A Victor of Salamis. William Stearns Davis

my most gracious lord and king?”

      “Don’t goad me!” Democrates wrung his hands. “I am desperate. Take these papyri, read, pay, then let me never see your face again.” He flung the two rolls in the Prince’s lap and sat in abject misery.

      The other unrolled the writings deliberately, read slowly, motioned to Hiram, who also read them with catlike scrutiny. During all this not a word was spoken. Democrates observed the beautiful mute emerge from an inner chamber and silently take station at his master’s side, following the papers also with wonderful, eager eyes. Only after a long interval the Prince spoke.

      [pg 99]

      “Well—you bring what purports to be private memoranda of Themistocles on the equipment and arraying of the Athenian fleet. Yet these are only copies.”

      “Copies; the originals cannot stay in my possession. It were ruin to give them up.”

      The Prince turned to Hiram.

      “And do you say, from what you know of these things, these memoranda are genuine?”

      “Genuine. That is the scanty wisdom of the least of your Highness’s slaves.”

      The Oriental bowed himself, then stood erect in a manner that reminded Democrates of some serpent that had just coiled and uncoiled.

      “Good,” continued the emissary; “yet I must ask our good Athenian to confirm them with an oath.”

      The orator groaned. He had not expected this last humiliation; but being forced to drink the cup, he drained it to the lees. He swore by Zeus Orchios, Watcher of Oaths, and Dike, the Eternal Justice, that he brought true copies, and that if he was perjured, he called a curse upon himself and all his line. The Cyprian received his oath with calm satisfaction, then held out the half of a silver shekel broken in the middle.

      “Show this to Mydon, the Sicyonian banker at Phaleron. He holds its counterpart. He will pay the man who completes the coin ten talents.”

      Democrates received the token, but felt that he must stand upon his dignity.

      “I have given an oath, stranger, but give the like to me. What proof have I of this Mydon?”

      The question seemed to rouse the unseen lion in the Cyprian. His eye kindled. His voice swelled.

      “We leave oaths, Hellene, to men of trade and barter, [pg 100]to men of trickery and guile. The Aryan noble is taught three things: to fear the king, to bend the bow, to speak the truth. And he learns all well. I have spoken—my word is my oath.”

      The Athenian shrank at the storm he had roused. But the Prince almost instantly curbed himself. His voice sank again to its easy tone of conciliation.

      “So much for my word, good friend; yet better than an oath, look here. Can the man who bears this ring afford to tell a lie?”

      He extended his right hand. On the second finger was a huge beryl signet. Democrates bent over it.

      “Two seated Sphynxes and a winged cherub flying above—the seal of the royal Achæmenians of Persia! You are sent by Xerxes himself. You are—”

      The Prince raised a warning finger. “Hush, Athenian. Think what you will, but do not name me, though soon my name shall fly through all the world.”

      “So be it,” rejoined Democrates, his hands clutching the broken coin as at a last reprieve from death. “But be warned, even though I bear you no good-will. Themistocles is suspicious. Sicinnus his agent, a sly cat, is searching for you. The other day Themistocles, in the boat at Peiræus, was fain to have you questioned. If detected, I cannot save you.”

      The Prince shrugged his shoulders.

      “Good Democrates, I come of a race that trusts in the omnipotence of God and does the right. Duty requires me in Athens. What Ahura-Mazda and Mithra his glorious vicegerent will, that shall befall me, be I in Hellas or in safe Ecbatana. The decree of the Most High, written among the stars, is good. I do not shun it.”

      The words were spoken candidly, reverently. Democrates [pg 101]drew toward the door, and the others did not strive to detain him.

      “As you will,” spoke the Athenian; “I have warned you. Trust then your God. I have sold myself this once, but do not call me friend. Necessity is a sharp goad. May our paths never cross again!”

      “Until you again have need,” said the Prince, not seeking to wring from the other any promise.

      Democrates muttered a sullen farewell and went down the dark stairs. The light in Phormio’s house was out. No one seemed to be watching. On the way homeward Democrates comforted himself with the reflection that although the memoranda he sold were genuine, Themistocles often changed his plans, and he could see to it this scheme for arraying the war fleet was speedily altered. No real harm then would come to Hellas. And in his hand was the broken shekel—the talisman to save him from destruction. Only when Democrates thought of Glaucon and Hermione he was fain to grit his teeth, while many times it returned to him, “They think it was Glaucon who has been twice now to visit the Babylonish carpet-seller.”

      * * * * * * *

      As the door had closed behind the orator, the Prince had strode across the rugs to the window—and spat forth furiously as in extreme disgust.

      “Fool, knave, villain! I foul my lips by speaking to his accursed ears!”

      The tongue in which he uttered this was the purest “Royal Persian,” such as one might hear in the king’s court. The beautiful “mute,” mute no longer, glided across the chamber and laid both hands upon his shoulder with a gracious caress.

      “And yet you bear with these treacherous creatures, you [pg 102]speak them fair?” was the remark in the same musical tongue.

      “Yes, because there is sore need. Because, with all their faithlessness, covetousness, and guile, these Hellenes are the keenest, subtlest race beneath Mithra’s glorious light. And we Persians must play with them, master them, and use them to make us lords of all the world.”

      Hiram had disappeared behind a curtain. The Prince lifted her silver embroidered red cap. Over the graceful shoulders fell a mass of clear gold hair, so golden one might have hidden shining darics within it. The shining head pressed against the Persian’s breast. In this attitude, with the loose dress parting to show the tender lines, there could be no doubt of the other’s sex. The Prince laid his hand upon her neck and drew her bright face nearer.

      “This is a mad adventure on which we two have come,” he spoke; “how nearly you were betrayed at the Isthmus, when the Athenian saved you! A blunder by Hiram, an ill-turn of Fate, will ruin us yet. It is far, Rose of Eran, from Athens to the pleasant groves of Susa and the sparkling Choaspes.”

      “But the adventure is ending,” answered she, with smiling confidence; “Mazda has guarded us. As you have said—we are in his hand, alike here and in my brother’s palace. And we have seen Greece and Athens—the country and city which you will conquer, which you will rule.”

      “Yes,” he said, letting his eyes pass from her face to the vista of the Acropolis, which lay in fair view under the moonlight. “How noble a city this! Xerxes has promised that I shall be satrap of Hellas, Athens shall be my capital, and you, O best beloved, you shall be mistress of Athens.”

      “I shall be mistress of Athens,” echoed she, “but you, husband and lord, would that men might give you a higher name than satrap, chief of the Great King’s slaves!”

      [pg 103]

      “Xerxes is king,” he answered her.

      “My brother wears the purple cap. He sits on the throne of Cyrus the Great and Darius the Dauntless. I would be a loyal Aryan, the king is indeed in Susa or Babylon. But for me the true king of Media and Persia—is here.” And she lifted proud eyes to her husband.

      “You are