Part 12

Like a streak of white lightning round the ring, the boys and young men rushed with a swiftness which made the children hold their breath. Shouts of encouragement and of delight from the audience accompanied their course, and, after a few moments of tense excitement, the trumpets blew, and, yes—! It was the name of Agis that resounded through the stadium! There came a hurricane of applause in which the children madly joined. Then other contests took place.

Each one of these, the wrestling, boxing, quoit throwing, and especially the chariot racing, had its separate thrill, and was followed with breathless interest by the crowd. But it was the great horse-race to which both the children looked forward with the most intense longing—the race in which Phidolas and his beautiful mare, Aura, were to compete. At last it came. There were many competitors, all of them splendid youths, mounted upon splendid horses. But, while preparations for the start were being made, Rachel and Diana’s eyes strayed oftenest to Phidolas and Aura.

A deep sigh from both of them told of their suspense, when like an arrow from a bow, Aura sprang forward with her rider, and the whole crowd of horsemen were off like the wind.

Once round the stadium had the racers been, when suddenly a great cry arose from the spectators. Phidolas had been thrown! For a second he lay on the ground, till the umpires, rushing forward, dragged him out of the way of thundering hoofs. Then a mighty clamour arose....

“What are they saying? Oh, what _is_ it they’re shouting?” begged the children, wild with anxiety.

“They are pitying Phidolas, since it was to keep faithfully the rules of the race that he was unseated,” explained Sheshà. “Did you not see how he swerved to avoid hindering the rider that followed him in his course?”

But the children scarcely listened, for another shout, this time of amazement, made them look to where everyone was pointing.

Wonder of wonders, Aura, unchecked in her speed by the fall of her master, was racing as though he had still been on her back to guide her!

On she flew, keeping the pace well, though two or three other horses had already outstripped her. The crowd had become silent, too full of wonder and interest to shout, and all eyes followed Aura, who was still a little behind the foremost riders.

And now, at the last round, according, as Sheshà explained, to the usual custom, the heralds raised their trumpets, and blew strong blasts to encourage the racers.

At the sound, pricking up her ears, Aura gathered herself together, and, with a flying leap, outdistanced the foremost horsemen, and amidst the deafening cries and applause of the spectators, was first to reach the goal!

Nor was this all. No sooner was the race at an end, than, throwing up her graceful head, she trotted to the daïs where the judges sat, and stood meekly before them.

“Oh, the darling lovely thing!” cried the children, incoherently, amidst the tumult. “She’s won! She’s won! The judges _must_ say she’s won!”

And they did. In another moment the children saw two umpires leading Phidolas, unhurt, between them. Lightly he sprang upon the back of his mare, and as wild shouts rent the air, the judges placed the wreath of olives upon his close-cropped curly head, and proclaimed him and his horse joint victors.

After this wonderful thing had happened, it seemed almost impossible that there should be any greater excitement in store. Yet when, preceded by heralds blowing trumpets, the successful athletes marched round the stadium and the air rang with the shouting and applause of the multitude, it seemed that _this_, after all, was the greatest moment of the day. It was difficult to decide which of the two brothers, Phidolas or Agis, was received with the wildest enthusiasm. When Agis was crowned, the people roared their applause because of his youth (and, indeed, as he followed the heralds he looked a charming, but very little boy). And when Phidolas, in his turn, rode round the stadium, the people were again worked up to a frenzy of delight, and Aura, as though she knew that part of the applause was meant for her, stepped proudly, and arched her glossy neck, while her beautiful dark eyes thanked the people for praising her.

“Oh, won’t their father be proud!” exclaimed Rachel. “Fancy having two sons winning the olive wreath!”

“Will they have their statues put up in the sacred wood?” Diana asked.

“Yes—and there also will be the statue of the mare, Aura,” said Sheshà.

Diana jumped for joy. “So she ought! So she ought! She deserves it,” she cried.

“Nor does the triumph of those athletes who have conquered end here,” Sheshà went on to say. “When they return, each to his native city, the whole population will come forth to greet them. The victor belonging to each city, wearing his olive crown, will be placed in a chariot. Torch bearers will receive and run before him, and, when he approaches the wall of his native town, he will find that a breach has been made in it through which he will drive in triumph instead of entering at any one of its gates. In such honour do the citizens of Greece hold a victor in the Olympian Games.”

“I expect Phidolas and Agis will drive in the same chariot when they get back to Athens?” suggested Diana. “Oh, won’t their father be pleased. I’m glad. He looked such a nice man.”

“He _has_ been pleased, you mean,” said Rachel, rather quietly. “It all happened long ago.”

“It’s so difficult to remember that,” murmured Diana.

There was a little silence, and then Rachel exclaimed:

“See, the people are going. Is this the end of the games?”

“It is the end of the first day’s contests,” Sheshà replied. “There will be yet four days, but these will not be wholly occupied by the racing and wrestling and quoit-throwing. Poets will read their odes in praise of the victors. Plays by the greatest dramatists in Greece will be judged and acted, and musicians will play the music they have composed. Olympia does not exist solely for the body. It is for the spirit also. And some of the most famous plays in the world have been acted here.”

“Oh, can’t we see them too?” begged the children. “Why need we go on into the Present at all?” added Diana. “The Past is so wonderful.”

Sheshà smiled at her kindly. “The Present is wonderful too. It’s _all_ wonderful. Come now, and you shall behold yet another wonder, for the people are going to the temple of Zeus, where the victors will worship and give thanks. We will follow them, and you shall have a glimpse of the statue which Phidias made in honour of Zeus, or to give him his other name—of Jupiter Olympius.”

“He’s called that because his temple is here at Olympia, I suppose?” Rachel said. “Agis told us something about Phidias. He made the statue of Minerva in the Parthenon, didn’t he?”

“And the frieze of riding boys too,” put in Diana.

“Yes—he was the sculptor who adorned the Parthenon at Athens,” said Sheshà, as they followed the huge crowd that was moving towards the temple of Zeus. “But the citizens were ungrateful to him. Therefore he left Athens, and came to live here, near Olympia. And for the people of this part of Greece, he carved a statue even larger and more famous than that of Minerva in the Parthenon—the statue you are about to behold.”

“Look! The doors are open now. They were shut when we saw the temple before,” cried Rachel.

“Let us walk where we may gain a view through the gates,” Sheshà suggested. In another moment the children saw the interior of the temple.

There, towering upwards to the height of sixty feet, they caught a glimpse of a majestic figure. It gleamed with the white ivory and flashed with the gold which crowned it, and for a second they saw a grand calm face looking down upon the olive-wreathed victors who bowed low before the shrine.

“You behold the masterpiece of Phidias—the Seventh Wonder of the World,” murmured Sheshà. “Jupiter Olympius from his temple blesses the victors in the games he was the first to institute.”

The voice of their guide sounded so faint and far away that the children scarcely caught the last words.

But blending with them, uttered in fact almost at the same time, came a remark from Mr. Sheston.... “You see where the frieze, now on the walls of this Museum, really belongs? Phidias, the sculptor, in all probability, saw just such a procession at the Olympic Games, celebrated throughout the world, and even now not forgotten. Didn’t you ask me what the word _Olympia_ meant? Now you know....”

“Yes, now we know,” said Rachel, slowly. She and Diana were still standing by the glass case containing the model of the Acropolis of Athens.

They both glanced quickly at Mr. Sheston, but his face was quite grave as he looked at his watch.

“I think it’s time to go to my house for tea,” he said. “I expect you’re tired?”

The children glanced at one another now, and smiled.

“We _ought_ to be—because we’ve been away about four days, really,” whispered Diana, lingering a moment after Mr. Sheston turned to go.

“And yet I expect it wasn’t even four _minutes_!” was Rachel’s hurried answer.

* * * * *

A week from the day on which the children had seen Athens, sat through the Olympic Games, returned to the British Museum and had tea with Mr. Sheston—they were both in Aunt Hester’s drawing-room.

Rachel’s father and mother were also there, and the following morning she and Diana were to return with them to the Seven Gables.

“Rachel looks in the seventh heaven of delight!” remarked Aunt Hester, glancing with a smile at her niece, who sat on the arm of her father’s chair.

“There’s _another_ ‘seven,’” Rachel whispered meaningly to Diana, when the grown-up people began to talk amongst themselves....

“The Pyramids are amazing,” Rachel’s mother was saying, after she had been describing what they had seen in Egypt. “Weren’t they counted among the Wonders of the World? I’m not surprised.”

“It was the first Great Pyramid that was one of the Seven Wonders, I think, wasn’t it?” Rachel’s father returned. “What were the others? I don’t believe anyone knows!”

“We do!” exclaimed Rachel, suddenly. She really couldn’t help it.

Her mother and father laughed, but looked surprised.

“Well, what are they?” asked both of them, speaking together.

“There’s the Great Pyramid, and the Hanging Gardens at Babylon, and the Colossus at Rhodes—” began Rachel, very quickly.

“And the Temple of Diana at Ephesus, and the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, and the Pharos at Alexandria,” added Diana with equal speed.

“And the statue of Jupiter Olympius.”

The last one they said together, almost in the same breath.

“That’s seven,” was Rachel’s last word.

“Well, I never!” exclaimed her father. He looked across at Aunt Hester and laughed again. “How on earth have they learnt all that?”

“Mr. Sheston, I expect,” returned his sister. “He was always taking them to the British Museum.”

At the mention of the old man’s name, Rachel’s father glanced quickly at his little daughter, who returned the look with a smile.

“Mr. Sheston is a wonderful old boy, isn’t he, Rachel?” he remarked quietly.

“Oh, yes!... And, Dad,” she began, moving even closer to him. “It’s lovely to be going home, but I’ve enjoyed it _awfully_ here with Aunt Hester, and Diana, and—Mr. Sheston. And it would be dreadful never to come back again. I may—some time or other—mayn’t I?” she begged earnestly.

“Oh, yes!” cried Diana, with equal fervour.

Rachel’s father put his arm round her.

“Of course you may,” he said, “if your aunt will have you.”

“Of _course_ I will,” returned Aunt Hester, looking gratified.

“I’m glad you like Mr. Sheston,” observed Rachel’s father, smiling first at his little daughter, and then at Diana.

“Let’s give _seven_ cheers!” exclaimed Diana. And both children laughed.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Original publication date 1921