AT DELOS.
Cleanor gladly accepted the warm invitation of the young Scipio again to
become his guest. For the present the Greek's plans were uncertain. His
most definite idea was to follow Theoxena and her daughter to Italy as
soon as possible. It had been arranged that the two women should depart
on the following day. He would have to look for his own passage to the
favour of the general; all that he could do, therefore, was to hold
himself in readiness to depart as soon as the opportunity should offer.
The day was not to pass, however, without giving quite a new aspect to
the future. The two friends had been exchanging experiences, and were
just thinking of sleep,--when Polybius entered the tent. After greeting
Cleanor--whom he had not seen since they had parted in Egypt--in the
kindest way, not, however, without a smiling rebuke for the trick which
he had played, he explained his errand.
"I am going," he said, "as soon as is possible to Greece, where things
are in a critical condition, and I want you to go with me. I come direct
from the general, who has put a ship of war at my service, and who fully
approves of your accompanying me. I was, he said, to tell you this from
him. He also gave me another message for you. He wants you to give what
help you can in the translation of this great book on Agriculture. There
will be a committee appointed to carry it out, and you are to be on it
if it pleases you. But that will wait, anyhow for a few months. The
affair in Greece will not wait; the sooner we get there the better, if
we are to do any good."
Nothing could have been more to Cleanor's mind than this proposal, and
he promised to be ready to depart as soon as he was wanted. Accordingly
the very next day, after bidding Theoxena and her daughter an
affectionate farewell in the morning, he himself embarked about sunset
with Polybius. For some time the voyage was fairly prosperous, if not
very rapid. The wind came mostly from the north, with a touch of east in
it. The ship had but a poor crew of rowers, and its sailing capacities
were small. If the wind had more than one point from the east the sails
had to be hauled down and the oars resorted to.
On the tenth day there came a change in the weather. The wind shifted
suddenly to the south-west. This change was at first hailed with delight
by everyone on board; by the rowers, who were rejoiced to be set free
from their toil, by the passengers, who were beginning to be impatient
of their tedious progress. But a wind from the south-west has always
something dangerous about it. At daybreak a steady breeze, it grew
before night into something like a gale, and it was accompanied by
weather so thick that, failing any observation of either sun or stars,
the captain lost his reckoning entirely.
After two days of this alarming uncertainty the weather cleared only
just in time, as everyone on board saw plainly enough, to save the ship
from a catastrophe. About three miles to the north the cliffs of
Malia[58] could be seen, crowned by the famous temple of Apollo, whose
gilded roof showed itself when it was touched, from time to time, by
some passing gleam of sunshine. On their right the cliffs of Cythera
were visible. This was satisfactory in a way, but the plan of the
voyage, which was to make for the western end of the Corinthian Gulf,
had failed. The wind was blowing far too strongly to allow the captain
to attempt a north-western course. He had, therefore, no alternative but
to let it carry him up the Ægean. What had been lost was the safe and
easy passage up the quiet landlocked waters of the gulf, and with it
the certainty of reaching Corinth at or near the appointed time.
After a few hours the weather again changed for the worse. The clouds
came lower, the wind rose. When night came all that the captain and the
crew knew of their whereabouts was that they were not far from Melos, of
which they had just caught a glimpse, in dangerous proximity, on their
larboard bow. Melos, they knew, was not by any means on their straight
course to Corinth. They were, indeed, being blown out of this more and
more as time went on. The best they could hope for was that they might
not be dashed on one of the rugged and inhospitable islands and islets
with which the south-western Ægean was so thickly studded.
All night they scudded before the wind under one small sail, just enough
to give some steering power to the rudder. More than once they heard the
crash of unseen breakers on some unseen shore, and turned their course
away from the warning sound. With the morning came another welcome
change of weather. The wind dropped almost instantaneously; the sky
cleared till not a cloud could be seen, and the sea, though the long
rollers witnessed to its recent agitation, settled rapidly into calm.
About two miles to the north, yet seen so distinctly through the clear
atmosphere of early spring that it seemed almost within a stone's-throw,
lay a small island which Cleanor recognized at the first glance. Only
one place in the world brought together so closely, within so small a
space yet on a scale so magnificent, the two great elements of Greek
life, commerce and religion. On the low-lying land of the west coast was
to be seen the town of Delos, with its thickly-clustered dwellings.
Almost, as it seemed, among these rose a forest of masts, for Delos was
a mart of exchange for the trade of the Mediterranean, and the trade of
the Mediterranean was practically the trade of the civilized world.
Close behind the town, in all the splendour of its white Parian marble,
rose the famous temple of the tutelary god of the isle, Phoebus
Apollo, while nestling beside it were the smaller shrines of his twin
sister Phoebe or Artemis and of Aphrodite. Behind these again was the
hill of Cynthus, its steep declivity clothed with trees, among which
gleamed here and there the white shining walls of buildings both sacred
and secular.
"Delos!" cried the captain; "well, it might have been worse, and if we
can only get out of the harbour as easily and quickly as it seems likely
we shall get into it, we shall have nothing to complain of."
"Here," cried Cleanor to Polybius as they stood side by side on the
galley's deck, "here is one of my dreams come to pass! I have always
desired to see Delos, and here it is. Truly, here Greece is still to be
seen in all its glory."
Polybius smiled somewhat bitterly. "There is very little of Greece, I
fear, about Delos nowadays."
"But it belongs to Athens surely," broke in the young Greek, "just as
it did in the best times of Greece."
"Yes, it belongs to Athens," replied his friend; "if that means that
Athenian coin is circulated there, and the government is carried on in
the name of the Athenian people. But Delos is Roman for all practical
purposes. As for the Delians themselves, they were all deported twenty
years ago, and this time unfortunately Apollo did not interfere.[59] No,
my dear friend, it is only the past of Delos that belongs to Greece, and
that happily no power on earth can take from her. That, thank the gods,
we can still enjoy."
Some hours were pleasantly spent by the two friends in examining the
sights of the place. Polybius had been there two or three times before;
Cleanor, who knew every reference to the sacred island,--from the young
palm-tree to which Ulysses compared the fair Nausicaa onwards,--was
prepared thoroughly to enjoy the guidance of so intelligent a companion.
Later on in the day they strolled through the business town. Evidently
it was a thriving place. The docks were crowded with ships, the wharves
covered with merchandise of every kind, from the spices of the East to
the ivory brought by African hunters from the great forests of the
South. But there was little or nothing Greek about it. Two out of three
among the huge factories which lined the harbour-side belonged to Roman
traders. The others belonged to merchants of Tyre, of Antioch, of Joppa,
of Alexandria, but it was the exception to find a Greek name among them.
Cleanor could not help confessing to himself that another illusion was
gone. The most famous seat of Greek life, whether sacred or secular, had
passed into the power of the stranger.
The anxiety of the travellers to get to their journey's end was
increased by all that they heard in the island. It was clear, by all
accounts, that the fate of Corinth was imminent. But, much against their
wills, their stay was prolonged. The ship had received so severe a
buffeting during its voyage from Carthage that it could not be said to
be seaworthy. It had to be laid up in dock and repaired. And then, when
it was pronounced ready for sea, the weather made it absolutely
impossible to start. The captain had been only too prescient when he
doubted whether they should be able to get out of the harbour as easily
as they got in.
There was, indeed, much to be seen in Delos, which was then at the
height of its prosperity, and adorned with the offerings which the piety
of more than five hundred years had heaped upon it. But Polybius and his
companion were so impatient to reach their destination that the time
seemed to hang heavily on their hands. Disturbing rumours, too, were
current about the policy which Rome was likely to pursue at Corinth.
That the city would speedily be captured was considered certain, and
there were ominous conjectures as to its probable fate. One day the
friends had accepted an invitation to dinner from Diagoras, the Athenian
governor of the island, and Corinth was naturally the principal subject
of conversation. What Diagoras had to say was alarming in the extreme.
"You have come from Carthage," he said. "Well, what you have seen there
you will see again at Corinth. The capitalists and the commercial party
have it all their own way at Rome now, and their policy is, of course,
monopoly. Every trade rival must be put out of the way. Carthage has
been destroyed. That was not, as you know, the doing of the nobles.
Scipio and his friends were strongly against it. The capitalists carried
it in the Senate, partly by their own votes, partly by the votes which
they practically bought. I could tell you the men--and some of their
names would surprise you--whose votes were purchased, and I could tell
you the price that was paid for them. The same thing has happened over
and over again. Listen to this. I must not tell you the name of my
correspondent, but his authority is beyond all doubt:
"'_The vote has gone as I expected. Corinth is to perish. The
division was closer than in the Carthage affair, for the
crime--I can call it nothing less--is more scandalous and more
unprovoked. Carthage was once formidable, though she has long
ceased to be so; Corinth never could have caused a moment's fear
to Rome. It is simply the case of a trader burning down a
rival's warehouse.'_
"This letter I received last night," the governor continued, "and it
appears to have been delayed on the way. The Senate's instructions to
Mummius--it is he that is in command at Corinth, and a very different
man from your Scipio, I fancy--must have reached him by this time."
"Then we are too late," said Polybius with a groan.
"Yes," replied the governor, "though I do not see what you could have
done even if you had not been delayed. All that will be in your power
will be to help individuals. I should recommend you, by the way, to go
to Athens first, and get a safe-conduct and letters of introduction from
the Roman agent there. These will make your task easier."
Two or three days after this conversation the travellers were able to
make a start. A gentle breeze from the east carried them out of the
harbour, and took them quickly to their journey's end.
FOOTNOTES:
58: Still called by the same name, at the south-east extremity
of the Morea.
59: The inhabitants of Delos were sent away from their island by
the Roman government in 167 B.C. The Athenians had done exactly
the same thing in 422 B.C., but the oracle of Delphi had warned
them that they must be brought back, and this was accordingly
done some time afterwards.