I went back to the Palace, and called the women to dress me. The red leather suit I had brought from Troizen was Hellene, and nearly new. I slung on the serpent sword of the Erechthids; and, to cover it till the proper time, a short blue cloak pinned on the shoulder, such as one can wear indoors.
I chose two body-servants to wait on me. A guard I thought unfitting to a suppliant; besides, I wanted to make it clear I came in friendship and in trust. Those two would have been all my company; but just as I was going, my captive girl Philona pulled at my cloak in tears, and whispered me that all the women were saying the Queen would kill her as soon as my back was turned. I kissed her, and said Palace gossip was the same everywhere. But she looked at me as the coursed-down hare looks at the spear; and when I thought, I did not trust the Queen entirely. So though it was an inconvenience, I made one of the servants take her up on his mule.
When my horse was brought, I sent the Queen word that I was ready to take leave of her. She sent back that she was sick, and could speak to no one. I had seen her walking on her terrace; however, I had fulfilled the forms.
So I mounted, and in the court the Companions cheered me, but not quite as before; now I was War Leader, I was not so much their own. It would have made me sad at another time; but now I saluted them cheerfully, and soon forgot them, for in my face blew the breeze from the Attic hills.
The road followed the shore, and then swung inward. The autumn grass was parched and pale, the dark oleanders were dusty. At the border guard-tower I had to tell the Athenians who I was; they had not looked for me till morning. I felt my haste had been boyish and raw, and that they would take me lightly.
But they were very civil. As I rode on, one of their couriers posted past me to Athens.
Suddenly, at a turn of the road between the low green hills, I saw standing huge before me a great flat rock, like a platform raised by Titans to assail the gods from. Upon its top, glowing bright in the westering sunlight, stood a royal palace, the columns russet red, the pink-washed walls picked out with white and blue squares. So high it stood against the sky, the guards on the ramparts looked as small as goldsmith’s work, and their spears as fine as wire. I caught my breath. I had guessed at nothing like this.
Before me, down on the plain, the road led to the city wall and the gate-tower. Its roof was manned with javelin-men and archers; on the teeth of the battlements their bullhide shields hung like a frieze. Here no one asked my name. A massive bar dragged through its wards; the tall horse-gate swung open, turning on its stone trackway; within were a guard saluting, the market place, and little houses huddled under the rock, or climbing its foot slopes. The captain of the Guard sent two men at my horse’s head to guide me to the Palace.
Everywhere the cliffs stood sheer, except to westward. Here the road tacked back and forth up the steep slope, flanked for defense with a great curtain-wall. The way was ridged for foothold, but soon grew too steep to ride, and they led my horse. A guardhouse topped the curtain-wall; the men touched their spear shafts to their brows, and passed me through. Far below me I saw streets and walls, the Attic plain stretching to the sea and hills; and on the hilltops the violet hues of evening, like a crown of purple and gold. Before me was the upper gate of the Citadel; the lintel-stone was painted with bands of blue and crimson, and with the royal device, a serpent twined round an olive tree. The late sunlight was like yellow crystal, brilliant and clear.
The place overawed me. Though I had heard tell of it, I had pictured only a hill such as any king or chief will build on. I had not dreamed my father the master of this mighty stronghold. Now I saw why he had held out so long against all his enemies; it might be kept, I thought, against all the world in arms. I understood what I had heard in tales: that since King Zeus made men, there was never a time when a king did not live on the Acropolis of Athens; that even before men were made it had been a fortress of earthborn giants who had four hands, and could run upon them. You can see the great stones they set together, time out of mind.
I passed through the inner gate upon the table of the Citadel. There were the pacing sentries, men now not toys; and before me the Palace, with its terrace looking to the north. If my father had been on it, I thought, he might have seen me on my way. My breath came faster than if I had scaled a mountain, and I wet my dry lips with my tongue.
I passed between the houses of the Palace people, and a few hardy trees, pines and cypresses, planted as windbreaks and for shade. Before the king-column of the great door, a chamberlain stood with the cup of welcome in his hands. After the long ride and the climb, the wine seemed the coolest and best I had ever tasted. As I drained it, I thought at last I had reached the end of my journey; with this draught I became my father’s guest.
My horse was led away, and they brought me through the courtyard to the guest rooms. The women had filled the bath already, and the room was soft with scented steam. While they brushed my clothes, I lay in the water and looked about me. Coming up, I had been dazzled by the splendor of the Citadel. But once inside, you could tell this was a war-pressed kingdom. Things were quite well kept up, the wall paintings retouched and fresh, the bath things polished, the oils well blended. But the women were few, plain mostly and past their youth, and on the furniture were empty rivet-holes, where gold had been taken out. I said to myself, “He has carried his burden too long alone. Now he shall want for nothing.”
I was dried and oiled and dressed and combed. At the door a baron waited to bring me to the Hall. I walked along a colonnade, over a floor of tiles painted with dog-teeth and waves; on my left were columns of carved cedar, on my right a frieze of gryphons hunting deer. Servants whispered and peeped in doorways as I passed. My boots threw an echo, and the rattle of my sword hilt against the studs of my belt seemed loud. Now I began to hear the din of the Hall ahead of me, voices talking, cups and plates rattling, stools and benches scraped on stone, a lyre being tuned, and someone scolding a slave.
At the far end of the Hall was a step up between two columns. Beyond on this low dais sat the King. They had just brought up his own table and were putting it before his chair. All I could see from the doorway was that he was dark-haired. This I had guessed, from my mother taking him for Poseidon. Approaching, I saw that the brown was streaked with gray, and that he was indeed a man whom trouble had set its mark on. The skin about his eyes was dark and drawn, and the folds beside his mouth were as deep as sword cuts. His beard hid his chin, but his shaven mouth had a settled weariness; it was wary too, a thing I might well have looked for. I had thought to see in his face the mold that had stamped my own; but his was longer, the eyes not blue but brown, set deeper and not so widely; his nose was a little beaked where mine is straight, and whereas my hair flows backward from the temples, his hung down beside them, narrowing his forehead. Wherever he had sat in Hall, you would have known he was the King; but the man who had felt Poseidon’s breath and swum rough water to the Myrtle House, I could not see. Yet he it was, and I had known he could not but seem strange to me.
I walked forward between the staring benches, with eyes for him alone. At his right hand was an empty chair crowned with two hawks; and on his left sat a woman. As I came near, he rose to greet me, and came forward. This made me glad; I had not been sure if he would receive me as a king. He was a little taller than I, about two fingers.
He said what custom ordains for such occasions, making me welcome, and bidding me eat and drink before I troubled myself with talking. I spoke my thanks, and smiled. He smiled back, but only a little; not sourly, but stiffly as if his smile had fallen out of use.
I sat, and they brought my table, and he showed the carver the best bits to give me. My trencher was loaded, almost more than I could eat, though I was hungry. He only picked at some sweetbreads himself, and most of those he slipped to the white boarhound by his chair. On the way I had had some harebrained thought of discovering myself to him in Hall before the people; now, seeing him in his state, a king and still a stranger, I had
more sense of seemliness. Besides, I wanted to know him first.
As we ate, I saw out of the side of my eye the woman peeping across him. Before I sat, I had saluted her and seen her face. She was neither of the Hellenes nor of the Shore Folk; her face was broad, the nose a little flat, the eyes narrow and slanted outward. She had a subtle mouth, curving and closed on a secret smile. Her brow, which was low and white, was crowned with a diadem a hand’s breadth deep of gold flowers and leaves; gold flower buds on golden chains fell down each side among the streams of her strong black hair.
The chamberlain with the wine came round again. I was not ready, but the King had emptied his deep gold cup and motioned to have it filled. As he raised his hand, I saw my own beside it. The shape, the fingers, the turn of the thumbs, the very nails were the same. My breath caught; I looked, sure he would see it and stare amazed. But the woman was speaking to him softly, and he had not seen.
My dish was empty. When I had shown I was full and would take no more, he said to me, “Royal guest, by your looks you are a Hellene. And it seems to me that before ever you came to the Palace of Eleusis, there was some king’s house where you were not a stranger.”
I answered smiling, “Sir, that is true. What blood I come of, there is no man I will tell so gladly as you. But excuse me from it now, and I will tell you the reason later. The favor I came to ask, you know already. As for the man I killed, I fought him fair, though he had tried to have me murdered.” And I told him how it was, saying, “I should not like you to think I am a man who works in the dark.”
He looked down at the cup in his hand, and said, “First you must make an offering to the Daughters of Night. This is the Lady Medea, who will perform the sacrifice.” The woman looked across at me with her slanting eyes. I said, “One must always appease the Mother, who takes slain men into her lap. But, sir, like you I am a Hellene. I ought to go first to Apollo, Slayer of Darkness.”
I saw her look at him, but he did not catch her eye. “That shall be as you wish. The night is cold; let us go up, and drink our wine by my chamber fire. We can be easier there.”
We went up the stairs behind the dais, with the white hound padding after. The room stood over the northern terrace. It was almost night, and a low autumn moon had risen. One could not see the town so far below, only the circling mountains. A fire of sweet-scented wood burned clear on the round hearth; there were two chairs before it, and near by another before an embroidery-stand. A lamp of green malachite stood on a carved pedestal; there was a deer hunt, with many horsemen, painted round the walls. The bed was of cedar-wood draped with red.
We sat; a servant set a wine-stand between us, but brought no wine. The King leaned forward, and held his hands to the fire. I saw them shaking, and thought, “He has drunk enough in Hall, and would rather wait.”
Now my time had come. But my tongue stuck fast; I did not know how to begin. “He will say something,” I thought, “which will start me going.” So I only praised the Citadel and its strength. He said it had never fallen to an enemy, and I answered, “It never will while it is held by men who know it.” For I had seen one or two places where troops used to mountains could scale the sides. He looked at me swiftly; and I thought I had been ill-bred to scan his walls so closely while he only knew me as a guest. So, when he spoke of the Isthmus war, I was glad to talk of that. Indeed, I had rehearsed on the way the story of my victories, as young men will. I wanted him to think me nothing he need be ashamed of.
He said, “And now you are King in Eleusis; the thing as well as the name. All this in one season.”
“Yet,” I said, “it was not to do those things that I crossed the Isthmus. That was a chance on the way, if such matters are ever chance.” He looked at me searchingly under his dark brows. “Is not Eleusis the place of your moira, then? Do you look beyond?” I smiled and said, “Yes.”
I thought, “Now I will speak.” But as I drew breath, he rose from his chair and paced to the window. The tall dog heaved itself to its feet and strolled after. Not to sit while he stood, I got up too and joined him on the unlit terrace. Moonlight streamed over the land; across the pale fields far below the rock cast its huge shadow. I said, “The hills are dry. I should like to see them in springtime, and white with snow. How clear it is! One can see the ghost of the old moon. Is it always so clear in Athens?” “Yes,” he said; “the air is bright here.” I said, “As one climbs up, it meets one; as if her stones breathed light. Strong house of Erechtheus, the harpers call her. Truly they might call her Stronghold of the Gods.”
He turned, and went indoors. As I followed, I found him standing with his back to the lamp, which shone into my eyes. He said, “How old are you?”
“Nineteen,” I said. The lie came pat to me, after so much use. Then when I remembered whom I spoke to, the drollness caught me and made me laugh. “What is it?” he asked. His voice sounded weary, almost old. “I have good cause,” I said. But before I could go on, the door swung open. Medea came in, and a servant with a tray of inlay-work. Two gold winecups stood on it, ready filled. The wine was spiced and mulled, and the rich scent of it filled the room.
She came in gently, with downcast eyes, and stood beside him. He said, “We will drink presently. Put it on the table.” The servant put it down, but she said, “It will spoil with cooling,” and offered it him again. Then he took his cup in his hands, and she brought me the other. It had beaded handles with doves perched over them, and was tooled with lions stalking through long leaves.
The wine smelt good, but my manners bade me wait until he pledged me. He stood with his serpent-handled cup between his hands; Medea waited silent. Suddenly he turned to her and said, “Where is the letter that Kerkyon sent me?”
She looked at him surprised, and went to an ivory coffer on a stand. I saw my letter in her hands. He said to me, “Will you tell me what it says?” I put down my cup, and took it from her. His eyes looked keen; I had not thought that his sight was thick. I read the letter to him, and he said, “Thank you. Most I could read, but a few words I was not sure of.” I looked at it puzzled, and said, “I thought it was written fair.” He said, in the harassed way of a man with half his mind elsewhere, “Yes, yes, a good fair hand. Your scribe can write Greek; but he spells like a barbarian.”
I put down the letter as if it had bitten me. Not my face only, but even my midriff felt hot, so that I tossed my cloak back from my shoulders. Unthinking, rather than stand there like a fool, I picked up the winecup and lifted it to drink.
As my mouth touched it, I felt it plucked from my hands. Hot wine spilled on my face and splashed my clothing. The gold cup struck the painted floor tiles ringing, and made a spreading pool. A thick lees trickled from it, darker than the wine.
I stared at the King astonished, wiping my face. His eyes were on me, as if they saw death itself. No dying man could have been paler. The sight brought back my wits to me, and I saw the sword uncovered at my side. “I should have spoken,” I thought. “How ill I have done all this! The shock has stunned him.” I took his arm and said, “Sit down, sir. I am sorry. In one more moment I would have told you everything.”
I drew him toward his chair. He grasped the chair back, and stood there out of breath. As I leaned over him, thinking what more to say, the white boarhound came padding in from the balcony, and licked at the spilled wine. He started forward, and dragged it back by the collar. I heard the rustle and chinking of a woman’s ornaments; the priestess Medea, whom in her stillness I had forgotten, was shaking her head at him. It was then that I understood.
Hemlock is not so cold, nor verjuice so stinging, as the touch of that knowledge was upon my heart. I stood like stone; when the woman led the dog to the door, and slipped away with it, I let her go without raising a hand. The King leaned on his chair head, as if only that kept him from falling. At last I heard his voice, harsh and low as a death-rattle. “You said nineteen. You said you were nineteen.”
The sound awakened me. I picked up the cup f
rom the floor, and sniffed the dregs, and stood it before him. “No matter,” I said. “It might have been enough that I was your guest. As for the other, that need no longer concern us.”
He groped round the chair, and sat, and covered his face with his hands. I undid my sword sling, and laid the sword beside the cup. “Keep it,” I said, “if you know it, and have some use for it. It is not mine. I found it under a stone.”
I saw his nails dig into his forehead, pitting the flesh. A sound came from him, such as a man makes as the spear is pulled from his death-wound, when he has set his teeth trying to be silent. He wept as if his soul were being torn out of his body, while I stood leaden, wishing I might sink into the earth or melt in air.
Not till he wept had I felt he was my father; and now I felt it, it was only to be cold with shame at seeing him brought so low. I was ashamed as if it were I who had done the wrong. The floor was puddled with trodden wine stains; the dregs in the cup smelled sickly-sweet and sour. A movement drew my eye; across the room stood the servant gaping. At my glance he tried to creep into the wall. I said, “The King gives you leave,” and he scurried away.
The fire fell in on a glowing core; its heat oppressed me, and my own dumbness, and the King’s fingers tangling his gray hair. I turned my back on it all, and went out between the painted columns to the balcony. Now of a sudden there was stillness, and a great space of moonlight. Shadowy mountains closed it round, the color of dusky amber. Below on the ramparts two sentries passed each other and crossed their spears. Some singer, faint in the distance, chanted a tale and softly plucked a lyre. The Citadel stood between earth and sky in a still radiance that seemed to come out of itself; and dark below it the titan rocks plunged to the plain.