"Only if I consent to produce him."

"When did a master ever refuse to let his slave testify, if demanded, unless he wished to blast his own cause with the jury? No, _makaire_, you will not enjoy the day when Themistocles arrays the testimony against you."

Democrates shivered. The late spring sun was warm. He felt no heat. A mere charge of treason he was almost prepared now to endure. If Mistress Fortune helped him, he might refute it, but to be branded before h.e.l.las as the destroyer of his bosom friend, and that by guile the like whereof Tantalus, Sisyphus, and Ixion conjoined had never wrought-what wonder his knees smote together? Why had he not foreseen that Agis would fall into Lycon's hands? Why had he trusted that lying tale from Artemisium? And worst of all, worse than the howls of the people who would tear his body asunder like dogs, not waiting the work of the hemlock, was the thought of Hermione. She hated him now. How she would love him, though he sat on Xerxes's throne, if once her suspicion rose to certainty! He saw himself ruined in life and in love, and blazoned as infamous forever.

Lycon was wise enough to sit some moments, letting his utterance do its work. He was confident, and rightly. Democrates looked on him at last. The workings of the Athenian's face were terrible.

"I am your slave, Spartan. Had you bought me for ten minae and held the bill of sale, I were not yours more utterly. Your wish?"

Lycon chose his words and answered slowly.

"You must serve Persia. Not for a moment, but for all time. You must place that dreadful gift of yours at our disposal. And in return take what is promised,-the lordship of Athens."

"No word of that," groaned the wretched man, "what will you do?"

"Aristeides is soon going to Sparta to press home his demands that the Lacedaemonians march in full force against Mardonius. I can see to it that his mission succeeds. A great battle will be fought in Botia. _We_ can see to it that Mardonius is so victorious that all further resistance becomes a dream."

"And my part in this monster's work?"

The demands and propositions with which Lycon answered this despairing question will unfold themselves in due place and time. Suffice it here, that when he let the Athenian go his way Lycon was convinced that Democrates had bound himself heart and soul to forward his enterprise. The orator was no merry guest for his Corinthian hosts that night. He returned to his old manner of drinking unmixed wine. "Thirsty as a Macedonian!"

cried his companions, in vain endeavour to drive him into a laugh. They did not know that once more the chorus of the Furies was singing about his ears, and he could not still it by the deepest wine-cup. They did not know that every time he closed his eyes he was seeing the face of Glaucon. That morning he had mocked at Nemesis. That night he heard the beating of her brazen wings.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

THE STRANGER IN TRZENE

Despite exile, life had moved pleasantly for Hermippus's household that spring. The Trzenians had surpa.s.sed all duties to Zeus Xenios-the stranger's G.o.d-in entertaining the outcast Athenians. The fugitives had received two obols per day to keep them in figs and porridge. Their children had been suffered to roam and plunder the orchards. But Hermippus had not needed such generosity. He had placed several talents at interest in Corinth; likewise bonds of "guest-friendship" with prominent Trzenians made his residence very agreeable. He had hired a comfortable house, and could enjoy even luxury with his wife, daughter, young sons, and score of slaves.

Little Phnix grew marvellously day by day, as if obeying his mother's command to wax strong and avenge his father. Old Cleopis vowed he was the healthiest, least tearful babe, as well as the handsomest, she had ever known,-and she spoke from wide experience. When he was one year old, he was so active they had to tie him in the cradle. When the golden spring days came, he would ride forth upon his nurse's back, surveying the h.e.l.las he was born to inherit, and seeming to find it exceeding good.

But as spring verged on summer, Hermione demanded so much of Cleopis's care that even Phnix ceased to be the focus of attention. The lordly Alcmaeonid fell into the custody of one Niobe, a dark-haired la.s.s of the islands, who treated him well, but cared too much for certain young "serving-gentlemen" to waste on her charge any unreciprocated adoration.

So on one day, just as the dying gra.s.s told the full reign of the Sun King, she went forth with her precious bundle wriggling in her arms, but her thoughts hardly on Master Phnix. Procles the steward had been cold of late, he had even cast sly glances at Jocasta, Lysistra's tiring-woman.

Mistress Niobe was ready-since fair means of recalling the fickle Apollo failed-to resort to foul. Instead, therefore, of going to the promenade over the sea, she went-burden and all-to the Agora, where she was sure old Dion, who kept a soothsayer's shop, would give due a.s.sistance in return for half a drachma.

The market was just thinning. Niobe picked her way amongst the vegetable women, fought off a boy who thrust on her a pair of geese, and found in a quiet corner by a temple porch the booth of Dion, who grinned with his toothless gums in way of greeting. He listened with paternal interest to her story, soothed her when she sniffled at Procles's name, and made her show her silver, then began pulling over his bags and vials of strange powders and liquids.

"Ah, kind Master Dion," began Niobe, for the sixth time, "if only some philtre could make Procles loath that abominable Jocasta!"

"_Eu! eu!_" muttered the old sinner, "it's hard to say what's best,-powder of toad's bone or the mixture of wormwood and adder's fat. The safest thing is to consult the G.o.d-"

"What do you mean?"

"Why, my holy c.o.c.k here, hatched at Delphi with Apollo's blessings on him." Dion pointed with his thumb to the small coop at his feet. "The oracle is simple. You cast before him two piles of corn; if he picks at the one to right we take toad's bone, to left the adder's fat. Heaven will speak to us."

"Excellent," cried Niobe, brightening.

"But, of course, we must use only consecrated corn, that's two obols more."

Niobe's face fell. "I've only this half-drachma."

"Then, _philotata_," said Dion, kindly but firmly, "we had better wait a little longer."

Niobe wept. "_Ai!_ woe. 'A little longer' and Jocasta has Procles. I can't ask Hermione again for money. _Ai! ai!_"

Two round tears did not move Dion in the slightest. Niobe was sobbing, at her small wits' end, when a voice sounded behind her.

"What's there wrong, la.s.s? By Zeus, but you carry a handsome child!"

Niobe glanced, and instantly stopped weeping. A young man dressed roughly as a sailor, and with long black hair and beard, had approached her, but despite dress and beard she was quite aware he was far handsomer than even Procles.

"I beg pardon, _kyrie_,"-she said "_kyrie_" by instinct,-"I'm only an honest maid. Dion is terribly extortionate." She cast down her eyes, expecting instant succour from the susceptible seaman, but to her disgust she saw he was admiring only the babe, not herself.

"Ah! G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses, what a beautiful child! A girl?"

"A boy," answered Niobe, almost sullenly.

"Blessed the house in Trzene then that can boast of such a son."

"Oh, he's not Trzenian, but one of the exiles from Athens," volunteered Dion, who kept all the t.i.ttle-tattle of the little city in stock along with his philtres.

"An Athenian! Praised be Athena Polias, then. I am from Athens myself. And his father?"

"The brat will never boast of his father," quoth Dion, rolling his eyes.

"He left the world in a way, I wager five minae, the mother hopes she can hide from her darling, but the babe's of right good stock, an Alcmaeonid, and the grandfather is that Hermippus-"

"Hermippus?" The stranger seemed to catch the word out of Dion's mouth. A donkey had broken loose at the upper end of the Agora; he turned and stared at it and its pursuers intently.

"If you're Athenian," went on the soothsayer, "the story's an old one-of Glaucon the Traitor."

The stranger turned back again. For a moment Dion saw he was blinking, but no doubt it was dust. Then he suddenly began to fumble in his girdle.

"What do you want, girl?" he demanded of Niobe, nigh fiercely.

"Two obols."

"Take two drachmae. I was once a friend to that Glaucon, and traitor though he has been blazed, his child is yet dear to me. Let me take him."

Without waiting her answer he thrust the coin into her hands, and caught the child out of them. Phnix looked up into the strange, bearded face, and deliberated an instant whether to crow or to weep. Then some friendly G.o.d decided him. He laughed as sweetly, as musically, as ever one can at his most august age. With both chubby hands he plucked at the black beard and held tight. The strange sailor answered laugh with laugh, and released himself right gayly. Then whilst Niobe and Dion watched and wondered they saw the sailor kiss the child full fifty times, all the time whispering soft words in his ear, at which Phnix crowed and laughed yet more.

"An old family servant," threw out Dion, in a whisper.

"Sheep!" retorted the nurse, "do you call yourself wise? Do you think a man with that face and those long hands ever felt the stocks or the whip?

He's gentleman born, by Demeter!"