CHAPTER III
THE HAND OF PERSIA
The lad who sidled up to Democrates was all but a hunchback. His bare armswere grotesquely tattooed, clear sign that he was a Thracian. His eyestwinkled keenly, uneasily, as in token of an almost sinister intelligence.What he whispered to Democrates escaped the rest, but the latter begangirding up his cloak.
"You leave us, _philotate_?" cried Glaucon. "Would I not have all myfriends with me to-night, to fill me with fair thoughts for the morrow?Bid your ugly Bias keep away!"
"A greater friend than even Glaucon the Alcmaeonid commands me hence," saidthe orator, smiling.
"Declare his name."
"Declare _her_ name," cried Simonides, viciously.
"Noble Cean, then I say I serve a most beautiful, high-born dame. Her nameis Athens."
"Curses on your public business," lamented Glaucon. "But off with you,since your love is the love of us all."
Democrates kissed the athlete on both cheeks. "I leave you to faithfulguardians. Last night I dreamed of a garland of lilies, sure presage of avictory. So take courage."
"_Chaire! chaire!_"(1) called the rest; and Democrates left the tent tofollow the slave-boy.
Evening was falling: the sea, rocks, fields, pine groves, were touched bythe red glow dying behind Acro-Corinthus. Torches gleamed amid the treeswhere the multitudes were buying, selling, wagering, making merry. AllGreece seemed to have sent its wares to be disposed of at the Isthmia.Democrates idled along, now glancing at the huckster who displayed hispainted clay dolls and urged the sightseers to remember the little ones athome. A wine-seller thrust a sample cup of a choice vintage under theAthenian's nose, and vainly adjured him to buy. Thessalian easy-chairs,pottery, slaves kidnapped from the Black Sea, occupied one booth afteranother. On a pulpit before a bellowing crowd a pair of marionettes wererolling their eyes and gesticulating, as a woman pulled the strings.
But there were more exalted entertainments. A rhapsodist stood on a pinestump chanting in excellent voice Alcaeus's hymn to Apollo. And morewillingly the orator stopped on the edge of a throng of the better sort,which listened to a man of noble aspect reading in clear voice from hisscroll.
"AEschylus of Athens," whispered a bystander. "He reads choruses of certaintragedies he says he will perfect and produce much later."
Democrates knew the great dramatist well, but what he read was new--a "Songof the Furies" calling a terrific curse upon the betrayer of friendship."Some of his happiest lines," meditated Democrates, walking away, to beheld a moment by the crowd around Lamprus the master-harpist. But now,feeling that he had dallied long enough, the orator turned his back on thetwo female acrobats who were swinging on a trapeze and struck down a long,straight road which led toward the distant cone of Acro-Corinthus. First,however, he turned on Bias, who all the time had been accompanying,dog-fashion.
"You say he is waiting at Hegias's inn?"
"Yes, master. It's by the temple of Bellerophon, just as you begin toenter the city."
"Good! I don't want to ask the way. Now catch this obol and be off."
The boy snatched the flying coin and glided into the crowd.
Democrates walked briskly out of the glare of the torches, then halted toslip the hood of his cloak up about his face.
"The road is dark, but the wise man shuns accidents," was his reflection,as he strode in the direction pointed by Bias.
The way was dark. No moon; and even the brilliant starlight of summer inHellas is an uncertain guide. Democrates knew he was traversing a longavenue lined by spreading cypresses, with a shimmer of white from sometall, sepulchral monument. Then through the dimness loomed the highcolumns of a temple, and close beside it pale light spread out upon theroad as from an inn.
"Hegias's inn," grumbled the Athenian. "Zeus grant it have no more fleasthan most inns of Corinth!"
At sound of his footsteps the door opened promptly, without knocking. Asqualid scene revealed itself,--a white-washed room, an earthen floor, twoclay lamps on a low table, a few stools,--but a tall, lean man in Orientaldress greeted the Athenian with a salaam which showed his own goldearrings, swarthy skin, and black mustache.
"Fair greetings, Hiram," spoke the orator, no wise amazed, "and where isyour master?"
"At service," came a deep voice from a corner, so dark that Democrates hadnot seen the couch where lolled an ungainly figure that now rose clumsily.
"Hail, Democrates."
"Hail, Lycon."
Hand joined in hand; then Lycon ordered the Oriental to "fetch the nobleAthenian some good Thasian wine."
"You will join me?" urged the orator.
"Alas! no. I am still in training. Nothing but cheese and porridge tillafter the victory to-morrow; but then, by Castor, I'll enjoy 'thegentleman's disease'--a jolly drunkenness."
"Then you are sure of victory to-morrow?"
"Good Democrates, what god has tricked you into believing your fineAthenian has a chance?"
"I have seven minae staked on Glaucon."
"Seven staked in the presence of your friends; how many in their absence?"
Democrates reddened. He was glad the room was dark. "I am not here toquarrel about the pentathlon," he said emphatically.
"Oh, very well. Leave your dear sparrow to my gentle hands." The Spartan'shuge paws closed significantly: "Here's the wine. Sit and drink. And you,Hiram, get to your corner."
The Oriental silently squatted in the gloom, the gleam of his beady eyesjust visible. Lycon sat on a stool beside his guest, his Cyclops-likelimbs sprawling down upon the floor. Scarred and brutish, indeed, was hisface, one ear missing, the other beaten flat by boxing gloves; butDemocrates had a distinct feeling that under his battered visage and wiryblack hair lurked greater penetration of human motive and more ability toplay therewith than the chance observer might allow. The Atheniandeliberately waited his host's first move.
"The wine is good, Democrates?" began Lycon.
"Excellent."
"I presume you have arranged your wagers to-morrow with your usualprudence."
"How do you know about them?"
"Oh, my invaluable Hiram, who arranged this interview for us through Bias,has made himself a brother to all the betting masters. I understand youhave arranged it so that whether Glaucon wins or loses you will be nonethe poorer."
The Athenian set down his cup.
"Because I would not let my dear friend's sanguine expectations blind allmy judgment is no reason why you should seek this interview, Lycon," herejoined tartly. "If this is the object of your summons, I'm better backin my own tent."
Lycon tilted back against the table. His speech was nothing curt or"Laconic"; it was even drawling. "On the contrary, dear Democrates, I wasonly commending your excellent foresight, something that I seecharacterizes all you do. You are the friend of Glaucon. Since Aristeideshas been banished, only Themistocles exceeds you in influence over theAthenians. Therefore, as a loyal Athenian you must support your champion.Likewise, as a man of judgment you must see that I--though this pentathlonis only a by-play, not my business--will probably break your Glaucon's backto-morrow. It is precisely this good judgment on your part which makes mesure I do well to ask an interview--for something else."
"Then quickly to business."
"A few questions. I presume Themistocles to-day conferred with Leonidas?"
"I wasn't present with them."
"But in due time Themistocles will tell you everything?"
Democrates chewed his beard, not answering.
"_Pheu!_ you don't pretend Themistocles distrusts you?" cried the Spartan.
"I don't like your questions, Lycon."
"I am very sorry. I'll cease them. I only wished to-night to call to yourmind the advantage of two such men as you and I becoming friends. I may beking of Lacedaemon before long."
"I knew that before, but where's your chariot driving?"
"Dear Athenian, the Persian chariot is no
w driving toward Hellas. Wecannot halt it. Then let us be so wise that it does not pass over us."
"Hush!" Democrates spilled the cup as he started. "No 'Medizing' talkbefore me. Am I not Themistocles's friend?"
"Themistocles and Leonidas will seem valiant fools after Xerxes comes. Menof foresight--"
"Are never traitors."
"Beloved Democrates," sneered the Spartan, "in one year the most patrioticHellene will be he who has made the Persian yoke the most endurable. Don'tblink at destiny."
"Don't be overcertain."
"Don't grow deaf and blind. Xerxes has been collecting troops these fouryears. Every wind across the AEgean tells how the Great King assemblesmillions of soldiers, thousands of ships: Median cavalry, Assyrianarchers, Egyptian battle-axemen--the best troops in the world. All the Eastwill be marching on our poor Hellas. And when has Persia failed toconquer?"
"At Marathon."
"A drop of rain before the tempest! If Datis, the Persian general, hadonly been more prudent!"
"Clearly, noblest Lycon," said Democrates, with a satirical smile, "for ataciturn Laconian to become thus eloquent for tyranny must have taken abribe of ten thousand gold darics."
"But answer my arguments."
"Well--the old oracle is proved: 'Base love of gain and naught else shallbear sore destruction to Sparta.' "
"That doesn't halt Xerxes's advance."
"An end to your croakings,"--Democrates was becoming angry,--"I know thePersian's power well enough. Now why have you summoned me?"
Lycon looked on his visitor long and hard. He reminded the Atheniandisagreeably of a huge cat just considering whether a mouse were nearenough to risk a spring.
"I sent for you because I wished you to give a pledge."
"I'm in no mood to give it."
"You need not refuse. Giving or withholding the fate of Hellas will not bealtered, save as you wish to make it so."
"What must I promise?"
"That you will not reveal the presence in Greece of a man I intend to setbefore you." Another silence. Democrates knew even then, if vaguely, thathe was making a decision on which might hinge half his future. In theafter days he looked back on this instant with unspeakable regret. But theLaconian sat before him, smiling, sneering, commanding by his moredominant will. The Athenian answered, it seemed, despite himself:--
"If it is not to betray Hellas."
"It is not."
"Then I promise."
"Swear it then by your native Athena."
And Democrates--perhaps the wine was strong--lifted his right hand and sworeby Athena Polias of Athens he would betray no secret.
Lycon arose with what was part bellow, part laugh. Even then the oratorwas moved to call back the pledge, but the Spartan acted too swiftly. Theshort moments which followed stamped themselves on Democrates's memory.The flickering lamps, the squalid room, the long, dense shadows, theungainly movements of the Spartan, who was opening a door,--all this passedafter the manner of a vision. And as in a vision Democrates saw a strangerstepping through the inner portal, as at Lycon's summons--a man of no hugestature, but masterful in eye and mien. Another Oriental, but not as theobsequious Hiram. Here was a lord to command and be obeyed. Gems flashedfrom the scarlet turban, the green jacket was embroidered with pearls--andwas not half the wealth of Corinth in the jewels studding the sword hilt?Tight trousers and high shoes of tanned leather set off a form supple andpowerful as a panther's. Unlike most Orientals the stranger was fair. Ablond beard swept his breast. His eyes were sharp, steel-blue. Never aword spoke he; but Democrates looked on him with wide eyes, then turnedalmost in awe to the Spartan.
"This is a prince--" he began.
"His Highness Prince Abairah of Cyprus," completed Lycon, rapidly, "nowcome to visit the Isthmian Games, and later your Athens. It is for this Ihave brought you face to face--that he may be welcome in your city."
The Athenian cast at the stranger a glance of keenest scrutiny. He knew byevery instinct in his being that Lycon was telling a barefaced lie. Why hedid not cry out as much that instant he hardly himself knew. But the gazeof the "Cyprian" pierced through him, fascinating, magnetizing, andLycon's great hand was on his victim's shoulder. The "Cyprian's" own handwent out seeking Democrates's.
"I shall be very glad to see the noble Athenian in his own city. His famefor eloquence and prudence is already in Tyre and Babylon," spoke thestranger, never taking his steel-blue eyes from the orator's face. Theaccent was Oriental, but the Greek was fluent. The prince--for prince hewas, whatever his nation--pressed his hand closer. Almost involuntarilyDemocrates's hand responded. They clasped tightly; then, as if Lyconfeared a word too much, the unknown released his hold, bowed withinimitable though silent courtesy, and was gone behind the door whence hehad come.
It had taken less time than men use to count a hundred. The latch clicked.Democrates gazed blankly on the door, then turned on Lycon with a start.
"Your wine was strong. You have bewitched me. What have I done? By Zeus ofOlympus--I have given my hand in pledge to a Persian spy."
" 'A prince of Cyprus'--did you not hear me?"
"Cerberus eat me if that man has seen Cyprus. No Cyprian is so blond. Theman is Xerxes's brother."
"We shall see, friend; we shall see: 'Day by day we grow old, and day byday we grow wiser.' So your own Solon puts it, I think."
Democrates drew himself up angrily. "I know my duty; I'll denounce you toLeonidas."
"You gave a pledge and oath."
"It were a greater crime to keep than to break it."
Lycon shrugged his huge shoulders. "_Eu!_ I hardly trusted to that. But Ido trust to Hiram's pretty story about your bets, and still more to a talethat's told about where and how you've borrowed money."
Democrates's voice shook either with rage or with fear when he made shiftto answer.
"I see I've come to be incriminated and insulted. So be it. If I keep mypledge, at least suffer me to wish you and your 'Cyprian' a very goodnight."
Lycon good-humouredly lighted him to the door. "Why so hot? I'll do you aservice to-morrow. If Glaucon wrestles with me, I shall kill him."
"Shall I thank the murderer of my friend?"
"Even when that friend has wronged you?"
"Silence! What do you mean?"
Even in the flickering lamplight Democrates could see the Spartan's evilsmile.
"Of course--Hermione."
"Silence, by the infernal gods! Who are you, Cyclops, for _her_ name tocross your teeth?"
"I'm not angry. Yet you will thank me to-morrow. The pentathlon will bemerely a pleasant flute-playing before the great war-drama. You will seemore of the 'Cyprian' at Athens--"
Democrates heard no more. Forth from that wine-house he ran into thesheltering night, till safe under the shadow of the black cypresses. Hishead glowed. His heart throbbed. He had been partner in foulest treason.Duty to friend, duty to country,--oath or no oath,--should have sent him toLeonidas. What evil god had tricked him into that interview? Yet he didnot denounce the traitor. Not his oath held him back, but benumbingfear,--and what sting lay back of Lycon's hints and threats the orator knewbest. And how if Lycon made good his boast and killed Glaucon on themorrow?
A Victor of Salamis Page 4
