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Updated: June 8, 2025
“Athena grant it,” muttered the other. “I’ve got my half mina staked on him, too.” Then from the tents at either side began the ominous call of the heralds:— “Amyntas of Thebes, come you forth.” “Ctesias of Epidaurus, come you forth.” “Lycon of Sparta, come you forth.” Glaucon held out his hands. Each trainer seized one. “Wish me joy and honour, good friends!” cried the athlete.
Adeimantus is no Medizer. He is pushed to bay now, and is sure to fight. Have you Barbarians no confidence? Has not the king two triremes to our one? Only fools can demand more. Tell Lycon, your master, I have long since done my uttermost to serve him.” “Yet remember, Excellency.” “Begone, scoundrel. Don’t threaten again.
Democrates drew himself up angrily. “I know my duty; I’ll denounce you to Leonidas.” “You gave a pledge and oath.” “It were a greater crime to keep than to break it.” Lycon shrugged his huge shoulders. “Eu! I hardly trusted to that. But I do trust to Hiram’s pretty story about your bets, and still more to a tale that’s told about where and how you’ve borrowed money.”
Darius, accustomed now to disregard the pledged word of his officers, executed him forthwith, and made over his satrapy to Tissaphernes, as a reward for his zeal. Lycon, the Athenian traitor, received likewise a handsome return for his services, the revenues of several towns and districts being assigned him by the Great King.
“Win the turn, dear Athenian, the turn, and leave that Cyclops behind!” But at the upper turn Lycon still held advantage, and down the other track went the twain, even as Odysseus ran behind Ajax, “who trod in Ajax’ footsteps ere ever the dust had settled, while on his head fell the breath of him behind.” Again at the lower goal the Mantinean was panting wearily in the rear.
The sword reeked with his blood, while dark death and the strong hand of fate gripped him and closed his eyes. Peneleos and Lycon now met in close fight, for they had missed each other with their spears. They had both thrown without effect, so now they drew their swords.
Amyntas of Thebes is poorest and drops from the games.” But who heard the herald now? By this time all save the few Mantineans who vainly clung to their champion, and the Laconians themselves, had begun to pin their hopes on the beautiful son of Conon. There was a steely glint in the Spartan athlete’s eye that made the president of the games beckon to the master-herald. “Lycon is dangerous.
“The prōreus of the Alcyone of Melos. More of myself hereafter. But if you love the weal of Hellas, demand of this Hiram where he concealed the treasonable despatches he received at Trœzene and now has aboard.” “Hiram? O Lord Apollo, I recognize the snake! The one that was always gliding around Lycon at the Isthmus. If despatches he has, I know the way to get them.
Glaucon was almost beyond earshot; to the frantic entreaty he answered by no sign. As he and the Spartan stood once more together, the giant leered on him civilly:— “You grow wise, Athenian. It’s honour enough and to spare to be second, with Lycon first. Eu!—and here’s the last contest.”
Pytheas, beholding his fury, tore out a handful of hair in his mingled hope and dread. No man knew better than the trainer that no trick would conquer Lycon this second time; and Glaucon the Fair might be nearer the fields of Asphodel than the pleasant hills by Athens. More than one man had died in the last ordeal of the pentathlon. The silence was perfect.
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