The speck at last vanished. The strategus walked homeward. Glaucon was gone. The fateful packet binding Democrates irrevocably to the Persian cause was gone. He could not turn back. At the gray of morning with a few servants he quitted Trzene, and hastened to join Aristeides and Pausanias in Botia.

In the hold of the _Bozra_, where Hasdrubal had stowed his unwilling pa.s.sengers, there crept just enough sunlight to make darkness visible. The gags had been removed from the prisoners, suffering them to eat, whereupon Lampaxo had raised a truly prodigious outcry which must needs be silenced by a vigorous anointing with Hasdrubal's whip of bullock's hide. Her husband and Glaucon disdained to join a clamour which could never escape the dreary cavern of the hold, and which only drew the hoots of their unmagnanimous guardians. The Carthaginians had not misinterpreted Glaucon's silence, however. They knew well they had a t.i.tan in custody, and did not even unlash his hands. His feet and Phormio's were tied between two beams in lieu of stocks. The giant Hib took it upon himself to feed them bean porridge with a wooden spoon, making the dainty sweeter with tales of the parching heats of Africa and the life of a slave under Libyan task-masters.

So one day, another, and another, while the _Bozra_ rocked at anchor, and the prisoners knew that liberty lay two short cable lengths away, yet might have been in Atlantis for all it profited them. Phormio never reviled his wife as the author of their calamity, and Lampaxo, with nigh childish earnestness, would protest that surely Democrates knew not what the sailors did when they bound her.

"So n.o.ble a patriot! An evil G.o.d bewitched him into letting these harpies take us. Woe! woe! What misfortune!"

To which plaint the others only smiled horribly and ground their teeth.

Phormio as well as Glaucon had heard the avowal of Democrates on the night of the seizure. There was no longer any doubt of the answer to the great riddle. But disheartening, benumbing beyond all personal anguish was the dread for h.e.l.las. The sacrifice at Thermopylae vain. The glory of Salamis vain. h.e.l.las and Athens enslaved. The will of Xerxes and Mardonius accomplished not because of their valour, but because of their enemies'

infamy.

"O G.o.ds, if indeed there be G.o.ds!" Glaucon was greatly doubting that at last; "if ye have any power, if justice, truth, and honour weigh against iniquity, put that power forth, or never claim the prayers and sacrifice of men again."

Glaucon was past dreading for himself. He prayed that Hermione might be spared a long life of tears, and that Artemis might slay her quickly by her silent arrows. To follow his thoughts in all their dark mazes were profitless. Suffice it that the night which had brooded over his soul from the hour he fled from Colonus was never so dark as now. He was too despairing even to curse.

The last hope fled when they heard the rattling of the cables weighing anchor. Soon the soft slap of the water around the bow and the regular heaving motion told that the _Bozra_ was under way. The sea-mouse creaked and groaned through all her timbers and her lading. The foul bilge-water made the hold stifling as a charnel-house. Lampaxo, Hib being absent, began to howl and moan.

"O Queen Hera! O Queen Hera, I die for a breath of air-I, the most patriotic woman in Athens!"

"Silence, goodwife," muttered Phormio, twisting desperately on the filthy straw under him. "Have I not enough to fret about without the addition of your pipings?" And he muttered underbreath the old saw of Hesiod:-

"He who doth a woman trust, Doth trust a den of thieves."

"Silence below there, you squealing sow," ordered Hib, from the hatchway.

"Must I tan your hide again?"

Lampaxo subsided. Phormio tugged vainly at his feet in the stocks. Glaucon said nothing. A terrible hope had come to him. If he could not speedily die, at least he would soon go mad, and that would rescue him from his most terrible enemy-himself.

The _Bozra_, it has been said, headed not south but eastward. Hasdrubal's commission was to fetch Samos, where the still formidable fleet of the Barbarian lay, and to put the precious packet from Democrates in the hands of Tigranes, Xerxes's commander-in-chief on the coast of Asia Minor. But although speed had been enjoined, the voyage did not go prosperously. Off Belbina the wind deserted them altogether, and Hasdrubal had been compelled to force his craft along by sweeps,-ponderous oars, worked by three men,-but his progress at best was slow. Off Cythnos the breeze had again arisen, but it was the Eurus from the southeast, worse than useless; the _Bozra_ had been obliged to ride at anchor off the island for two days. Then another calm; and at last, "because," said Hasdrubal piously, "he had vowed two black lambs to the Wind G.o.d," the breeze came clear and cool from the north, which, if not wholly favourable, enabled the merchantman to plough onward. It was the fifth day, finally, after quitting Trzene, that the headlands of Naxos came in sight at dawn, and the master began to take comfort. The fleet of the Greeks-a fisherboat had told him-was swinging inactive at Delos well to the north and westward, and he could fairly consider himself in waters dominated by the king.

"A fortunate voyage," the master was boasting to Hiram, as he sat at breakfast in the stern-cabin above a platter of boiled dolphin; "two talents from the Persians for acting as their messenger; a thousand drachmae profit on the corn; a hundred from Master Democrates in return for our little service, not to mention the profit on the return cargo, and last but not least the three slaves."

"Yes, the three slaves. I had almost forgotten about them."

"You see, my dear Hiram," quoth the master, betwixt two unwontedly huge mouthfuls, "you see what folly it was of you to suggest putting out that handsome fellow's eyes. I am strongly thinking of selling him not to Carthage, but to Babylon. I know a trader at Ephesus who makes a specialty of handsome youths. The satrap Artabozares has commissioned him to find as many good-looking out-runners as possible. Also for his harem-if this Glaucon were only a eunuch-"

Hiram, breaking a large disk of bread, was smiling very suggestively before making reply, when a sailor shouted at the hatch:-

"Ships, master! Ships with oars!"

"In what quarter?" Hasdrubal sprang up, letting the dishes clatter.

"From Myconus. They come up fast. Hib at the masthead counts eleven triremes."

"Baal preserve us!" The master at once clambered on deck. "The Greek fleet may be quitting Delos. We must pray for wind."

It was a gray, hazy day after a dozen bright ones. The northerly breeze seemed falling. The water spread out a sombre lead colour. The heights of Naxos were in sight to starboard, but none too clearly. Much more interesting to Hasdrubal was the line of dots spreading on the horizon to northwest. Despite the distance his keen eyes could catch the rise and fall of the oar banks-war-ships, not traders. Hib was right, and Hasdrubal's face grew longer. No triremes save the Greeks could be bearing thither, and a merchantman, even from nominally neutral Carthage, caught headed for the king's coasts in those days of blazing war was nothing if not fair prize. The master's decision was prompt.

"They are far off. Put the ship before the wind."

The sea-mouse was fleet indeed for a trader, but unlike a trireme must count on her canvas for her speed. With a piping breeze she could mock pursuit. In a calm she was fearfully handicapped. However, for a moment Hasdrubal congratulated himself he could slip away unnoticed. The distance was very great. Then his dark lips cursed.

"Moloch consume me! If I see aright, we are chased."

Two vessels, in fact, seemed turning away from the rest. They were heading straight after the _Bozra_. A long race it would be, but with the gale so light the chances were against the sea-mouse. Hasdrubal had no need to urge his crew to rig out the oars and tug furiously, if they wished to escape a Greek prison and a slave market.

The whole crew, forty black-visaged, black-eyed creatures, were soon busy over the dozen great sweeps in a frantic attempt to force the _Bozra_ beyond danger. Panting, yelling, blaspheming, for a while they seemed holding their own, but the master watched with sinking heart the waning breeze. At the end of an hour their pursuers could be distinguished,-a tall trireme behind, but closer, pulling more rapidly, a penteconter, a slim scouting galley working fifty oars in a single bank.

Hasdrubal began to shout desperately: "Wind, Baal, wind! Fill the sails, and seven he-goats await thy altar in Carthage!"

Either the G.o.d found the bribe too small or lacked the power to accept it.

The breeze did not stiffen. The sailors strove like demons at the sweeps, but almost imperceptibly the gap betwixt them and the war-ships was narrowing.

Hiram, who had been rowing, now left his post to approach the master.

"What of the captives? Crucifixion waits us all if they are found on the ship and tell their story. Kill them at once and fling the bodies overboard."

Hasdrubal shook his head.

"Not yet. Still a good chance. I'll not cast five hundred bright shekels to the fish till harder pressed. The breeze may strengthen." Then he redoubled his shout. "Wind, Baal, wind!"

But a little later the gap betwixt the sea-mouse and the penteconter had so dwindled that even the master's inborn thrift began to yield to prudence.

"Hark you, Hib," he cried from the helm. "Take Adherbal and Lars the Etruscan. It's a good ten furlongs to that cursed galley still, but we must have those prisoners ready on deck. Over they go if the chase gets a bit closer."

The giant Libyan hastened to comply, while all the crew joined in the captain's howl, "Wind, Baal, wind!" and cried reckless vows, while they scanned the fateful stretch of gray-green water behind the stern, whereon liberty if not life depended.

The trireme, pulling only one of her banks, was dropping behind, her navarch leaving the tiring chase to the penteconter, but the latter hung on doggedly.

"Curse those war-ships with their long oars and heavy crews," growled Hib, reappearing above the hatch with the prisoners. "The penteconter's only nine furlongs off."

He had been obliged to release the captives from the stocks, but Hib had taken the precaution to place on the formidable athlete a pair of leg irons joined by a shackle. Not merely were Glaucon's arms pinioned by a stout cord, but the great Libyan was gripping them tightly. Lars and Adherbal conducted the other prisoners, whose feet, however, were not bound. For a moment the three captives stood blinking at the unfamiliar light, unconscious of the situation and their extremity, whilst Hasdrubal for the fortieth time measured the distance. The wind had strengthened a little. Let it strengthen a trifle more and the _Bozra_ would hold her own. Still her people were nearly spent with their toiling, and the keen beak and large complement of the man-of-war made resistance madness if she once came alongside.

"Have ready sand-bags," ordered Hasdrubal, "to tie to these wretches'

feet. Set them by the boat mast, so the sail can hide our pretty deed from the penteconter. Have ready an axe. We'll bide a little longer, though, before we say 'farewell' to our pa.s.sengers. The G.o.ds may help yet."

Hib and his fellows were marching the prisoners to the p.o.o.p, when the sight of the war-ship told Phormio all the story. No gag now hindered his tongue.

"Oh, dragons from Carthage, are you going to murder us?" he began in tones more indignant than terrified.

"No, save as Heaven enjoins it!" quoth the master, clapping his hands to urge on the rowing stroke. "Pray, then, your aeolus, h.e.l.lene, to stiffen the breeze."

"Pray, then, to Pluto, whelps," bawled the undaunted fishmonger, "to give you a snug berth in Orcus. Ha! but it's a merry thought of you and all your pretty lads stretched on crosses and waiting for the crows."