"Come," commanded Phormio, pulling upon his arm. "The sun will shine again to-morrow."

Thus the twain went forward, Glaucon saying not a word. He hardly knew how they pa.s.sed the Itonian Gate and crossed the long stretch of open country betwixt the city and its havens. No pursuit as yet-Glaucon was too perplexed to reason why. At last he knew they entered Phaleron. He heard the slapping waves, the creaking tackle, the shouting sailors. Torches gleamed ruddily. A merchantman was loading her cargo of pottery crates and oil jars,-to sail with the morning breeze. Swarthy shipmen ran up and down the planks betwixt quay and ship, balancing their heavy jars on their heads as women bear water-pots. From the tavern by the mooring came harping and the clatter of cups, while two women-the worse for wine-ran out to drag the newcomers in to their revel. Phormio slapped the slatterns aside with his staff. In the same fearful waking dream Glaucon saw Phormio demanding the shipmaster. He saw Brasidas-a short man with the face of a hound and arms to hug like a bear-in converse with the fishmonger, saw the master at first refusing, then gradually giving reluctant a.s.sent to some demand. Next Phormio was half leading, half carrying the fugitive aboard the ship, guiding him through a labyrinth of bales, jars, and cordage, and pointing to a hatchway ladder, illumined by a swinging lantern.

"Keep below till the ship sails; don't wipe the charcoal from your face till clear of Attica. Officers will board the vessel before she puts off; yet have no alarm, they'll only come to see she doesn't violate the law against exporting grain." Phormio delivered his admonitions rapidly, at the same time fumbling in his belt. "Here-here are ten drachmae, all I've about me, but something for bread and figs till you make new friends,-in which there'll be no trouble, I warrant. Have a brave heart. Remember that Helios can shine l.u.s.tily even if you are not in Athens, and pray the G.o.ds to give a fair return."

Glaucon felt the money pressed within his palm. He saw Phormio turning away. He caught the fishmonger's hard hand and kissed it twice.

"I can never reward you. Not though I live ten thousand years and have all the gold of Gyges."

"_Phui!_" answered Phormio, with a shrug; "don't detain me, it's time I was home and was unlashing my loving wife."

And with that he was gone. Glaucon descended the ladder. The cabin was low, dark, unfurnished save with rude pallets of straw, but Glaucon heeded none of these things. Deeper than the accusation by Democrates, than the belief therein by Themistocles and the others, the friendship of the fishmonger touched him. A man base-born, ignorant, uncivil, had believed him, had risked his own life to save him, had given him money out of his poverty, had spoken words of fair counsel and cheer. On the deck above the sailors were tumbling the cargo, and singing at their toil, but Glaucon never heard them. Flinging himself on a straw pallet, for the first time came the comfort of hot tears.

Very early the _Solon's_ square mainsail caught the breeze from the warm southwest. The hill of Munychia and the ports receded. The panorama of Athens-plain, city, citadel, gray Hymettus, white Pentelicus-spread in a vista of surpa.s.sing beauty-so at least to the eyes of the outlaw when he clambered to the p.o.o.p. As the ship ran down the low coast, land and sea seemed clothed with a robe of rainbow-woven light. Far, near,-islands, mountains, and deep were burning with saffron, violet, and rose, as the Sun-G.o.d's car climbed higher above the burning path it marked across the sea. Glaucon saw all in clear relief,-the Acropolis temple where he had prayed, the Pnyx and Areopagus, the green band of the olive groves, even the knoll of Colonus,-where he had left his all. Never had he loved Athens more than now. Never had she seemed fairer to his eyes than now. He was a Greek, and to a Greek death was only by one stage a greater ill than exile.

"O Athena Polias," he cried, stretching his hands to the fading beauty, "G.o.ddess who determineth all aright,-bless thou this land, though it wakes to call me traitor. Teach it to know I am innocent. Comfort Hermione, my wife. And restore me to Athens, after doing deeds which wipe out all my unearned shame!"

The _Solon_ rounded the cape. The headland concealed the city. The Saronian bay opened into the deeper blue of the aegean and its sprinkling of brown islands. Glaucon looked eastward and strove to forget Attica.

Two hours later all Athens seemed reading this placard in the Agora:-

NOTICE

For the arrest of GLAUCON, SON OF CONON, charged with high treason, I will pay one talent.

DEXILEUS, Chairman of the Eleven.

Other such placards were posted in Peiraeus, in Eleusis, in Marathon, in every Attic village. Men could talk of nothing else.

CHAPTER XIV

MARDONIUS THE PERSIAN

Off Andros the northern gale smote them. The ship had driven helplessly.

Off Tenos only the skill of Brasidas kept the _Solon_ clear of the rocky sh.o.r.es.

As they raced past holy Delos the frightened pa.s.sengers had vowed twelve oxen to Apollo if he saved them.

Near Naxos, Brasidas, after vainly trying to make a friendly haven, bade his sailors undergird the ship with heavy cables, for the timbers seemed starting. Finally he suffered his craft to drive,-hoping at least to find some islet with a sandy sh.o.r.e where he could beach her with safety.

The _Solon_, however, was near her doom. She was built on the Samian model, broad, flat, high in p.o.o.p, low in prow,-excellent for cargo, but none too seaworthy. The foresail blew in tatters. The closely brailed mainsail shook the weakened mast. The sailors had dropped their quaint oaths, and began to pray-sure proof of danger. The dozen pa.s.sengers seemed almost too panic-stricken to aid in flinging the cargo overboard. Several were raving.

"Hearken, Poseidon of Calauria," howled a Peiraeus merchant against the screeching blasts, "save from this peril and I vow thee and thy temple two mixing bowls of purest gold!"

"A great vow," suggested a calmer comrade. "All your fortune can hardly pay it."

"Hush," spoke the other, in undertone, "don't let the G.o.d overhear me; let me get safe to Mother Earth and Poseidon has not one obol. His power is only over the sea."

A creaking from the mainmast told that it might fall at any moment.

Pa.s.sengers and crew redoubled their shouts to Poseidon and to Zeus of aegina. A fat pa.s.senger staggered from his cabin, a huge money-bag bound to his belt,-as if gold were the safest spar to cling to in that boiling deep. Others, less frantic, gave commissions one to another, in case one perished and another escaped.

"You alone have no messages, pray no prayers, show no fear!" spoke a grave, elderly man to Glaucon, as both clutched the swaying bulwark.

"And wherefore?" came the bitter answer; "what is left me to fear? I desire no life hereafter. There can be no consciousness without sad memory."

"You are very young to speak thus."

"But not too young to have suffered."

A wave dashed one of the steering rudders out of the grip of the sailor guiding it. The rush of water swept him overboard. The _Solon_ lurched.

The wind smote the straining mainsail, and the shivered mainmast tore from its stays and socket. Above the bawling of wind and water sounded the crash. The ship, with only a small sail upon the p.o.o.p, blew about into the trough of the sea. A mountain of green water thundered over the prow, bearing away men and wreckage. The "governor," Brasidas's mate, flung away the last steering tiller.

"The _Solon_ is dying, men," he trumpeted through his hands. "To the boat!

Save who can!"

The pinnace set in the waist was cleared away by frantic hands and axes.

Ominous rumblings from the hold told how the undergirding could not keep back the water. The pinnace was dragged to the ship's lee and launched in the comparative calm of the _Solon's_ broadside. Pitifully small was the boat for five and twenty. The sailors, desperate and selfish, leaped in first, and watched with jealous eyes the struggles of the pa.s.sengers to follow. The noisy merchant slipped in the leap, and they heard him scream once as the wave swallowed him. Brasidas stood in the bow of the pinnace, clutching a sword to cut the last rope. The boat filled to the gunwales.

The spray dashed into her. The sailors bailed with their caps. Another pa.s.senger leaped across, whereat the men yelled and drew their dirks.

"Three are left. Room for one more. The rest must swim!"

Glaucon stood on the p.o.o.p. Was life still such a precious thing to some that they must clutch for it so desperately? He had even a painful amus.e.m.e.nt in watching the others. Of himself he thought little save to hope that under the boiling sea was rest and no return of memory. Then Brasidas called him.

"Quick! The others are Barbarians and you a h.e.l.lene. Your chance-leap!"

He did not stir. The "others"-two strangers in Oriental dress-were striving to enter the pinnace. The seamen thrust their dirks out to force them back.

"Full enough!" bawled the "governor." "That fellow on the p.o.o.p is mad. Cut the rope, or we are caught in the swirl."

The elder Barbarian lifted his companion as if to fling him into the boat, but Brasidas's sword cut the one cable. The wave flung the _Solon_ and the pinnace asunder. With stolid resignation the Orientals retreated to the p.o.o.p. The people in the pinnace rowed desperately to keep her out of the deadly trough of the billows, but Glaucon stood erect on the drifting wreck and his voice rang through the tumult of the sea.

"Tell them in Athens, and tell Hermione my wife, that Glaucon the Alcmaeonid went down into the deep declaring his innocence and denouncing the vengeance of Athena on whosoever foully destroyed him!-"

Brasidas waved his sword in last farewell. Glaucon turned back to the wreck. The _Solon_ had settled lower. Every wave washed across the waist.

Nothing seemed to meet his gaze save the leaden sky, the leaden green water, the foam of the bounding storm-crests. He told himself the G.o.ds were good. Drowning was more merciful death than hemlock. Pelagos, the untainted sea, was a softer grave than the Barathrum. The memory of the fearful hour at Colonus, the vision of the face of Hermione, of all things else that he would fain forget-all these would pa.s.s. For what came after he cared nothing.