utter passing from the son of
Miltiades and running along every tier of Athenians. And silence deeper
than ever held the stadium; for now, with Lycon victor twice, the literal
turning of a finger in the next event might win or lose the parsley crown.

The Spartan came first. The heralds had set a small scarlet shield at the
lower end of the course. Lycon poised his light javelin thrice, and thrice
the slim dart sped through the leathern thong on his fingers. But not for
glory. Perchance this combat was too delicate an art for his ungainly
hands. Twice the missile lodged in the rim of the shield; once it sprang
beyond upon the sand. Moerocles, who followed, surpassed him. Amyntas was
hardly worse. Glaucon came last, and won his victory with a dexterous
grace that made all but the hottest Laconian swell the "_Io! paian!_" of
applause. His second cast had been into the centre of the target. His
third had splintered his second javelin as it hung quivering.

"Glaucon of Athens wins the javelin-casting. Moerocles of Mantinea is
second. 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. See that he does not do Glaucon a mischief, or
transgress the rules."

"I can, till they come to the wrestling."

"In that the god must aid the Athenian. But now let us have the
foot-race."

In the little respite following the trainers entered and rubbed down the
three remaining contestants with oil until their bodies shone again like
tinted ivory. Then the heralds conducted the trio to the southern end
farthest from the tents. The two junior presidents left their pulpit and
took post at either end of a line marked on the sand. Each held the end of
a taut rope. The contestants drew lots from an urn for the place nearest
the lower turning goal,--no trifling advantage. A favouring god gave
Moerocles the first; Lycon was second; Glaucon only third. As the three
crouched before the rope with hands dug into the sand, waiting the fateful
signal, Glaucon was conscious that a strange blond man of noble mien and
Oriental dress was sitting close by the starting line and watching him
intently.

It was one o