The Athenian army, with their allies, under the general Kallias, son of Kalliades, in forty ships of war, sailed up the coast as far as Makedonia, and there joining the army under Archestratos that had set out some time before, and coasting down the Shemaic Gulf, they landed near Beroia. Then, after three days’ marching along the shore, they encamped not far from Potidaia, and watched the movements of the enemy. While the army under Kallias were joining forces with Archestratos, the Korinthians had sent a strong detachment, under Aristeus, to help the Potidaians, and thus the Athenians, somewhat unexpectedly, found themselves confronted with Korinthians, as well as Potidaians and their Olynthian and Makedonian allies. Aristeus was made commander-in-chief of this formidable host. He placed the main body of his army at the entrance to the isthmus on which Potidaia stands, and posted the Makedonians beneath the walls of Olynthos, in position to attack the enemy in the rear on their first forward movement.
Kallias, seeing this manœuvre, sent some of his allies against the Makedonians, and gave the signal to the main body to advance.
At the first onset Aristeus, with his left wing, drove back the Athenian right, and followed them too far as they retreated. The Athenian left wing and centre, in which was Alkibiades, raising their loud shout to the god of war, came on in splendid style against the Korinthian right. Then Greek indeed joined Greek, and fought with more ferocious hatred in their hearts than they had ever felt against a common foe, when, fighting side by side, they had sent the Persian home again.
Modern warfare consists, for the most part, in well-drilled marksmen shooting at a distant mass scarce visible, and in receiving leaden pellets from an unseen enemy. The tug and tussle of the old engagements, where man grappled with man, and the final victory depended more on the individual skill and courage of a few, is gone. Alkibiades rushed headlong into the fray. It was his first experience of real war. Forgetting everything in his excitement but the antagonists before him, he found the noblest and strongest youths among the foe, and astonished many on both sides as he felled opponents in his impetuosity.
The Athenian attack was stubbornly resisted. Kallias, the young general, the pupil of Zeno, the philosopher of Elea, and a firm friend of Alkibiades, was slain. Each foot of ground was fought for vigorously, and fought for, sometimes, more than once, as now Athenian, now Korinthian, gave way, and rocked and swayed together.
The son of Kleinias, blind to dangers round him, fearless of thrusts or blows, strode in the front of the Athenian army. He had just felled a stalwart Korinthian, when a blow upon his helmet, glancing down upon his breastplate, brought him to his knees still fighting, till, with loss of blood, he bowed his head and fell prone upon the ground.
The battle raged around him as before. He heard the din of it confusedly—the calling on the gods, the cries of rage, the clanking of the swords and shields; no one seemed to notice him. Those who, just now, wondered at his courage were too much engaged to see his fall. His blood, although he knew it not, was pouring from his wound. A dim vision of his past life came before him—his father’s parting words, his hopes, his ambition; now all was over, ended at his first attempt to make a famous name. The great gods had struck him down in his pride. He recollected indistinctly his late excesses, and dread Aiakos, the Judge of Hell, he had been used to jest about as his old ancestor in his careless health and jollity; he trembled as he thought how soon he was to meet him. And then a sweet remembrance swam before his darkening eyes of a sunny afternoon by the Ilissos, and the pleasant voice and kindly words of that strange friend of his came back to him, like far-off music in his ears; then darkness, and then—nothing.
Presently a sound as of the same voice came over him again. That which had been indistinct and dreamy was now real and clear. His eyes opened, and he saw Sokrates striding across him, his big eyes shining with a rage which made them look almost beautiful; the ungraceful body trembled with a god-like energy, his whole countenance glowed as if inspired. With a blow he had brought to the ground a Potidaian, who, taking advantage of the young man’s helplessness, was about to slay him with his sword.
The Athenian army, everywhere victorious, chased the enemy into Potidaia, and left the young hoplite and the philosopher behind amongst the dead and dying. Neither of them spoke: one was too weak, the other only stood and watched him.
When some of their side returned, Alkibiades was taken to his tent, and his wound was dressed. Youth, vigour, and relenting Zeus soon did the rest.