_Hie._ How like you this, sir? Biades has stripped The galley of its rowers,--sent them all To his gilded _Ino_,--every boat in charter To bear his trappings,--parchments, maps, and gifts From Phernes,--curtains, instruments----
_Lys._ The stuff Goes with the admiral, and what other way Than by the boats? Say naught of 't.
_Hie._ This a time To spend a feathering!
_Lys._ Nay----
_Hie._ And why send all?
A half--a third--had answered. There's not left An oarsman on the galley save the men Who brought you from the _Thetis_.
_Lys._ You've the guard,-- Yourself its head. Give Biades his way When prudence pays no cost. We've hedged and hemmed His wrestling will until his pride is brashed To the rebel quick----
_Hie._ Sst! He is here.
[_Biades stands in door_]
_Bia._ Lysander, They hail you from Thrasyllus' ship. You stay The rites.
_Lys._ [_Troubled_] But is it time----
_Bia._ Full time.
_Lys._ My boat----
_Bia._ Is waiting.
_Lys._ I--you, sir----
_Bia._ You'll bear my grace To our priestly captains?
_Lys._ You stay here?
_Bia._ I shall, If you'll not press me other. As you pray For clearer omen and a morning battle, Let only those whose land holds them untainted Stand in the holy ring.
_Lys._ Above our prayers This act will speak to Heaven in Sparta's name And make her G.o.ds your own.
_Bia._ If that might be, Lysander! To have no altars is a fate Man can not bear for long.
_Hie._ The rowers, sir!
How soon do they return?
_Bia._ They've leave to see The midnight toward with their fellow crew On the _Ino_.
_Hie._ Midnight!
_Bia._ Loyal beggars, all.
They're sad to lose their captain, and I pay Their grieving flattery with this stinted lease From duty here. They'll use 't in prayerful rite----
_Hie._ Not prayer! The casks will drip too free for that.
If any prayers come from the heart to throat, They'll downward wash again, not out and fly.
Say'st midnight, sir?
_Bia._ I do. They will return In time to set the galley from the cast Of morning danger.
_Hie._ Move again? The ship Is now to rearward, by some rods.
_Bia._ She is.
And shall go farther. Here's no fighting deck.
_Hie._ Ay, these soft cabins, Corinth-modelled as A prince, would make a floating holiday, Put soldiers from their place.
_Bia._ The ship must lie Full east, on th' safest wave. We've treasure 'neath These sails that make their weathered woof more dear Than threaded gold of Hera's mantle.
_Hie._ Ah, You mean the women.
_Bia._ No,--a woman. Come, Lysander.
_Lys._ Sir, what time wilt take your place Aboard the _Ino_?
_Bia._ Give me till the midnight, I'll from that moment be your admiral.
But for these gentle hours that lie between, I would as merest man use their light wings To chase a hope through heaven.
_Lys._ [_With a glance at Pyrrha_] And bring it down, My lord!
[_Exeunt Lysander, Biades, and Hieron_]
_Pyrr._ Now, Impudence, no more's to do!
Go up and take thy crown. Before my eyes He teaches them he wooes me, and my pride Mutely abets his guile. [_Holds up the dagger_] My fine defence, Thou'rt warder to a bosom unbesieged.
In Biades' contempt I have a guard That saves thine office. Go, you glittering mock!
[_In a pa.s.sion of resolution she throws the dagger through the door_]
That's done. No matter. He does not look at me, Or looks as though his eyes begged pardon of him, For their chance stop on nothing.
[_Re-enter Biades, the dagger in his hand_]
_Bia._ Here's a toy Caught from the rigging. Yours, I think.
[_Offers it to her. She does not take it_]
It must be dear. I've seen you fondle it.
Is it not yours?
_Pyrr._ It was.
_Bia._ Then is. And worth Your keeping. A good blade, though Spartan plain.
_Pyrr._ I'm weary of it. In Athens I shall find Another pattern.
_Bia._ [_Testing blade_] Fine and strong. Will wear A hundred years, then make a door for death.
[_Turns it against his heart. She starts_]
You'll take it, Pyrrha. To throw it to the sea Were waste for an Athenian.