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Updated: May 1, 2025
Actæon contracted a great friendship with Alorcus the Celtiberian. He admired the fiery pride of the barbarian, his nobility of sentiment, and the almost religious respect he displayed for the cultured Grecian woman. His father, now old and sick, was a petty king reigning over some tribes which pastured great flocks of horses and cattle in the mountains of Celtiberia.
A stone bench ran along the sides of the room making way near the fireplace for a high masonry seat covered by a bear skin. Here the chieftain was accustomed to sit. The warriors took their places on the bench as they entered. One old man taking Alorcus by the hand, guided him to a place of honor. "Sit here, son of Endovellicus. You are his only heir and you shall be our chief.
According to the Grecian custom an arbiter bibendi must be chosen, a guest of honor who should propose the toasts, announce the moment for drinking, and direct the conversation. "Let us choose Euphobias," said Alorcus, with the grave humor of a Celtiberian. "No!" protested Sónnica. "One night we put him in charge of the banquet for a joke, and we were all drunk before the third course.
Long before midnight the warriors retired, leaving Alorcus and Actæon alone in the great smoke-filled room, where sputtered the torches, tingeing the barbaric decorations on the walls with a blood-like hue.
Two young men climbed to the top of the pyre, and raising Endovellicus' head, they brought down the shield engraved with the image of the god, and delivered it to Alorcus. "With this shield," continued the venerable warrior, "you shall protect your people from the blows of the enemy. Bring hither the sword!"
Actæon also saw Sónnica make her way through the crowd and seat herself near the group formed by the elegant young gallants who admired her. Alorcus continued speaking: "You know me well. A moment ago I heard threats, I saw menacing gestures when you recognized me. I understand your indignation at seeing me before you.
"Let me kiss you on the eyes," murmured Sónnica, "they are the windows of the soul, and I imagine that through them my caress will penetrate to the depths of your being." The arrogant Alorcus, grave as all Celtiberians when intoxicated, spoke of the coming festival as he gazed into his empty cup.
In some villages the party was received with traditional hospitality, and was welcomed even more affectionately on recognizing Alorcus, the heir of Endovellicus, the respected chieftain of the tribes of Baraeco which had pastured their flocks for centuries on the banks of the Jalón.
Perhaps he would remain with Alorcus; perhaps he would go to war along with those barbarians; perhaps, captivated by his knowledge and cleverness, they would go so far as to give him a kingdom. Sónnica doubted that the Athenian would ever return. Her short springtime of love had been like the fugitive joy of the women adored by the gods when they had come down to earth.
Alorcus the Celtiberian stood talking with Lachares and three of those young Greeks who so scandalized the Saguntines in the Forum by their effeminate ways. The arrogant barbarian, according to the custom of his race, wore his sword belted to his waist until the banquet began, when he hung it upon the ivory anaclintron of the couch that he might have it ever within reach of his hand.
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