Glaucon told it: the encounter on the hillside at Trzene, the seizure in Phormio's house, the coming of Democrates and his boasts over the captives, the voyage and the pursuing. The son of Neocles never hastened the recital, though once or twice he widened it by an incisive question.

At the end he demanded:-

"And does Phormio confirm all this?"

"All. Question him."

"Humph! He's a truthful man in everything save the price of fish. Now let us open the packet."

Themistocles was exceeding deliberate. He drew his dagger and pried the wrapper open without breaking the seals or tearing the papyrus. He turned the strips of paper carefully one by one, opened a casket, and drew thence a written sheet which he compared painfully with those before him.

"The same hand," his remark in undertone.

He was so calm that a stranger would have thought him engaged with routine business. Many of the sheets he simply lifted, glanced at, laid down again. They did not seem to interest. So through half the roll, but the outlaw, watching patiently, at last saw he eyebrows of the son of Neocles pressing ever closer,-sign that the inscrutable brain was at its fateful work.

At last he uttered one word, "Cipher."

A sheet lay before him covered with broken words and phrases-seemingly without meaning-but the admiral knew the secret of the Spartan _scytale_, the "cipher wood." Forth from his casket came a number of rounded sticks of varying lengths. On one after another he wound the sheet spirally until at the fifth trial the scattered words came together. He read with ease.

Then Themistocles's brows grew closer than before. He muttered softly in his beard. But still he said nothing aloud. He read the cipher sheet through once, twice; it seemed thrice. Other sheets he fingered delicately, as though he feared the touch of venom. All without haste, but at the end, when Themistocles arose from his seat, the outlaw trembled.

Many things he had seen, but never a face so changed. The admiral was neither flushed nor pale. But ten years seemed added to those lines above his eyes. His cheeks were hollowed. Was it fancy that put the gray into his beard and hair? Slowly he rose; slowly he ordered the marine on guard outside the cabin to summon Simonides, Cimon, and all the officers of the flag-ship. They trooped hither and filled the narrow cabin-fifteen or more hale, handsome Athenians, intent on the orders of the admiral. Were they to dash at once for Samos and surprise the Persian? Or what other adventure waited? The breeze had died. The gray breast of the aegean rocked the _Nausicaa_ softly. The thranites of the upper oar bank were alone on the benches, and stroking the great trireme along to a singsong chant about Amphitrite and the Tritons. On the p.o.o.p above two sailors were grumbling lest the penteconter's people get all the booty of the _Bozra_.

Glaucon heard their grunts and complainings whilst he looked on Themistocles's awful face.

The officers ranged themselves and saluted stiffly. Themistocles stood before them, his hands closed over the packet. The first time he started to speak his lips closed desperately. The silence grew awkward. Then the admiral gave his head a toss, and drew his form together as a runner before a race.

"Democrates is a traitor. Unless Athena shows us mercy, h.e.l.las is lost."

"Democrates is a traitor!"

The cry from the startled men rang through the ship. The rowers ceased their chant and their stroking. Themistocles beckoned angrily for silence.

"I did not call you down to wail and groan." He never raised his voice; his calmness made him terrible. But now the questions broke loose as a flood.

"When? How? Declare."

"Peace, men of Athens; you conquered the Persian at Salamis, conquer now yourselves. Harken to this cipher. Then to our task and prove our comrades did not die in vain."

Yet despite him men wept on one another's shoulders as became true h.e.l.lenes, whilst Themistocles, whose inexorable face never relaxed, rewound the papyrus on the cipher stick and read in hard voice the words of doom.

"This is the letter secreted on the Carthaginian. The hand is Democrates's, the seals are his. Give ear.

"Democrates the Athenian to Tigranes, commander of the hosts of Xerxes on the coasts of Asia, greeting:-Understand, dear Persian, that Lycon and I as well as the other friends of the king among the h.e.l.lenes are prepared to bring all things to pa.s.s in a way right pleasing to your master. Even now I depart from Trzene to join the army of the allied h.e.l.lenes in Botia, and, the G.o.ds helping, we cannot fail. Lycon and I will contrive to separate the Athenians and Spartans from their other allies, to force them to give battle, and at the crisis cause the divisions under our personal commands to retire, breaking the phalanx and making Mardonius's victory certain.

"For your part, excellent Tigranes, you must avoid the h.e.l.lenic ships at Delos and come back to Mardonius with your fleet ready to second him at once after his victory, which will be speedy; then with your aid he can readily turn the wall at the Isthmus. I send also letters written, as it were, in the hand of Themistocles. See that they fall into the hands of the other Greek admirals. They will breed more hurt amongst the h.e.l.lenes than you can accomplish with all your ships. I send, likewise, lists of such Athenians and Spartans as are friendly to his Majesty, also memoranda of such secret plans of the Greeks as have come to my knowledge.

"From Trzene, given into the hands of Hiram on the second of Metageitnion, in the archonship of Xanthippus. _Chaire!_"

Themistocles ceased. No man spoke a word. It was as if a G.o.d had flung a bolt from heaven. What use to cry against it? Then, in an ominously low voice, Simonides asked a question.

"What are these letters which purport to come from your pen, Themistocles?"

The admiral unrolled another papyrus, and as he looked thereon his fine face contracted with loathing.

"Let another read. I am made to pour contempt and ridicule upon my fellow-captains. I am made to boast 'when the war ends, I will be tyrant of Athens.' A thousand follies and wickednesses are put in my mouth. Were this letter true, I were the vilest wretch escaping Orcus. Since forged-"

his hands clinched-"by that man, that man whom I have trusted, loved, cherished, called 'younger brother,' 'oldest son'-" He spat in rising fury and was still.

" 'Fain would I grip his liver in my teeth,' " cried the little poet, even in storm and stress not forgetting his Homer. And the howl from the man-of-war's men was as the howl of beasts desiring their prey. But the admiral's burst of anger ended. He stood again an image of calm power. The voice that had charmed the thousands rang forth in its strength and sweetness.

"Men of Athens, this is no hour for windy rage. Else I should rage the most, for who is more wronged than I? One whom we loved is fallen-later let us weep for him. One whom we trusted is false-later punish him. But now the work is neither to weep nor to punish, but to save h.e.l.las. A great battle impends in Botia. Except the Zeus of our sires and Athena of the Pure Eyes be with us, we are men without home, without fatherland.

Pausanias and Aristeides must be warned. The _Nausicaa_ is the 'Salaminia,'-the swiftest trireme in the fleet. Ours must be the deed, and ours the glory. Enough of this-the men must hear, and then to the oars."

Themistocles had changed from despair to a triumph note. There was uplift even to look upon him. He strode before all his lieutenants up and out upon the p.o.o.p. The long tiers of benches and the gangways filled with rowers peered up at him. They had seen their officers gather in the cabin, and Dame Rumour, subtlest of Zeus's messengers, had breathed "ill-tidings." Now the admiral stood forth, and in few words told all the heavy tale. Again a great shout, whilst the bronzed men groaned on the benches.

"Democrates is a traitor!"

A deity had fallen from their Olympus; the darling of the Athenians's democracy was sunk to vilest of the vile. But the admiral knew how to play on their two hundred hearts better than Orpheus upon his lyre. Again the note changed from despair to incitement, and when at last he called, "And can we cross the aegean as never trireme crossed and pluck back h.e.l.las from her fate?" thalamite, zygite, and thranite rose, tossing their brawny arms into the air.

"_We can!_"

Then Themistocles folded his own arms and smiled. He felt the G.o.d was still with him.

Yet, eager as was the will, they could not race forth instantly. Orders must be written to Xanthippus, the Athenian vice-admiral far away, bidding him at all hazards to keep the Persian fleet near Samos. Cimon was long in privy council with Themistocles in the state cabin. At the same time a prisoner was pa.s.sed aboard the _Nausicaa_, not gently bound,-Hiram, a precious witness, before the dogs had their final meal on him. But the rest of the _Bozra's_ people found a quicker release. The penteconter's people decided their fate with a yell.

"Sell such harpies for slaves? The money would stink through our pouches!"

So two by two, tied neck to neck and heel to heel, the wretches were flung overboard, "because we lack place and wood to crucify you," called the _Nausicaa's_ governor, as he pushed the last pair off into the leaden sea,-for the day was distant when the destruction of such Barbarian rogues would weigh even on tender consciences.

So the Carthaginians ceased from troubling, but before the penteconter and the _Bozra_ bore away to join the remaining fleet, another deed was done in sight of all three ships. For whilst Themistocles was with Cimon, Simonides and Sicinnus had taken Glaucon to the _Nausicaa's_ forecastle.

Now as the penteconter was casting off, again he came to view, and the shout that greeted him was not of fear this time, but wonder and delight.

The Alcmaeonid was clean-shaven, his hair clipped close, the black dye even in a manner washed away. He had flung off the rough seaman's dress, and stood forth in all his G.o.dlike beauty.

Before all men Cimon, coming from the cabin, ran and kissed him once more, whilst the rowers clapped their hands.

"Apollo-it is Delian Apollo! Glaucon the Beautiful lives again. _Io! Io!

paean!_"

"Yes," spoke Themistocles, in a burst of gladness. "The G.o.ds take one friend, they restore another. dipus has read the sphinx's riddle. Honour this man, for he is worthy of honour through h.e.l.las!"

The officers ran to the athlete, after them the sailors. They covered his face and hands with kisses. He seemed escaped the Carthaginian to perish in the embrace of his countrymen. Never was his blush more boyish, more divine. Then a bugle-blast sent every man to his station. Cimon leaped across to his smaller ship. The rowers of the _Nausicaa_ ran out their oars, the hundred and seventy blades trailed in the water. Every man took a long breath and fixed his eyes on the admiral standing on the p.o.o.p. He held a golden goblet set with turquoise, and filled with the blood-red Pramnian wine. Loudly Themistocles prayed.

"Zeus of Olympus and Dodona, Zeus Orchios, rewarder of the oath-breaker, to whom the h.e.l.lenes do not vainly pray, and thou Athena of the Pure Eyes, give ear. Make our ship swift, our arms strong, our hearts bold. Hold back the battle that we come not too late. Grant that we confound the guilty, put to flight the Barbarian, recompense the traitor. So to you and all other holy G.o.ds whose love is for the righteous we will proffer prayer and sacrifice forever. Amen."

He poured out the crimson liquor; far into the sea he flung the golden cup.

"Heaven speed you!" shouted from the penteconter. Themistocles nodded. The _keleustes_ smote his gavel upon the sounding-board. The triple oar bank rose as one and plunged into the foam. A long "h-a!" went up from the benches. The race to save h.e.l.las was begun.