this 
 dear woman. She is worth all your guidance," Ion now 
 managed to stammer. With the sense that his own control 
 was ebbing, he ran, not daring to send a backward look. 
 
 Ion heard the crowds' parting cries and sobs. A surging 
 chorus they rose, to echo his own great anguish. 
 
 From the admiral's boat there came the clear trumpet 
 notes. It was the signal. All must embark. There was 
 the mighty tumult of clashing armour, of rushing feet, of 
 struggling thousands. 
 
 The crews were soon in readiness. The oarsmen were 
 seated. With hand shot out and arm ready, they were 
 waiting for the next expected signal. 
 
 "Silence in the boats!" presently chanted, sonorously, 
 the Keleustes.
 
 358 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 A mighty stillness fell upon the sea and land. Then, 
 the prolonged notes of the trumpet announced the great 
 moment had come. 
 
 On every deck the flash and glitter of silver and golden 
 goblets caught the strong sun's light. With one accord, of- 
 ficers, Ebibatze, crews and marines, and all the mighty throng 
 upon the shore turned their faces eastward. 
 
 As the goblets were lifted, after the pouring of the wine, 
 the voice of the herald was heard, rising in prayer. One 
 by one officers and crew joined in the praying. And the 
 voices of praying thousands, from the shores, made the clear 
 Greek air ring with the rhythm of passionate pleading. 
 
 As the prayer ended, there rose up the stirring notes of 
 the war-pjeon. The martial chant, sung as never before had 
 Athens sung it, rang up to the golden skies. It throbbed 
 against the conscious shores. 
 
 The listening hills heard. As they felt the mounting 
 chorus swell to triumphant climax, they deepened their morn- 
 ing blues, and the dawn of the breaking day, crowning their 
 tops, showed long lines of sparkling light. 
 
 Never before, in all her history, had Athens invoked the 
 gods with such unanimous intensity of feeling. 
 
 As the chanting died, the order for action rang out. The 
 Thranitas shot forth, as one man, their strong hands. Their 
 arms now worked the great oars. The noise of the ryth- 
 mical beat of thousands of blades smote the purple waters. 
 
 One behind the other, in single file, trireme after trireme 
 followed. As though to make display of the greatest fleet 
 the Empire of Athens had as yet sent forth, the Admirals 
 spread before the eyes of those left behind, before metics, 
 strangers, Attican hill-folk, Piraeans, and Athenians alike 
 the unsurpassable splendour of the vast fleet. 
 
 This was Alcibiades' moment of triumph. From the Ad- 
 miral's ship, he raised aloft his golden shield. He flashed
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF THE FLEET 359 
 
 the sculptured Loves and Graces in the light of the rising 
 sun. He waved the shining oblong now up, now down, in 
 mimic combat. Men saw clearly what was meant. Thus 
 had Alcibiades fought Athens. Thus had he conquered. 
 The sailing forth of this greatest of fleets was his triumph, 
 the triumph the Loves and Graces upon his splendid shield 
 typified. By his all-conquering charms of mind and person, 
 in the teeth of opposition, surmounting even religious 
 fanaticism, Alcibiades had won. 
 
 Shouts and applause greeted this the central figure of the 
 expedition. 
 
 Before the crowds had wearied of shouting, a sudden 
 change in the movement of the foremost vessel elicited fresh 
 enthusiasm. The boats were racing as they headed for 
 JEgina. Till the last vessel had rounded the Island, Athens 
 stood, breathless. Then cheers broke out. Long and loud 
 they rang, as all Athens strained wearied eyes to see the 
 very last of the boats. 
 
 When the violet blue waters were at last left empty, the 
 crowd turned, and broke. Sobs and cries followed hard 
 upon the glad shouting. 
 
 Slowly, mournfully, Hermione and Myrto crept back, 
 as did the moving thousands, to find the awful spectres of 
 apprehension and dread, painted against the gay skies. For 
 all the youth and the manhood of Athens had sailed away. 
 Only one shape lingered on. 
 
 Long after the quais and harbours were emptied of life, 
 Maia's violet shape stood erect. Her face was turned sea- 
 ward. Veil and scarf hung, limp, from her hand. Only 
 once had she been sure of having caught sight of Ion's hand, 
 raised in answering salute, to her waiving. Socrates and 
 Euripides were gone. But still Maia lingered. 
 
 The lapping of the brilliant-hued waters soothed her an- 
 guish. The burn of the Attican sun warmed her chilled
 
 360 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 veins. Xerxes, as he had sat on his golden throne, on the 
 bare hill, yonder, had felt thus, when he watched the waters 
 that swarmed with his fleets' immensity, grow black with 
 wrecks and red with human blood. 
 
 Maia through her blinding tears seemed to see blood upon 
 the bright waters. The sound of breaking ships also crashed 
 upon her ears, as she sank, sobbing, upon the Temple steps.
 
 BOOK IV --SYRACUSE 
 
 Chapter XXXI 
 A BARBER'S STORY 
 
 Two years and more had passed. 
 
 The autumnal sun was kindling, as for centuries it had 
 fired to deeper tones, the paling tints in Athens' coronal of 
 hills. The glow on the Parthenon was as golden as ever it 
 had been. The old wondrous magic of this moment of trans- 
 figuration was upon land and sea. As in the festival rite, 
 this flaming torch of colour swept on ; the topaz columns of 
 the great Temple seemed to pass to the chorusing hills their 
 magical lighting. From thence to the distant peak of Arca- 
 dian Cyllene, translucent mountains and glorified skies were 
 fused and blent. 
 
 This had been the hour when Athenian porticoes and 
 colonnades were wont to be crowded. 
 
 They were strangely quiet, on this golden dying of the 
 day. 
 
 The statues of the gods were as thickly massed as when 
 Maia had passed their beauty in review, from the steps of 
 the Theatre. The statues were not more still than were 
 the slipping figures of the women who now hurried onward. 
 These had a furtive, timid air. Himatia were swept close 
 about faces and throats, and the look of these faces, from 
 between the thick folds, seemed to emphasize the chill in 
 the atmosphere, that enveloped the city. 
 
 There was the peculiar brooding, the quiet of adversity 
 in the air.
 
 362 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 When a citizen emerged from a side street, he was seen 
 more often than not, to be in armour. The clinking spurs, 
 the rattle of sword or lance, startled the stillness. Slaves 
 had, apparently, but little time for gossip. The roar of 
 tongues was sensibly diminished. 
 
 Yet the city was full and the Attican plain was de- 
 serted. Farmers, hill folk, trembling wives and aged moth- 
 ers, as were also flocks and cattle, were crowding every open 
 space in Athens. 
 
 King Agis, the Spartan, with an army of Spartans in trim 
 armour, had driven farmers and flocks before them, to seek 
 refuge in the city, as wolves hound sheep. 
 
 Though Agoras and Porticoes were emptied of loungers, 
 the watch towers and forts were packed with soldiers. 
 Athens was become an armed camp. Night and day, every 
 Athenian able to bear arms, was on guard. Night and day 
 mighty King Agis, when he had a mind, swept down from 
 the heights of Dekelia, to remind Athens what these two 
 years had brought to her and to make the bravest show 
 paling lips at the awful thought of what still might befall. 
 
 Yet, men still wore beards. Whether waked in times of 
 peace, by cock's crows, or in war times by trumpets, still 
 will beards grow and still must they be shorn. 
 
 One barber, at least, in the Piraeus, drew the best beards 
 still left at home, to fall beneath his razor. 
 
 Eumolpus, long since, before Sparta had taken advantage 
 of Athens' defenceless state to invade her territory Eumol- 
 pus had clearly seen where trade was going. The Poikile 
 was as bare of fashion as a babe's cheek of manhood's 
 growth of hair. No barber with brains behind his curly 
 locks, remained to face seats all in row as empty as 
 were the colonnades. 
 
 Eumolpus, therefore, took his razors, his scents, and his 
 perfumes down to the docks.
 
 A BARBER'S STORY 363 
 
 Reduced as was Athens' commerce, ships still went out to 
 sea. Captains and ships' mates had a fancy still, for going 
 aboard with trim beards and hair cut in the latest military 
 fashion. 
 
 Eumolpus therefore, though far from happy, was still 
 taking a mild flavoured content. Not only drachmae flew his 
 way, but news also. And a man who had news, in these 
 days, and from reliable nautical sources, was a public bene- 
 factor. 
 
 News, as it happened, for the past two months, had been 
 growing scarce and still more scarce. Yet the times were 
 never more ticklish. For the second great fleet, under De- 
 mosthenes, had been sent forth. It was time, and high time, 
 for the glad news to come, of his having, together with what 
 was left of Nicias' fleet, entered the Great Harbour, at 
 Syracuse. 
 
 Long since, as Eumolpus was tired of repeating " Surely 
 long since victory is ours at last. Captains and seamen 
 are so busy, doubtless, hanging up trophies and celebrating 
 their great victory, as they are, also, in the burdening of 
 their ships with all the spoils and booty, they have no time 
 left for home despatches." 
 
 This optimistic view being Athens' hope was received 
 by the barber's customers with smiles, if those sitting beneath 
 his skilled ringers were Hellenes, or with doubting looks, if 
 bound for Corinth or the Peloponnesus. 
 
 On this brilliant September afternoon Eumolpus had a 
 customer exactly to his liking. A ship, small, somewhat bat- 
 tered, having met rough seas, it was reported, had come to 
 anchor in the roads. The barber, among others, had been 
 down to take a look. 
 
 The coming of a ship, from foreign parts, was a novelty, in 
 these days. And every ship that came might bring the right 
 news.
 
 364 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 This boat had made its way up from Italy. It carried a 
 cargo of dried grapes and some neutrals. 
 
 One of these latter a tall passenger on landing, had 
 looked about him, with inquiring eyes. As he lounged on- 
 ward, beyond the outer Colonnade, he came to a stop before 
 Eumolpus' bright shop. 
 
 Eumolpus had watched the beard coming along the street 
 with the growing fury of a man whose skill with a razor is 
 known far beyond his city. He thought better of its owner 
 when the stranger, with beaming intelligence, at a first 
 glance at the empty shop, showed his conclusions, in a sat- 
 isfied smile. He nodded to Eumolpus, entered, and sat 
 down. 
 
 Though not a word had been spoken, the barber approved 
 for a wonder of the customer's silence. Here would 
 be a listener in a hundred ! One who could read the highest 
 professional skill at sight, and who could tell you at a 
 single glance he was pleased to find empty chairs, that he 
 might not have to wait, was surely a man as packed full of 
 wisdom, as he might prove to be later, invaluable as a dis- 
 tiller of news. 
 
 The stranger, being seated, lifted his chin. From it fell 
 the beard that made the barber's fingers fairly quiver 
 even as he held it between finger and thumb. Once his 
 scissors at work, and this Scythian abomination would fall. 
 
 "For one who has but lately come to Athens, dear sir, it 
 must indeed be strange to see her docks as empty," was 
 Eumolpus' courteous beginning. 
 
 The stranger closed his eyes, in assent. To nod, with 
 sharp edged scissors worked with amazing skill, was out 
 of the question. 
 
 " And strange it would be to us had we not, in these 
 two years, grown used to worse than docks as vacant as 
 are all our banqueting halls. Ah well! may I never drink
 
 A BARBER'S STORY 3&5 
 
 my pay in pure good fortune again, if it does not seem to 
 me ours, m spite of all her recent misfortunes, is still the 
 mightiest of cities." 
 
 Eumolpus gave a clip to the beard that sent half its length 
 into the white apron. 
 
 It might have been the natural feelings of a man at losing 
 so much, at a single snip, of what he had, perhaps, con- 
 sidered, mistakenly, as a rare ornament, that gave to the 
 stranger's right eye, slanted sideways, a look of such peculiar, 
 piercing fixity. 
 
 " It's nearly off dear sir," said Eumolpus, soothingly, 
 "one more a closer cutting will relieve you of such a 
 marvellous growth. Hem! Well as I was saying, 
 Athens has proved herself to be all she claimed. She is in- 
 deed the wonder of the world a little too close? Ah-h! 
 I see you still think we follow Alcibidian fashions, and 
 wear short beards. Dear me! Even the custom of the 
 wearing of beards is sufficient to prove a man's downfall! 
 Since Alcibiades' fall, if you believe me, not a youth in 
 Athens would dare to show himself with hair curling tight 
 about his chin! The Salaminian had it but brought the 
 traitor back, might have been the re-instating of that fallen 
 idol and of short beards. But now well, the military 
 fashions show the dullest, how Alcibiades' going over to 
 Sparta has roused Athens to turn patriot." 
 
 Eumolpus paused. His customer had once more given 
 him that peculiar, searching glance. If he had anything 
 of interest to communicate,' why did he not tell it, instead of 
 looking it forth? What with heating irons, and running 
 back and fro, any man who loved speech could have had 
 ample time, between the firing of the irons and the curling 
 process, to recount his whole history, and that of his city. 
 This customer was obviously of the hateful, silent sort. 
 Well, one was not an Athenian for nothing. Eumolpus
 
 366 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 knew more ways than one of prying a man's lips open. 
 Obviously, the stranger cared nothing for Alcibiades and 
 all that his treachery had brought upon Athens. 
 
 He would try him on another side. Some men answered 
 to the religious appeal. 
 
 " What a contrast now to Nicias ! There's a man ! and 
 and there's where Athens has shown herself great again. 
 Her trust in her leaders has been her glory. In these two 
 years how she has proved to Nicias how Athens, when she 
 loves, a man can trust him! What other city would show 
 our belief, our confidence, our patience? Hurt you, Sir? 
 I'll take a cooler iron 
 
 " When Nicias' letter came some ten months since 
 perhaps, Sir, you were not in Athens? Well, never did 
 Athens prove herself as glorious. All history will ring 
 with the answer we gave. Such a meeting at the Assem- 
 bly! " 
 
 The barber now felt the mounting glow of one who has 
 practised the true orator's trick he had roused to excited 
 listening one who began as an indifferent hearer! For his 
 customer's eyes were fairly blazing. Talking was as easy 
 and pleasant as to hear drachmae pouring into the box. 
 
 "Well as I was saying when the dreadful news 
 came and of all cities to Athens, mighty Mistress of 
 the Seas what was our answer? You and all the world 
 know. We who are called fickle! Well fickle Athens 
 having put her faith in Nicias, believed him when he told 
 the worst. Fickle Athens swallowed shame. One great 
 armament having been all but lost, voted then and there 
 another and one well nigh as great. Out of our bright 
 waters it sailed, taking the last of our true manhood, with 
 clever Demosthenes to lead them. 
 
 " And Sparta was here knocking at our very gates ! 
 
 " I see you are asking, Sir, with that speaking eye of
 
 A BARBER'S STORY 367 
 
 yours how we have stood the latest Well I confess 
 the most disturbing news. Well we know now, Syra- 
 cuse, probably, never can be ours but there'll be a great 
 battle presently a great victory. Oh-h I don't deny 
 Athens is anxious these reverses tell upon the stoutest 
 heart. Still, we'll come forth triumphant though in 
 this war we may not humble Syracuse still once the 
 real victory won ' 
 
 Neither the barber's sentence nor his curl were ever fin- 
 ished. 
 
 With a sudden spring, the now no longer bearded man 
 flung his covering from him. He stood on his feet, looking 
 down at the mess that lay there. Scissors, and irons, and 
 perfumes had been swept to the ground by his violence. 
 And yet even the barber made no outcry. 
 
 For he still held aloft the more recently heated iron 
 for safety. In all his experience no such madman had ever 
 before confronted him, had ever before terrified skilled 
 fingers about to twist coarse hair into curl. 
 
 The stranger's madness was of short duration. His breath 
 now came easier. 
 
 When the gentleman spoke, Eumolpus saw at once he was 
 of good birth, now his beard was cut for he spoke softly. 
 His voice was disturbing, so quiet and controlled was it, 
 for one whose actions had been so violent. 
 
 " And this is all you know my poor man ? No other 
 news has reached you or Athens these past weeks? " 
 
 The gentleman spoke with such ironical commiseration 
 Eumolpus felt his irons in the air begin to quiver. The 
 very fate of Athens seemed to be thus trembling in mid-air. 
 
 The stranger went on voicing awful fate. 
 
 "You know nothing of the fate of your great Fleets? 
 of the blocking of the Great Harbour? " 
 
 He waited as though to hear the barber's indignant de-
 
 368 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 nial. Instead he was facing terror a man in a panic of 
 fear an echo. For Eumolpus, dropping his nerveless arm, 
 was repeating with ashen lips 
 
 " The blocking of the Great Harbour? " 
 
 "Why yes that is now stale news to Sparta and 
 Corinth and Thebes. Your fleets are lost man to the 
 last boat! The crews are all dead or drowned and your 
 army either cut to pieces, or made prisoner Nicias and 
 Demonsthenes, by this time are food for Syracusan crows. 
 Your Empire of Athens where is it?" 
 
 The stranger's exulting words came to a stop. His ex- 
 cited gestures were sawing the air for his own pleasure; for 
 now 'twas Eumolpus who had appeared to be suddenly and 
 hopelessly seized with folly. 
 
 With a resounding crash, his irons rang down upon the 
 concrete. 
 
 For a single instant the stranger had thought to have need 
 of his arms for other purposes than for expressive ges- 
 tures. 
 
 The barber first shot forth his head, as though that finish 
 to his shape had no connection whatever with his frame-work. 
 Then his face grew grey, of unpleasing length, and the eyes 
 rolled wild and loose. Words or cries of some sort strug- 
 gled obviously, to form upon the hanging lips but none 
 came. Instead a sudden, seemingly purposeless motion seized 
 the man a wild glance, a strange uncouth attempt to gasp 
 or groan, a last haggard showing of an ashen face, and the 
 barber whirling on his heel, was gone. 
 
 He flew out of his shop, as a stone is shot from a catapult. 
 The direction of his course seemed to take him down to the 
 highroad, towards the walled thoroughfare, to Athens. 
 
 The stranger had followed the mad barber out to the 
 threshold of his shop. He had called had cried out to
 
 A BARBER'S STORY 369 
 
 him there was still more to hear that he, also, would go 
 with him to the city would indeed take him there. 
 
 The stranger's voice was talking to the golden September 
 air. The barber had run as ran the runner from Marathon 
 
 to tell of victory. There were only the scented shop, the 
 perfumes, the unguents, and the steel implements about, to 
 prove that this barber who had gone mad, on the hearing 
 of two months' old news, had once been entirely sane. 
 
 For a moment of talk with himself, the stranger still 
 lingered. Some one might come in, to listen to the end of 
 his old tale, that was, apparently, so new. 
 
 No one came. The Agoras of the Piraeus seemed as 
 emptied of life as were the great docks. The very air had 
 the feel of misfortune. Such an air was good to breathe 
 to the greedy lungs of a gloating Corinthian for such he 
 was although he had passed himself off as an Italian. 
 
 It was the sign of Corinth's triumph and of Athens' fall! 
 
 " The Empire of Athens ha ha! Where are her con- 
 quests, her ring of victory, her island allies now! But by 
 my beard that has fallen humbled though she be I 
 doubt her good humour when she hears the news! O ye 
 highly honoured Athenian gods ye'll hear some groans 
 and curses and wise men, I take it, are best and safest 
 
 when Athens' roused at home. Hey you" and he 
 called to a man slouching by, who had the look of a sailor, 
 " At which of the docks now does the boat lie, that plies to 
 Corinth's Port, on this side?" 
 
 The man told him. And the stranger bent his steps 
 
 thither.
 
 Chapter XXXII 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 
 
 Two days later, a fisherman's boat that had waited for 
 the morning's rising of the Etesian wind, clapped on full 
 sail, to round Sunion's rocky coast. 
 
 It was a day and a breeze to make a mariner exultant. 
 There were clear skies, every coast-line was bright and 
 sharp, and the brisk wind was in the right quarter. The 
 skipper tied his sheet. With only the tiller to work, a man 
 could look about him. 
 
 As the boat shot past the tongue-like promontory, some- 
 thing stirred in the bottom of the boat. The man or the 
 beast that had lain like the dead, came, languidly, to life. 
 
 The tattered sail cloth that had served as a shelter and 
 covering in one, was feebly thrust aside. After a struggle, 
 the crouched shape came to an unsteady upright. The 
 form was that of a man. The face, gaunt, haggard, worn 
 obviously by want and disease, yet showed lines that proved 
 race. 
 
 The man turned his eyes toward Sunion. The shining 
 of the sun's rays on the polished columns of the famous 
 Temple of Poseidon, now in clear view, seemed to prove the 
 eyes' weakness. 
 
 The skipper's fare lifted a wasted arm and hand, to 
 shield his gaze. And then he sat down. The effort to 
 look and to stand were beyond his strength. 
 
 Once, again, however, the stranger raised his arms. He 
 held them as high as he could. And his lips moved. 
 Mighty Neptune was obviously receiving his due, from one 
 whose state proved his sad fortunes. 
 
 370
 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 37 , 
 
 The skipper looked across at hfs fare, with scarce con- 
 cealed scorn. His own swarthy skin, piercing dark eyes, 
 and his curiously painted boat, with its foreign look and 
 build, proclaimed the man no Greek, but a barbarian. 
 
 The Italian's scornful smile said as loud as though he 
 had spoken, as he eyed his human freight's impulsive de- 
 votion "what good were Athens' gods now, and to a 
 ruin of a man as shattered at this or her Empire?" 
 
 The Italian nursed his scorn, for it warmed him. To 
 bring Greeks thus, back to proud Athens, made even an 
 Italian exultant. Yet no scoffing word escaped him. For 
 his fare was precious in spite of his tattered state. 
 Until Athens was reached the skipper must wait for his 
 pay. And there well, there was always that good 
 friend, one's knife, close at hand, if this remnant of a man 
 must be made to eat his boastful lies first, and after, 
 the dark streets of the city would tell Athens an Italian's 
 way of dealing with a lying Greek! 
 
 The very thought of all this made the skipper let his 
 sheet out. He brought the craft closer up, into the wind. 
 He steered, now, very straight. 
 
 His passenger, apparently, was gaining in strength. He 
 stood with less uncertain firmness. He was almost erect. 
 Neck and head were eagerly thrust forward. He ap- 
 peared to be on the lookout for something a sign of some 
 sort. 
 
 Ah-h he had discovered his object! He had uncov- 
 ered, though for one to call as shapeless a thing as that 
 which covered the long, unkempt locks a cap, was a laugh- 
 able absurdity. 
 
 Once again the Greek's lips were moving. And he was 
 writhing, as though in pain, or as a man twists when 
 overmastered by some uncontrollable emotion. 
 
 The skipper's lips emitted a cry. For his fare, now, was
 
 372 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 weeping. The tears coursed down the deep creases in the 
 thinned cheeks, as Italian alpine-fed rivulets course between 
 gorges, in spring. 
 
 And the passenger's eyes, fountains of tears though they 
 were, had never moved. They were held set and fixed. 
 And in all the landscape, now Sunion was rounded, only 
 one object stood out, that could thus rivet a man's eyes. 
 
 Far out, to the East, Athena Promachus' bronze helmet 
 yes and now the tip of her monster spear were in 
 sight ! 
 
 What was there, in heaven's name, in the far-away glit- 
 tering of a goddess's armour, to make a soldier cry thus 
 like a woman? 
 
 The skipper himself, as did every mariner worthy the 
 name, had, of course, been on the look-out for that bit of 
 bright shining against the sky. The goddess's spear was 
 the sign that told sorry seaman just how far, according to 
 the wind's veering, it would be before the docks could be 
 made, before a stiff pull at good Chian wine and fresh figs 
 were to be had. 
 
 But for a man to weep, at Athena's showing the tip 
 of her armour ! Well, when a man was hungry, tears came 
 as easy as to a woman's eye. And his face, nobleman 
 though he had announced himself, had clearly seen starva- 
 tion close. His pinched nostrils and wasted body told the 
 story. 
 
 The Piraean port was finally reached. The landing was 
 soon made. The Harbour was as emptied of ships as they 
 found soon after, the Colonnades to be of loungers. Even 
 the fare showed his growing wonder, by the new strength 
 that had come to him. 
 
 He stared, and looked, and walked, only as men stare 
 and walk in dreams. 
 
 The skipper perceived the Athenian had taken on a new 
 manner. Tattered, dirty, -unkempt though he was, others
 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 373 
 
 besides the skipper recognized the tread and voice of one 
 well-born. 
 
 The empty docks, the all but defenceless Harbour, the 
 silent markets, this languid stir of life, everywhere, had 
 obviously overwhelmed, at first, the Athenian. Soon, how- 
 ever, all his wits came to him. He knew where to go, and 
 whom to see. He led the skipper to a certain part of the 
 inner Agora, with the step of one treading home soil. 
 
 He asked a few sharp questions, of one or two idlers. 
 But he answered none. Yet any one could see both fear 
 and the ache of curiosity in the men's eyes. But the 
 Athenian put them off merely said he had come a long, 
 hard journey. He was now in search of a cart, or carriage, 
 a vehicle of some sort to convey him and the skipper to 
 Athens. The loungers, finding they were to gain nothing 
 before the closed door of such tightly shut lips, left him. 
 
 A farmer's cart was presently found. The Athenian 
 and the skipper were soon seated within the vehicle. 
 
 At the first watch tower, rising up above the walls, the 
 tattered gentleman gave a sharp cry. Once more he seemed 
 in pain. The sound of the metallic rattle of armour, on 
 moving men, within the towers, stirred the sudden colour 
 to flame upon the wan cheek. 
 
 " Is Athens in a state of siege? " he asked, wonder in his 
 voice, of the boy seated beside him. 
 
 " It's as good as besieged. The Spartans give us no 
 peace." The lad's tones were sulky. "We must be on 
 the lookout night and day. We are all worn out keep- 
 ing watch, both young and old, I've been in the towers 
 days and days, and never my armour laid aside." 
 
 " How long has this been ? " 
 
 The boy gave the tattered gentlemen a curious look. A 
 crooked smile curved up towards his ear, as he said, slyly, 
 " Only a soldier, or a marine, one who has been fighting
 
 374 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Sikels could ask such a question. All Greece knows Sparta 
 has been harrying us for a year and more. Perhaps you're 
 fresh from thowars," and the boy ran his eye over the torn 
 tunic, the worn military mantle, and the sandals whose 
 thongs showed metal clasps, in tatters. 
 
 But the Athenian could not be drawn. He asked more 
 questions, with his new lordly air. And as there is every- 
 thing in the way questions are asked, he got his answers. 
 
 The military life quickened, as the three neared the 
 famous City gate. Here, before the nine openings, were 
 the first signs of the old Athenian bustle and brisk move- 
 ment. Soldiers and sentinels were everywhere passing in 
 and out. The slaves at the Fountain were thick, and the 
 filling of amphorae was long, for armed men some mere 
 striplings, indeed, others with grey beards made the task 
 of drawing water, for women slaves, a pleasant one. 
 
 At the gate leading towards the Inner Ceramicus, the 
 Athenian gave the order to stop. Borrowing a rude tablet 
 from the farmer driver, he wrote some lines on the roughly 
 prepared surface. 
 
 " Take this man," he commanded, pointing to the Italian, 
 " to the house of Timoleon, the one near the lower end of 
 the Agora. It has two entrances, and one is a sandal shop. 
 Give the slave you will find within the shop, this leaf, he 
 will pay you both, and well. Farewell," he added, " and 
 thanks," to the skipper. 
 
 The Athenian descended. He moved onward, alone. 
 He drew his shabby mantle close about his gaunt frame. 
 
 Scarce had he gone the length of half the coppersmith's 
 quarters, in the precinct of Theseus, when he started, stared, 
 and stopped. 
 
 For the first time, a look of joy, rapturous, complete, 
 irradiated his worn face. He felt his knees tremble. He
 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 375 
 
 found he must lean against a small but newly erected 
 Hermae, for support. 
 
 The sight that had thus unnerved him was merely a 
 woman-shape. 
 
 A tall, graceful form, draped from head to foot in a 
 dust-colored mantle, was moving slowly toward him. In 
 her hands she held a covered dish of some sort. Behind 
 her, a slave, a Persian, to judge by his colour and eyes, like- 
 wise bore a vessel, that needed cautious handling. 
 
 The lady came on and on. She walked less surely 
 as she approached the standing figure. She had not as yet 
 raised her eyes, yet she felt rather than saw the coming 
 obstruction to her path. 
 
 She had now reached the motionless, staring figure. She 
 lifted questioning eyes. Why was her way thus barred, and 
 by whom? 
 
 The large eyes swept the gaunt, yellow face, the tattered 
 shape they grew wide, were fixed. Then the lady's cry 
 came. With the dawning of conscious recognition first 
 horror, and then a wild joy rang up with the cry. 
 
 The covered dish she held had dropped. Its metallic 
 ring, as it fell, made the clanguor one with the sharp, 
 fierce cry. 
 
 " O Timoleon dear Timoleon ! Come at last ! At 
 
 last!" 
 
 And Maia's head fell upon Timoleon's lean shoulder. 
 
 As Timoleon feebly clasped Maia to him, his trembling 
 kiss upon her bright locks was all he could command. 
 
 Over her bowed head, he whispered broken, confused 
 words of the delight it was to see her, to feel her near, 
 to have her the one to bring him welcome. 
 
 The effort to thus command himself proved to be be- 
 yond his control. As Maia lifted her head, and came,
 
 376 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 slowly, to an upright, it was her turn to comfort, to sus- 
 tain. Timoleon's emanciated form swayed, his yellow lids 
 closed, he had all but fallen. But Mago swept to the rescue ; 
 he and his mistress were bearing, between them, this piti- 
 fully shrunken Timoleon, upon their arms. 
 
 " Quick, the wine, Mago ! I can hold him, thus. 
 Oh-h," wailed Maia, as she saw Timoleon open pale eyes, 
 and then, at the first touch of the wine, gulp at the fra- 
 grant cup with the frantic haste of a starved man "Oh, 
 dear Timoleon, not so fast! There, thus, 'twill thus the 
 better revive you." She purposely spilled part of the 
 spiced liquid, lest it brought a new danger. 
 
 Could this indeed be Timoleon, this savage creature, with 
 the thirst, and the wild, uncontrolled hunger of a beast? 
 
 Maia bent over him with a deepened, a more agonized 
 tenderness; now she steadied his trembling hand, now she 
 propped his head. 
 
 Timoleon's face wore, at last, a slight tinge of colour; 
 and in his eyes there shot the familiar bronzed lighting. 
 
 " Can this, indeed, be true? It is thus you return to 
 us, after all these years? Are you Is Ion " Maia 
 breathed softly. But no answer came. The flush on 
 Timoleon's face had died away, his cheeks had turned to a 
 pale yellow. His eyes shot forth wild looks. " The earth 
 turns," he murmured, groping for Mago. 
 
 " Could we but bear him to a better air " cried Mago. 
 " Shall we try the steps of the Temple ? 'Tis no distance, 
 I can carry him thither." 
 
 " Yes, yes, to the Temple." And between the four ten- 
 der arms, Timoleon was carried aloft, to the Theseum. 
 
 The wisdom of the change was soon perceptible. Timo- 
 leon began to draw in deep breaths of the freshened air. 
 He managed to smile, reassuringly, into Maia's anxious, 
 tearful eyes. As she held the cup anew, close to his lips,
 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 377 
 
 he murmured, " Dear Maia your looks and care are wine 
 enough " 
 
 " No no ! eat, drink, dear man. O it is safe, now, 
 to pour down the wine ! " Maia's fingers held the cup ; next 
 her trembling fingers were crumbling bread, or she was 
 tendering a sesame cake. All the while the unfelt tears 
 were pouring from her eyes. Even her over-mastering im- 
 patience for news for learning Ion's fate was over- 
 whelmed, for a time, by the pity and tender anguish roused 
 by looking upon Timoleon. 
 
 Between her care and Mago's help, Timoleon was at 
 last as well placed as he could be. Maia had propped his 
 head against a column of the great Temple. Behind his 
 shoulders and head she had swept her mantle, for a pillow. 
 Mago, it was hurriedly agreed, should hasten to the house, 
 for a litter and the slaves. 
 
 Thus resting, fed, and with Maia's face to scan, Timo- 
 - Icon took his first deep draught of looking. Eyes looked 
 into eyes. Each read there the story of the pain and 
 suffering, the long waiting that had worn one lovely face 
 to thinned lines, and the yet untold horrors that had 
 brought to such weakness and ruin, the other. 
 
 Maia moved forward. With the handkerchief she found 
 in her girdle, she dried Timoleon's tears, and then her 
 own. Timoleon thanked her by a feeble pressure on the 
 hand he had found strength to grasp, as it lay within her 
 lap. 
 
 " Dear Maia, it is not only I who am changed. You, 
 and Athens also, have suffered, and deeply. Tell me, is 
 the worst indeed befallen us? Is Athens surrounded? 
 Are all the citizens on guard ? " 
 
 Even as Timoleon questioned, he moved his head about 
 the curve of the column, as a sick man turns upon a 
 pillow. He sent his anxious eyes about, below, above him.
 
 378 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 As though to seek his answer in the security of the beauty 
 that lay, like a tranquil palace of splendour, below and 
 above the Temple steps, his gaze covered the long lines of 
 glistening statues that marked the road leading from the 
 Ceramicus to the Areopagus, and beyond, aloft, it swept 
 to where the mighty Acropolis, crowded with Temples, 
 glowing in colour, uplifted, still, the Phidian master-piece 
 that shone forth, untouched, unharmed. 
 
 " Zeus be praised ! The gods still sit in their Temples," 
 he lisped, in accents that seemed faint echos. 
 
 Maia answered, reassuringly, " Yes, at least, the gods 
 are safe." 
 
 Broken as was the recital she now gave of the two years' 
 disasters and calamities that had befallen Athens, hard 
 pressed as was the city "Since Sparta has been at Dek- 
 elia, no one of us has known what fate to expect Yet, O 
 Timoleon, still Athens is valiant, still she fights, still is 
 she strong, only since yesterday " 
 
 Maia stopped. Her eyes were reading Timoleon's face. 
 How much did he know? How much could he bear? 
 Clearly, his own story he was, as yet, in no state to tell. 
 Oh-h dared she now ask news of Ion ? Surely now ! 
 
 But Timoleon's hollow tones were asking, with a fresh, 
 but feeble pressure of his limp hand 
 
 "Since yesterday, Maia? What has happened since yes- 
 terday?" 
 
 " Oh-h we know not what to believe." Maia began, 
 thrusting her own great need in the background. " We 
 are all in a panic of fear your coming will bring us some 
 light. The whole city is gone mad with excitement, and 
 worse. The noise you hear yonder, from the Stoa, are 
 the groans, the cries of rage, the tears yes, the weeping 
 of strong men and yet no one knows." 
 
 "Knows what? For the sake of Zeus in Heaven, let
 
 TIMOLEON'S RETURN 379 
 
 me know the worst!" cried Timoleon, his old authorita- 
 tive tone cutting the clear air. 
 
 Maia drooped her head. Her hands had fallen, they 
 lay limp upon her lap. Then her voice, sweet, plaintive 
 as the complaining notes of a flute, came " 
 
 'Tis indeed, the worse, if true. A barber came up 
 from Piraeus, yester noon. A stranger, a Corinthian, it 
 appears, just landed straight from Sicily, brought him news 
 of our defeat, of of our great losses." 
 
 Maia's stretching eyes were watching Timoleon. He 
 seemed strangely calm, for one who was hearing such 
 horror. 
 
 " Go on " she heard him say. And his clasp now, 
 upon her fallen hands, was firm was imperative. 
 
 " It seems, the stranger said, that our fleet," Maia's 
 words were scarce audible a great weakness seized upon 
 her, " had been sunk, in the great harbour, and that our 
 soldiers that Nicias, Demosthenes, were captured or 
 Oh-h Timoleon Timoleon, ease my breaking heart it 
 is false it cannot be true ? Athens is not lost ruined 
 and and Ion, surely you and Ion came back to- 
 gether?" 
 
 In uncontrollable misery, Maia flung herself downwards. 
 Her bowed head, shaken with sobs long controlled, lay upon 
 the Temple steps. All she had withheld, all she had en- 
 dured, suffered of apprehension, of tortured doubt, of the 
 nightmare of dread, had overcome her brave spirit. 
 Woman and patriot were crushed, in utter anguish and 
 horror. More she felt she could not bear. Were more 
 to come 'twould end her. 
 
 Timoleon 's voice, pathetic in its broken strength, brought 
 Maia to calmer, less passionate weeping. She managed to 
 face him, with tear-stained face as he named Ion. 
 
 " Indeed I have, alas ! no good news of Ion. Nay, dear,
 
 380 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 wait. He may have escaped, as did I though mine was 
 a miracle. He may be taken prisoner, and as a prisoner one 
 of his rank ought not to fare badly." 
 
 " Was he wounded hurt ? " Maia gasped, dabbing 
 the tears away, to see more clearly. Inwardly she was 
 seeing her way, very clear indeed, to rescuing, to ransoming 
 Ion were he indeed taken prisoner. 
 
 Timoleon's answer was not wholly clear. He hesitated, 
 admitted that on the last day for yes, the fleet had been 
 entirely destroyed the fight in the great harbour had 
 ended in overwhelming victory for the Syracusans, Ion, 
 he had indeed, seen. Through the horrible, maddened 
 whirl of battle and though he was blood-stained 
 
 " He was fighting like a demi-god, Maia none could 
 resist him. For the single second I saw him, I saw his 
 sword our ships lay for a while close together pierce 
 all who withstood him he struck two to earth was 
 leaping at a third when my boat went down was cut 
 to pieces " 
 
 "And 'twas the last you saw you " Maia's lips 
 could not frame her despair. 
 
 "Yes, for as the enemies' prow struck our trireme, 
 Alas, yours, dear Maia! a murderous Sikel with the flat 
 of his sword stunned me. I sank, out of sight, and 
 that saved me. When I came to, I was lying on yellow 
 sands far out, far beyond Ortygia. Who or what had 
 carried me hence, I know not, have never known. But 
 there I lay. Knowing my danger, hearing Syracuse shout- 
 ing itself crazed knowing such shouts could mean naught 
 but one thing a great victory, and our defeat, I looked 
 about me for shelter for a place to hide, for a hole, a 
 cave in the shore wherein to crawl. Oh-h those days, those 
 long fearsome nights, the terror, the surprises, the hunger I 
 and then, the long fever ! "
 
 TiMOLEON's RETURN 381 
 
 "Where were you, dear Timoleon?" To hear brave 
 Timoleon voice such anguish made Maia all pitying, loving 
 sympathy. She had now dried her eyes. She was grasp- 
 ing Timoleon 's lean arm her eyes shed a celestial ten- 
 derness. For life had come to her dying hope. Since 
 Timoleon was alive, saved, surely Ion But Timoleon 
 was saying 
 
 " I found a cave in a rock. There was a curve in 
 the beach. By rolling a stone against the cave in the day 
 time, I was safe. The Syracusan ships passed close. I 
 could hear all they said. But words, even news of one's 
 fleet, don't feed a man. But for live crabs in the sand 
 I should not now be here." 
 
 "Timoleon!" 
 
 "Then, one night, days, weeks it must have been 
 I saw a painted boat creep by. And a man, a black-eyed 
 Italian stood in the bow. I crawled out of my cave, I was 
 too weak then to stand, but I signalled. The skipper drew 
 in his sail. And he listened. When I named the price 
 to Athens, he understood Thus came I am here. 
 Have none others arrived are none escaped, save only 
 
 me?" 
 
 Maia told him, he alone, and the stranger yesterday, had 
 been the first to reach Athens. Nearly two months had 
 passed since reliable news of the fleet had been heard. 
 
 "And that poor barber Eumolpus you remember, 
 he whose shop was in the Poikele-he wishes now, I am 
 sure, he had not spoken. For after having told his great 
 news to the Senate, he must tell it to the Assembly and 
 the people, maddened with a sense of such dreadful t.dmgs 
 called upon him to produce his authority - and as he cot 
 not -for the supposed Corinthian had departed, tl 
 have put him to torture." 
 
 "To torture!" echoed Timolion, with a shout. As the
 
 382 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 cry came, he struggled to his legs he was hurrying 
 in a helpless way to adjust his mantle. " You say they 
 are subjecting Eumolpus to torture! Oh Maia, let us 
 hasten! I have a tale to tell that will make torture seem 
 but a jest. They must release him. Come we must go 
 though I must still lean on you, dear." 
 
 Mago and the litter stood waiting; they found both be- 
 low the steps. 
 
 Timoleon, with Maia walking beside him, went through 
 Athens' sunned streets to where the Senate still sat, wait- 
 ing for dreadful truth to be shrieked a lie, on a barber's 
 lips, as the rack stretched his limbs apart.
 
 Chapter XXXIII 
 
 ATHENS HEARS THE TRUTH 
 
 TIMOLEON was far beyond the torture of being even sensi- 
 ble of Athens' attitude, on her hearing of the dreadful 
 news. In Maia's house, he lay, for days, in delirium. 
 When he came to his senses, Athens had alas! been forced 
 to come to hers. Other soldiers, other battered starving 
 hoplites had crawled back to Athens. The tale they told 
 but completed the awful tragedy. 
 
 About Timoleon's couch, during his period of convales- 
 cence, old political friends quickly gathered. The roar of 
 rage, of tortured fear, of eating apprehension that now con- 
 vulsed Athens, was heard, in murmured, softened accents, 
 about his luxurious bed. The generals came, for fuller 
 military details; senators and leaders for counsel, and all 
 stood, to chorus despondency. 
 
 Timoleon, from his sick bed, rose to brave heights. The 
 evil in his nature seemed purged away. He who in these 
 two terrible years, had faced every fluctuating fortune that 
 war, and an imbecile commander, can bring to pass, brought 
 his now trained powers, his disciplined forces and real 
 talents to the help of dear Athens. 
 
 In the cool of the early autumnal nights, long were the 
 talks, plans, confidences, and counsels he and Maia held. 
 Maia's grasp of political affairs, her close touch with Athe- 
 nian life in its larger, loftier aspects, her two years' friend- 
 ship with Socrates, with the great poets and dramatists, with 
 Euripides, Sophocles, and Aristophanes the great centre 
 her house had become for all that was most glorious that 
 
 383
 
 384 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Athens still could boast, made her advice and suggestion in- 
 valuable. 
 
 As the days wore on, and Timoleon rose to take his 
 place among those who sought to lead and direct the dis- 
 tracted city, Maia it was who began to sicken. Her nights 
 were passed in crying aloud, in shivering, in telling her 
 people, that unless, soon, news should come from Ion, 
 either she must die must end her life or she must go 
 to his rescue, she must seek him, the whole world over, if 
 need were. 
 
 " He is alive ! I tell you ! I know it I feel it. And 
 somewhere, in some horrible way he is suffering. I see, 
 night after night, his dear face, tortured, drawn with tor- 
 ment. Ah my god ! are they killing him slowly, with 
 torture? Oh! Oh me miserable! What can I do? 
 Where fly? Oh Mago, think! think! Timoleon, be kind, 
 a plan any plan ! For do you not see I am losing my 
 senses here with folded hands?" 
 
 Folded her hands were not, for a single waking moment. 
 Laced with torture as was every instant of conscious living, 
 still Maia drove her distracted energies to the accomplish- 
 ment of brave charitable deeds. She and Mago made end- 
 less journeys to the Towers. Food and wine were lavished 
 on the sentinels. To one of these, to Serapion, son of Crit- 
 ias, Maia was mother, sister, and loving friend. 
 
 Serapion had been sent back from Eubcea, to complete 
 his education, in Athenian schools, before the Spartan in- 
 vasion began. " Since then, he would not go back and 
 Hermione and Myrto dare not return. I confess to being 
 greatly troubled. The slaves, it appears, on their estates, 
 are not to be trusted, in these troublous times now 
 Critias is dead." 
 
 " Critias dead ? " cried Timoleon. Maia nodded she 
 went on with her tale.
 
 ATHENS HEARS THE TRUTH 385 
 
 " Oh-h and have you not heard ? I thought every 
 one knew how Critias died. He made a point of making 
 a dramatic exit even to the very last, he played his part. 
 Poor father ! " And Maia hung a pitying sigh upon the 
 tablet of Critias' memory. 
 
 Critias, it appeared, had been appointed one among the 
 officers to return to Athens, a full year ago, to deliver 
 Nicias' now famous letter, telling of his defeats and straits 
 before Syracuse. When the lines were cried out in the 
 Assembly, " asking for a new armament, one as great as 
 the first, and Nicias begged to be released, because of his 
 increasing weakness as commander; Critias' voice rang out, 
 above the reading, with loud shouting, ' 'Tis I should head 
 the fleet ! were such as I in command ! were we oligarchs ' 
 he cried and before the hissing came he had fallen. 
 He was carried off, dying, as they bore him. Poor dear 
 Critias a true Athenian deaf to reason, proud, tena- 
 cious to the last to false ideas, to wrong convictions. See 
 how we clung to Nicias! And yet the world calls us 
 fickle!" 
 
 To Maia's sorrowful cynicism, Timoleon found no ready 
 answer. The dwelling upon his old friend's sad fate, 
 brought anew thoughts of Hermione and of sweet Myrto. 
 
 Maia divined Timoleon's unuttered questions. His sad 
 eyes she read now, as though she loved him. And love him 
 in a certain sense, she did. For she intended he should be 
 nearly allied to her. He, of all men, was to be Myrto's 
 husband. 
 
 To this end, she told him her history. Wonder, amaze- 
 ment, followed the telling. 
 
 Maia's tale ended with passionate outburst. 
 
 " And then when I came to Athens, only to learn of 
 Ion's betrothal, of his approaching marriage, something 
 hard, cruel, savage awoke in me. I had not known such
 
 386 
 
 feelings lay at the bottom of my soul but then they 
 had not before been awakened. 
 
 " I vowed vengeance. I prayed and made lavish offer- 
 ings to Hecate, and Hecate, alas! heard me. Though I 
 looked upon Hermione's face, though I saw sweet Myrto 
 Ah-h Timoleon, how lovely is innocence ! yet neither 
 my mother nor Myrto turned me from my purpose. I 
 would make good, in my turn, the curse that lay upon our 
 house. I would prevent Ion's marriage at all costs de- 
 feat fate alas ! you know the rest." 
 
 In tears the long recital ended. Timoleon comforted, 
 he consoled her. The best might be hoped for. The latest 
 of those who had escaped, had reported that forty thousand 
 surely an over large number had followed Nicias on 
 his hazardous retreat, into the Sicilian gorges. 
 
 Maia put up her hands. She shook her head. She must 
 not give way to agitated thought. She must keep calm; 
 the time for going to Serapion's watch upon the towers had 
 come. Her visit and Mago's full baskets never failed this 
 young brother, over whom she had watched as though she 
 were Hermione. 
 
 As Maia's slave brought her mantle, to drape its folds, 
 and Maia's worn face shone beyond the close wrappings, 
 tightly drawn about chin and cheeks, for the day was cool, 
 she spoke as never she had before voiced her sorrow. The 
 pallor of her face, and the sweetness of her plaintive tones, 
 affected Timoleon to rare feeling. 
 
 " Maia ! Maia ! as the goddess says, ' Lead me, you 
 have found out the secret of moving me,' " he cried ; and, as 
 in the dawn of long ago, when he had lifted his hand and 
 hers, to point towards the great Citadel, Timoleon once 
 again enclosed her palm in his. " Maia Maia when 
 women love as you love, the dear gods crown hope. We
 
 ATHENS HEARS THE TRUTH 387 
 
 shall yet be a family full of joy. You will have found Ion. 
 I will have Myrto to wife, and Hermione will have two 
 daughters, instead of one. Weep not to such eyes, weep- 
 ing should be forbidden." 
 
 Maia's tall shape bent over Timoleon. Her close en- 
 wrapped face touched his cheek, as she murmured, though 
 the bright drops still fell, 
 
 " Your words put sorrow to sleep, dear Timoleon. In- 
 deed you have comforted me. Await me, here. It will 
 ease my ache of fear to know you are to be found, upon 
 my return. I know not why, but all day I have had the 
 feeling that news of some sort was to come." 
 
 And she left him. 
 
 Maia's apprehensive fears were verified. She returned 
 to find her courts in an uproar. Friends had come from 
 the Pirasus, with terrifying tidings. A boat load of hop- 
 lites, who had miraculously made their escape from Mes- 
 sina, had landed at the Piraeus. 
 
 " They report Demosthenes captured. Nicias immedi- 
 ately surrendered, on hearing the news. Awful had been 
 the slaughter of our army. The Syracusan swept our men 
 down, like ripe corn. They followed them, killing as they 
 went. And now 'tis but a handful that's left. And these, 
 Oh Timoleon! Oh Maia, how can I tell you? these 
 few thousands are dying by inches ! they are penned in 
 like dogs ! they are rotting in the Syracusan quarries ! " 
 
 Such was the tale a grey-haired general brought, from 
 the docks. He and all who heard him, groaned and 
 moaned. Even the strongest were not ashamed to weep. 
 
 With the passing of the first wild outburst, at the hear- 
 ing of the awful fate of Athenians, a curious calm came to 
 Maia. Her mind seemed suddenly made up. A decision 
 and a grave one, was to be read in her solemn face. The
 
 3 88 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 low, rich tones of her voice, were attuned to the inward 
 registering of a vow. 
 
 . Until her house was emptied of the agitated crowd of 
 visitors, however, Maia kept her own counsels. 
 
 She begged Euripides and Timoleon to remain. When 
 her courts were solitary, she swept her friends onward, to 
 the pastas. There she unfolded her plan. Euripides knew 
 her secret, all her life she had told him. And now she 
 confided the project she intended to put into action, to 
 these two, who loved her. 
 
 She should give orders to Mago to go straight to Corinth. 
 There he was to hire a large, swift ship. He was to man it 
 with Corinthian seamen. He was to say that " Maia, the 
 Corinthian rich Nirias's former companion his widow 
 and his heiress, was turning her back on Athens, since Ath- 
 ens' Empire had fallen. She longed, in common with all 
 Athens' enemies, to see great Syracuse, to look upon the 
 brave heroes who had brought Athens low. 
 
 " Every word of this will Corinth believe. For in her 
 hate of Athens, to hear of others' hate, will bring her joy," 
 cried Maia, with the new fierce flame in her eyes, that had 
 dawned there, since the news that Ion was imprisoned 
 in the quarries, had come. " For I know he is there," Maia 
 asserted, with a convincing calm that drowned all opposi- 
 tion. ' 'Twas there I know now I have always seen 
 him in those dreams of mine. He was far down at 
 some great depth 'twas from some awful place, dim and 
 dark, his face shone. And his voice called, ' Maia! Maia! ' 
 O Ion, beloved, I come, I come! " 
 
 Like a Sybil, uplifted to celestial heights, thrilled with 
 ecstatic joy, Maia's face as she threw her head back, letting 
 forth her great cry, was the face of one transfigured. Never 
 had her two listeners looked upon the like; never should 
 they again. For even to hearts capable of love such as
 
 ATHENS HEARS THE TRUTH 389 
 
 Maia's such a tidal wave of emotion comes but once, in a 
 lifetime. 
 
 Before she set forth, Maia, in calmer mood, bade Timo- 
 leon do for her that which she, had this great chance not 
 come to her, had intended doing. 
 
 He must go to Euboea. He must see Hermione; he 
 must win, if he could, Myrto. Above all, he must look out 
 for the fate and fortunes of these dear ones. Their state 
 was too lonely too isolated in far-away Euboea. A 
 man's care and guidance were imperative. 
 
 "And your history dear Maia? Am I free to tell 
 all?" 
 
 " Not yet," Maia answered, having deliberated before 
 this her reply "There is nothing to be gained, as yet, by 
 confession. On my return, when I find Ion, I will ask my 
 mother's blessing." 
 
 " But, surely, Maia, you forget, Hermione will consider, 
 and rightly, that her daughter is still bound to Ion. She 
 is his betrothed, still, remember." 
 
 Maia gave Timoleon's anxious eyes, and his clever face, 
 a peculiarly intelligent glance. 
 
 " Dear Timoleon, Hermione is not to know of my 
 journey. If, in a month's time, I am not returned, and 
 Ion with me, then well then the worst has hap- 
 pened. Get Hermione to promise you Myrto, if no news 
 comes of Ion, within that space of time." 
 
 Euripides smiled. At last he had even found Maia 
 wonderful adorable Maia! out of whose many-sided char- 
 acter he had found traits that were valuable hints for sev- 
 eral Antigones and Electras, yet Maia, also, was now prov- 
 ing herself a true woman. She could act the heroine, and 
 yet could manage to plot, to play a trick upon fate! How 
 true were all women, even the greatest, to the types he 
 had presented!
 
 390 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Timoleon being a man, and not a play-wright, found 
 Maia's clever suggestion only another proof of her amaz- 
 ing ability. Lucky he, indeed, who could have such as she 
 to call sister! 
 
 In less than a week, Maia had started for Corinth.
 
 Chapter XXXIV 
 
 THE QUARRIES 
 
 IN Syracuse, the first, light rains of autumn had fallen. 
 Gardens, fields, and parched soil blossomed anew, after the 
 scorching summer's aridity. The white city rose up from 
 its Harbours shining, glistening, carrying upward the spirals 
 of its cypresses that cut the cobalt blue skies, like bronze 
 lances held proudly upright. 
 
 It was the last day but one of the Festival of the 
 Thesmophoria. The city rang with the songs and cries of 
 women. 
 
 The chief celebrants were singing and dancing within 
 their great building, one carefully copied after the famous 
 Eleusinian, at Athens. Their shouts resounded through- 
 out the streets close to the temple. 
 
 Bands of worshippers, whose spirited piety called for 
 more vigorous outlet, had swung, hand in hand, down from 
 temple steps to open squares. These were to be seen 
 swirling, in frenzied rapture, through crooked ways, and 
 narrow streets. 
 
 Two ladies, one of whom was an unmistakeable Syra- 
 cusan, were attempting to thread their way up from the 
 lower city to the Necropolis. They found their way 
 blocked. 
 
 A band of celebrants, a long, loose-linked chain, had 
 stretched hands across the width of a certain street. They 
 sang, as they danced " Demeter Demeter Glory to 
 Demeter! Sovereign goddess give us fair offspring! 
 beauteous men-children to garner thy harvests to worship 
 
 391
 
 392 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Aphrodite to hold to conquer the Athenians ! De- 
 meter ! Demeter ! " 
 
 Round and round sped the whirling, half naked, mad- 
 dened group. Shouting, clapping their hands, their long 
 hair streamed in the light breeze. All wore thick full 
 garlands. In the frenzy of the dance, wreaths and gar- 
 lands were now tossed, now swept from brows to bosom, 
 and from open neck to swaying hips. 
 
 One of the Maenad-like circle suddenly clashed her silver 
 cymbals high in air. She turned, swirling around the 
 nearest street corner. She had given the signal for the ring 
 to break, for the linked hands to be loosened, and for the 
 gay band to whirl itself away, shouting as it sped. 
 
 The Syracusan and her companion were now enabled to 
 proceed on their way. The Syracusan stopped for a mo- 
 ment, to puff and blow out her breath. For the autumn 
 sun was hot, and the narrow street was steep. 
 
 With her draped chiton held tight in both hands, she 
 stood, with hands on hips. 
 
 " Marvellous is it not ? Saw you ever a Thesmophoria 
 as splendid? We Syracusans, alone, of all cities, know 
 rightly how to honour Demeter! And this year, the dear 
 goddess knows we have reason to worship ! " The woman's 
 eyes sparkled with pride. She craned her neck backward, 
 as she voiced her exultation; she must see the very last of 
 the dancers. 
 
 Her companion, a stately, golden-haired beauty, sent the 
 Syracusan a contemptuous glance. Her tones were coolly 
 satirical, as she answered : 
 
 " In Athens, the matrons worship Demeter in very dif- 
 ferent fashion." Then, with an impatient start, she cried: 
 " Are we nearing the quarries? " 
 
 " Oh-h you'll know soon enough when we are near," 
 laughed the Syracusan, with brutal delight, " your nostrils
 
 THE QUARRIES 393 
 
 will tell you, before your eyes can feast on the sight. My! 
 but it's sport to see those wretches wriggle to be- 
 hold them squirm, like the worms they are! What was it? 
 Did a bee sting you? They are plentiful here, and so are 
 the flies. Ha! Ha! flies don't lade for food now! 
 Well and what makes you stumble? One would think 
 you had the palsy. See there they are! There's always 
 a long string of them! You can't keep some women away 
 from a sight like that even on a feast day. When the 
 theatre is full, many leave the play before it's quite done, 
 to get the best places. Well one more pull and a 
 long afternoon ahead of us to enjoy the sport ! " 
 
 For a few more seconds the two made their way in 
 silence. Then the garrulous southerner burst, anew, into 
 speech. " You never told me where you bought these ear- 
 rings. And that necklace! Your gems are worth a for- 
 tune. That old Nirias must have doted on you! Well, 
 some women are lucky, and some the gods delight to scourge. 
 Now I'm as honest as any, and as pious, yet, though I'm 
 lawfully married, I've wished a hundred times I had served 
 Aphrodite instead of making offering to Hera. Heigho! 
 but life is a comedy ! Where did you say you secured those 
 doves? In Athens? Ah-h I thought not. Corinthian 
 artists work for women who know the true value of gems! 
 Those poor, imprisoned Athenian women! Well their 
 husbands and sons are now having a taste of prison life. 
 Ha ha! it warms one's heart to think of them dying 
 like worms. Warm you too? Well let's slow our 
 pace. There's all the afternoon before us ! " 
 
 Maia was glad of the moment's rest. She had not, as 
 yet, fully measured her strange weakness ; and the trembling 
 that now shook her frame gave her nervous fears of her 
 lasting force. Should she indeed be able to hold to the end ? 
 Could she reach the hill-top? She swept her scent bottle
 
 394 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 below her nostrils; she was glad to lean, panting, worn, 
 chilled with the mounting fever of anxious apprehension, 
 against the nearest statue-pedestal. 
 
 It was during the long sea voyage that the shining of 
 Maia's bright certainty of hope, in her venture, had waned. 
 Alone with Athens and friends left far behind, sailing 
 across new, unknown seas, a braver soul than Maia's might 
 well have found high courage drooping. In the long days, 
 and longer nights, no comforting visions had visited Maia's 
 brooding despair. For the lethargy of despair was, in- 
 deed, upon her. Her soul as had her body had 
 swooned beneath the langour of these southern skies. 
 Athens' brisk, keen air swept moral tonic to one's worst 
 state. Here, the Sicilian tropical clime made the spirit 
 droop, sicken with eating doubt, a prey to dread despair. 
 
 Each moment, since her landing, had been prolonged 
 torture. For she must play her part. To this Syracusan 
 and her husband the corn merchant who once had come 
 to Corinth, as Nirias' house agent, he who had told Nirias 
 the tale of the Egestaean trickery to these two the 
 sole Syracusans to whom it mattered she was come as a 
 Corinthian as Nirias' widow and heiress. Her journey 
 was purely one of pleasure. 
 
 Even now, as she was pushing onward, to the quarries, 
 Mago was haunting the markets. He was industriously 
 spreading the lie. 
 
 Praxionoe, the Syracusan, as they mounted upward, was 
 telling her, and for the hundredth time, that, for her part, 
 had she been a widow, and rich " and a Corinthian," Maia's 
 journey of all voyages was the one she would have chosen 
 to undertake. 
 
 " Where else could you go to gain greater pleasure ? 
 It's a feast day here as you have seen for yourself 
 every day of our week. Wait till you see the theatre
 
 THE QUARRIES 395 
 
 packed, and hear Syracusan shouts! That's what the 
 Athenians heard our shouting, as their fleet went to 
 pieces. And the few that are alive, will never hear the 
 like! pity more aren't able to tell stay-at-home Athenians 
 how Syracusans sang in chorus, from shore to shore, on 
 that glorious day, to join in with the war-paon! Ha! 
 Ha! I shall hear that chorus ringing in my ears as 
 long as life lasts." 
 
 Would the woman never have done? For a night and a 
 day, she and the city had echoed this, their noisy triumph. 
 Every song was stinging torture, every cry a stab. Yet 
 Maia bore it, as she bore now with the Syracusan's 
 coarse gloating. Soon Ah soon! it must be ended, or 
 human endurance would find its strength ebbing. 
 
 The two women had reached the top of the hill. The 
 great theatre, hewn in the living rock, even now, at this 
 tremendous moment, caught and fixed Maia's trained eyes. 
 Its cylindrical perfection claimed, and won, Athenian ad- 
 miration. Towards the left, above the upper tiers of seats, 
 stretched the Necropolis. Its gleaming statues, mosaics, 
 and bronzes glistened in the bright sunlight. The road that 
 lay between the tombs was a glittering, gorgeously decked 
 pathway. And below both burying-ground and theatre lay 
 the City, its gold and marbles hurrying to meet the dis- 
 tant blues and the nearer jade-like greens of the great 
 Harbour. 
 
 Maia had caught the vast outlook, at a single glance. 
 The immensity of the Harbour made her heart strings 
 tighten. In that vast liquid circle Athens' greatness had 
 gone down! 
 
 The next instant she felt herself gasping for breath. 
 The air that had been swept outward, to stifle her lungs, 
 was of such putrid quality, she was sent, hurrying, in- 
 stinctively, to seek for freer, less befouled spaces.
 
 396 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 The Syracusan followed. She laughed, as she moved, 
 and her eyes were aflame with pride. 
 
 "Ah-h what did I tell you? The stench is as great 
 as I promised is it not ? Never was there known such a 
 smell! You're not used to it And to us 'tis almost 
 sweet ! For they're dying yonder by the dozens the 
 rotting bodies are doing their work. Come we'll have 
 to work hard for good places I see the crowd's a thick 
 one!" 
 
 Praxinoe's face, as she grasped Maia, hurrying her 
 towards the quarries to the right, was the face of a gloating 
 fury. 
 
 " Oh-h! Oh-h! " moaned Maia, though she now walked 
 onward. For the life of her she could not help the groan 
 voicing her anguish. 
 
 Praxinoe shot Maia a sharp, disapproving look. " Ha! 
 Ha! A Corinthian and soft of heart! Your tender 
 sympathies need hardening then for you'll see sights now 
 to stir the stoutest ! Oh, ye gods ! What a crowd ! How 
 shall we ever push our way through such a throng? Ah 
 my friend, don't crush me. There's room enough for two, 
 if only one is polite. Did you ever see such a bold 
 creature? Maia look how well the folds of her chiton 
 fall almost as well as yours. She must have had an 
 Athenian model. By august Athena but Athenians 
 know how to dress if they have lost the art of fighting. 
 How long did you say you were in Athens? Long enough 
 to catch their tricks of fashion I see that. I wonder you 
 didn't catch a second husband. The Athenians are fine 
 men they looked as brave and noble, as Mars himself, 
 that day of the great sea fight. But Lord how our 
 ships ! 
 
 " Good heavens we'll never get a place. All the best 
 places are taken I told you they would be ! You must be
 
 THE QUARRIES 397 
 
 close to the edge If you wish to see the best of the sport. 
 There there don't cry out my beauties! There's 
 room enough for two more on this bank. Ah-h-h at 
 last! We can see everything. That's right, bend over. 
 Did you ever see the like? Aren't they for all the world 
 like monkies? Nobles! these Athenians! Ah, ha! See 
 them squirm ! " 
 
 The road above the theatre, to the left, had led them to 
 an abyss. In the black gulf that yawned below this opening, 
 both the features of as well as the strange uses to which the 
 deep pit of the quarry had been put, were at first confused, 
 indistinguishable. One seemed peering into one of earth's 
 mysterious depths, out of whose awful womb any horrors 
 might emerge. 
 
 As though to mark the more strongly the contrast be- 
 tween the heaven above of Sicilian skies, and that black 
 mouth of a hell, the upper grassy edge of the abyss was 
 fringed with Syracusan beauties. The intense southern sun- 
 light shone upon ripe lips, and liquid laughing eyes. Ex- 
 quisitely chiselled features and young fair necks leant over 
 the opening, gems glittered on bared arms, and pearl fillets 
 clasped the luxuriant tresses of these richly-dowered south- 
 ern types of women. 
 
 Maia had been scarce conscious of the day's audience that 
 hung over this Syracusan quarry. She had only felt a great 
 trembling seize upon her, and a wild an all but ungov- 
 ernable rage. It seemed as though naught but this sense- 
 less, laughing, chattering crowd of men and women stood 
 between her and her Ion. Her one impulse was to press for- 
 ward, to push, to harm or hurt, if need were, that she might 
 be among those who stood closest to the awful brink. 
 
 Her eyes, blinded by the outer blaze of the intense sun- 
 light, enabled her, at first, as she bent downwards, merely to 
 descry the deep, wide chasm. A blueish, gaseous light
 
 398 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 hung, thin, vaporous, between the upper brighter air, and 
 what lay below, at the bottom of the quarry. 
 
 Little by little she saw clearer and yet more clearly. 
 Down the sides of the brown opening there trickled streams 
 of moisture. Below far below these rivulets had 
 formed pools. These pools were brown they were 
 choked with foul matter. Tufts of weeds and sprouting 
 grasses, here and there, had grown their germs into the 
 loose, uneven sides of the quarries. And their brightness, 
 as their leaves caught the light, seemed to mock the grim 
 horrors below. 
 
 As the features of that awful hell revealed themselves, 
 Maia reeled. Long since she had ceased to hear Praxinoe's 
 cruel chatter. She heard nothing, saw naught indeed, but 
 what lay or crawled there, below, far below, among the 
 foul pools. 
 
 The brown spectres moving there, were surely not alive. 
 They bore little or no semblance to men. One or two of 
 the spectres sat up, lifted a spectral hand and Maia's 
 terrified cry broke from her. 
 
 She saw she knew now what those brown skeletons 
 were. 
 
 " God is it possible ? Oh God ! God ! " 
 
 Maia's wail of horror startled the gay crowd of look- 
 ers-on. Women's faces, below their flower-wreathed heads 
 stared, in amazement, at the new-comer. Some laughed, 
 light, scornful laughter. Others scanned Maia's stricken 
 face, with suspicion. Even Praxinoe eyed her, with a fear- 
 stricken glance. She pushed her full lips towards Maia's 
 ear. " For the love of the gods, keep silent ! They'll think 
 you an Athenian and where will I be? " 
 
 Maia summoned a smile. Her pallor she could not con- 
 trol. She leant further away from the grassy brink. " It 
 it sickens one at first," she made haste to say, as loud
 
 THE QUARRIES 399 
 
 as she was able. Then she took pains to sweep her bottle 
 of unguent below her nostrils. But a new diversion was 
 being furnished, and Maia and her silly fussiness were for- 
 gotten. 
 
 The roar of roused but enfeebled lions, wasted to the 
 famishing point, rose up from the pit. A brown mass of 
 naked, tattered starvlings had risen, like an army, from un- 
 seen holes and crevices. With shrieks and yells, the mass 
 flung itself upon some scattered bits of food. The fight was 
 the fight of men turned to beasts. The brown mass was 
 kicking, pushing, beating, squirming, snarling. Now a 
 slimy skeleton would emerge, painfully, from the packed 
 mass of humanity above him, his cheeks stuffed. Once free 
 he would be seen running like a deer to hide his prize. 
 Others, having secured a morsel, hurried off to the inner 
 quarries, bent on sharing it with a less fortunate com- 
 rade. Some made no effort to compete with their fren- 
 zied comrades. Many were too weak to stand, or even to 
 crawl. And others dared not move lest a strip of a blanket, 
 on which they were sitting, might be lost. For Sicilian 
 nights in autumn were cold ; and to possess a night covering 
 was next in bliss to being fed or ransomed. 
 
 Maia had strained her eyes to the uttermost. Each 
 wasted shape, every brown, yellow, or grey-blue face had 
 been scanned, searched, and relinquished, with an inward 
 moan that was half relief, half despair. How could she 
 bear to find in one of those crawling, shrunken, bestial 
 shapes her beloved Ion? Yet how could she live, were he 
 not among these his fellow sufferers? For alive he must be; 
 she knew him, felt him to be living. Of that fact she was as 
 certain as of her own fever-strung anguish. Since ever she 
 had leant over the quarry, Ion's face had seemed ever coming 
 towards her nearer and yet nearer. She could almost 
 hear his tread, feel his actual presence.
 
 400 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Praxinoe's shrill cry now startled Maia. The women 
 seemed gone fairly mad with delight. 
 
 " See Oh see ! " cried Praxinoe, " the big man he's 
 a wonder! " 
 
 The giant, who had appeared, was a favourite. Cries and 
 shouts were sent downwards. 
 
 " He's the Scythian of the quarries ! Hello ! Scythian ! 
 you've work on hand to-day " the women shouted down, 
 to the huge shape, as it came within the circle of light. 
 With an effort at a grotesque gesture one it was 
 pitiful to see the monster, as he emerged into the light, 
 attempted to give the salute comic actors made use of upon 
 the stage. The trick had won him food before. A shower 
 of sesame cakes rewarded him now. The gaunt face smiled. 
 It was the wide grin of a living skull. The lookers-on 
 continued to accost the " Scyth." 
 
 "Ha! Ha! Another Athenian gone to hell! Charon 
 will be busy this week they're dying off rapidly!" 
 All laughed at the brilliant sally. Not a woman's 
 face had blanched; not a smile had paled. Eyes had, in- 
 deed, brightened. The Syracusans felt they had not wasted 
 their day. The show had been better, if anything, than 
 usual. For as the giant had come forward, one of the 
 prisoners had fallen, had struggled, for an instant, and now 
 lay dead. 
 
 "Dance! Dance!" cried out, imperiously, a delicate- 
 visaged girl. As she leant over the dreadful abyss, she was 
 a vision of frail beauty. Her draperies clung to a shape 
 as delicately modelled as Psyche's. Her amber-tinted 
 hair had escaped her jewel-studded fillet. Its soft curls 
 encircled her slender throat and brow. Her eyes were 
 tender were melting. Her lips were scarlet with excite- 
 ment. She was clapping her hand joyously, like a pleased 
 child, as she shouted down her commands.
 
 THE QUARRIES 401 
 
 " I'll give you a whole basket, all to yourself. But you 
 must dance for it!" cried the divinity, and she struck the 
 Scythian with a cake. 
 
 Maia felt her knees giving away. Could she indeed en- 
 dure to go on looking? Death-like chills were now shak- 
 ing her. She felt as though turned to stone. Ah ! were 
 
 it but a dream this hell about her! That brilliant, 
 jewel-gleaming, flower-decked circlet of cruel, horrible 
 women! Surely they were no women! They were furies 
 Hecate's offsprings, clad in costly raiments, with hearts 
 of stone! 
 
 That Scythian's dance! Could mortal eyes look upon 
 such a sight and not cry aloud, in pity? 
 
 For the gaunt monster was now dancing. His giant legs 
 were thin as reeds but the beast within was starving, and 
 the beast willed them to dance. Now his feet met, then they 
 were lifted; next the huge shape was flung quickly about, 
 in a circle, whirling in his mad wild dance. It was surely a 
 scene for devils only. 
 
 The amber-draped divinity still smiled her gay smile. 
 She was leaning now as far over the bank as she dared, 
 without endangering her safety. Her gold-fringed fan was 
 beating time to the monster's steps. 
 
 " By the Graces, but he remembers his steps. Here 
 take this ! " and the girl tossed the giant a covered basket, 
 thickly packed. She took it from a slave's hand. " He'll 
 live a week on that and dance all the better for the wine 
 there is in it." The girl's eyes suddenly beamed as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Ah here's luck ! here are the Inseparables, Damon 
 and Pythias we call them. It is days since I've seen them 
 have you or you seen them?" and the girl turned, 
 questioning, her eyes alight, to her neighbours. 
 
 Two shapes now emerged from the inner recesses of the
 
 402 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 abyss. One the frailer of the two apparently was 
 upheld by his companion; he moved as might walk a jointed 
 skeleton. His great eyes shone with feverish light. The 
 skin that revealed, rather than covered his anatomy, was 
 that of a Persian. 
 
 Maia scarcely breathed. The mere sight of the lightish 
 copper skin had made her heart stop. " Yet " she cried 
 to her tortured soul tormented with the long strain of 
 looking, of watching for a sign, for a familiar gesture, " yet 
 though these walk indeed like men a little less like beasts 
 surely they seem quite old these two quite " 
 
 The gold and amber-draped girl was sing-songing again, 
 in her languid Sicilian accents: 
 
 " They are never apart you see. They always walk 
 thus they keep entirely to themselves. One doesn't al- 
 was see them, either. One of them the Athenian, not 
 the Persian was ill for a long time. The other the 
 dark one kept him alive by giving him his slave's ra- 
 tions " 
 
 The two shapes were now in full sunlight. And one of 
 them had turned his eyes and face upwards. For a single 
 instant the hollowed eyes had stared, had flashed a startled 
 glance upward. Then, as though he had seen a vision, only 
 as quickly to have it vanish, he turned to his companion, 
 and spoke to him. 
 
 And, under skies that were tropical, Maia had turned to 
 ice, then to lead. Her senses were so benumbed, she had no 
 power even to cry out. 
 
 For one of the skeletons was Ion.
 
 Chapter XXXV 
 
 ION SINGS 
 
 As Ion emerged from the inner recesses of the quarries, he 
 and Persia moved with their now habitual enfeebled steps. 
 Persia had urged their going to the mouth of the quarry, 
 to seek the air. The fever that for weeks had racked his 
 beloved master's frame, had left Ion such a legacy of lan- 
 quor as to make his living state match death's inertia. 
 
 Ion, weak, and a skeleton, was proving the vigour and 
 staying quality of his unspent, unwasted physical force. In 
 hell though he was, he was slowly, surely, creeping back to 
 life. 
 
 Night after night Persia had stripped his own body to 
 cover his dear master's wasted frame; and, since his con- 
 valescence, the half slave's rations given each prisoner had 
 been cunningly mixed with Ion's portion. Persia had starved 
 that his master might live. The re-action had come. 
 Persia felt the on-coming of the dread enemy, from which 
 he had saved his master. 
 
 "Dear Master let us seek the opening. I know not 
 what possesses me but a breath of even that befouled air 
 I must have," he had gasped, as he had stretched forth his 
 emaciated hand to lean upon Ion's arm. 
 
 In an instant Ion's skeleton arm was about his dear 
 Persia. Ion's face, drawn, fever-wasted, showed a quick 
 flicker of fear. "Dearest Persia art suffering? Art 
 faint? Oh lean upon me! Indeed I am strong fear 
 not. Let me bear you hence. I am stronger than you 
 think." Ion's sudden alarm lent him a supernatural 
 
 403
 
 404 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 energy. He half carried, half dragged his slave onward. 
 
 As the Scythian had passed, his covered basket glutton- 
 ously clutched, Persia had emitted a faint gasp. His eyes 
 grew wild 
 
 " Master I believe he carried food. Some one has 
 thrown him a full basket." Even as he whispered his 
 guess, Persia felt himself seized by a strange, an overwhelm- 
 ing force. A new, an unknown Persia had been born 
 at the mere suspicion of fair food. This new being was a 
 monster of furious, devouring appetite one gentle Persia 
 could no more control than he might up-bear /Etna's might. 
 
 Persia suddenly began to obey this new, this awful 
 monster. It bade him work upon Ion, play upon him, 
 caress him into procuring from the gay furies aloft, what 
 the Scythian had won. 
 
 " Master dear, dear Master what he has done 
 might not we do? If there is food to be won? 
 surely " and Persia's long fingers were fondling Ion's 
 arm, his immense eyes, rolling in deep hollow sockets, wooed 
 his master with cringing, pleading looks. 
 
 Ion gave Persia a glance of amazement. Persia only 
 too obviously was sickening. Ion felt himself summoning 
 all his strength to soothe to comfort his slave. 
 
 " Let us first see what is happening dear Persia 
 if any new torture has been invented by these furies ! or 
 if the Charites merciful sisters have worked upon 
 their hard hearts." 
 
 With his arm now tightened about Persia's limp frame, 
 Ion suddenly emerged, from the gloom of the inner quar- 
 ries, into full sunlight. 
 
 The strong southern sunshine, slanting downward, ob- 
 liquely, produced its usual effects. Ion's eyes, weakened by 
 want and disease, could not withstand the blaze. For a 
 moment he groped his way, leading Persia. And instinc-
 
 ION SINGS 405 
 
 tively he lifted his free hand, to screen his suddenly be- 
 dimmed, tear-rimmed orbs. 
 
 The familiar, accustomed sights, as he sent his gaze up- 
 ward, met his vision. The grasses, and out-shooting shrubs, 
 that made a pleasant mockery of greenness between the 
 adorable blues of the Sicilian skies and the reeking filth 
 and odours below, these green sword-blades and the spirals 
 of the sprouting shrubs, were waving lightly, gaily, in mid- 
 air. 
 
 About the quarries' upper edge, he saw the familiar circle 
 gathered. The faces, some young and lovely, others hard 
 and painted, were, if not the very same, of the now well 
 known Syracusan ripe type; parasols and faces were held 
 above the towering head gear; and the intense light shone 
 through the pink, blue, and crimson textures of the parasols, 
 throwing a strange glamour of harmonious tinting on the 
 women's bent faces and bared shoulders. 
 
 Ion's ears caught the circling ring of the continuous jeer- 
 ing and insults. The women were clapping, as each and 
 every day they had clapped, at this lengthened comedy of 
 Athens' a-dying. 
 
 As Ion's gaze travelled on, from group to group, he al- 
 most smiled, in his bitterness: certain faces were become 
 so familiar, among these tormentors, they seemed almost 
 friends. There was the woman with the pearl fillet she 
 who laughed the loudest of all! and there, close to the 
 strong-voiced woman, was the delicate-visaged creature, who 
 looked the angel, and who commonly led the more brutal of 
 all the sports. To-day she wore amber jewels and honey- 
 tinted draperies. 
 
 Ah-ha ! a new face a strange shape had made its ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 Were the heavens, indeed, about to open to carry him 
 and sickening Persia upward? For God in Heaven! this
 
 406 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 woman's face looked kind! It actually shone and glowed 
 with tender, human feeling. It had O wild delight ! 
 this lovely face had in its yearning sweetness something of 
 divine Maia's look. How the mere thought of such re- 
 semblance made him pulse! How or where the impulse 
 came, Ion never knew. Almost insensibly, he lifted his 
 voice and sang 
 
 " Mighty Power, all powers above, 
 
 Great unconquerable love. 
 Thou who liest in dimple sleek 
 On the tender virgin's cheek " 
 
 Ion's song, even as his thoughts travelled thus, suddenly 
 came to an end. His strength, he found, was gone. He 
 had no voice left for the anti-strophe. 
 
 A loud clapping rewarded his effort. Shouts of " Evoe 
 Saboie Evoe ! " 
 
 Ion smiled upward his thanks. He saluted, with the 
 best grace he could master. His pleading eyes swept the 
 circle. It was not applause, but food, he was longing to 
 have flung down to him. 
 
 A single sesame cake shot downwards. Like one brought 
 to life by miraculous means, Persia had sprung had 
 jumped, and he caught the sweet morsel ere it fell he 
 had crunched it in the very teeth of his master. For this 
 monster within was more powerful than love or the sense 
 of servitude. 
 
 Persia's eyes glittered more brightly than before, his face 
 had a bestial look as he went close to Ion, to whine 
 with a fierce animal growl 
 
 " Oh-h can you not finish the ode ? With the anti- 
 strophe they would surely fling down more cakes ! " And 
 then he felt himself swaying. But Ion caught him ; he held
 
 ION SINGS 407 
 
 him close, and to his inflamed eyes, Ion sent loving, soothing 
 looks. 
 
 " Dear Persia, I'll even dance for the devils, if 'twill 
 soften their cruelty. I'll try the anti-strophe but are 
 they not calling for something else? What is it they wish? 
 There dear Persia, lie thus, at rest." Spreading his 
 mantle, he placed Persia's wasted shape upon the ground. 
 Then he went forward, lifted his head, and opened his lips. 
 
 On and on Ion now sang, his voice gathering amazing 
 strength and fulness, as his notes rang up. With that sem- 
 blance to Maia above, smiling as Maia might have smiled; 
 and with the thickening memories swarming within, Ion 
 was, for a brief instant the old young Ion ; he was breathing 
 fresh forest scents he was feeling Maia's fragrant shape 
 linked with his, as they trod the silver world of Arcadia; 
 and, married to his own voice, were Maia's glorious trilling 
 tones. Their chorusing song was swinging up to the moon- 
 lit arches. 
 
 Even as he sang, out of the happy vision a real joy came. 
 For Maia's pictured self seemed waving above the open- 
 ing a filmy lilac veil. Her imaged likeness had caught 
 the very gesture! Thus had Maia waved, in farewell, 
 from the steps of Aphrodite's sanctuary, as the fleet sailed 
 away. Zeus and the dear gods, one and all! But how 
 far away seemed that bright Athenian world ! And what a 
 mockery for him to be singing, to Syracusan fiends, his 
 and Maia's own dear love song, and for that dear tantaliz- 
 ing angel to practice Maia's very gesture, and to wave, thus, 
 to one in hell! 
 
 Ion felt the tremor of a great weakness succeed the 
 instant's uplift. He was forced, and quickly, to steady his 
 enfee' ed limbs. 
 
 The divinity was still shining down upon him this true 
 angel's face was surely blooming from out heaven's blue, to
 
 4 o8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 send him the hope of a fair Nemesis! This lovely being 
 had actually stolen Maia's eyes ! the very stoop of her 
 shoulders was hers and she wore Maia's own preferred 
 amethystine draperies Blessed be the Athenian gods she 
 had come ! For with her had dawned a new, a radiant-orbed 
 hope. ,He would sing to the shape, as though she were 
 indeed Maia. Perhaps she, with her kind human eyes, 
 might toss Persia a second sesame cake. 
 
 Ion straightened his wasted frame. And he drew in his 
 breath. Even at this supreme moment, his early orchestral 
 training came to yield him succor. Feeble, quavering, the 
 notes he essayed to voice, grew fuller, stronger. Up 
 through the quivering air he sent the whole of Sophocles' 
 incomparable ode. The furies aloft had ceased their loud 
 chattering. And the sick and the dying below held their 
 faint breath their moans were stilled. 
 
 When he stopped, Ion moved backward to place Persia 
 closer to the wall of the opening, and then he once again 
 went forward. 
 
 The crowd aloft were now shouting downwards 
 
 "Euripides! Give us something of your Euripides!" 
 
 " Give us a chorus ! " 
 
 "An ode! An ode!" 
 
 Euripides was new to the Syracusans. Few, if any, of 
 his great plays had been given in the theatre. Those 
 Sicilians who had heard his masterpieces given at the Festi- 
 vals or Games, in Hellas, had brought back enthusiastic 
 praise of his genius. 
 
 This singing Athenian, below, in that foul prison, looked 
 better born thai most of the prisoners. He might be able 
 to give some of the famous Athenian Euripidean choruses 
 since he knew his Sophocles so well. A passionate lover 
 of theatrical novelties a tall handsome Syracusan, thought 
 of this possibility, and acted upon it.
 
 ION SINGS 409 
 
 "An Euripidean chorus one of the best and a full 
 basket shall be sent to you ! " he cried out, lustily, to Ion. 
 
 Ion felt his very soul rise up in gratitude. And Persia 
 was softly crying, for pure joy. 
 
 Once again Ion straightened his tall, emaciated frame. 
 He had begun to chant slowly : 
 
 " O great is the bliss of the great to enjoy," when, 
 suddenly, without due warning, both voice and memory 
 failed him. 
 
 Ion's mind was a blank. Not a word, not a line could 
 be wooed to present itself. Ion repeated the first lines, 
 striving thus to court his wayward memory. But his brain 
 was an empty ball. 
 
 He stood, palsied, trembling, the sweat of desperation 
 upon him. His plight was pitiful to see. 
 
 His audience, meanwhile, had perceived the Athenian's 
 despair, or guessed his ignorance. Syracusan mercy was 
 meted out to him. Jeers, hisses, curses rang in chorus 
 a hellish sound. Even those within the pit muttered fiend- 
 ishly. For suffering turns men to devils and all who had 
 heard the bribe, had counted on fighting for its possession. 
 
 Out of this circle of hellish chorusing, Ion's eyes sought 
 the comfort of Maia's counterpart. Were those dear re- 
 sembling features to soften to smile 
 
 Why ! the heavens were blue once more ! And his 
 mind had begun to work. The adorable being was bend- 
 ing forward. As she smiled, he could actually see the 
 glistening of bright eyes. Weeping and for him, per- 
 haps! Marvel of marvels! Ion almost laughed, to his 
 leaping pulses. These Syracusan fiends had made him for- 
 get women could weep! And now this Maia's very 
 image was trying to speak she was sending words and 
 such words, down into hell. This angel spoke Athenian 
 Greek! Greek!
 
 410 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Resonant, melodious, rhythmic, the familiar accents came. 
 The voice was saying 
 
 " Pray give us the chorus from Iphigenia. It begins, 
 does it not ' Happy They ' ? " 
 
 Ion would have heard the syllables above the roar of 
 crumbling worlds. For the voice matched the face. If 
 one could conceive of heaven-sent miracles, 'twas Maia in 
 the flesh! 
 
 The intoxicating thought lent Ion new-born forces. His 
 memory served him now. The lady's pure Ionic accent 
 had made his old self re-live. Athens, the Markets, the 
 Colonnades, the Theatre, the mighty Citadel, crowded thick 
 before his mind. As he sang on and on, he was singing his 
 old joyous days, his victories, his loves, his passionate ache 
 for home, and city, and father and Maia. 
 
 The sonorous, cadenced beauty of verse and song, pro- 
 duced their effect. Hell above and hell below were silenced. 
 
 The circle of the tormenting furies hung breathless, 
 tranced, about the brink. Tears came to the eyes of many. 
 Even strong men felt the quiver and strain of moved feel- 
 ing. Those who were in pain, close to Ion, forgot to 
 moan. And the dying smiled. For the fields of Elysium 
 were already reached; as they floated on, to Charon's wait- 
 ing boat, the gods had sent a singing choir, to make death 
 sweet. Athens lay shining, below the Temples on the Rock, 
 and Pallas Athena, in her armoured glory, was crowning 
 them, as heroes, in suffering. 
 
 When Ion came to the end of the chorus, there was a 
 long moment of stillness. It was broken by a man's loud 
 clapping and his shout 
 
 " By Apollo and all the muses ! but the creature has a 
 roice ! " cried out, lustily, this newly-come Syracusan. He, 
 in company with a band of fashionably attired youths, had
 
 ION SINGS 41I 
 
 swept up from the theatre, in time to hear Ion's chant- 
 ing. 
 
 The speaker, with a spring, had placed himself beside 
 the amber-draped beauty. His arm was about her waist, 
 his lips swept her cheek. 
 
 " Ah-h dearest Aphrodite I knew I should find you 
 here ! " the young man cried ; his eyes were full of mock- 
 ing indulgence. "And what new invention have you tried 
 to make dying harder you dear monster of iniquity ? " 
 The man ran his eyes, with devouring fondness, over the 
 delicate face and shape he had now drawn close to him. 
 
 The girl allowed herself to be thus appropriated. Her 
 face remained immovable. She kept her eyes plunged down- 
 ward, into the gulf below. Presently she murmured, caress- 
 ingly: 
 
 " Give him to me, Gamelion. Once he is fed and cared 
 for, he'll make a good singer. Give him to me instead 
 of those pearls. None of the others has as distinguished a 
 look." 
 
 The words were languorously enunciated. The man 
 was about to answer when, to the amazement of both, a 
 white face had swept between. 
 
 With all her wonted Athenian imperiousness, Maia was 
 standing before the two. Though her face was marble, her 
 voice was firm. 
 
 " Nay but ' tis I must claim him. By rights this 
 Athenian belongs to me. I had long since intended to buy 
 him. " 
 
 Maia's eyes rained their old look of authoritative com- 
 mand. 
 
 " Well of all the bold hussies ! A stranger a Corinthi- 
 an setting up claims over our prisoners over an Athe- 
 nian! Of all things! Gamelion, tell the guard to lower the
 
 4 i2 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 basket. " The Syracusan had suddenly developed the quick 
 Sicilian temper. 
 
 Maia all but closed the girl's lips. 
 
 With swift daring she had caught the girl's waist ; 
 she was whispering hoarsely in her ear the one furthest 
 away from her lover " Come I must speak to you 
 Oh, do not deny me! Make an excuse. I have something 
 of utmost importance to impart to you." 
 
 The girl stared, bit her lip, gave Maia's impassioned, be- 
 seeching face a comprehensive look, and lazily released 
 herself. " Keep my place, Gamelion, and bid the guard 
 wait this lady and I have something to say to each 
 other." 
 
 And the two swept away, together, beyond the crowd. 
 
 Once they had gained an isolated corner, Maia looked 
 down upon the delicate visage with all her soul in her face. 
 She bent over her. She fondled the limp hands, the slender 
 wrists; never had she sent the thrilling quality into her 
 tones as now. 
 
 " Listen O hear me ! You too are a woman, and 
 young. You also have loved your eyes tell me you are not 
 wholly unfeeling. That poor wretch yonder was once 
 my lover. I I loved him. I love him still. I came 
 here to save him. Will you help me? If you will half 
 of my fortune is yours. " 
 
 Never had Maia's beauty been as moving. A divine 
 radiance shone from her glistening, pleading eyes. All the 
 power of her soul she was pouring forth, to move this slim 
 creature to responsive quivering. 
 
 Her bold move appeared to have missed of its effect. 
 
 Aphrodite neither spoke nor stirred. Her soft languid 
 eyes scanned Maia's face as though she were reading a 
 scroll. She seemed chiefly marvelling that the loss or gain 
 of a lover and such a lover ! should move a woman to
 
 ION SINGS 4I3 
 
 tears. She watched the large, round drops fall, one by one, 
 on Maia's beautiful neck. 
 
 Then, suddenly, with amazing quickness, the features 
 
 melted. She smiled. One could easily divine men's love 
 
 of^this frail, perfectly finished little masterpiece; for her 
 
 smile had the sweetness and guileless simplicity of a child. 
 
 She lifted her chin. And her blue eyes met Maia's. 
 
 " Oh-h if he's been your lover, and you have come a 
 
 long journey, you must have him, of course. He isn't much 
 
 to save though, is he? No-o don't say that. I don't 
 
 want anything not money of all things. I have more 
 
 of that than I care for. " 
 
 For a single instant the girl held her breath. Then her 
 child's smile broadened. "Only if you will give me 
 these, as a remembrance, I will keep your secret. I will 
 try to help " 
 
 Maia's fingers were already busy, her voice was husky 
 with feeling, as she cried: 
 
 " Oh-h take them, and this, and this ! I shall pray 
 for you, I shall bless you always. " 
 
 She was tearing, as she spoke, at her ear-rings, necklace 
 and bracelet. As they fell from ears, throat, and arms 
 Aphrodite greedily clutched them. Her small hand closed 
 over the coveted treasures, and crying aloud, as she sped on- 
 ward, she hid her jewels in her girdle "Come let us 
 be quick something new is on. I hear shouting. " 
 The two hurried back to the quarry, hand in hand. 
 Ion they found still held his audience. But he was not 
 now alone. Others had crawled toward him, on hands 
 and feet. Some lay, too weak to rise. Others, like Ion, 
 stood upright. All were chanting, in concert. And 
 Euripides' chorus was a chorus indeed. 
 
 It had come to an end, as Maia and Aphrodite joined 
 the listeners.
 
 4H ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 A rain of cakes and scraps of food had rewarded the 
 singers. The former sickening scramble was repeated. 
 Maia saw Ion grasp one large morsel, and speed away. He 
 was now bending over Persia. He fed him as he might a 
 sick child. 
 
 Aphrodite meanwhile, had been true to her promise. 
 Whatever she had said to her lover had produced its 
 effects. She led the Syracusan toward Maia. " This is 
 the lady she has a taste for skeletons it appears. Go 
 with her show her the guard. Make him lower the 
 basket I'd like to see how he looks, in full daylight. " 
 
 Maia smiled her thanks, and followed. They swept to 
 the place where the guards stood. 
 
 " If you'll lower the basket immediately you'll not 
 lose your time, " said the man. And Maia immediately 
 opened her palm. 
 
 The foremost guard smiled, shook his head, then seeing 
 the size of the coins, scratched his head meditatively and 
 pulled out the ropes. 
 
 The basket was lowered. Its progress was skillfully 
 handled. As it dropped, it stood close beside Ion. 
 
 Ion and Persia stared, looked in each other's eyes, and 
 stood motionless. 
 
 A loud laugh rang down from the circle rimming the 
 quarry's upper edge. 
 
 Maia found that she had lost her strength. She could 
 neither speak nor talk. Her utmost power had been ex- 
 hausted. She could only look and stare and stare down- 
 wards. 
 
 The guard lost his patience. His shout now filled the 
 spaces of the air and of the abyss. 
 
 " You fool ! Can't you read luck when it stands beside 
 you ? " To further emphasize this meaning he whipped an 
 end of the cord towards Ion.
 
 ION SINGS 415 
 
 Ion's face cleared. His eyes were aglow for now he 
 understood. Among those furies, some one meant to buy 
 him to make him their slave. The joy seemed too great 
 to bear. 
 
 He felt Persia pushing him towards the basket. He 
 heard the envious roar of his less fortunate fellow sufferers. 
 He had actually placed one foot on the edge of the wicker 
 when Persia, he saw, was in tears. 
 
 " Kiss me dear Master once. I can now die happy 
 you are saved. " 
 
 But Ion on the instant had pulled himself away. He 
 had caught Persia to him he clasped him close. With 
 an arm about him who had indeed saved his life, Ion lifted 
 his head. He shook it, as he cried upwards, with a firm 
 voice : 
 
 " Whoever you may be O deliverer ! receive the 
 thanks of Ion of the Piraeus Crates' son. And may 
 our Athenian gods rain down blessings upon you ! But this 
 man I can not leave he is dying because I still live 
 leave us, that death may release us together as we have 
 suffered together ! " 
 
 A shout of derisive laughter of exquisite rapture roared 
 itself forth. The Syracusians rocked their delight. Here 
 was a situation in a thousand one new replete in 
 drama as amazing as an Aristophanean comedy. 
 
 " By Jove ! " cried Aphrodite's lover, his brutal laugh 
 drowning the feebler ones about him, "What a fool! 
 Here's one who refuses to be saved won't leave his slave! 
 There's a typical Athenian for you. Little wonder we 
 beat them with their prayers and soft speeches. Ha! ha! ' 
 
 "Who wants a fool and his slave?" laughed a youth, 
 close to Maia. 
 
 " Who'll take both at a bargain ? Who bids? " 
 
 Maia summoned her composure. She laid her heaviest
 
 416 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 jewelled hand on the mocking youth's arm. She knew the 
 power of her eyes with young men. She made use of 
 this, her woman's secret now. As she spoke, she smiled 
 divinely. She appeared to be taking the youth into her con- 
 fidence. 
 
 " Tell the guard will you that I will take them 
 both as slaves. Once the two are cared for they may 
 be useful. When I've fattened the Pirzean, " Maia choked, 
 "I I think his voice may be excellent as a singer. " 
 
 Maia's soft voice, her composed manner, her air of com- 
 mand, above all the purity of her Ionic accent and her 
 remaining jewels, some huge pearls, produced their effect. 
 The youth was flattered, and he obeyed. He gave a quick 
 order, rang down a sharp command to Ion, and the two 
 stepped slowly with awkward feebleness into the 
 basket. 
 
 "The lady will take them both, " he had shouted. " Cor- 
 inthians for ever! They know a good bargain! Up 
 with them Up ! Up. There easy swing them 
 that's right give them a good wide swing 'tis long 
 since they had one ! " 
 
 The basket, with its human burden, was swung aloft, 
 above the heads of the audience, and with a practised hand. 
 
 For a brief instant, it hung in mid-air. The next, with 
 a swing and a plunge downward, it came to its rest beside 
 Maia. 
 
 Above the wicker rim a haggard-eyed creature stared 
 about him, with widely distended eyes. Ion's yellowish 
 pallor, his bones protruding through his skin, the sunken 
 cheeks and deeply hollowed eye-sockets brought to the thick 
 circle of the curious crowd rustling about the basket, as 
 from the grave, the gaunt picture of a man snatched from 
 death's grasp. Ion sent his eyes from face to face. At 
 last the mauve draperies were found, and the face was
 
 ION SINGS 417 
 
 Then Ion's head was seen to shoot suddenly backwards, 
 as though struck by an unseen hand. 
 
 And a great cry filled the air. 
 
 "Maia! Maia!" 
 
 But the lips could say no more. The wildly rolling eyes 
 were closed, and the head sank. Ion lay limp as death, in 
 a swoon. 
 
 Aphrodite's voice was heard calling from the road: 
 
 " Come that play is ended ! the other one's all but 
 dead already. It's tiresome! Who'll come down for cool- 
 ing sherbert with me at my house?" Half the crowd 
 followed her. Unfeeling Aphrodite had been as good as 
 her word. 
 
 When Ion opened his eyes he felt the warm, loving clasp 
 of Maia's hand in his. She was walking beside him. Some 
 slaves were swinging along gently, with the litter on 
 which he lay, between them. At first Ion was too weak to 
 speak. But he could look and look. He knew for a surety 
 now his heaven was reality. 
 
 "Maia blessed, beautiful Maia!" he breathed. His 
 rapture swallowed up his amazement. He was too weak 
 for a confusion of emotions. His thoughts came simply. 
 His beloved Maia had come out to him out of the awful 
 hell of his sufferings. She was walking beside him. 
 In the thick shadow of a cypress grove Maia swept him her 
 first kiss. 
 
 " Hush-h don't speak O beloved ! Oh my love my 
 love to feel you thus to know you living ! " 
 
 Maia's full heart could command no further words. 
 But kisses and more kisses were speech enough. 
 
 Later, as they moved on and on, she heard him murmur, 
 "Almighty Power, all powers above Great Unconquer- 
 able Love! " and the eyes of both were swimming in tears 
 through joy too deep for words.
 
 4 i8 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Thus through the pink world of the Syracusan sunset, 
 they crept down the hill slope. The blanched marbles of 
 houses and temples were flushed with colour. The very 
 city seemed to mirror their joy. Far out beyond the red- 
 dening city, the blue waters of the Great Harbour had 
 turned to wine. This Sicilian bay wore the deep violets of 
 the ^Egean. As the stars flamed, golden balls of brightness, 
 the rythmical beat of oars beat upon the still night. 
 
 Maia and Ion, beneath the starry firmament, were being 
 wafted homeward.
 
 Chapter XXXVI 
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 
 
 THE autumn grains were showing their green shoots, in 
 Hermione's fields, in Euboea. Her terraced gardens, that 
 sloped to the winding river, were full of the last roses and 
 lilies that were to bloom, before Spring came. 
 
 On a bright morning in Pyanepsion (October) Myrto and 
 Asia had made their accustomed tour, of the garden beds. 
 Myrto had plucked a deep red rose, and then another. She 
 placed them both securely within her girdle. 
 
 " Come, the air is brisk, let us go down for a walk by 
 the river. Mother is gone forth with the overseer, to look 
 at the grain, beyond the pasture. " 
 
 Asia assented. It seemed as good a way as any of pass- 
 ing a dull morning. Yet the air, as Myrto had said, was 
 good. It stirred one's blood, agreeably. And in the whole 
 estate, there were few places as pleasant as the river. 
 
 On their way thither, they startled some young pea-hens, 
 whose unnatural mother was gossiping with other hens, more 
 fortunate, with no tiresome broods of vain male creatures 
 to bring up to the point of indifferent abandonment and a 
 promising growth of tail. 
 
 A dozen or more fully grown birds, resplendent of 
 plumage, were sunning themseives upon the terrace-wall. 
 As Myrto passed, they spread their iridescent circles above 
 the roses and tall lilies. With a screech, they closed their 
 tails, to fly barnwards, once they saw the backs of their 
 admirers turned upon them. 
 
 Down by the river, Myrto and Asia found the usual 
 419
 
 420 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 pastoral scene already set. Flocks of slow-moving sheep 
 were industriously nibbling at the grasses. The shepherds 
 were carving reeds into rude flutes; one was already play- 
 ing to his flock. The river, as it ran, warbled also its silken 
 notes. And the two great avenues of plane trees spread 
 wide their dappled shade. 
 
 Myrto had brought a frame and some embroidery. She 
 was soon seated upon the crooked arm of a companionable 
 tree branch. Asia was knitting beside her. And the au- 
 tumn air was very still. 
 
 So still it was that the soft drop of a horse's hoofs, from 
 a far distance, sounded close almost near by. 
 
 " Now I wonder who that can be ! " fretfully murmured 
 Asia. And she knit her black brows. 
 
 " Don't fret, Asia. It can't be Spartans they come in 
 companies not singly, " laughed Myrto. 
 
 " That's right laugh ! laugh ! You'll sing a different 
 tune some of these days. No one knows, save the gods, 
 what fate may be ours ! " grunted Asia. Her eyes wore an 
 anxious look, and her face showed her age, as she listened. 
 For Asia, a slave, knew more of all there was to fear, in 
 these troublous times, than could either Hermione or 
 Myrto. 
 
 "Asia, you've prophesied trouble ever since father died. 
 Wait till Thrasybulous returns. Wait till Serapion " 
 
 Asia's groaning interruption rose up to smite the still air. 
 
 " Thrasybulous ! Serapion ! One dead or a slave, and 
 the other a mere stripling! Fine warriors these to de- 
 fend defenseless women. I wish I could see that horseman. 
 There are two, or my ears are dull. " 
 
 The approaching horsemen were, near enough now to 
 arouse Myrto's interest. Instinctively she lifted her hands 
 to her thick braids. Her hair was tucked up in peasant 
 fashion, in the way Electra wore her tresses in Euripides'
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 421 
 
 play. In the quiet secluded life Myrto and her mother led, 
 and had led for two years, city habits and town fashions 
 were disregarded. 
 
 Eager as was her curious wonderment, Myrto yet had 
 calm enough to wish she had taken a veil along. 
 
 The horsemen, she conjectured, were possibly visitors, or 
 some of her fathers' friends from Athens might have come, 
 to bring news of Serapion or of Thrasybulous. 
 
 ' They are coming from the coast, " Myrto cried sudden- 
 ly, starting to her feet. A wave of excitement swept her. 
 It seemed as though an event of importance were about to 
 happen " Perhaps, it may be Thrasybulous! or or" she 
 paused, she met Asia's contemptuous glance. 
 
 " Ion, you should say. But you never do! You are ever 
 thinking of him whom you should not. " 
 
 Myrto 's cry was not in response to Asia's scornful re- 
 proach. With a quick bound, frame and thread were sent 
 rolling to the ground. And Myrto was whirling down the 
 road, toward the galloping horsemen. Her " Oh ! Oh ! " 
 floated backwards to Asia. This wild and joyous exclama- 
 tion told the latter nothing she longed to know. 
 
 The foremost rider, the slave saw, had reined in his horse, 
 on catching sight of Myrto's flying figure. 
 
 Asia was about to hasten on, even to attempt the dan- 
 gerous feat of running, that she might prevent Myrto from 
 further disgraceful behavior, when to her immense re- 
 lief, Hermione made her appearance. She was hurrying 
 across the road. She was now close to Asia. 
 
 Startled, with eyes big with amazed affright, Hermione 
 showed the effects the anxious years had brought. Threads 
 of grey were shining above her troubled brow. And her 
 step was less vigorous than when Critias had lived to make 
 perpetual activity the daily rule of her life. The something 
 spiritual that comes from suffering, had given a subdued
 
 422 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 look to Hermione's proud features; the winged fire of eager 
 hope was quenched. 
 
 She was now visibly, nervously, startled, as had been her 
 slave, by the appearance of two horsemen. In this remote 
 and solitary country, with the Spartans in possession of the 
 road leading to Athens, across the frontier, these lonely 
 women trembled at every footfall, and saw an enemy in 
 every stranger's face. 
 
 "Know you who these gentlemen are? And how comes 
 Myrto, in Heaven's name, to be alone, yonder ? " 
 
 Myrto cut her mother's words in two. She was running 
 toward her with breathless joy. And the stranger was 
 hurrying close upon her flying feet. 
 
 With her arms in high air, Myrto cried, " Oh Mother ! 
 'Tis Timoleon! He's alive, and he is here he has come 
 to protect us ! " 
 
 With a sob of pure joy, Myrto flung herself upon Her- 
 mione's shoulder, since decorum precluded the possibility of 
 its being Timoleon 's. 
 
 Timoleon, handsome, flushed, yet thinner and still wan 
 from his recent illness, was warmly welcomed by Hermione. 
 She herself even choked a rising sob. To see an Athenian 
 face, after these terrible months of eating fear, of loneliness, 
 and of apprehension; to look upon Timoleon's brilliant, 
 forcible features ; to feel his warm grasp, and to know a man 
 was here, at last, to bring comforting strength as well as to 
 give true tidings all this brought Hermione such fulness 
 of delight, as well as relief, she could gauge by her immedi- 
 ate feeling of security how close she had lived to the edge of 
 fear. 
 
 Once within the house, and Hermione and Myrto hung 
 on every word of Timoleon's stirring, tragic tale. After all 
 had been told, of the war news, and of Athens' latest 
 terrible history, Timoleon led his hearers on by gradual
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 423 
 
 stages, to more strictly personal matters. To Hermoine 
 he confessed he had come, he said, urged by friends of her 
 husband's, to implore her return to Athens. Euboea was 
 no longer deemed safe, as a residence, for any Athenian, 
 much less for unprotected women. Euboea was on the 
 point of open revolt. Athens' allies, one by one, were 
 throwing off the yoke of Athenian supremacy. 
 
 "You fear, indeed, open revolt?" queried Hermione, 
 lifting anxious brows. And she thought of her rich pastures 
 and fair fields. 
 
 " I am sorry to say that is the received opinion. Surely 
 some, at least, among your slaves " 
 
 " Oh, " wearily admitted Hermione, " we have lost 
 many. Dekelia woos them; freedom and Spartan gold, 
 spoils, plunder are too close at hand. Slaves are but human." 
 
 " Then come to Athens, dear lady! Let me help you to 
 settle matters. And come, and as soon as possible. My 
 ship a ship lies even now at the coast it will hold all 
 you may wish to bring. 
 
 "A ship? You have a ship waiting?" Hermione 
 gasped. Her quick glance met Myrto's. Timoleon, sure- 
 ly, and in spite of his sad tale of disaster and of privation, 
 must have brought back some Sicilian booty, gold in plenty, 
 for the former poverty of Timoleon's resources was known 
 to all. 
 
 Timoleon quickly disabused the ladies' minds, 
 had been lent; it had been lying idle, he had it for nothing. 
 That which he could not tell them, was that Maia, b 
 her departure, had seen to this, as to every other detail, c< 
 nected with her mother's safety and comfort. 
 
 Of Thrasybulous, Timoleon could give no tiding wha 
 ever; and of Nausicaa Hermione's pride forbade her 
 speak. For she had gone with Glaucus-had fled wit 
 her latest lover to Sparta. Serapion had, Hermione was
 
 424 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 told, sent eager, loving greeting. He was well, had never 
 been better; " turning soldier is better than athletics in the 
 gymnasia," he had said. 
 
 As for Ion, Timoleon narrated his fate as he knew it. 
 Among the returned survivors, no tidings of him had as yet 
 come. Crates was half crazed; he sat on the docks now, 
 night and day. " And when our battered marines straggle 
 in, without Ion, the poor old man weeps. But he takes 
 them all home, and feasts them, for Ion's sake. " 
 
 " Poor man ! " murmured Hermione, the quick tears fall- 
 ing. 
 
 " And now, dear lady, should Ion, alas ! not return 
 and and Myrto will therefore be free, would you receive 
 me as your son as dear Myrto's husband ? " 
 
 The real question Timoleon had come to ask was asked 
 simply, but at precisely the right moment. He had waited 
 until Hermione had seen the utter futility of hope, of Ion's 
 being saved. Since the great battle, three months had 
 passed ; and the very last of those who had escaped had long 
 since returned. 
 
 Hermione looked from one glistening, pleading face be- 
 fore her, to the other. Timoleon felt, apparently, very sure 
 of his answer. For his hand enclosed Myrto's palm. And 
 Myrto wore a bride's look. 
 
 Hermione smiled. She laid her own hand upon the two 
 close clasped. 
 
 " I would willingly give her to you, Timoleon, for she 
 loves you. But 'tis Ion alone can release her. Let us 
 wait another month. If no tidings come she shall be 
 yours. " 
 
 A little more than a month later Maia's ship landed at 
 the Piraeus. It was late, and the quais were deserted. But,
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 425 
 
 so great was Ion's anxiety to embrace his father, that the 
 landing was hurriedly pushed forward. 
 
 Mago, who had been sent upwards, to Munychia Hill, to 
 prepare Crates for the great surprise, returned with chilling 
 news. 
 
 Crates had been in Athens, for some days. He had been 
 ill. The doctors were in close attendance. He was in 
 Ion's old house, the one close to the Lyceum. Since the 
 doctors despaired of his life, 'twas there he would await the 
 great Deliverer, he had told his friends. 
 
 Ion's face, at this news, showed bright fever spots. 
 Maia was shaken with the fearsome trembling that had 
 scarce left her since the start homeward. With her cus- 
 tomary quickness at meeting a fresh difficulty, she decided, 
 late as was the hour, to push on, at once, to Athens. The 
 sooner Ion had felt his father's kiss the better for both. 
 
 Maia was to find her decision proven the right one. Al- 
 most at the very start Ion's cheeks lost their feverish look; 
 his eyes sparkled with glad youthful delight as, one by one, 
 the dear familiar Athenian sights and sounds were met and 
 heard. 
 
 The famous road between the Long Walls, as of old, was 
 thronged. 
 
 Athens appeared to have recovered her lost bustle, her old 
 wonted stir and activity. Even now, though the night had 
 fallen, crowds of vendors, of slaves, sailors, metics, and 
 soldiers crowded the gay highroad. 
 
 In the city itself, there were the same hopeful signs of 
 vigorous life. The Dipylon Gate was astir with the 
 water carriers, farmer's carts, and dairymen. The lights in 
 the thickly built houses shone out through open doors, to 
 throw shadows and to splash bright patches upon the faces 
 built into the walls. Apollo Aqueius, and the rows of the 
 new, stiffly bearded, benign-featured Hermae were illumined.
 
 426 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 Everywhere, throughout the crooked streets and narrow 
 lanes, the resonant Athenian voices rose up, to make the 
 traveller's ears throb with the sense of the true home rapture. 
 
 " Oh Ion Ion ! does it not seem, indeed, as though 
 the time of our sorrow were past, and that in dear Athens, 
 joy alone is to be our portion ? " Maia murmured, voice 
 and eyes full of happy tears. 
 
 " When I have seen my father, dearest Maia, the cup of 
 joy will indeed be full," replied Ion. And he leant for- 
 ward, far into the dimly lighted streets, as though by send- 
 ing his eyes forth he could shorten the distance. 
 
 On turning to enter the street of the Tripods, the flare 
 of many torches, the melodious blending of lyres and flutes 
 and voices, in nuptial songs, and the sight of a chariot, 
 blocking the way, announced a wedding. Maia was in- 
 stantly all woman. Fluttering with curiosity and excite- 
 ment, she exclaimed, her voice thrilled with the feminine 
 joy in the mere sight of wedding festivities 
 
 " I believe, on my soul, it's a wedding ! Ion, indeed, we 
 must see it pass. Who knows but some we know may be 
 among the guests? " 
 
 Mago was quickly bidden to tell the bearers of their lit- 
 ters to seek a discreet corner, that there she might alight. 
 
 The street was made suddenly ablaze with the great 
 nuptial torches. The foremost slaves marched in time, to 
 the sound of the flutes and the clashing cymbals. 
 
 Slowly, with prancing steps, the horses advanced, draw- 
 ing behind them the wedding chariot. 
 
 Beside her husband, between him and Serapion, sat 
 Myrto. Her hand lay in Timoleon's. Through the flow- 
 ing folds of her veil, under the softening yellow torch light, 
 her face bloomed with the rosy flush of the dawn. 
 
 Timoleon sat, staring fixedly before him. Never had 
 his face more clearly revealed its aristocratic lineage, and
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 427 
 
 upon those chiselled features there rested the look of the 
 man who is conscious of having accomplished his ends. In 
 his groomsman's finery, the torches lit a groom who was 
 every inch a man. 
 
 Behind the wedding chariot, Hermione followed. With 
 sagging hands, she held the nuptial torch. Her emotion 
 had overcome her. Bright tears fell, unheeded, for all to 
 see. In Myrto's marriage she was parting with all that 
 made her home life still endurable. 
 
 With hands convulsively clasped, Ion and Maia stared, 
 looked, marvelled, gasped, and then, as Hermione passed, 
 their questioning eyes met. 
 
 Each was asking the other the great upleaping question. 
 How meet this, the best, the most glorious of welcomes, 
 the solution of so many troublesome problems? 
 
 Ion's pallor, his trembling, made Maia quick to think. 
 
 " Dearest," she hastened to say. " Let me return. Let 
 my bearers retrace their steps. I will go home to dear 
 Hermione's house. There I shall await her. To the wed- 
 ding we cannot I must not go. And you must go on to 
 your father." 
 
 Thus it was settled. 
 
 Several shades later, Hermione with breaking heart, sat 
 beside Serapion. He was driving her back to her now 
 desolate home. For on the very morrow he the last of 
 all she held dear was to go forth, to the frontier, on 
 garrison duty. 
 
 The epithalamium was still ringing in Hermione's ears. 
 The picture Myrto's bridesmaids had made, crowding about 
 the nuptial chamber, and the merry, joyous notes of their 
 melodious song, were wedded to the low intimate quiver of 
 Myrto's voice, as she had kissed her mother, at parting. 
 
 What a gift to tender any man, this dear Myrto! How 
 she had stood, the very image of thrilled joy shrouded in
 
 428 ON THE KNEES OF THE GODS 
 
 modesty, there, as HermJone had left her, her hands crossed 
 upon her bosom, the lamps lighting the young and perfect 
 face, flushed with joyous yet tremulous expectancy! The 
 roses that lay strewn upon the nuptial couch were not as 
 fragrant as was her purity. Would Timoleon be kind? 
 Would he learn from Myrto what marriage might mean? 
 
 Hermione's thoughts and yearnings crowded thick as, on 
 and on Serapion drove, with a youth's joy in conducting a 
 fine chariot. 
 
 As the mother and son neared the house, in the street of 
 Hermes, both stared, exclaimed, as their eyes met, in startled 
 amazement. 
 
 Before they came to a rest at the home door, a great 
 blaze they saw, filled the crooked street. Every sculptured 
 face carved into the walls, and the winding procession of 
 the Zeus Herkios and Hermae were made as plain as in day. 
 Within Hermione's porch a tall figure stood, as though 
 waiting. The shape that loomed forth into the night, was 
 gloriously lighted. 
 
 Could it be Thrasybulous, saved, returned? Hermione's 
 heart gave a wild throb of hope. 
 
 It was not Thrasybulous but Maia's face that shone forth. 
 From between the high-held torches, her face bloomed out 
 of the brightness like that of a beneficent goddess en- 
 shrined. 
 
 Mago and Persia had been unable to keep from proclaim- 
 ing their mistress's claim to kinship with as famous a house. 
 And the slaves, one and all, had flocked about Maia. She 
 could not be pursuaded to await the portentous moment 
 away from the vestibule door. There she stood and had 
 stood ; and her slaves, those who knew her, loving her most 
 for such knowledge, and those also, who knew her not, yet 
 glorying in the sense of being owned by one possessing such 
 beauty, and great riches, and as marvellous a history, all
 
 AN EPITHALAMIUM 429 
 
 were clustered close about her. The night being dark, they 
 had brought torches, that Hermione might see from afar this 
 famous Maia. 
 
 As the nuptial chariot came to a stop, Serapion's joyous, 
 startled greeting rang out. "Why! 'tis Maia!" And 
 would have rushed to embrace his friend and protectress, but 
 Maia waved him aside. 
 
 For a single instant of trembling, Maia stood thus, above 
 the level of the street, uplifted, enthroned. Then, with a 
 rush and a cry that rent the air, she had flung herself down- 
 wards. She had caught Hermione to her. 
 
 "Indeed yes! I am Maia. Lost Maia! Oh Mother! 
 take me to your heart ! " 
 
 Hermione held her at first away. She was conscious only 
 of the benumbing surprise of finding this beautiful stranger 
 she who was surely the dancer who had posed and sung 
 at Myrto's betrothal banquet here on her doorstep. 
 Then, taking the moved face between her hands, Hermione 
 searched it as though it was a scroll. 
 
 A cry rang up that pierced the air. For Hermione knew 
 her daughter. And the two women clung together, and 
 wept as they clung. 
 
 THE END.