We camped to windward of it, and then it was time to divide the spoil. Xanthos and Pylas split it fairly, as they were bound to; but when Xanthos came to give out our half, the share my young men got was more than mean; it was a slight to my standing. I should have liked to tell him what I thought of him; but though his troops did not love him much, at least they knew him, and I was a stranger. So I said to the Guard, for everyone to hear, “This is what Xanthos thinks of the way you fought today. Well, a War Leader, who has everything to see to, can’t be everywhere at once. Perhaps he was not watching you as I was. But I will show you what I think myself.” And I divided all my own share among them, not keeping as much as a girl to lie that night with, only the arms of the men I had killed with my own hand. They were much pleased, and Xanthos not at all; so both sides got what they deserved.
In three or four more days of war all the big holds were cleaned out and burned; but there were many small bands left, whose lairs were in caves and rock-clefts. I remembered, and showed the others, their marks beside the road, a cairn, or a rag tied to a thorn-bush, marking off their run for the next troop to see. And now the peasants, who had lived in dread of them and had to feed them when travellers failed, began to trust in our strength and tell us where they were. Then we would beat the coverts, or smoke them out.
Between two such, hunts, the army was moving on along the road, up where it skirts the cliffs. I was leading in my chariot, going at a walk with my Guard behind me. Suddenly there was a great rattling and thudding on the hillside above, and down came two or three great stones, as big as your head. They were coming straight for me, but glanced off a ridge and struck the road in front, leaving deep dents in it and bounding on over the cliffs. My horses reared, and laid back their ears. I could feel them getting away from the charioteer, who ought to have held them since he was bigger than I, and grabbed the reins from his hands. Two of my lads risked hard knocks to run up and hold their heads, and among us we got them quiet. As for the driver, though we had had to carry him, there was no use in getting too angry, seeing there was no one else. Shore People are not much good with horses. Besides, he had had his lesson when he saw over the cliff ahead; it turned him white, and his teeth were rattling. Dexios and Skiron had died thereabouts.
Some of my young men ran up the hill, to see if there were robbers lying up there. Xanthos, who was not far behind, sent a party too. They all returned having met no one but each other. I said, “There are angry ghosts about here. Dexios did not have his offerings; and Skiron was not buried at all. We had better see to him, rather than have him killing wayfarers.” His bones were still on the tortoise rock, picked raw by birds; with some trouble we got them up and buried them, and performed the rites for Dexios. I had more cause today than most days to wish him alive.
Even without its robbers, the Isthmus Road is steep and dangerous. Its army of dead men needed to be appeased, and Earth-Shaker entreated too to touch it lightly. That was why I put up his great altar afterwards on the neck of the Isthmus, and founded his Games. As to why I chose that spot, I had good reason.
We came to it next day. Already we could see the stronghold of Corinth topping its blunt mountain, with smoke rising from the Mother’s sanctuary upon the crown. And, just when we were thinking our work as good as over, we found a pitched battle lay before us.
The Isthmus is wild country, a gift to those who know it. More of our quarry than we guessed had slipped through our nets. Here they all were, their old feuds forgotten, their backs to the wall. For behind them were the lands of law, the kingdoms of the Isle of Pelops, where they had committed incest or parricide, murdered their hosts or guests, forced sacred virgins, robbed the gods’ treasuries or the graves of kings. For such things as that, not some mere killing that a blood-price can settle and Apollo make one free of, a man would go to the Isthmus. Here, driven from their hillsides, in that same plain where now men hold the foot race before the god, and box and wrestle and cheer the chariots at the turn, their force awaited us, dark and bristling like the boar started from the covert who gathers his feet to charge.
We drew up our battle in a sickle shape, to hem them in. The Megarians took the center, because they had many chariots; I led the left flank of the Eleusinians, and Xanthos the right. It meant I was leading some of the men’s army, as well as my own Guard, and I was pleased no one seemed unwilling. Though I had had my share of war, this was my first set battlefield. I daresay I could not have made more of it in my heart if we had been meeting the host of some great city, Hazor or Troy.
The day was clear, the air still fresh with morning. Birds sang in the stone pines on the heights above. As I stood in my chariot I saw stretching before me the shadow of my helmet plume and my ash-wood spear. Behind me the talk of my young men sounded as it ought before the battle, light, fierce, and gay. The smell of dust and horses was in my nostrils, the smell of oiled wood and leather and new-scoured bronze.
“When I give the word,” I said to my driver, “drive well into them. Don’t wait for the footmen; it’s for us to clear the way. Is your knife ready, to cut the traces if a horse should fall?” He showed it me; but I wished again for Dexios. He did not look like a man whose heart was in it.
At Pylas’ signal, we paced forward at a walk, as the he-cat does first before he springs. When we could see their teeth and eyes, we paused to make ready, and I gave my men the speech I had prepared. I had got it, to tell the truth, mostly from old battle songs, thinking I could not do better than the bards and heroes. “When the trumpet sounds, and we raise the war cry, charge like the hawk plunging on the heron, whom nothing can turn once he is launched in flight. We know each other; neither sword, nor spear, nor arrow can hurt us half so much as dishonor in each other’s eyes. Blue-Haired Poseidon! Breaker of ships and cities! Bear us to victory! Before fall of sunset, put their necks under our feet and fill their mouths with dust!”
The warriors cheered; the trumpet split the shining air. I gave them the pitch of the paean, and the charioteer leaned forward. Two of my boldest lads, who were sworn lovers, took hold of the chariot either side, unwilling I should clear a path before them. My ears were full of good sounds, the clatter of chariots, the high yell of war cries, arms and shields rattling, the drumming of feet and hooves, shouts of challenge as men picked out an enemy. I marked out for myself a tall fellow giving orders, whose fall seemed likely to discomfort the rest. As the chariot bounced over stones and tussocks, I fixed my eyes on him and called to him to wait for me.
The line of faces rushed upon me, grinning or scowling or stiff-set; the chariot cut the press like a sharp-prowed ship thrust down the slipway into a dark sea. Then, all at once, it was as if earth hurled me from its breast. I felt myself pitched sidelong from the chariot, clean over the rail, upon some man who grunted and was hurled with me to the ground. My spear flew from my hand; my shield arm caught in the shield was nearly wrenched from the socket; the chin strap of my helmet burst, and my head was bare. I and the man below me writhed together, half stunned upon the ground. It was his foul smell that warned me he was none of mine. I came to myself just in time, and groped for my dagger and drove it into him. He sank back; I got my shield again and struggled to rise. Before I reached my knees, a dying man fell on me. This time I knew him. He was one of the boys who had charged beside my wheels. A spear blade had driven between his teeth and pierced his skull; as I got out from under him he gave his death-gasp. He had stopped a thrust on its way to me.
I found my feet, and my sword. In the press ahead the frightened horses thrashed and reared, dragging the chariot splintering on its side. One wheel was gone; the tilted axletree plowed the earth. Flat on the ground the charioteer lay with his white robe grimed and torn. There was no time to look again. I threw up my shield to ward a down-cut from my head.
For a moment, I seemed all alone among enemies. Then my head cleared and I knew the shouting voices round me. The Companions were all about and still coming up, yelling to each other like
a pack of hounds after wild pig. I heard my name. A hand was waving my helmet; another snatched it and set it on my head. I gave the paean to let all the rest know I was alive, and we pressed forward.
I have never loved better any warriors serving under me than these, my first command. They were men of another country, of different blood; at first we had barely known each other’s language, and now we no longer needed it; we knew each other’s mind as brothers do for whom a look or a laugh is enough. In the year of the Games, when I make the sacrifice, I remember always that my life from that day forward has been their gift.
By noon the battle was over. We took no prisoners. They had fed the dogs and kites on many better men; it was their turn to be host. The day’s surprise was the booty we took after. Some had their own, others must have found the hoards of their fallen masters. We set a guard on it, of trustworthy men from all three forces, with barons of each kingdom to count it over.
The warriors drew together, as men do after battle, to dress each other’s hurts, and rest, and talk. My men and I were sitting round a spring which rose among some rocks; some were drinking the good water, others had stripped to wash in the stream where it flowed away. One man was badly wounded, his leg broken with a spear; I had been setting it, for want of anyone better, between two javelin shafts, and praising his deeds to take his mind off the pain. Someone called out to me. I saw Pallans, who had run beside my chariot; he was the one left alive. I had missed him, and thought he would be watching by the death-pyre. But it was a living man he dragged toward us, dressed in dirty white. I jumped to my feet; it was my charioteer.
“Why, greeting, Rizon,” I said. “I thought you were dead when I saw you fallen. Where are you hurt?”
Pallans thrust his flat hand into his back, so that he fell forward. “Hurt! Look him over, Theseus. I will give him a sheep for any hurt he has. I’ve looked for this man since the battle ended; I watched what happened when your wheel came off. You fell headlong; it took you by surprise. But this fellow knew which side to hold. I swear his head never touched the ground; he was shamming stunned till the fight passed by him.”
I looked at him as he grovelled, and saw his face. In the glow of victory, and the pride of my men’s courage, I had been in love with all the world; now my heart felt a chill of darkness. I thought, “This is a coward. Yet he chose to drive a battle chariot leading the vanguard. Why?” Presently I said, “Let us go and see.
My men went back with me to the field. Already the carrion birds were settling, tearing the dried-up wounds, and there was a buzzing of flies, mixed with the murmur and groaning of men half gone. Here and there our men were stripping the bodies of anything they had left. In the midst, like a wrecked ship driven aground, lay the chariot with a dead horse beside it. The bronze wheel was lying a few yards off. I said to the men beside me, “Lift up the axletree.”
They raised the end from the ground, and I looked at the hole for the linchpin. It was clogged with earth; but when I picked down with my dagger, I found what I sought. I rolled it between my fingers, and showed it to the others. It was wax. The linchpin had been made of it.
They exclaimed, and felt at it, and asked me how I had guessed. “There’s an old song about it at home,” I said. “They shouldn’t have tried it on a man from Pelops’ country. Well, Rizon?” But he stared at the ground trembling, and said no word.
“Tell me,” I said, “why you did this. You have nothing now to lose.” But he looked sick and said nothing. “Come, Rizon. Have I ever raised my hand to you, or hurt your standing? Did you go short when the booty was shared? Have I killed any kin of yours, lain with your wife or your handmaid? What harm have I done you, to make you wish me dead?”
When he did not answer, Pallans said, “Why lose time, Theseus? We have seen enough.” Then when they began to lay hands on him, he fell down crying, “Have mercy, Kerkyon! I did not choose to do it. I never hated you. It was Xanthos threatened me. I did it for my life’s sake. He put me in fear.”
At this they all sucked in their breath through their teeth. They felt more awe than anger, because I belonged to the Goddess, and had not reigned a fourth part of my time.
“But,” I said, “why not have brought this to me, if you did not hate me? Have I got such a name for forgetting my friends?” But he only said, “He put me in fear.” Then he fell down again, and begged for his life.
My men were watching me. I had been well content beside the spring, in our proved fellowship, thinking I had found the only secret of kingship. But one cannot be a boy for ever.
“You are asking too much,” I said. “Just now you tried to kill me, because you feared Xanthos more than me. You have been my teacher. If anyone here has used his spear through the battle, and kept his sword-edge sharp, bring me the sword.” When they brought one, I said, “Put his neck across the yoke-pole, and hold him by the knees and by the hair.” They did so, and I no longer had to see his face. I swung the sword high, and it struck through his neckbone and half his neck; so he died more easily than most men do, but for his fear.
After this we sacrificed to the gods, to give thanks for victory. The Eleusinians offered to their war god Enyalios, and I too gave him victims; it is never wise to neglect the gods of the place, wherever one may be. But I made my own altar to Poseidon; and that is where I built his precinct later.
We burned the dead. Pallans had put the corpse of Rizon under the feet of his dead friend; I saw why he had hunted the man down instead of mourning. Across the smoke of the pyre, I met the russet eyes of Xanthos watching me. But this was not the time.
They told me Pylas had been wounded in the battle, and I went to see him. He had his arm in a sling—the wound was in his shoulder—but was still giving orders. After we had talked, I took my leave of him, saying I was glad it was no worse. He looked at me with his bright gray eyes, and said, “I feel the touch of fate. You have a strong life-thread, Theseus. Where it crosses other men’s it frays them. But that’s as the Spinners spin it.”
I was surprised at the time; but he must have had foreknowledge, for his wound turned mortal, and he died of it in Megara. I was sad when I heard, to lose a sworn friend so soon. Yet if he had lived, the boundary-stone of Attica could not have stood where it does today, between the Isle of Pelops and the Isthmus.
Now dusk was falling. The smoldering altars were quenched with wine, and we gathered for the victory feasts. We had taken many fat cattle, and sheep, and goats. Already the carcasses were turning on great spits above the pine-wood fires, and the air was rich with the smell. But men’s eyes turned first to the open space in the middle, where the booty was stacked up, ready to be shared. The cook-fires lit it: cups and bowls and helmets and daggers, ingots of copper and of tin, caldrons and tripods and good hide shields. Beside them sat the women, muttering together, or weeping, or hiding their faces in their hands, or looking boldly about them to guess which man would be their lot this time. A clear green dusk was falling, and Helios plumed with rose-red and burning gold rode down into the wine-dark sea. The evening star appeared, white as a maiden, trembling in the air that danced above the fires. A red glow shone on the heaped treasure, on the eyes and teeth of the warriors, their worked sword-belts and polished arms.
I came down the slope, with my Companions behind me. We were all cleaned and combed, with our weapons burnished. They had not asked me what I was going to do. They followed me silent; only their footfalls told me when they turned to look at one another.
Pylas was there already; he was too sick for the feast, but would sit to watch the share-out, as anyone would who still had breath in him, if he had Xanthos to deal with. I greeted him, and looked about for my man. He was where I expected, standing over the spoil. He saw me coming, and our eyes met.
“Greeting, Xanthos,” I said. “You did me a good turn in Eleusis; you found me a charioteer.”
He said, “The man came to me. I did not know him.” Then I knew Rizon had not lied.
“Well,” I
said, “everyone knows you are a judge of men. You found me a skilled fellow. Now he is dead, I don’t know where I shall find such another. He could turn his hand to anything. He could make linchpins without bronze.”
With the tail of my eye I could see a thousand faces leaning nearer. The voices hushed, till you could hear the hiss of the roasting meat. “It is folly,” he said, “to listen when a babbling coward is begging his life.”
I said, “Yet if you did not listen, Xanthos, how did you know him so well?” He looked angry, and glancing at the lads behind me, said, “Young men are all talk.”
If he had had any faith in his own good name, he would not have given them up so easily to a foreign man. But he knew he had lost their love; it was not hard for them to think him guilty. At his words they were angry, and shouted aloud.
I put up my hand for quiet. Then Bias, the eldest, came forward, and called out to the warriors, bearing witness to the waxen pin. “And,” he said to them, “who loosened the rocks above the road, to scare the King’s horses over the cliff? One of you knows.” There was muttering, as if some rumor had got about. I saw Xanthos’ face go bright crimson with anger, in the way of red-haired men. He was cold, as a rule. Now he strode forward shouting.
“Can’t you see, Eleusinians, what this man is at? He should know the ways of robbers, this thieving Hellene. So well he knows the Isthmus, perhaps he has lived there. Who can say what he did before he came to Eleusis? Now he thinks he can move you against the man who led you to victory, just when the spoil is to be shared.”