CHAPTER XXXI
‘Usque adeone mori miserum est? * * ** * * *Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.’Virgil:Æneid.‘Is it, then, so very sad a thing to die?I will descend, and ne’er unworthy proveOf you, my mighty ancestors.’
‘Usque adeone mori miserum est? * * ** * * *Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.’Virgil:Æneid.‘Is it, then, so very sad a thing to die?I will descend, and ne’er unworthy proveOf you, my mighty ancestors.’
‘Usque adeone mori miserum est? * * ** * * *Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.’Virgil:Æneid.‘Is it, then, so very sad a thing to die?I will descend, and ne’er unworthy proveOf you, my mighty ancestors.’
‘Usque adeone mori miserum est? * * ** * * *Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.’Virgil:Æneid.
‘Usque adeone mori miserum est? * * *
* * * *
Descendam, magnorum haud unquam indignus avorum.’
Virgil:Æneid.
‘Is it, then, so very sad a thing to die?I will descend, and ne’er unworthy proveOf you, my mighty ancestors.’
‘Is it, then, so very sad a thing to die?
I will descend, and ne’er unworthy prove
Of you, my mighty ancestors.’
Threemonths before the departure of Alkibiades from the court of Pharnabazos, Kritias had sent secret messages to Lysandros warning him of the growing feeling of regret among the Athenian people for the loss of their late strategos. He reminded the Spartan admiral that it was the part of a wise man never to despise the aspirations even of the abject—for Kritias still prided himself on his philosophy—and hinted that as long as the dreaded opponent of both of them was alive, the foolish people would continue to aspire. And who could tell, he added, what such a one as that might do?
Even Lysandros, the assassin of three thousand valiant soldiers, prisoners of war, shrank from the suggestion when he understood the full meaning of the missive of the philosophic Kritias. Even he would rather not, if he could help it, stain his hands deeper, and in the blood of such a one as Alkibiades. Lysandros was himself, on his father’s side, sprung of heroic ancestry. He too was of the Herakleidai. He might massacre three thousand common soldiers, but he hesitated, and almost refused, to take a part in an act such as that which was suggested to him. He sent back an ambiguous answer.
Then Kritias wrote straight to the Ephors at Sparta. The influence of one whose power they knew so well was as much dreaded by them as by any of the Thirty; while to King Agis, the thought of revenge on his old enemy, his hated rival, was indeed sweet. The Ephors sent a peremptory order to Lysandros to compass, by all means, and speedily, the death or capture of the object of their fears. Lysandros dared not dally any longer with their command. He knew that Alkibiades was living at the court of Pharnabazos. He heard of the influence he was exercising over the satrap, an abler man than Tissaphernes, and of the splendid provision that the satrap had already made for him.He was in some doubt as to how Pharnabazos would act, but he sent a copy of the Ephors’ order to Daskylion, with a strong request to take immediate steps to carry out the Ephors’ wishes, adding a warning that any disregard of this request would be held to be conduct hostile to Sparta, as well as to Prince Kyros.
Pharnabazos thus found himself in a pitiable plight. He was not without a sense of honour—of Eastern honour. That sense of honour had lately been greatly outraged when the Athenian ambassadors to the late king were forcibly taken from him by the young Prince, and imprisoned against the honourable understanding of all civilized nations. He had endeavoured to make up for this, as far as he could, by his cordial reception of Alkibiades, the late Athenian strategos, at whose suggestion the embassy to Persia had been sent. Besides this, there was the oath of mutual friendship and hospitality between them. His former opponent was now his guest; as such his life was inviolable. He could not defile that sacred relationship with blood.
Moreover, he had conceived a more than common attachment for the Grecian warrior, who had sought his aid and friendship when driven off and hunted down by men of his own race. Theold spell had been cast over him. He had always admired the man; to that admiration was added now a feeling of affection. Besides all this, the mission on which, with his concurrence, his guest was gone might very possibly succeed.
He determined that, come what might, he would not harm him. And yet the mandate was very plain; there was no mistaking it: he must either comply with it or forfeit the friendship, and incur the enmity, of the all-conquering Spartans. If Kyros was successful in his intrigues, and the threatened revolt should break upon them, what would become of his power, and of what value would his life be then? He hesitated. Then he bethought him of a compromise.
Alkibiades had been gone some days, the escort had returned, when the sanguinary mandate of the Ephors came to Pharnabazos. He argued with himself that if he merely suggested the wishes of the Spartan government to someone else, and left the rest to chance, he would not be responsible for the result, whatever it might be. And even if others, in consequence of the whispered suggestion, sought to do an act of violence, perhaps they might not overtake the brave Athenian; or if they did,—well, he bore a charmed life, so all men said, and might escapeor overcome assailants. In any case he, Pharnabazos, would not be implicated in the deed. He would save himself, and perhaps his honour.
Pharnabazos had two relatives, a brother and an uncle, who lived near him at Daskylion. To them, in strictest confidence, he told his trouble, and the dilemma in which he found himself. He would not have even a suspicion cast upon his fame, and could not allow any injury to be done to his friend and former guest, but, he said, the burden that was laid upon him overwhelmed him; he asked them their advice how he could get rid of it. He confided to them how he wished that something, almost anything, would happen to take it from him.
Without another word, the two relatives set out upon the track of the travellers, taking some retainers with them.
By rapid marches they arrived at Synnada, a few miles from Melissa, where we left Alkibiades resting with his friends, after their long and tiring journey, seeking to gain fresh strength before they started on the more hazardous and less known way which lay between them and the Persian capital. Agrestides had noticed that his master, for the first time since he had known him, began to show signs of weariness while they were on the road, and, soon after they had reached Melissa, he told them of a foolish dream which hadtroubled him the night before, the meaning of which he could not understand. In his dream he fancied that a woman was supporting his head and looking sorrowfully at him, while she combed his hair.
The next night, sadly, as if from some presentiment that could not be overcome, he went early to rest. Timandra and Agrestides, having attended to his wants, retired to their own rooms, at a little distance from his, which was in the front part of the solitary house.
Like sleuth-hounds the sneaking emissaries stole on; they reached the village at nightfall. They heard their victim was living there almost alone. There were six of the pursuers altogether, yet they feared to strike the blow. One of them, more daring than the rest of the band of cowards, undertook to do it. He crept stealthily into the room, snatched with shaking hand the sword that lay by the couch side, saw the hero lying restlessly in sleep, and, seized by a sudden panic at the sight, slunk tremblingly away.
A hurried conference was held. None of them would venture to approach him, though they had possession of his sword. ‘Let us set fire to the house,’ someone proposed. ‘If he is not burnt alive, we can slay him as he escapes.’
This was agreed on. The cowardly assailants collected a quantity of fallen leaves and dry wood,and, piling these combustibles noiselessly before the house, set fire to them, and retired some distance into the darkness. The noise of the crackling fire awoke Agrestides, who shouted to his master to escape, and was attempting to put out the kindling fire, when he was stricken through the heart by a Persian arrow.
The cry of Agrestides awoke his lord. Half choked by the smoke from burning leaves and wood, he rose, and sought his sword in vain.
Then at one bound he cleared the smoke and flames. Unclothed, he stood before the assassins like a deity in wrath. At the sight of the dead body of his faithful follower he uttered a cry as of a god in pain. His figure stood out against the flames behind him. He rushed upon an unseen enemy. The murderers fled at sight of him, but one of them, hiding behind a stunted bush, aimed a dart which struck him fatally.
He fell. The place where he was lying faded from his view. He was a boy again wandering by the Ilissos. He heard the festal music, as, crowned with violets, he led a joyous crew along the streets of Athens. He fancied he was bringing home his bride, as he had done on the happy marriage day. He was standing in the tribune on the Pnyx, ten thousand faces turned to him, with voices hushed. He saw his swift steeds at Olympia bear hischariot on to victory. He saw theErosgarlanded with roses moving slowly to the stroke of oars as the crowd called out their farewell to him from the shore. He was fighting once more at Kyzikos; Spartans and Persians fled before him. He heard the loud pæans of his victorious soldiers. He stood again upon the deck of the Eros as she entered the Peiræus; the people thronged about him shouting their welcome in his ears, and strewed their flowers at his feet. He saw his mother and his son—then all grew dark.
And there he lay, far, far from home, his proud thoughts, his high hopes, his great ambition, like his friends, all gone! Gone, too, was his anger. The furrows which in the last two years had begun to mark his brow were gone. The old exceeding loveliness, the air of high-bred dignity remained, and was as splendidly conspicuous as ever. A smile of peace and triumph was upon his face, as though, beyond these shadows, he had already met old Aiakos, his ancestor, and was rejoiced to behold him. There he lay, watched over by Timandra.
THE ENDJ. BAKER AND SON, PRINTERS, CLIFTON
THE ENDJ. BAKER AND SON, PRINTERS, CLIFTON
THE END
J. BAKER AND SON, PRINTERS, CLIFTON
Transcriber’s Notes:Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.Typographical errors were silently corrected.Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.