"Mary Renault - Greece 4 - The Last Of The Wine" - читать интересную книгу автора (Renault Mary)

passed of the ancient oracle, that in Sicily the Athenians should win lasting fame.

There was a restless pause then, like the quiet before the sea gets up. And the many-voiced muttering
that came nearer was like the sound of a great wave, sucking a stony beach, and drawing the pebbles
resistless in its wake. Then a youth with a clear voice shouted, like a battle-paean, Alkibiades!

He burst on us like the sun. His armour was worked with golden stars; his purple cloak hung as if a
sculptor had set the folds. His groom rode behind him with his famous shield, the City's scandal and
delight, blazoned with Eros wielding a thunderbolt.

His opened helmet showed his face, the profile of Hermes, and the short curled beard. His chin was up;
his blue eyes, wide and clear, seemed open on an emptiness demanding to be filled. It seems to me now
that they were saying, You wished for me, Athenians; I am here. Do not question me, do not hurt me; I
am the wish sprung from your heart, and if you wound me your heart will bleed for it. Your love made
me. Do not take it away; for without love I am a temple forsaken by its god, where dark Alastor will
enter. It was you, Athenians, who conjured me, a daimon whose food is love. Feed me, then, and I will
clothe you with glory, and show you to yourselves in the image of your desire. I am hungry: feed me. It is
too late to repent.

The crowd murmured and swayed, like a moving shoal drawn by the tide. Then from some doorway a
hetaira leaned out, and blew him a kiss. He waved, his clouded eyes warming like the sea in spring; and
the cheering broke forth, and roared about him. His smile appeared, like the smile of a boy crowned at
his first Games, young and enchanted, embracing all the world; and they cheered him out of sight. Adonis
had passed through the street before him; mashed by the horse-hoofs, the strewn anemones stained the
dust like blood.

The Generals joined their ships, the bustle grew less and ended. A trumpet blew a long call. Then one
heard only a dying mutter, the slap of the sea on the jetties, the cry of gulls, and the bark of some dog
grown uneasy in the hush. The small clear voice of a distant herald cried the Invocation. It was taken up
in the ships and on the shore; the sound flowed and rolled like surf; on each poop gold or silver flashed,
as the trierarch lifted his cup to pour the offering. Then ringing across the water came the paean, and the
shouts of the pilots, bidding the ships away. The chantymen began to give the time to the rowers; up went
the great sails painted with suns and stars and birds. So they put out to sea, the crews answering song for
song, and the pilots calling out to each other challenges to race. I saw Nikias' white beard flutter as he
prayed with raised hands; and on the poop of Alkibiades' trireme, which already was standing away, a
little shining figure like a golden image, no bigger than the Adonis dolls the women had carried in the
streets.

The sails filled; the oar-blades all together beat up and down, bright-feathered wings; like swans the
ships flew singing towards the islands. Tears stung in my eyes. I wept for the beauty of it, like many more.
Happy for the Athenians, if the tears that followed afterwards had been like mine.
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