‘Then to accuse such a one of profanation of the sacred mysteries! I know not what they are, but could such a wise man ever think of so great a wickedness?’ ‘So I said all along, but none would hearken to me.’ ‘And the great ones said he wished to make himself a tyrant in Athens.’ ‘What! he? Why, he could have made himself a tyrant here any time these last three years.’ ‘Or if he had come when the four hundred were murdering us, and ruining all things in Athens, the people would have crowned him king. And, like as not, he will be king, too, before long.’ ‘And a good thing, say I for one, for then he would turn the Spartans out of Dekeleia, and we should get bread cheap again.’ ‘They say he will not land till they have reversed the sentence on him. Some say his enemies will try even now to have it carried out. But see where the boats make way,—he comes! he comes!’ The whole crowd pressed forward to catch a glimpse as ten great Spartan triremes came slowly forward, their prows and sides covered with the armour taken at the fight at Kyzikos, while standing in sullen groups on the decks, were the Spartan hoplites who had been taken prisoners there, wearing the red tunics that the Athenians knew and dreaded. Then came ten more triremes with Spartan spoils and prisoners from Abydos; ten others decorated in like manner from Chalkedôn and Chrysopolis; then ten more with the five hundred Spartans who surrendered at Byzantion. Then came ten other triremes with spoils of Thrakian cities, and with Thrakian soldiers who had followed the chief out of admiration for him, clad in skins of beasts, looking keenly round about them, gesticulating, and wondering at all they saw. Then came twenty other triremes, with Persian horsemen squatting on the decks, dressed in long robes of every hue, perfectly indifferent to everything. Then, gently at first, over the calm, sparkling sea, came the sound of rhythmic song, growing gradually louder, and the stately Athenian triremes came grandly forward, their oars splashing in the sun, and keeping time to the measured music of the rowers’ voices as they pulled with one accord to the beat of the keleustes, who led their singing. Onward they came, majestic,—their sterns, prows, bulwarks, masts, garlanded with flowers and boughs of the wild olive-tree. Then, last of all, amid the shouts and cries of great delight, was seen the well-remembered _Eros_, dressed more plainly than any of the others. And there—yes, there—apparelled like the sun-god of the heavens, in his armour of chased gold and ivory, that glittered in the bright May-day, was Alkibiades.