Hipyllos found the fleet lying off Antirrhium, opposite to the Peloponnesian galleys. It seemed strange to suddenly find himself so near the enemy that he could hear the Spartan war-songs and see their spears and swords glitter in the sunlight. Aboard young and old were confident of victory, for they had recently defeated a Corinthian fleet twice as large as their own.
The battle was not long delayed.
Early in the morning the Peloponnesians rowed into the bay opposite Naupactus, a city belonging to the allies of Athens. Phormion was hurrying after to defend the place, when the enemy suddenly made a circuit by which they intercepted and captured his last nine ships. Hipyllos was on the eighth and, frantic at falling into the hands of the foe, he shouted to a party of Messenians from Naupactus whom he saw on shore:
“Messenians! Will you calmly see ships that were hastening to the aid of your city, captured by the enemy? Help us save this one galley. When we are once free, we will speedily rescue the others.”
The men on land consulted together a moment, then they waded out into the sea and assisted their allies. But scarcely was the ship freed, when it rowed to the next, and when two were rescued they easily succeeded in recapturing the others, so that the Peloponnesians only kept a single one of the Athenian galleys. Meantime Phormion had rowed farther on with the remainder of the fleet, but, perceiving that the Peloponnesians kept no order, he attacked and routed them, capturing six ships. The Athenians raised the sign of victory, jeering at the Peloponnesians for doing the same.
Hipyllos was universally praised; for he had not only summoned the Messenians to the rescue, but had fought bravely and killed a brother of Lycophron, one of the commanders of the hostile fleet.
On his return to Athens Hipyllos found his father on a sick-bed. Shame for Cleobule’s misconduct, which at last could no longer be concealed, affected the old man like a slow poison.
Hipyllos’ valor in the naval battle at Rhium was his last joy. The very day that he had listened to the account of it from one of the officers of the fleet he breathed his last, holding his son’s hand in his own. Hipyllos mourned sincerely for his father. Cleobule was more richly dowered by the dead man’s will than she had any right to expect, but was compelled to instantly quit the hearth on which she had brought disgrace.
At the time we make Hipyllos’ acquaintance he was in independent possession of a fine house, numerous slaves, and a fortune of more than thirty talents.[I] The firmness he had acquired in the conflict with his wicked step-mother now served him in good stead. Having early learned to govern himself, he was wiser than most of the men of his own age and did not squander his property. When reproached for not keeping open house for his friends and sending a team of four horses to the games, he shook his head and answered:
“Why should I waste my inheritance? Some day Athens will knock at my door, saying: ‘Give me a ship for the fleet or a chorus for the theatre’—then will be the time to be open-handed.”