In fact, the Spartan envoys had exaggerated their powers before the Senate. They had really only been sent to gain time, to prevent the threatened alliance with the other Peloponnesian states, not to bind Lakedaimôn by any precise obligations. Having incautiously declared they were entrusted with powers they did not in fact possess, they now saw it would be necessary when they came before the Ekklesia, the fundamental ruler of Athens, to modify their unqualified pretence. The appointed day arrived. A summons to the citizens to attend a meeting of the Ekklesia to be held that day at the Pnyx was made by criers throughout the town. A notice of the questions to be discussed, of the business to be done, was placed upon the well-known post in the old Agora. At dawn the huge semicircular theatre, cut out of the rock from which it took its name, with its innumerable seats of stone, was duly purified. Then came the heralds’ solemn prayer, with the offering of incense, and the curse on all who should give evil counsel or deceive the people. By this time the citizens had assembled, and all, except the rich, received a token entitling them to the payment of an obolos for their attendance. They came in more than their ordinary numbers this day, for the business was interesting and important, and it was rumoured that Alkibiades would speak. The people took their seats according to their several tribes. The President of the Prytanes—those whose duty it was, each successive month, to guard in turn the sacred fire, symbol of a common hearth of the one great family at Athens—called on the business of the day, and then put the ancient formal question: ‘Who wishes to speak?’ The Spartans, as allies, had the right of prior audience. They came forward and attempted to explain their conduct. After making several lame excuses, on being pressed, they admitted they had not full powers to pledge their country for the future. Then Alkibiades arose, mounted the great stone steps that led to the bema, or tribune, which Solon and Aristeides, Themistokles and Perikles, had often trod before—and which the traveller may still see standing there silently, as they stood more than two thousand years ago—and found himself alone on that exalted platform, about to engage the whole attention of the vast audience.