A Victor of Salamis. William Stearns Davis

called it mere phantasy. Hermione met them at the Peiræus, and the party wandered back through the gathering dusk to the city, where each little group went its way. Themistocles went to his own house, where he said he expected Sicinnus; Cimon and Democrates sought a tavern for an evening cup; Glaucon and Hermione hastened to their house in the Colonus suburb near the trickling Cephissus, where in the starlit night the tettix4 in the black old olives by the stream made its monotonous music, where great fireflies gleamed, where Philomela the nightingale called, and the tall plane trees whispered softly to the pines. When Hermione fell asleep, she had forgotten about the coming of the Persian, and dreamed that Glaucon was Eros, she was Psyche, and that Zeus was giving her the wings of a butterfly and a crown of stars.

      [pg 94]

      Democrates went home later. After the heady Pramnian at the tavern, he roved away with Cimon and others to serenade beneath the lattice of a lady—none too prudish—in the Ceramicus quarter. But the fair one was cruel that night, and her slaves repelled the minstrels with pails of hot water from an upper window. Democrates thereupon quitted the party. His head was very befogged, but he could not expel one idea from it—that Themistocles had revealed that day a priceless secret, that the statesman and Glaucon and he himself were the only men who shared it, and that it was believed that Glaucon had visited the Babylonish carpet-seller. Joined to this was an overpowering consciousness that Helen of Troy was not so lovely as Hermione of Eleusis. When he came to his lodgings, however, his wits cleared in a twinkling after he had read two letters. The first was short.

      “Themistocles to Democrates:—This evening I begin to discover something. Sicinnus, who has been searching in Athens, is certain there is a Persian agent in the city. Seize him.—Chaire.”

      The second was shorter. It came from Corinth.

      “Socias the merchant to Democrates:—Tyrrhenian pirates have taken the ship. Lading and crew are utterly lost.—Chaire.”

      The orator never closed his eyes that night.

      [pg 95]

CHAPTER IX

       Table of Contents

THE CYPRIAN TRIUMPHS

       Table of Contents

      Democrates fronted ruin. What profit later details from Socias of the capture of the merchantman? Unless three days before the coming festival of the Panathenæa the orator could find a large sum, he was forever undone. His sequestering of the ship-money would become public property. He would be tried for his life. Themistocles would turn against him. The jury would hardly wait for the evidence. He would drink the poisonous hemlock and his corpse be picked by the crows in the Barathrum—an open pit, sole burial place for Athenian criminals.

      One thing was possible: to go to Glaucon, confess all, and beg the money. Glaucon was rich. He could have the amount from Conon and Hermippus for the asking. But Democrates knew Glaucon well enough to perceive that while the athlete might find the money, he would be horrified at the foul disclosure. He would save his old comrade from death, but their friendship would be ended. He would feel in duty bound to tell Themistocles enough to ruin Democrates’s political prospects for all time. An appeal to Glaucon was therefore dismissed, and the politician looked for more desperate remedies.

      Democrates enjoyed apartments on the street of the Tripods east of the Acropolis, a fashionable promenade of [pg 96]Athens. He was regarded as a confirmed bachelor. If, therefore, two or three dark-eyed flute girls in Phaleron had helped him to part with a good many minæ, no one scolded too loudly; the thing had been done genteelly and without scandal. Democrates affected to be a collector of fine arms and armour. The ceiling of his living room was hung with white-plumed helmets, on the walls glittered brass greaves, handsomely embossed shields, inlaid Chalcidian scimitars, and bows tipped with gold. Under foot were expensive rugs. The orator’s artistic tastes were excellent. Even as he sat in the deeply pillowed arm-chair his eye lighted on a Nike—a statuette of the precious Corinthian bronze, a treasure for which the dealer’s unpaid account lay still, alas! in the orator’s coffer.

      But Democrates was not thinking so much of the unpaid bronze-smith as of divers weightier debts. On the evening in question he had ordered Bias, the sly Thracian, out of the room; with his own hands had barred the door and closed the lattice; then with stealthy step thrust back the scarlet wall tapestry to disclose a small door let into the plaster. A key made the door open into a cupboard, out of which Democrates drew a brass-bound box of no great size, which he carried gingerly to a table and opened with a complex key.

      The contents of the box were curious, to a stranger enigmatic. Not money, nor jewels, but rolls of closely written papyri, and things which the orator studied more intently—a number of hard bits of clay bearing the impressions of seals. As Democrates fingered these, his face might have betrayed a mingling of keen fear and keener satisfaction.

      “There is no such collection in all Hellas—no, not in the world,” ran his commentary; “here is the signet of the Tagos of Thessaly, here of the Bœotarch of Thebes, here of the King of Argos. I was able to secure the seal of Leonidas while in [pg 97]Corinth. This, of course, is Themistocles’s—how easily I took it! And this—of less value perhaps to a man of the world—is of my beloved Glaucon. And here are twenty more. Then the papyri,”—he unrolled them lovingly, one after another—“precious specimens, are they not? Ah, by Zeus, I must be a very merciful and pious man, or I’d have used that dreadful power heaven has given me and never have drifted into these straits.”

      What that “power” was with which Democrates felt himself endued he did not even whisper to himself. His mood changed suddenly. He closed the box with a snap and locked it hurriedly.

      “Cursed casket!—I think I would be happier if Phorcys, the old man of the deep, could drown it all! I would be better for it and kept from foul thoughts.”

      He thrust the box back in the cupboard, drew forth a second like it, unlocked it, and took out more writings. Selecting two, he spread ink and papyrus before him, and copied with feverish haste. Once he hesitated, and almost flung back the writings into the casket. Once he glanced at the notes he had prepared for his speech against the defrauding contractor. He grimaced bitterly. Then the hesitation ended. He finished the copying, replaced the second box, and barred and concealed the cupboard. He hid his new copies in his breast and called in Bias.

      “I am going out, but I shall not be late.”

      “Shall not Hylas and I go with lanterns?” asked the fellow. “Last night there were foot-pads.”

      “I don’t need you,” rejoined his master, brusquely.

      He went down into the dimly lighted street and wound through the maze of back alleys wherein Athens abounded, but Democrates never missed his way. Once he caught the glint of a lantern—a slave lighting home his master from [pg 98]dinner. The orator drew into a doorway; the others glided by, seeing nothing. Only when he came opposite the house of the Cyprian he saw light spreading from the opposite doorway and knew he must pass under curious eyes. Phormio was entertaining friends very late. But Democrates took boldness for safety, strode across the illumined ring, and up to the Cyprian’s stairway. The buzz of conversation stopped a moment. “Again Glaucon,” he caught, but was not troubled.

      “After all,” he reflected, “if seen at all, there is no harm in such a mistake.”

      The room was again glittering in its Oriental magnificence. The Cyprian advanced to meet his visitor, smiling blandly.

      “Welcome, dear Athenian. We have awaited you. We are ready to heal your calamity.”

      Democrates turned away his face.

      “You know it already! O Zeus, I am the most miserable man in all Hellas!”

      “And