OLYMPIAN.
Like statues fair the naked runners stand,
Poised for the start on Elis’ sacred plain,
Their limbs resplendent shine with fragrant oil,
And every eager athlete is fain
To win the wreath of olives for his toil,
In honor of his laud.
Like flying arrows from a stretchèd bow,
They onward speed with every muscle strained.
A breathless pause—then shouts to heaven go
In token of the victory hardly won.
A triple cry of “Hail, Victorious!” sounds;
With dance and choral song the victor goes
To bend before the statue of the god.
Then one with glad rejoicing proudly throws
A robe of triumph o’er his shoulders broad,
And with wild olives crowned,
The athlete unconquered, in his state
Waits silent in the awful god’s abode
To hear, with pride of victory elate,
The rushing splendor of Pindaric ode.
Owing to the comparatively small size of the valley, which was much
taken up with the dwelling-houses, manufactories, and public buildings,
the place wherein the yearly games took place was not very large. Still,
with a sparse population, the arena was large enough, and when all were
assembled it was comfortably filled, leaving a large open space in the
centre for the runners, leapers, boxers, and other athletes who took
part in the sports. Despite his dislike to anachronisms, Justinian was
obliged to deviate from the special sports of Elis, and introduce a
number of modern pastimes, in order to keep his men in an efficient
state of training for the defence of the island. To this end, shooting
matches were arranged, and the Demarch supplied the Melnosians with guns
for the day, which were afterwards returned to the armory of the
Acropolis, and many of the villagers were excellent marksmen. Justinian
also, who appeared to know something of military tactics, drilled and
manœuvred his men in fine style; and last, but not least, Gurt, who
was an old man-of-war’s man, had taught a special number the cutlass
drill of the British navy.
The arena was a large open space near the grand staircase, surrounded
with many trees of the beech, elm, pine, and plane sort; and thus, to
some extent, shaded the ground agreeably from the sun, which beat
fiercely down at noonday. There was no amphitheatre, but rows of stone
benches on which the women could seat themselves, while their husbands,
fathers, sons, and brothers stood around, or lay luxuriously on the
grass. Justinian himself, however, had a kind of stone throne, rudely
carved, and all his guests were supplied with seats adjacent, so that
they could view the games quite comfortably. The athletes were clothed
in their tight-fitting dancing costumes, which gave free play to their
bodies, and were comfortably cool, while their feet only were bare, so
as not to impede their speed in the racing. On this final day of the
festival, the colors changed sexes, for most of the men were garbed in
white for the sports, while the women had decked their snowy chitons
with brilliant ribbons and gold coins, while they wreathed their dark
locks with fragrant chaplets of flowers. Only Helena was in pure
white—Helena, who sat near her father like a queen, and wore a robe the
hue of milk, a snowy wreath of delicate cyclamen, yet who looked the
fairest of all the fair women assembled. In spite of the attractions,
vine-feast and goat-song, which had occupied the two previous days,
these Olympian games were the favorites with the lively Melnosians, as
all could take part in them, and win the praises of the Demarch, and the
smiles of the women, which was greatly flattering to the harmless vanity
of the Greek nature.
Maurice, in common with Crispin, was arrayed in the white wool athletic
dress, as Caliphronas had challenged him to compete in jumping, and for
the honor of his country he accepted the glove so insultingly thrown
down. Insultingly, because Caliphronas, confident of his superb physical
perfection, had taunted the Englishman with not being able to hold his
own in athletic sports, save in boxing, which taunt had stung Maurice so
much, that he had wagered himself against Caliphronas in the running
jump. At college, Maurice had been a famous athlete, and though six
years of idleness in London had impaired his powers, yet the pure
atmosphere of Melnos, the constant open-air life of mountain-climbing
and swimming had completely reinvigorated him; and what he lacked of his
former skill was counterbalanced by the endurance of his spare frame,
the hardness of his muscles, and his general feeling of exuberant
vitality. He was all in white, save for the colors of his college, and a
wreath of red roses, which Helena had woven round his gray sombrero, in
which headgear he looked like the Sicilian shepherd, Acis, when he went
a-courting Galatea by the sea.
Seated by Justinian, they all watched the progress of the games with
great interest, which was fully shared by their surrounding guard of
sailors, who thought this festival the most sensible of the three. All
the ambitious mariners had entered themselves for every game, running,
wrestling, leaping, boxing, and shooting; nor did they fail to uphold
the honor of England, for if the Greeks had the speed, the Britons had
the strength, and, in their dogged determination that an Englishman
could not be beaten, managed to secure a respectable number of victories
over the nimble-stepping islanders.
“I think I like the games best myself,” said Justinian, as he surveyed
the races from his throne, like one of the old Olympian Hellanodikai;
“for I know that strength is what Melnos now requires from her sons.
Amusement and intellectuality are in the future, but, with the chances
of a probable war, we need as many skilled athletes and trained soldiers
as possible.”
“I notice you make everything subservient to your schemes,” observed
Maurice, who every day was more and more impressed with the
administrative capabilities of the Demarch.
“Of course. I think the entire life of a people should be the means to
an end, and thus they will be able to live healthfully, mirthfully, and
intellectually, yet be able to guard themselves in time of dangers.”
“Quite like Sparta!”
“No; I have told you I never did approve of Sparta, which destroyed the
individuality of every man, and turned her nation into nothing but a
warlike machine. A plant will not grow in a pot too small for it, nor
will a child constantly confined in swaddling clothes develop its
physical nature freely. Mankind requires four things,—amusement,
education, work, and physical exercise; and on these requirements I base
my system of rule. All the year round, my people work for the well-being
of the community, and these festivals, although they please them, are
not without their objects. The first day is the pure amusement only of
the vintage feast; during the second day, I educate their minds to
understand the reason of their existence; and now, on this third day,
they indulge in physical exercises, which keep them healthy, and also
train them to defend their land from outside dangers.”
“You are a modern Solon!”
“The Solon of an unnoticed island,” replied Justinian, with a smile.
“Well, you see, owing to the exigencies of modern life, I am forced to
go in for quality rather than quantity—to rule a tribe instead of a
nation—to govern an island rather than a continent. Nevertheless, you
know the saying, ‘From small events, what mighty causes spring;’ so,
perchance, my miniature government, when it develops into a larger one,
may not be without some influence in this often misgoverned world.”
“Justinian,” said Maurice, with irrepressible curiosity, “who are you?”
“Demarch of Melnos.”
“Forgive me!” replied Maurice, flushing, as he noticed the pointed
rebuke. “I know the question I have asked is a breach of good-breeding;
but you are such a wonderful man, that I must be excused for wondering
where you came from.”
“I am not angry at your question,” returned Justinian, touched by the
frankness of the young man; “the spectacle of an old Englishman with
such projects is, perhaps, calculated to arouse curiosity. However, I
will promise to tell you all about myself when a certain event, which I
dearly desire, comes to pass.”
“And that event?”
Justinian smiled meaningly, and let his eyes fall upon Helena, upon
which Maurice flushed red with delight, and would have spoken, but that
the wary old man shook his head, as a sign that he was to keep silence.
“Andros!” he whispered significantly; “another time.”
Maurice saw that Caliphronas was walking towards them, and wisely held
his peace, although it was difficult for him to repress the delight
which the hint of Justinian had awakened in his breast. To have this
queen among women as his own, to pass his life by her side, to always
have her beautiful face before his eyes,—it was too good to be true. Yet
true it was, for Justinian had unmistakably shown his approbation of the
match. As to Caliphronas, the young Englishman had no fear; he had given
his rival plainly to understand that he would strive his hardest to win
Helena, and the Greek could not say that he was involved in any way in
Justinian’s crafty diplomacy. Maurice Roylands was essentially an
honorable man, and, despite the necessity for such treachery, the
underhanded dealings of the Demarch were revolting to his sense of
honesty, and he was glad he had come to a complete understanding with
the Count, so that, when Justinian showed his hand in the deep game he
was playing, Caliphronas could not accuse his rival of underhand
dealings in any way. As to Helena, this straightforward lover was not so
ignorant of the ways of women as not to know she liked him best, in
spite of her coquettings with Caliphronas; therefore he felt quite
confident that Helena would not be cruel enough to refuse him.
His meditations were put an end to by Crispin, who approached with Dick,
on whose behalf he proffered a challenge to Mr. Roylands.
“Here you are, Maurice,” said the poet cheerily. “Dick wishes to know if
you will be his antagonist in a boxing contest.”
“Certainly, I will be delighted; but I am afraid, Dick, you will have
the best of it, as I haven’t touched the gloves for the last six
months.”
“I’m not in good training myself, sir,” replied Dick modestly; “but I’d
dearly love to have a turn with you, sir, if I may make so bold, just to
show these darned Greeks how to use their fists.”
“Don’t you speak contemptuously of these darned Greeks, my friend,” said
Crispin dryly; “some of Justinian’s men have no small skill in boxing, I
can tell you.”
“Not Caliphronas,” remarked Maurice, recalling his contest with the
Count on the first day of the feast.
“Caliphronas!” echoed Crispin scornfully. “No; he is too much afraid of
his beauty being spoiled to go in for hard knocks; but he is a good
leaper, Maurice, so you will have to look to your University laurels.”
“‘And can I fail before my lady’s eyes?’” quoted Maurice jestingly.
“Perhaps not; but remember Caliphronas is also exhibiting his prowess in
his lady’s eyes: so you are like two knights of the Middle Ages tilting
before the Queen of Beauty. If you fail, my poor Maurice”—
“_Væ victis_”, retorted Roylands, with a laugh; “keep your lamentations
till after the contest, Mr. Aristophanes. Jove! how that fellow scuds!”
A one-mile race was going on, four times round the arena, which was a
quarter of a mile in circumference, and about half a dozen men had
started, among whom was Temistocles, the young Greek who had won the
wine-skin dance on the first day of the festival. He had shot slightly
ahead of his competitors, who were making great efforts to catch him up,
but Maurice, an adept in such things, saw that he was exhausting himself
in the effort to keep the lead, and, as it was only the first lap, would
not be able to hold out to the end going at such a pace.
“Crispin, tell that fellow leading to reserve himself for the last
round.”
“What for?”
“Because he’s taking too much out of himself, stupid. Quick, shout as he
passes.”
The runners were now flying past the winning-post, which was directly in
front of Justinian’s throne, so Crispin sang out loudly in Greek to
Temistocles as Maurice had instructed him. The young Palikar was no
fool, and saw that the advice was good, so he let the two behind him
gain his side, and took a second place between them and the ruck. Only
these three men were in the race, for the remaining three were already
well blown, and Temistocles, acting on the wary advice given, wanted his
two most dangerous opponents to exhaust themselves. During the second
lap, one of the last three men threw up the sponge, as also did another
at the third round, and as the hinder man was completely out of it, the
interest in the race centred in the two leading runners and Temistocles,
who followed closely behind. Neck and neck ran the first two, making
violent efforts to pass one another, quite unaware of the danger behind
them, so that at the final lap they were getting somewhat stale.
Half-way round the arena, one gained slightly on the other, and,
thinking he was now pretty certain of the victory, ran home at full
speed, but Temistocles, who had been mustering his strength, saw that
the decisive moment had come, and, shooting past him like an arrow,
gained the goal four lengths ahead. The applause during this exciting
race was tremendous, and the onlookers cheered themselves hoarse when
Temistocles won; while that grateful young man came to thank Crispin for
the hint which had gained him the victory.
“Do not thank me,” said Crispin, smiling, as he drew Roylands forward;
“Kyrios Maurice told me what to say.”
Temistocles expressed himself much beholden to the lord, and went off to
receive the congratulations of his friends, while the next item on the
programme, which was a boxing contest, began. Both Maurice and Dick
watched this exhibition of pugilistic science critically, and came to
the conclusion that while the islanders were active enough in dodging
and hitting, they had not sufficient strength to make their blows
effective enough when they hit home. It was all dexterity and avoidance
with them, which made the fight pretty enough to look on, but scarcely
exciting from an English point of view. Still, one of these light-weight
Greeks was enough to tire out any ordinary boxer, and, once having
exhausted his antagonist, could hope to tap him pretty freely, and thus
come off victor.
At last, after several contests, Maurice and Dick put on the gloves and
stepped into the arena, and, after shaking hands in time-honored
fashion, began to spar warily at one another. Both were heavier-built
men than the spare-framed Greeks, but were pretty equally matched in
point of weight and science. If anything, Dick had the quicker eye of
the two, while Roylands possessed the longer reach. Justinian, an old
boxing man himself, was as keen as a needle over this glove match, and
came down from his seat, in order to get a closer view of the battle,
while the Melnosians, equally interested, crowded round eagerly to watch
the contest.
After sparring lightly for a time, Maurice made a feint, and led out
straight home, but Dick was on his guard, and parried the blow with his
right, catching his antagonist a lifter on the jaw with his left.
Secretly annoyed at this, Roylands made rapid play, and succeeded in
landing a stunner on Dick’s eye before the active sailor could dodge.
Maurice got the worst of the first round, Dick of the second, so it
seemed difficult to foresee who would finally triumph. In the third
Maurice got a nasty one in the ribs, but, feinting with his left,
extended his right rapidly in that dexterous blow known as “the
policeman’s knock,” which, catching Dick full on the face, had the
effect of tumbling him over on the grass. In the fourth round, however,
Dick recovered his lost ground by blowing his antagonist first, then
coming home with a tremendous rap on the left ear which made Maurice see
stars. The Greeks were frenzied with excitement, and even Justinian,
Caliphronas, and Crispin caught the contagion, and yelled as loudly as
the rest at every successful blow. Not so active as the cat-like sailor,
Maurice was getting a trifle blown, and thought he was going to disgrace
himself in Helena’s eyes, and, what was worse, in Caliphronas’, by being
beaten, so, when the fifth round began, made up his mind to come off
best. By this time he was pretty well versed in Dick’s tactics, and when
the sailor closed in with a right-hand feint, in order to come home with
his left, Maurice dodged like lightning, and, breaking down Dick’s
guard, punished him severely on the nose. Both men’s blood was up now,
and indeed Dick’s was showing, as it streamed from what is called, in
the graceful language of the prize ring, “his smeller,” and at the sixth
round the onlookers saw that the final bout would be severe.
All the women were rather nervous at this savage contest, and Helena,
pale as a lily at the sight of blood, was clinging to her father’s arm,
inwardly breathing prayers for the success of her hero, for so she now
regarded Maurice. Dick had now quite lost his head, and was quite
reckless, while Maurice was as cool and calm as ever, his self-control
standing him in good stead in parrying Dick’s furious onslaughts. Still
the sailor managed to draw blood freely, much to the secret joy of
Caliphronas, who would have liked nothing better than to see Maurice’s
handsome face spoiled, when Roylands, setting his teeth like a vise,
tried to close in with his opponent for the final tussle. For a minute
the two men dodged rapidly, feinted, parried, sparred, and did their
best to break down one another’s guard, when Dick, losing his
self-control, hit out recklessly in a wild fashion, upon which Maurice
sent one blow after another home like a sledge-hammer, and ended the
fight with a tremendous left-hander, which levelled Dick almost
insensible on the ground.
Every man on the ground, aroused by the sight of blood, fairly went mad,
and when Dick went off, supported by two of his messmates, wanted to
carry the victor in schoolboy fashion round the ground on their
shoulders, a triumph which Maurice declined, and retired to cleanse
himself of blood. Long after was that fight remembered, and the local
poet made a kind of Iliad out of the struggle, which was one compared to
the triumph of Achilles over Hector, Maurice of course being the son of
silver-footed Thetis.
The sports went on during the whole of the long day, as if the
competitors would never tire, and there were flat-racing, hurdle-racing,
jumping, wrestling, and further boxing, until late in the afternoon.
Then Gurt put his men through their cutlass drill, and Justinian
manœuvred the whole male population of the island, much to his own
satisfaction and that of Maurice, who saw that the Melnosians were
capitally drilled.
“Where did you learn all your military science?” he asked Justinian when
the drill was over.
“I was in the army once,” replied the old Demarch, with great pride.
“What regiment, may I ask?”
“I cannot tell you that yet.”
“You are as mysterious as Crispin.”
“There are a good many mysteries in this Island of Fantasy, Mr.
Roylands,” retorted Justinian good-humoredly, “and when they are all
solved, you will be surprised in more ways than one. Have you been a
soldier yourself?”
“No! I am a man of peace, but my Uncle Rudolph was a lieutenant in a
line regiment, the —th.”
“Ah, your lost uncle!” said the Demarch, with an ambiguous smile. “You
must tell me your family history some day.”
“I am afraid it will be necessary soon,” replied Maurice, glancing at
Helena.
“Ah, you think so? Well, remember my desire about you being my
successor, Maurice. I wish your answer shortly.”
“You will have it as soon as I hear from England.”
“Well, that will be soon. I have a boat waiting at Syra for your
letters, so I trust you will your reply, and Crispin his yacht,
shortly.”
“Then you still anticipate trouble?”
“I do! Remember we have one possessing the fatal name of Helena here.
She is the firebrand, as you well know; but we will talk of these things
another time, my son. Meanwhile, let us come and look at the shooting.”
As Maurice turned to accompany the old man, he felt a soft touch on his
arm, and, on looking down, saw that Helena, with an expression of pity
on her beautiful face, was looking at him.
“Are you hurt, Maurice?” she said anxiously.
“No, not at all!” he replied, laughing. “Dick gave me a nasty one on the
nose, which is rather painful, but nothing to speak of. But to-morrow, I
will be such a sight, as you will shudder to look on me.”
“I would rather see a brave man disfigured, than a handsome coward,”
retorted Helena, with disdain, casting a side look at the distant form
of Caliphronas.
“Oh, and you think Caliphronas is”—
“Very nice,” interrupted Helena cruelly. “Yes, he is delightful!”
“I believe you are very fond of Caliphronas,” said Maurice, displeased
at this speech.
“I don’t think you are, Maurice,” pouted the girl, looking down.
“Assuredly I’m not, and to prove this, I will do my best to beat him at
the high jump!”
“If you do,” said Helena gayly, “I will give you a rose.”
“Of what color, you coquette,—red for love, or white for silence?”
“Neither! Yellow for jealousy!”
She ran away after her father with a silvery laugh, in which Maurice, in
spite of his vexation, could not help joining, as the charming coquetry
of this young girl was delightful enough to fascinate him, and annoying
enough to pique his pride, of which Mr. Roylands had no small share.
“She is the loveliest woman in the world,” he said to himself,
sauntering towards the shooting party, “and if I win her I will be the
most fortunate of beings. But I am afraid she is a coquette, or else it
is a woman’s way of provoking love. Hullo, Dick! is this you?” he added
aloud, as the boatswain, considerably battered, approached him. “I’m
afraid I’ve knocked you up a bit.”
“Not a bit of it, sir,” replied Dick, heartily grasping the young
Englishman’s extended hand. “I’ll be as right as a trivet to-morrow;
but, my word, sir, I shouldn’t like to meet you without the gloves!”
“I don’t know so much about that, Dick. You were a pretty tough
antagonist, I can tell you!”
“So Zoe thought, sir, when she saw me,” grinned Dick, displaying his
white teeth; “she thought it was Gurt, sir!”
“And was sorry it wasn’t, perhaps?”
“I’m blest if she was, Mr. Roylands! I’m the white-haired boy in that
quarter, sir.”
“And Gurt?”
“Oh, he don’t mind, sir. He’s not a marrying man—I am.”
“And you intend to marry Zoe?”
“If she’ll have me, sir.”
“I don’t think there’s much fear of that, Dick,” replied Maurice
genially.
“I hope not, sir, but women are queer creatures.”
“They are, indeed, Dick,” answered Maurice, with a sigh, thinking of
Helena and her dexterity in avoiding his wooing, yet keeping him a fast
captive in her chains.
“What I’d like you to do, sir,” said Dick reflectively, “is to have the
gloves on with Mr. Caliphronas.”
“Why so?”
For answer Dick pointed to his own swollen face, and grinned meaningly,
whereupon Maurice walked away, laughing to think of the Count’s handsome
countenance in such a scarred condition.
The shooting was going on splendidly, and all the Melnosians proved
themselves good marksmen, more or less, while Justinian himself was a
crack shot, and made one centre after the other in a most surprising
manner.
“Will you have a try, Maurice?” he said, when the young man reached him.
“Not to-day, sir. I’m too shaky after that fight, and wish to keep up
all my strength for the high jump.”
“You have a tough antagonist in Caliphronas.”
“I know that,” rejoined Maurice uneasily, “but I’m hanged if I’ll let
him beat me. His bragging would never cease. Bravo, Crispin!”
Crispin had just made a bull’s eye, and was rejoicing in a modest way
over his success, so Maurice, to encourage him, patted his shoulder.
“What a pity Eunice is not here to see!” said Roylands, laughing.
“I’m afraid Eunice would not appreciate my skill!”
“My dear lad, she would appreciate anything you did.”
“I don’t think her mother would!”
“As long as you have twelve thousand a year, Mrs. Dengelton will think
you an Admirable Crichton.”
“Not without a name!”
“You have a name as good as any in England,” said Justinian, touching
the poet on the shoulder, “and what it is I will tell you, when all
these troubles are over.”
This was the first time the Demarch had spoken so plainly, and Crispin
was much rejoiced thereat.
“I am quite content, for I know you will keep your promise.”
“You are right!” rejoined Justinian proudly. “I never break a promise,
unless with regard to Punic faith.”
Caliphronas heard this saying, but of course did not understand the
significance of the remark, and strolled away in order to look at the
high jump, which was being put up near the throne of Justinian. The
shooting being at an end, the rest of the party followed, and took their
seats for the final contest of the day, which was to be the competition
of the Greek and the Englishman in the high jump.
The two competitors came forward, as lightly clad as possible, in order
to give themselves every advantage in the contest, and two finer
specimens of manly grace it would have been hard to find. Caliphronas
was as lithe and sinewy as a panther, with a sinuous grace in every
movement; while Maurice, who was the heavier-built of the two, had not a
spare ounce of flesh on his body, thanks to his active athletic training
during his residence in Melnos. Both were fair-haired and handsome, but
the delicately moulded face of the graceful Greek had a cunning
expression which was quite absent from the more manly looks of the
Englishman. With supreme conceit Caliphronas quite expected to gain the
victory, while Maurice in spite of his University record, could not help
feeling a trifle uneasy as he looked at the springy grace of his
antagonist, besides which he still felt a trifle shaken by the
glove-fight, even though it had taken place during the earlier part of
the day.
Caliphronas jumped first, and, poising himself on the ball of his foot
about ten yards off, made for the tape, which was extended between two
upright poles, with the speed of a deer. It was four feet ten high, and,
presenting no obstacle to an accomplished leaper like himself, he
cleared it easily with the lightness of a flying bird. Maurice followed,
and also went over without the least difficulty, amid the applause of
the spectators, much to the Greek’s secret vexation, as he saw his
antagonist was fresher than he thought, and no mean athlete to be
scorned. Four eleven was also cleared cleanly by both, though in the air
Maurice’s feet were perilously near the tape, a fact which Caliphronas,
who was eagerly watching, noted with delight. The height was now five
feet, at which Caliphronas, unfortunately for himself, went with
over-confidence, so that he touched the tape lightly. Intensely vexed at
his failure, he could only hope that Maurice also would touch, but the
Englishman set his teeth determinedly, and cleared the five feet with
the bound of a deer. The Greek, mad with anger at thus being beaten, and
furious at the applause of the spectators, loudly swore that the jump
was a chance one, whereupon Maurice walked straight up to him, with an
angry face.
“Count Caliphronas, you forget yourself, and you forget me, to make such
a statement. There was no fluke about the matter, and, to prove it to
you, we will both jump the five over again.”
Justinian disapproved of this, but Maurice was firm, and Caliphronas was
only too delighted to have another chance of beating his hated enemy;
so, once more going to the start, he made a rapid run, and cleared the
jump, by a hair’s breadth, it is true—still he cleared it.
“Now, Mr. Maurice,” he said ungenerously, forgetting the noble way in
which the Englishman had acted. “Let us see if you can do that twice.”
“I will not do it twice, sir.”
“I thought not!” retorted the Greek exultantly; “so I have won.”
“Not yet! you forget I also have cleared the five; but, to prove to you
that my jump was no fluke, I challenge you to five one.”
“You’ll never do it, Maurice,” whispered Crispin in alarm. “Jump the
five again, and let the match be a tie.”
“I’m hanged if I will!” retorted the Englishman fiercely; “I have done
better than five one at Oxford, and if it had not been for the gloves,
I’d do it again. At all events, I’ll try this jump, Count Caliphronas.”
In fair play the Count could not refuse the challenge, although he was
pale with anger, so, knowing he would never clear that extra inch, went
half-heartedly towards the start. Such a faint spirit is not conducive
to victory, and Caliphronas not only touched, but fell heavily on the
ground, much to his chagrin. Then it was Maurice’s turn, and, measuring
the distance with his eye, he placed himself a little more than ten
yards from the tape. Helena clasped her hands with nervous fear, the
spectators held their breath, as Maurice, pale in face, but stout in
heart, came flying forward, and, soaring upward like a bird, cleared the
five one with consummate ease. There was a wild cheer from the crowd,
especially from the British tars, who rejoiced greatly at the way in
which Maurice was upholding the honor of England, and the victor found
his two hands nearly shaken off by Crispin and Justinian. As soon as he
could get free, he looked for Caliphronas, but the Greek, too
petty-souled to bear his defeat, had vanished, nor was he seen in the
arena for the rest of the afternoon.
The games being concluded, Helena distributed the prizes, which were
useful articles, especially selected by Justinian for these occasions.
Caliphronas had won several races, and also the wrestling contest, but
could not receive his prize, owing to his non-appearance, concerning
which no one seemed sorry, so universally was he hated for his
arrogance. Temistocles, Dick, Gurt, and others were duly rewarded for
their prowess in the athletic field, and then Maurice knelt before
Helena to receive his prize. Justinian had been somewhat puzzled what to
give his guest, as the simple articles loved by the villagers were
hardly acceptable to the travelled Englishman. Helena, however, solved
the problem, and hastily twisted together a wreath of wild olives, which
she placed lightly on his bent head.
“For you,” said Justinian, as he arose a crowned victor, and kissed the
hand of Helena, “we can have no fairer prize than the Olympian wreath of
old.”
“You should now have a Pindaric ode,” exclaimed Crispin gayly; “but
alas! I am not Pindar, and you must be content with the old Archilochian
shout, ‘Hail, Victorious!’”
The valley rang with the cries of the delighted Greeks; and Caliphronas,
seated on a summit of the grand staircase, heard the triumphal shouts
with wrath in his heart.
“He has beaten me in the games,” he hissed between his clinched teeth,
“but he shall not beat me in love. I will ask Helena to be my wife, and
then, my Englishman!”
A third shout came from the valley below, but Caliphronas only laughed
scornfully.
“And then, my Englishman!”