As the spring drew on there was greater martial stir than ever in the town of Athens. It was indeed a time for all who cared for her or wished to make a name to brace themselves for action. Besides Korinthian, Spartan, and other Doric enemies in the Peloponnesos, Boiotians to the north, Megarians on the west, were threatening her. Now was the moment come for struggle, if she meant to burst the toils that were closing round about her. Like Venice afterwards, and another island in the north, Athens found her chief ally in the sea-waves. On the sea she still ruled despotic. The sea was Athens’ true divinity, the highway of her commerce and her armies, her protection from her enemies. To the sea, it was said, the tribune in her Assembly turned as to a deity.[1] Footnote 1: The remains of it show this was not so. A desultory warfare had been going on with varying success since the victory at Potidaia. Kleon, who had succeeded to something of the popularity and something of the political wisdom of Perikles, had, by a lucky chance, increased his reputation by vanquishing the Spartans and taking many of them prisoners at Sphakteria, when Nikias had refused to go there. To prevent and put a stop for ever to the frequent ravages of Attika by Lakedaimôn, aided by Boiotian cavalry, it was determined to make a final stand, and by a sudden incursion on Boiotia to gain so strong a position within its borders that invasion thence should be impossible in future. A levy was made of nearly all who could bear arms, and the largest expedition ever yet sent out was ready to march, under Hippokrates, in September, 424. Sokrates served with the heavy-armed. Hipponikos was placed over a portion of the force, while Alkibiades was foremost, gayest, best equipped of all the knights. He was enthusiastic for the war, but Hippareté was plunged in terror as the time drew near for his departure; and, on the day before he left, she gave birth, too early, to their first-born son. Hipponikos was overjoyed at the event, doubled the large dowry he had given her, then bade farewell to the beloved daughter he was not to see again, and Alkibiades kissed tenderly the wife he had to part from in her weakness and foreboding. Whatever solicitude he may have felt at leaving his young wife at such a time, it was soon forgotten as he rode off along the way the traveller still takes who journeys from Athens to the ruined Delion. Nor did the beauty of the road which goes through olive woods near home to the mountain passes of Pentelikos and Parnes, on to Oropos, and so, by the sea-shore, to where the temple of Apollo overhung, from its high rock, the surging sea below, make much impression on him then.