The third month drew near its end, and on the fig-tree one could see where the buds would be. Then one morning, while my company was on watch upon the wall, a trumpet sounded before the Dipylon Gate, and word ran round that Theramenes was back.
Presently came the call for the Assembly to be convened. The walls had to be guarded, so we could only wait. At last the relief came up. We scanned their faces, and were slow to ask what news. The captain who was taking over from me met my eyes and said, “Nothing.”
I stared, and said, “Isn’t Theramenes back, then?”—“Oh, yes, and looking very well. He’s been on Salamis, with Lysander.”—“Well, then, what terms?”—“Nothing. Lysander sends word he has no power to treat, nor the kings, only the Ephors at Sparta.”—“After three months? Are you well, Myrtilos?” His only son had died the day before.—“I suppose, to a man from Athens, even the black broth of Sparta tasted good. He could not get them to better their terms; so he waited.”—“By Herakles, but for what?”—“For the City to like the smell of black broth. The oligarchs are rich; they can hold out a little longer. The democrats are dying every day. Soon there will be none; and those who are left, the good and the beautiful, can open the gates to their friends on what terms they choose.”
No man spoke to another, as we went down from the wall. Thinking of the faces at home, I found my courage fail, and went straight to Chremon’s. He was cheerful, and offered me a drink though it was not noon. “Not long now,” he said. He must have looked forward all along to the day of surrender; not because he was an oligarch, but because he liked his comforts, and the rest was all one to him. I took the wine, for I was already cold enough without stripping. The workshop had a little high window, which showed a glimpse of the High City; there was a gleam of light upon Athene’s spear. I looked from it to Chremon, rubbing his hands over the charcoal to warm them for work. So much suffered and spent, and this for the end.
Coming home at evening, I found my mother and sister sitting alone. Charis said, “Father’s gone to Sparta.” Being in no mood for games I answered sharply; but it was true. Theramenes had been sent off again as envoy, with full powers to treat. Nine delegates had been sent with him. Since the Spartans would do no business with democrats, and the City did not trust the oligarchs, the nine were chosen from among Theramenes’ former moderates, the poorer of them, who had good cause to end the siege quickly. These three months had taught the citizens something.
“Your father had no time,” my mother said, “to seek you about the City.” I guessed he had not cared to look very far. “But he sent you his blessing.”—“You forget, Mother,” Charis said, “It was ‘Tell Alexias I commit you to his care.’ Alexias, will the Spartans give Father some of their dinner?” I looked at my charges, drawn close to a little fire of pine-cones and wood, saved all day against the evening; the child with an old doll on her knees, taken up when her housework was done; my mother sitting in her chair, awkwardly as big-bellied women do, her head small and delicate above her shapeless body, dark lashes lying on a cheek of ivory, all threaded, as I saw in the firelight, with little lines. I passed on Chremon’s good cheer, saying, “Not much longer now.” When they had gone to bed, I sat over the warm white embers, thinking, “What if her time comes at night, and no oil to light the midwife?”
Next day more people than usual dropped in to watch Chremon working. One or two were men who knew me. They greeted me, but I thought they looked at one another. There were also some of Chremon’s friends, with whom he withdrew to gossip in a corner. I heard one of them say laughing, “Well, when you have done with him, send him to me.” I knew the man’s name; he was not a sculptor. They left, and Chremon came back before I was quite ready for him; my arm partly hiding my face, I did not always watch it as carefully as I should. I knew he was put out by what he saw; he was a man who liked to persuade himself that things were as he wished. If he had been the Great King, he would not have spared the messenger of bad news.
The City granary was empty now; there was no more need to fetch the corn. But a few days later, I woke to find a pigeon limed in the fig-tree; a fat bird too, from beyond the walls. I climbed up for it, and wrung its neck, thinking, “This day will be fortunate.” As I carried it in, feeling the flesh on it and full of my news, Charis met me in the doorway, saying, “Oh, Alexias, run quickly. Mother is ill, it’s the baby coming.”
I ran to the house of the midwife, who grumbled at going out in the cold, and asked what we had to pay with. I promised a jar of wine, our last, being afraid she would ask for food. She set out complaining; in the porch Charis stood wringing her hands and crying, “Hurry, hurry.” As I let the woman into the room, I heard my mother groaning, a muffled sound; she had stuffed something into her mouth lest the child should hear.
I sent Charis into the kitchen, and waited before the door. It was time for Chremon, but I did not care. I was pacing about the courtyard when I heard from within a great shriek, and my mother’s voice cried out, “Alexias!” I ran upon the door and flung it open. The midwife called out in anger, but I saw only my mother’s face turned towards me, the lips white, and moving without sound. I knelt, and took hold of her about the shoulders. But even as I touched her, her eyes set in her head, and her soul went out of her.
I looked upon her, and closed her eyes. She slept. I thought, “Here is one, then, for whom I need fear no longer.” And then I thought, “She has borne a child before, and miscarried a child, yet did not die. Famine killed her. If I had brought home what I earned at Chremon’s, perhaps she would be alive.” It had seemed to me that, doing what no one is called upon to do, I could dispose the price as I chose; but what is a man, when he sits down to chop logic with Necessity? “If I had not meddled,” I thought, “when I saw Thalia in the street, she would have gone on to the house of the bawd, and come back with a little money; Lysis would have eaten, and known nothing, and the food would have kept life in him like any other. What is honour? In Athens it is one thing, in Sparta another; and among the Medes it is something else again. But go where you will, there is no land where the dead return across the river.”
The midwife had been clacking, and pulling at the clothes. They lay flat now upon the body, which looked as small as a yearling doe. Then hearing another sound I turned, and saw behind me the woman sitting, tying the navel-cord of the newborn child. She said, “Whom shall I give it to? It is a boy.”
Towards evening, when I had arranged for the burial; I came back to the house. My sister had dried her tears; she had got out her old cradle, and was rocking the child in it. “Hush,” she said. “He is sleeping. What a good baby he is! Since I tucked him up here, he has not once cried.”
Her words gave me a hope, and I bent over the cradle. But the child was sleeping, as she had said. He favoured my father’s looks; he was fair-haired, and a big child; too big, I suppose, for my mother to bear. “How shall I feed him, Alexias? If I chew the food first, and make it soft, won’t it be as good as milk for him? It is what the birds do.”
“No,” I said. “He must have milk, Charis. I must take him away tonight, and find someone to feed him.”—“I think it’s very dear, the midwife said so. Have we any money?”—“Not much. So we can’t keep him for ourselves. We must find some rich lady, who has been praying to the gods to send her a child. She will be glad to get a fine baby like this. Perhaps she will pretend she is really his mother, and her husband will think he is really his son. They will give him a horse when he is older, and make a knight of him; and some day he will be a general.”