THE RESPONSE OF THE ORACLE
Clearchus and Leonidas rode out of Attica across the olive-bearing
plains, and up the rugged spurs and ridges which flank the mountain of
Cithæron, upon whose rocky slopes Antiope wailed as an infant, and the
rash Pentheus was torn to pieces by women to the end that the power of
Dionysius might be established. They halted for a brief space at the
fortress of Phyle, the key that had opened to Thrasybulus his native
land and enabled him to give it freedom. Leonidas admired the great
walls built of square blocks of stone laid one upon another without
mortar and fitted so exactly that the joints would scarcely be seen.
Teleon, captain of the guard which was stationed at this gateway, was a
friend of Clearchus. He gave them bread and wine, while the young
Athenian told him of his misfortune. After expressing his sympathy,
Teleon inquired eagerly for the news of Athens.
"Will the Assembly send troops to the aid of Ph[oe]nix and Prothytes,
who have raised the revolt in Thebes?" he asked. "You know they now
hold the city, and my spies tell me that they are preparing for any
attack that may be made upon them."
Clearchus gave him an account of the indecisive meeting of the Assembly
on the preceding day.
"All Athens believes the boy king is dead," he said, referring to
Alexander. "What is your opinion, Teleon?"
"That, too, is the belief in Thebes," the captain replied. "I know
not; but if it proves to be so, Thebes is free."
"And if not?" Clearchus asked.
"If not, there will be fighting," Teleon predicted, "and may Zeus
inspire the Macedonian to attack us here!"
From the slope beyond Phyle the young man saw the B[oe]otian plain
spread out before them, and beyond, in the purple distance, the rocky
ramparts of Phocis. There, glowing rose-colored in the evening light,
shone the snow-clad crest of Parnassus. Clearchus' heart swelled as he
looked upon the goal in which his hope was centred.
"We must be there to-morrow," he said eagerly.
"The God will not run away!" Leonidas replied.
They plunged down the mountain slope into the shadows, which deepened
under the plane trees as they advanced, until the winding track was
almost hidden before them. The moon rose as they emerged upon the
plain that had so often drunk the life-blood of Hellas. At Thespiæ
their horses could go no further, and they halted for the night.
Although the road from Thebes was better, they had purposely avoided
the city, fearing that the disturbances there might delay them. They
found Thespiæ full of rumors of the Theban uprising. Some said that
the Macedonians in the Cadmea had been put to the sword; others that
the peace party had gained the upper hand and was awaiting the arrival
of Alexander. Leonidas, who listened eagerly to all that was said, was
surprised to find that the report of the young king's death was
discredited in the town. There were even men who insisted that he was
on his way through Thessaly at the head of his army, ready to strike.
The Spartan sighed and looked wistfully over his shoulder in the
direction of Thebes as they took horse at sunrise. At evening,
begrimed with dust, they toiled up the last ascent that led to Delphi,
the terraced city among the sacred cliffs--the Navel of the World.
As Clearchus gazed upward at the twin columns of the Phædriades rising
side by side a thousand feet above the temple in the cool gray
twilight, the fever of anxiety in his blood left him and his pulses
beat more slowly. The strong masonry of the outer wall, which enclosed
and seemed to hold from slipping down the mountain side the buildings
clustered about the lofty terrace, on which the temple stood close
under the towering cliffs, shut in the shrine that for centuries all
Hellas had looked upon as hallowed. Awe came upon him in the presence
of the great Mystery. There were scoffers in Athens who laughed at all
religion. There were philosophers in the world who taught that the
existence of the Gods was a foolish dream. Why had Ph[oe]bus permitted
the Phocians to seize his treasure and to profane his altar, they
asked, if he really existed?
Clearchus put the same question to himself as he looked down upon the
Cirrhæan fields that had been consecrated to the God and condemned to
lie waste forever in his honor. The Phocians had desecrated them by
cultivation. When condemned by the Amphictyons at the instance of
their enemies, the Thebans, they had seized the shrine and the
treasure-houses. Though they had prospered for a time, in the end
Philomelus and Onomarchus had been slain and the Phocians broken and
scattered. The sacrilege had been punished, but Philip had been
brought into Hellas as the champion of the God and the chief instrument
of his wrath. Thebes had been placed beneath his feet.
What was to be the end? Was the fate of the city that had driven the
Phocians to their crime to be worse than that of their victims?
Clearchus, as he thought of these things, was chilled with an
indefinable dread of the Invisible Presence whose home was among the
silent and Titanic crags that made the utmost triumphs of human art and
skill laid at their feet seem as transitory as the work of children
fashioned in sand. He felt that here the mighty purpose of the Unseen
was being worked out, deliberate and irresistible, before which the
races of men were as nothing.
They did not enter the city that night, but turned aside to the house
of Eresthenes, who had been a guest-friend of Clearchus' father. The
old man was overjoyed to see them. After the evening meal he sought
the priests of the temple and brought back word that the oracle might
be consulted next day if the sacrifice proved propitious.
Clearchus slept soundly. In the morning he purified himself, according
to the rule, in the clear, cold waters of the Castalian Font hung about
with votive offerings in marble and bronze placed there by grateful
pilgrims to the shrine. Eresthenes gave him fresh garments, with the
garland of olive and the fillet of wool which suppliants were required
to put on.
Guided by the old man, the two friends ascended the wide marble
staircase that led to the great stone platform at the southeast corner
of the lower terrace, where ceremonial processions were accustomed to
form before entering the sacred enclosure. Passing through the gate,
they advanced between treasure-houses upon which the most famous
sculptors of the world had lavished their skill. Among these and the
dwellings of the priests and the chief men of the place were set scores
of columns and statues, the offerings of centuries from kings and
princes. Across the lower terrace the way led them to the next higher,
with a sharp turn to the right at the great stone sphinx which guarded
the passage through the second wall. They continued up the slope to
the final platform, on which the temple stood resplendent with color.
Entering between the great columns, Eresthenes and Leonidas left
Clearchus to the care of the priests--grave men of advanced age who
were under the direction of Agias. They led the Athenian to the
apartment of the chief priest, a venerable minister whose age had
passed one hundred years. He sat in his marble arm-chair, propped by
cushions. His white beard flowed over his breast, and his thin hands
lay crossed in his lap. He raised his dim eyes and fixed them upon the
face of his visitor.
"What wilt thou, Thrasybulus, who comest back to me from beyond the
tomb?" he asked in a quavering voice.
The attendant priests glanced at each other in surprise, but none of
them dared to reply.
"Speak, Thrasybulus; I am an old man," the chief priest said.
"Thrasybulus has been dead these fifty years, Father," Agias said.
"This is Clearchus, an Athenian, who comes as a suppliant to the
oracle."
"He is like Thrasybulus!" the old man muttered, bowing his head. "It
seems but yesterday that he stood before me." He paused for a moment
and then continued with an effort: "Art thou pure of heart? Art thou
free from the sins of the flesh?"
"I am," Clearchus replied firmly.
"Then pass into the presence of the God who knoweth all and who doth
not forget!" said the patriarch, closing his eyes wearily.
Clearchus bowed and was about to turn away, when the old man roused
himself once more.
"Come hither, boy, and let me look at thee!" he said. "My sight is
growing dim."
Clearchus knelt at his feet, and the aged priest placed his hand on his
head, stroking his hair and peering into his face.
"So like Thrasybulus! It was only yesterday!" he said to himself.
"The storm comes and the world is changing. Thou shalt see thrones
made empty and nations perish; but the God will remain until a greater
cometh. Clearchus art thou called? It may be so; but to me thou art
Thrasybulus. Go thy ways. The God will be kind to thee."
Although the other priests were evidently struck by this unusual scene,
they made no comment, but led Clearchus into the dim interior of the
temple. On every hand, between the columns and against the walls,
gleamed statues and vessels of precious metals, exquisite in design and
workmanship, that the Phocians had not dared to remove from the house
itself of the God. Before them stood a group of young women in snowy
robes with fillets in their hair. They were chanting a hymn of slow
and solemn measure.
They ceased their chant as the priests entered with Clearchus, and two
of them advanced, leading between them one of the three priestesses of
the temple. The Pythia was a woman of middle age, slender of figure,
with large gray eyes that seemed to look at Clearchus without seeing
him. Her thin cheeks still retained the fresh color of youth, and her
lips, of a deep red, moved gently as though she were whispering to
herself.
Looking about him with eyes grown accustomed to the semidarkness,
Clearchus saw a slightly raised platform of white marble toward the
rear of the temple. Three shallow steps led to a broad slab, in the
middle of which was a cleft. Through this orifice curled a pale,
fleeting vapor, which rose like transparent smoke for the height of a
man above the platform before it vanished. It came from the stone in
puffs and spirals which swayed, now this way, now that, with a
peculiarly irregular and capricious impulse like the balancing of a
coiled serpent.
Over the cleft was set a low tripod, the legs of which were formed of
intertwined snakes wrought in gold so cunningly that every scale seemed
reproduced in the bright metal. The jewelled eyes of the reptiles
twinkled through the vapor which alternately hid and revealed them.
Slowly and solemnly the priestesses led the Pythia to the foot of the
platform, where they gave her hands to two of the most venerable of the
priests, whose office it was to conduct her to the tripod. Her lips
formed themselves into a smile as she mounted the steps and the women
resumed their chanting.
As she took her place upon the tripod and the priests descended,
leaving her alone, a sudden thunderstorm burst above the towering crags
which overhung the shrine. The wind roared down between the Phædriades
with mighty strength, and a crash of thunder, leaping and reverberating
from rock to cliff, shook the temple to its foundations.
"Zeus is speaking to the son of Latona!" murmured Agias, and all bowed
their heads in reverence.
Filled as he was with awe, Clearchus felt reassured by the calm
demeanor of the priests. He fixed his eyes on the Pythia, who remained
seated on the tripod with her hands loosely folded in her lap,
oblivious alike to the storm and to her surroundings. The chill vapor
seemed to grow more dense. At times it hid her entirely, wrapping her
in its cold embrace. The color deepened in her cheeks and the smile
left her parted lips. With dilated pupils she gazed over the heads of
the little group before her. Gradually her face assumed a troubled
expression and her tongue began to frame broken words and fragmentary
sentences the purport of which Clearchus could not understand.
Suddenly she half raised her hands as though she would cover her eyes
and her face contracted as with a spasm of pain.
"Evohe! Ph[oe]bus!" she cried in a wailing voice.
"Ask thy question--the God is here!" Agias whispered, pushing Clearchus
toward the platform.
The young man found himself standing alone in the dread Presence,
gazing upon the Pythia, who was no longer a woman, but an instrument in
the hands of the God. The vapor curled about her and encircled her in
swiftly changing, fantastic forms. Her gray eyes looked out into his,
fixed and steadfast, and the tension of the influence which possessed
her convulsed her features. Dead silence reigned throughout the vast
and shadowy interior of the temple.
Clearchus tried to frame the question that he had prepared but the
words refused to come. The awe of his surroundings paralyzed his
speech.
Suddenly the dear, wistful face of his love seemed to appear to him
amid the folds of the rolling mist, filled with sorrow and yearning.
His fear left him. All else, even life itself, was as nothing before
the fierce desire of his heart.
"Where shall I find Artemisia?" he cried, stretching out his arms
before the whirling cloud which hid the priestess in its embrace.
There was a moment of suspense, in which he could hear the dull rushing
of the torrent that filled the sluices, overflowing with the rain, on
either side of the temple. The priests leaned forward attentively to
catch the reply, each holding a tablet of wax and a stylus with which
to record any words that the Pythia might utter. Clearchus stood
motionless, his arms still outstretched, gazing with straining eyes
upon the lips of the priestess. She writhed upon the tripod as though
in agony. Her eyes were set and glassy and a slight foam showed itself
upon her mouth. Then came her voice, strained and strange, through the
eddies of the vapor:--
"Seek in the track of the Whirlwind--there shalt thou find thy Beloved!"
Her eyes closed, and a shuddering sigh issued from her bosom. The two
priests who had placed her upon the tripod hastened forward and bore
her from the platform. She had lost consciousness completely. Her
head drooped upon her shoulder and her face was as pale as death. The
old men gave her in charge of the women, who ran forward to receive her
and quickly carried her into their own apartments.
A great joy filled Clearchus. "She is safe! She is safe! And I shall
find her!" he said to himself, following the silent priests out of the
temple. As they passed out into the portico he looked back over his
shoulder at the platform where the God had manifested himself. The
swift storm had swept over and the sun was shining again. A gleam of
his light fell upon the curling mist and Clearchus saw it tinged with
the prismatic colors of the rainbow.