It may easily be imagined that the young man’s secret did not long remain his own. Priscilla, who may be said to have made a love match for herself, and had found it a more than usually happy experience, was keenly interested in affairs of the kind, all the more keenly, perhaps, because she had no children to occupy her thoughts. It had struck her for some time that the young man was a little more absent-minded than one quite heart-whole might be expected to be. She found him more than once intently studying a little volume which, although she had no opportunity of inspecting it, she suspected might be, and which indeed was, a collection of love poems. He was a well educated lad, but not specially fond of reading. She had more positive proof when she picked up a fragment of parchment which he had covered with some attempts, not very felicitous, it must be owned, at love verses of his own. These strong suspicions were turned into certainty by a chance meeting between the two. It came about one evening on what was the fashionable promenade of Corinth, the road that led from the city to the Isthmian Racecourse. Priscilla and Eubulus were on foot; Cleonice and her mother were in their chariot, and they [174] stopped to speak to the Roman lady. She was well known to be wealthy and highborn, and though she kept as much aloof from Corinthian society as courtesy permitted, she had some acquaintances in it. Eubulus naturally passed on when the carriage stopped, but not till he had betrayed himself to the keen eyes of his companion. There was no mistaking the significance of the fiery flush that mounted to his face, nor the eager look which he cast on the girl as she sat by her mother’s side.
When Priscilla came to review the situation she felt not a little perplexed. She knew the secret of Eubulus’ birth, or rather, she was aware of the fact that there was such a secret, for Aquila had naturally made her acquainted with it. Her interest in the young man was so direct and so strong that it was but right that she should know it. “Was the time come,” she thought to herself, “when we ought to make ourselves acquainted with the secret? Perhaps the happiness of his whole life may depend upon it.” This, however, did not commend itself to her more delicate judgment. It could scarcely be called a necessary cause. But it made both husband and wife see that the trust which they had undertaken might suggest very embarrassing questions.
[175] Chance, however, gave Eubulus an opportunity of commending himself to the young lady far more favourable than he could have contrived for himself or his friends could have contrived for him. It was customary to hold an aquatic festival, something like what we call a regatta. There were rowing and sailing competitions, and various sports that were practised on water. The affair was a very popular one, as might be expected in “Corinth of the Two Seas,” a city which owed its wealth, and even, it may be said, its existence to the business of which these amusements were the less serious side. The festival was held in the Gulf, the waters of which were, as has been said, almost invariably calm. A vast crowd of vessels of all kinds covered the surface of the sea. The members of the Corinthian municipality attended in state on their barge, which was supposed to represent in shape and equipment the earliest of Greek ships, the world famous Argo. (Footnote: The legend was that Jason, having been treated with ingratitude and treachery by Pelias, King of Iolcos, for whom he had fetched the Golden Fleece from Colchis, migrated to Corinth and there dedicated the ship Argo to Poseidon.) The wealthy citizens had yachts and pinnaces of their own; for the sightseers generally, and these may be said to have included [176] nearly the whole population, everything that could float was requisitioned.
The festival was in full swing when one of the accidents which no foresight can wholly guard against occurred. The Isthmus on which Corinth stood was a generally level surface, interrupted, however, towards the southern side by a very remarkable rock, called the Acro Corinthus and serving as the citadel of the town. This rose almost abruptly from the plain to a height of nearly two thousand feet, and it occasionally caused a disturbance in the weather. A gust of east wind would sometimes be caught, so to speak, by the huge bulk of the rock, and come down with increased violence on the surface of the Gulf below. (Footnote: Like the great gust of wind also from the east, that came down on the Sea of Galilee from the heights of Gilead.)
THE RESCUE OF CLEONICE
This was what happened now. Hitherto there had been almost a dead calm, and the sailing vessels had set all their canvas to catch such fitful airs as from time to time ruffled the surface. Then there suddenly descended from the height an unexpected blast. It made for itself a way of some few yards wide, curiously distinguished from the surrounding calm by a dark and ruffled surface. Right in this line which it followed [177] was a yacht with a great expanse of canvas. This it caught sidewise; the rudder was wrenched by the sudden shock from the hand of the steersmanhe was intent upon the fortunes of a race, and the vessel became unmanageable. The next moment she came into violent collision with a rowing boat. Happily the blow was delivered close to the bow, which was not occupied by any passengers; even the man at the bow-oar escaped unhurt, but both rowers and passengers were precipitated into the water. The passengers were Cleonice and her mother, for whom the municipal yacht was not available. The yacht, on the other hand, had been chartered by the trainer, who mindful of the wise maxim which forbids the bowman to keep his bow always bent, was giving his pupils a holiday. They were allowed a day off from regular training and exercises. To have permitted them to follow their own devices and spend the day as they chose would have been highly imprudent. A single excess might easily undo the good of weeks of discipline and temperance; accordingly the trainer, who was well paid for his work and could afford to do things on a liberal scale, did not cease to shepherd his flock, and keep them under his own eye. Eubulus had thrown off his upper garment the moment he saw that a collision was imminent, and [178] stood clad in a tight fitting tunic ready for a plunge. At an earlier period of the day he had caught sight of the row boat, and with a lover’s keenness of vision, had distinguished its occupants. He now recognized them again, and in a moment he was in the water, making with the rapid and vigorous stroke of a practised swimmer for the girl, who was fortunately kept from immediately sinking by her garments. The actual rescue was easy enough. She had the presence of mind not to embarrass her deliverer by a struggle; and he was so much at home in the water, that he had no difficulty in supporting her. Help too was speedily rendered by some of the boats in the neighbourhood. The incident happily ended without any disaster. The trainer’s yacht escaped without capsizing, thanks to the fact that the breaking of the mast relieved it from the pressure of the sails. Cleonice’s mother had a narrow escape, but rather from the shock than from the actual danger of drowning. She was conscious enough, however, to ask the name of the rescuer, and she suffered nothing worse in the end than a few days’ confinement to her bed. Certainly Eubulus had to thank his fortunes for a rare opportunity.
PLOTS
[179] THE reader will have no difficulty in understanding that the games of the Isthmus, in common with all similar celebrations in Greece, had entered on a period of decadence. So, indeed, had Greece itself. This condition of decay was no new thing. It had begun in the days when the country was yet free, it became more rapid and more complete when freedom was lost. It may be doubted whether things were worse in the Isthmus than elsewhere. But some of the accompanying evils were brought into greater relief by the near neighbourhood of a wealthy city. One great trouble was the change in the character of the competitions, or, perhaps, one should rather say, in the motives of the competitors. Time had been when honour was the predominant attraction; it had now been replaced by gain. Along with the decline there had been a change in the class of the competitors. It did not follow that a young man of aristocratic [180] family was necessarily better than one who had come of a humbler stock; but it was a fact that the lower class was more easily affected by mercenary motives. It is inconceivable that a youth belonging to the Alcmaeonidae of Athens, or to one of the royal houses of Sparta, or to the Bacchiads of Corinth should barter his chances of success for any earthly consideration. But men who sought victory because victory would put money into their pockets might be tempted to anticipate the object which they sought, if it was put within their reach without risk or delay.