Triads of faith

Chapter 1

A hot April sun shone full over the waters to the pencilled line of thesouthern horizon, where a long circle divided the misty, shimmeringdove-color of the Mediterranean from the richer blue of the swellingsky. A path of sun-strewn ripples, broadening as the afternoon advanced,ended at that distant line, and found its starting-point at the rockybase of the Selinuntian acropolis, on the southwestern coast of Sicily.The day was warm, and the air rich with the perfume of sweet alyssum,beneath which delicate flower the whole island lay buried. A lightbreeze feathered the sea, occasionally sweeping away enough powderedsunshine to disclose the rich sapphire depths of the under-waters.Nevertheless more perfect skies had been, and generally were, at thisseason of the year; for to-day half the west was hidden by a curtain ofshort, thick clouds that threatened to hide the usual evening glory ofwine-tinted waters and crimson-flooded skies.

Upon the height of the cliff that terminates the broad Selinuntianplain, Selinous, white, Doric city, with her groups of many-columnedtemples and her well-built walls, sent forth the usual droning murmur oflife. White-robed men and women were wont to move in unhurried dignityin their citadels in those days when AEneas was not yet a myth, beforeSyracuse knew Gelon, when the first Aahmes ruled in Egypt, when Croesusof Lydia and Astyages of Media were paying bitter tribute to the greatElamite just retired from Babylonian plains to his far Rhagae in theEastern hills; and here, on the Sicilian coast, the Greek city lay inplacid beauty upon her two hills, divided by the philosophically drainedvalley, bounded upon the right hand by her shining river, while far tothe left, in the direction of Acragas, a line of rugged hills rose intothe blue. The four bright temples of the acropolis were mirrored in thesea below. On the east hill, at some distance from where the giganticnew sanctuary to Apollo was building, and directly in front of the oldtemple of Hera, on the very edge of the cliff, drowsing in the sunlight,lay Charmides, a shepherd, surrounded by his flock.

The life of a shepherd in the flood-time of a Sicilian spring was not anarduous one. If it had been, Theron's son would not, in all probability,have followed that calling through the few years that he was required tospend at ordinary labor. For, as his family realized and his appearancetoo markedly proclaimed, this child of the Spartans did not partake ofthe spirit of his race. Rarely, singularly beautiful he was, and fair asan Athenian. Apollo himself might have turned envious at sight of thisdisciple of his as he slept on a drift of wild daisies, his short, whitetunic stained with green, the thong that served him for a girdle looselytied, much-worn sandals bound upon his feet, and a wreath of grayolive-leaves woven into the rumpled hair that fell upon his neck inrings of living gold. Charmides' eyes had the color of the sea. Hisbrows were fine and straight; his mouth not altogether lacking instrength, yet perfect as a woman's. As he slept, one of the youth'ssunburned hands grasped a tuft of herbs that grew upon the edge of theslope, while the other, even in his unconsciousness, drew a fleetingharmony from the lyre that lay beside him.

This dalliance with the honored instrument, taken with his unathleticphysique, was evidence enough of the chosen profession of the temporaryshepherd. Four years ago, at the age of eighteen, Charmides had electedto enter the ranks of that band of rhapsodists known to us now only asthe predecessors of fire-winged Pindar and his glorious brethren. Neverwas the shepherd seen following his flock over the fields without lyreor flute in his hands; and no holiday or festival was quite completewithout some lyric chanted in his clear tenor to the accompaniment ofthose sweet, primitive chords that so fittingly clothed the syllables ofthe most melodious of all tongues. Charmides' poems, however, werealways of one type. Natural beauty, the evening wind, the perfume of aflower, the red of dawn, the silver of moonlight, he would reproduce soperfectly in words that he was left unrivalled in his peculiar field.But greater themes, battle-hymns of Mars and Nike, or idyls of Cytheraand the dove-drawn chariot, had not apparently occurred to him asdesirable subjects for his art. Either Charmides was what his athletebrother declared him--a woman dressed in too short a tunic--or his truenature was sleeping far beyond its natural period.

The sun hung just above the clouds as the youth sat up and looked abouthim. His flock, a drove of white, long-haired sheep, whose wool waswoven into many a tunic of their herdsman, had wandered out of sightbehind the temple of Hera. Charmides unbound his flageolet from the sideof his left leg, and, without stirring from his place, lifted theinstrument to his lips, playing upon it a quaint, primitive strain fullof minor cadences, mournful, but peculiarly pleasing. For two or threeminutes this tune was the only sound to be heard. Then, of a sudden,came a distant "Ba-a!" from the direction of the temple, and round itseastern columns appeared a white head, another, and another, till thewhole flock was visible. For a moment or two they halted, regardingtheir keeper with silly, affectionate eyes. Charmides smiled as hewatched them, and presently gave a little nod. At sight of it the leaderof the company started forward again, and the entire number followed, ata gentle trot. When he was entirely surrounded by his animals, Charmidesput his pipe back in its place, caressed with rough tenderness thenearest lamb, and finally, having had enough of afternoon with the sea,sprang to his feet thinking to proceed farther afield. As his eyes metthe western horizon, from which his face had for the last few momentsbeen turned, he broke his yawn short off in the middle, and his intentwas forgotten. The cloud, which now covered the sun, was no longer gray,but a deep purple, palpitating with inward fire; while far to the west agalley, a little, black patch upon the waters, rose upon the horizon,coming from Mazzara. Charmides saw possibilities of hexameters in therace, and, though its outcome did not affect him in the least, he had adesire to know whether he must have Zeus with his bolts bring vengeanceon some disobedient mortal, or whether Father Neptune and his dolphinswere to lead the men of the galley safely into the little Selinuntianharbor.