CHAPTER XI

[pg 116]CHAPTER XITHE PANATHENÆAFlowers on every head, flowers festooned about each pillar, and flowers under foot when one crossed the Agora. Beneath the sheltering porticos lurked bright-faced girls who pelted each passer with violets, narcissus, and hyacinths. For this was the morn of the final crowning day of the Panathenæa, greatest, gladdest of Athenian festivals.Athletic contests had preceded it and stately Pyrrhic dances of men in full armour. There had been feasting and merry-making despite the darkening shadow of the Persian. Athens seemed awakened only to rejoice. To-day was the procession to the Acropolis, the bearing of the sacred robe to Athena, the public sacrifice for all the people. Not even the peril of Xerxes could hinder a gladsome holiday.The sun had just risen above Hymettus, the Agora shops were closed, but the plaza itself and the lesches—the numerous little club houses about it—overran with gossipers. On the stone bench before one of these buzzed the select coterie that of wont assembled in Clearchus’s booth; only Polus the juror now and then nodded and snored. He had sat up all night hearing the priestesses chant their ceaseless litanies on the Acropolis.“Guilty—I vote guilty,”the others heard him muttering, as his head sank lower.[pg 117]“Wake up, friend,”ordered Clearchus;“you’re not condemning any poor scoundrel now.”“Ai!ah!”Polus rubbed his eyes,“I only thought I was dropping the black bean—”“Against whom?”quoth Crito, the fat contractor.“Whom? Why that aristocrat Glaucon, surely,—to-night—”Polus suddenly checked himself and began to roll his eyes.“You’ve a dreadful grievance against him,”remarked Clearchus;“the gods know why.”“The wise patriot can see many things,”observed Polus, complacently,“only I repeat—wait till to-night—and then—”“What then?”demanded all the others.“Then you shall see,”announced the juror, with an oratorical flourish of his dirty himation,“and not you only but all of Athens.”Clearchus grinned.“Our dear Polus has a vast sense of his own importance. And who has been making you partner of the state secrets—Themistocles?”“A man almost his peer, the noble patriot Democrates. Ask Phormio’s wife, Lampaxo; ask—”Once more he broke off to lay a finger on his lips.“This will be a notable day for Athens!”“Our good friend surely thinks so!”rejoined the potter, dryly;“but since he won’t trust us with his precious secret, I think it much more interesting to watch the people crossing the square. The procession must be gathering outside the Dipylon Gate. Yonder rides Themistocles now to take command.”The statesman cantered past on a shining white Thessalian. At his heels were prancing Cimon, Democrates, Glau[pg 118]con, and many another youth of the noble houses of Athens. At sight of the son of Conon, Polus had wagged his head in a manner utterly perplexing to his associates, and they were again perplexed when they saw Democrates wheel back from the side of his chief and run up for a hurried word with a man in the crowd they recognized as Agis.“Agis is a strange fish to have dealings with a‘steward’of the procession to-day,”wondered Crito.“You’ll be enlightened to-morrow,”said Polus, exasperatingly. Then as the band of horsemen cantered down the broad Dromos street,“Ah, me,—I wish I could afford to serve in the cavalry. It’s far safer than tugging a spear on foot. But there’s one young man out yonder on whose horse I’d not gladly be sitting.”“Phui,”complained Clearchus,“you are anxious to eat Glaucon skin and bones! There goes his wife now, all in white flowers and ribbons, to take her place in the march with the other young matrons. Zeus! But she is as handsome as her husband.”“She needn’t‘draw up her eyebrows,’”6growled the juror, viciously;“they’re marks of disloyalty even in her. Can’t you see she wears shoes of the Theban model, laced open so as to display her bare feet, though everybody knows Thebes is Medizing? She’s no better than Glaucon.”“Hush,”ordered Clearchus, rising,“you have spoken folly enough. Those trumpets tell us we must hasten if we hope to join in the march ourselves.”* * * * * * *Who can tell the great procession? Not the maker of books,—what words call down light on the glancing eyes, on the moving lines of colour? Not the artist,—his pencil may not limn ten thousand human beings, beautiful and[pg 119]glad, sweeping in bright array across the welcoming city. Nor can the sculptor’s marble shape the marching forms, the rippling draperies, the warm and buoyant life. The life of Athens was the crown of Greece. The festival of the Panathenæa was the crown of Athens.Never had Helios looked down on fairer landscape or city. The doors of the patrician houses were opened; for a day unguarded, unconstrained, the daughters, wives, and mothers of the nobility of Athens walked forth in their queenly beauty. One could see that the sculptor’s master works were but rigid counterparts of lovelier flesh and blood. One could see veterans, stalwart almost as on the day of the old-time battles, but crowned with the snow of years. One could see youths, and need no longer marvel the young Apollo was accounted fair. Flowers, fluttering mantles, purple, gold, the bravery of armour, rousing music—what was missing? All conjoined to make a perfect spectacle.The sun had chased the last vapours from the sky. The little ravines on distant Hymettus stood forth sharply as though near at hand. The sun grew hot, but men and women walked with bared heads, and few were the untanned cheeks and shoulders. Children of the South, and lovers of the Sun-King, the Athenians sought no shelter, their own bright humour rejoicing in the light.On the broad parade ground outside the Dipylon, the towering northwestern gate, the procession gathered. Themistocles the Handsome, never more gallant than now upon the white Thessalian, was ordering the array, the ten young men,“stewards of the Panathenæa,”assisting. He sent his last glance down the long files, his ivory wand signed to the musicians in the van.“Play! march!”Fifty pipers blew, fifty citharas tinkled. The host swept into the city.[pg 120]Themistocles led. Under the massy double gate caracoled the charger. The robe of his rider blew out behind him like purple wings. There was the cry and clang of cymbals and drums. From the gray battlement yellow daisies rained down like gold. Cantering, halting, advancing, beckoning, the chief went forward, and behind swept the“knights,”the mounted chivalry of Athens,—three hundred of the noblest youths of Attica, on beasts sleek and spirited, and in burnished armour, but about every helm a wreath. Behind the“knights”rode the magistracy, men white-headed and grave, some riding, some in flower-decked cars. After these the victors in the games and contests of the preceding day. Next the elders of Athens—men of blameless life, beautiful in hale and honoured age. Next theephebi,—the youths close to manhood, whose fair limbs glistened under their sweeping chitons. Behind them, their sisters, unveiled, the maidens of Athens, walking in rhythmic beauty, and with them their attendants, daughters of resident foreigners. Following upon these was the long line of bleating victims, black bulls with gilded horns and ribbon-decked rams without blemish. And next—but here the people leaned from parapet, house-roof, portico, and shouted louder than ever:“The car and the robe of Athena! Hail,Io, pæan!hail!”Up the street on a car shaped like a galley moved the peplus, the great robe of the sovran goddess. From afar one could see the wide folds spread on a shipyard and rippling in the breeze. But what a sail! One year long had the noblest women of Attica wrought on it, and all the love and art that might breathe through a needle did not fail. It was a sheen of glowing colour. The strife of Athena with the brutish giants, her contest with Arachne, the deeds of the heroes of Athens—Erechtheus, Theseus, Codrus: these[pg 121]were some of the pictures. The car moved noiselessly on wheels turned by concealed mechanism. Under the shadow of the sail walked the fairest of its makers, eight women, maids and young matrons, clothed in white mantles and wreaths, going with stately tread, unmoved by the shouting as though themselves divine. Seven walked together. But one, their leader, went before,—Hermione, child of Hermippus.Many an onlooker remembered this sight of her, the deep spiritual eyes, the symmetry of form and fold, the perfect carriage. Fair wishes flew out to her like doves.“May she be blessed forever! May King Helios forever bring her joy!”Some cried thus. More thought thus. All seemed more glad for beholding her.Behind the peplus in less careful array went thousands of citizens of every age and station, all in festival dress, all crowned with flowers. They followed the car up the Dromos Street, across the cheering Agora, and around the southern side of the Acropolis, making a full circuit of the citadel. Those who watched saw Glaucon with Democrates and Cimon give their horses to slaves, and mount the bare knoll of Areopagus, looking down upon the western face of the Acropolis. As the procession swung about to mount the steep, Hermione lifted her glance to Areopagus, saw her husband gazing down on her, raised her hands in delighted gesture, and he answered her. It was done in the sight of thousands, and the thousands smiled with the twain.“Justice! The beautiful salutes the beautiful.”And who thought the less of Hermione for betraying the woman beneath the mien of the goddess?But now the march drew to an end. The procession halted, reformed, commenced the rugged way upward.[pg 122]Suddenly from the bastion of the Acropolis above wafted new music. Low, melancholy at first, as the pipers and harpers played in the dreamy Lydian mode, till, strengthening into the bolder Æolic, the strains floated down, inviting,“Come up hither,”then stronger still it pealed in the imperious crash of the Doric as the procession mounted steadily. Now could be seen great Lamprus, Orpheus’s peer, the master musician, standing on the balcony above the gate, beating time for the loud choral.A chorus amongst the marchers and a second chorus in the citadel joined together, till the red crags shook,—singing the old hymn of the Homeridæ to Athena, homely, rude, yet dear with the memory of ages:—“Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom,Thy praise I sing!Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city,Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bringForth from his forehead.Thou springest forth valiant;The clangour swells far as thy direful arms ring.“All the Immortals in awed hush are bending,Beautiful, terrible, thy light thou’rt sendingFlashed from thine eyes and thy pitiless spear.Under thy presence Olympus is groaning,Earth heaves in terrors, the blue deeps are moaning;‘Wisdom, the All-Seeing Goddess is here!’“Now the sea motionless freezes before thee;Helios, th’ Sun-Lord, draws rein to adore thee;Whilst thou, O Queen, puttest on divine might.Zeus, the deep-councillor, gladly greets thee!Hail, Holy Virgin—our loud pæan meets thee,Pallas, Chaste Wisdom, Dispeller of Night!”Up the face of the Rock, up the long, statue-lined way, till through the gate the vision burst,—the innumerable[pg 123]fanes and altars, the assembly of singers and priests, the great temple in its pride of glittering marble. Clearer, stronger sounded the choral, shot up through the limpid azure; swaying, burning, throbbing, sobs and shouting, tears and transports, so mounted new strains of the mighty chorus, lit through with the flames of Homeric verse. Then stronger yet was the mingling of voices, earth, sky, deep, beasts’ cry and gods’ cry, all voiced, as chorus answered to chorus. Now the peplus was wafted on a wave of song toward the temple’s dawn-facing portal, when from beneath the columns, as the tall valves turned and the sun leaped into the cella, hidden voices returned the former strains—mournful at first. Out of the adytum echoed a cry of anguish, the lament of the Mother of Wisdom at her children’s deathly ignorance, which plucks them down from the Mount of the Beautiful Vision. But as the thousands neared, as its pæans became a prayer, as yearning answered to yearning, lo! the hidden song swelled and soared,—for the goddess looked for her own, and her own were come to her. And thus in beneath the massy pediment, in through the wide-flung doors, floated the peplus, while under its guardian shadow walked Hermione.So they brought the robe to Athena.* * * * * * *Glaucon and his companions had watched the procession ascend, then followed to see the sacrifice upon the giant altar. The King Archon cut the throat of the first ox and made public prayer for the people. Wood soaked in perfumed oil blazed upon the huge stone platform of the sacrifice. Girls flung frankincense upon the roaring flames. The music crashed louder. All Athens seemed mounting the citadel. The chief priestess came from the holy house, and in a brief hush proclaimed that the goddess had received the robe with[pg 124]all favour. After her came the makers of the peplus, and Hermione rejoined her husband.“Let us not stay to the public feast,”was her wish;“let these hucksters and charcoal-burners who live on beans and porridge scramble for a bit of burned meat, but we return to Colonus.”“Good then,”answered Glaucon,“and these friends of course go with us.”Cimon assented readily. Democrates hesitated, and while hesitating was seized by the cloak by none other than Agis, who gave a hasty whisper and vanished in the swirling multitude before Democrates could do more than nod.“He’s an uncanny fox,”remarked Cimon, mystified;“I suppose you know his reputation?”“The servant of Athens must sometimes himself employ strange servants,”evaded the orator.“Yet you might suffer your friends to understand—”“Dear son of Miltiades,”Democrates’s voice shook in the slightest,“the meaning of my dealings with Agis I pray Athena you may never have cause to know.”“Which means you will not tell us. Then by Zeus I swear the secret no doubt is not worth the knowing.”Cimon stopped suddenly, as he saw a look of horror on Hermione’s face.“Ah, lady! what’s the matter?”“Glaucon,”she groaned,“frightful omen! I am terrified!”Glaucon’s hands dropped at her cry. He himself paled slightly. In one of his moods of abstraction he had taken the small knife from his belt and begun to pare his nails,—to do which after a sacrifice was reputed an infallible means of provoking heaven’s anger. The friends were grave and silent. The athlete gave a forced laugh.[pg 125]“The goddess will be merciful to-day. To-morrow I will propitiate her with a goat.”“Now, now, not to-morrow,”urged Hermione, with white lips, but her husband refused.“The goddess is surfeited with sacrifices this morning. She would forget mine.”Then he led the rest, elbowing the way through the increasing swarms of young and old, and down into the half-deserted city. Democrates left them in the Agora, professing great stress of duties.“Strange man,”observed Cimon, as he walked away;“what has he this past month upon his mind? That Persian spy, I warrant. But the morning wanes. It’s a long way to Colonus.‘Let us drink, for the sun is in the zenith.’So says Alcæus—and I love the poet, for he like myself is always thirsty.”The three went on to the knoll of Colonus where Glaucon dwelt. Cimon was overrunning with puns and jests, but the others not very merry. The omen of Glaucon’s thoughtlessness, or something else, made husband and wife silent, yet it was a day when man or maid should have felt their spirits rise. The sky had never been brighter, not in Athens. Never had the mountains and sea spread more gloriously. From the warm olive-groves sounded the blithesome note of the Attic grasshopper. The wind sweeping over the dark cypresses by the house set their dark leaves to talking. The afternoon passed in pleasure, friends going and coming; there was laughter, music, and good stories. Hermione at least recovered part of her brightness, but her husband, contrary to all custom, remained taciturn, even melancholy. At last as the gentle tints of evening began to cover hill and plain and the red-tiled roofs of the ample city, all the friends were gone, saving only Cimon, and he—reckless fellow—[pg 126]was well able to dispense with companionship, being, in the words of Theognis,“not absolutely drunk, nor sober quite.”Thus husband and wife found themselves alone together on the marble bench beneath the old cypress.“Oh,makaire! dearest and best,”asked Hermione, her hands touching his face,“is it the omen that makes you grow so sad? For the sun of your life is so seldom under clouds that when it is clouded at all, it seems as deep darkness.”He answered by pressing back her hair,“No, not the omen. I am not a slave to chance like that. Yet to-day,—the wise God knows wherefore,—there comes a sense of brooding fear. I have been too happy—too blessed with friendship, triumph, love. It cannot last. Clotho the Spinner will weary of making my thread of gold and twine in a darker stuff. Everything lovely must pass. What said Glaucus to Diomedes?‘Even as the race of leaves, so likewise are those of men; the leaves that now are, the wind scattereth, and the forest buddeth forth more again; thus also with the race of men, one putteth forth, another ceaseth.’So even my joy must pass—”“Glaucon,—take back the words. You frighten me.”He felt her in his arms trembling, and cursed himself for what he had uttered.“A blight upon my tongue! I have frightened you, and without cause. Surely the day is bright enough, surely Athena having been thus far good we can trust her goodness still. Who knows but that it be many a year before our sun comes to his setting!”He kissed her many times. She grew comforted, but they had not been together long when they were surprised by the approach of Themistocles and Hermippus. Hermione ran to her father.“Themistocles and I were summoned hither,”explained[pg 127]Hermippus,“by a message from Democrates bidding us come to Colonus at once, on an urgent matter touching the public weal.”“He is not here. I cannot understand,”marvelled Glaucon; but while he spoke, he was interrupted by the clatter of hoofs from a party of horsemen spurring furiously and heading from the pass of Daphni.[pg 128]CHAPTER XIIA TRAITOR TO HELLASBefore the house six riders were reining,—five Scythian“bowmen”of the constabulary of Athens, tow-headed Barbarians, grinning but mute; the sixth was Democrates. He dismounted with a bound, and as he did so the friends saw that his face was red as with pent-up excitement. Themistocles advanced hastily.“What’s this? Your hands seem a-quiver. Whom has that constable tied up behind him?”“Seuthes!”cried Glaucon, bounding back,“Seuthes, by every god, and pinioned like a felon.”“Ay!”groaned the prisoner, lashed to a horse,“what have I done to be seized and tried like a bandit? Why should I be set upon by these gentlemen while I was enjoying a quiet pot of wine in the tavern at Daphni, and be haled away as if to crucifixion?Mu! Mu!make them untie me, dear Master Glaucon.”“Put down your prisoner,”ordered Democrates,“and all you constables stay without the house. I ask Themistocles, Hermippus, and Glaucon to come to an inner room. I must examine this man. The matter is serious.”“Serious?”echoed the bewildered athlete,“I can vouch for Seuthes—an excellent Corinthian, come to Athens to sell some bales of wool—”[pg 129]“Answer, Glaucon,”Democrates’s voice was stern.“Has he no letters from you for Argos?”“Certainly.”“You admit it?”“By the dog of Egypt, do you doubt my word?”“Friends,”called Democrates, dramatically,“mark you that Glaucon admits he has employed this Seuthes as his courier.”“Whither leads this mummery?”cried the athlete, growing at last angry.“If to nothing, I, Democrates, rejoice the most. Now I must bid you to follow me.”Seizing the snivelling Seuthes, the orator led into the house and to a private chamber. The rest followed, in blank wonderment. Cimon had recovered enough to follow—none too steadily. But when Hermione approached, Democrates motioned her back.“Do not come. A painful scene may be impending.”“What my husband can hear, that can I,”was her retort.“Ah! but why do you look thus dreadfully on Glaucon?”“I have warned you, lady. Do not blame me if you hear the worst,”rejoined Democrates, barring the door. A single swinging lamp shed a fitful light on the scene—the whimpering prisoner, the others all amazed, the orator’s face, tense and white. Democrates’s voice seemed metallic as he continued:—“Now, Seuthes, we must search you. Produce first the letter from Glaucon.”The fat florid little Corinthian was dressed as a traveller, a gray chalmys to his hips, a brimmed brown hat, and high black boots. His hands were now untied. He tugged from his belt a bit of papyrus which Democrates handed to Themistocles, enjoining“Open.”[pg 130]Glaucon flushed.“Are you mad, Democrates, to violate my private correspondence thus?”“The weal of Athens outweighs even the pleasure of Glaucon,”returned the orator, harshly,“and you, Themistocles, note that Glaucon does not deny that the seal here is his own.”“I do not deny,”cried the angry athlete.“Open, Themistocles, and let this stupid comedy end.”“And may it never change to tragedy!”proclaimed Democrates.“What do you read, Themistocles?”“A courteous letter of thanks to Ageladas.”The senior statesman was frowning.“Glaucon is right. Either you are turned mad, or are victim of some prank,—is it yours, Cimon?”“I am as innocent as a babe. I’d swear it by the Styx,”responded that young man, scratching his muddled head.“I fear we are not at the end of the examination,”observed Democrates, with ominous slowness.“Now, Seuthes, recollect your plight. Have you no other letter about you?”“None!”groaned the unheroic Corinthian.“Ah! pity, kind sirs; what have I done? Suffer me to go.”“It is possible,”remarked his prosecutor,“you are an innocent victim, or at least do not realize the intent of what you bear. I must examine the lining of your chalmys. Nothing. Your girdle. Nothing. Your hat, remove it. Quite empty. Blessed be Athena if my fears prove groundless. But my first duty is to Athens and Hellas. Ah! Your high boots. Remove the right one.”The orator felt within, and shook the boot violently.“Nothing again. The left one, empty it seems.Ei!what is this?”In a tense silence he shook from the boot a papyrus, rolled and sealed. It fell on the floor at the feet of Themistocles,[pg 131]who, watching all his lieutenant did, bent and seized it instantly; then it dropped from his hands as a live coal.“The seal! The seal! May Zeus smite me blind if I see aright!”Hermippus, who had been following all the scene in silence, bent, lifted the fateful paper, and he too gave a cry of grief.“It is the seal of Glaucon. How came it here?”“Glaucon,”—hard as Democrates’s voice had been that night, it rang like cold iron now,—“as the friend of your boyhood, and one who would still do for you all he may, I urge you as you love me to look upon this seal.”“I am looking,”but as he spoke paleness followed the angry flush on the athlete’s forehead. He needed no omen to tell him something fearful was about to ensue.“The seal is yours?”“The very same, two dancing mænads and over them a winged Eros. But how came this letter here? I did not—”“As you love life or death, as you preserve any regard for our friendship, I adjure you,—not to brave it longer, but to confess—”“Confess what? My head is reeling.”“The treason in which you have dipped your hands, your dealings with the Persian spy, your secret interviews, and last of all this letter,—I fear a gross betrayal of all trust,—to some agent of Xerxes. I shudder when I think of what may be its contents.”“And—this—from—you! Oh,—Democrates,—”The accused man’s hands snatched at the air. He sank upon a chest.“He does not deny it,”threw out the orator, but Glaucon’s voice rang shrilly:—“Ever! Ever will I deny! Though the Twelve Gods all cried out‘guilty!’The charge is monstrous.”[pg 132]“It is time, Democrates,”said Themistocles, who had preserved a grim silence,“that you showed us clearly whither your path is leading. This is a fearful accusation you launch against your best-loved friend.”“Themistocles is right,”assented the orator, moving away from the luckless Seuthes as from a pawn no longer important in the game of life and death.“The whole of the wretched story I fear I must tell on the Bema to all Athens. I must be brief, but believe me, I can make good all I say. Since my return from the Isthmia, I have been observed to be sad. Rightly—for knowing Glaucon as I did, I grew suspicious, and I loved him. You have thought me not diligent in hunting down the Persian spy. You were wrong. But how could I ruin my friend without full proof? I made use of Agis,—no genteel confederate, to be sure, but honest, patriotic, indefatigable. I soon had my eyes on the suspected Babylonish carpet-seller. I observed Glaucon’s movements closely, they gave just ground for suspicion. The Babylonian, I came to feel, was none other than an agent of Xerxes himself. I discovered that Glaucon had been making this emissary nocturnal visits.”“A lie!”groaned the accused, in agony.“I would to Athena I believed you,”was the unflinching answer;“I have direct evidence from eye-witnesses that you went to him. In a moment I can produce it. Yet still I hesitated. Who would blast a friend without damning proof? Then yesterday with your own lips you told me you sent a messenger to disloyal Argos. I suspected two messages, not one, were entrusted to Seuthes, and that you proclaimed the more innocent matter thus boldly simply to blind my eyes. Before Seuthes started forth this morning Agis informed me he had met him in a wine-shop—”“True,”whimpered the unhappy prisoner.[pg 133]“And this fellow as much as admitted he carried a second and secret message—”“Liar!”roared Seuthes.“Men hint strange things in wine-shops,”observed Democrates, sarcastically.“Enough that a second papyrus with Glaucon’s seal has been found hidden upon you.”“Open it then, and know the worst,”interjected Themistocles, his face like a thunder-cloud; but Democrates forbade him.“A moment. Let me complete my story. This afternoon I received warning that the Babylonish carpet-vender had taken sudden flight, presumably toward Thebes. I have sent mounted constables after him. I trust they can seize him at the pass of Phyle. In the meantime, I may assure you I have irrefutable evidence—needless to present here—that the man was a Persian agent, and to more purpose hear this affidavit, sworn to by very worthy patriots.“Polus, son of Phodrus of the Commune of Diomea, and Lampaxo his sister take oath by Zeus, Dike, and Athena, thus: We swear we saw and recognized Glaucon, son of Conon, twice visiting by night in the past month of Scirophorion a certainBabylonishcarpet-seller, name unknown, who had lodgings above Demas’s shield factory in Alopece.”“Details lack,”spoke Themistocles, keenly.“To be supplied in full measure at the trial,”rejoined the orator.“And now to the second letter itself.”“Ay, the letter, whatever the foul Cyclops that wrought it!”groaned Glaucon through his teeth.Themistocles took the document from Hermippus’s trembling hands. His own trembled whilst he broke the seal.“The handwriting of Glaucon. There is no doubt,”was his despairing comment. His frown darkened. Then he attempted to read.[pg 134]“Glaucon of Athens to Cleophas of Argos wishes health:—“Cleophas leads the Medizers of Argos, the greatest friend of Xerxes in Greece. O Zeus, what is this next—“Our dear friend, whom I dare not name, to-day departs for Thebes, and in a month will be safe in Sardis. His visit to Athens has been most fruitful. Since you at present have better opportunity than we for forwarding packets to Susa, do not fail to despatch this at once. A happy chance led Themistocles to explain to me his secret memorandum for the arraying of the Greek fleet. You can apprize its worth, for the only others to whom it is entrusted are Democrates and later Leonidas—”Themistocles flung the papyrus down. His voice was broken. Tears stood in his eyes.“O Glaucon, Glaucon,—whom I have trusted? Was ever trust so betrayed! May Apollo smite me blind, if so I could forget what I read here! It is all written—the secret ordering of the fleet—”For a terrible moment there was silence in the little room, a silence broken by a wild, shrill cry,—Hermione’s, as she cast her arms about her husband.“A lie! A snare! A wicked plot! Some jealous god has devised this guile, seeing we were too happy!”She shook with sobs, and Glaucon, roused to manhood by her grief, uprose and faced the stern face of Democrates, the blenching faces of the rest.“I am the victim of a conspiracy of all the fiends in Tartarus,”—he strove hard to speak steadily;“I did not write that second letter. It is a forgery.”“But who, then,”groaned Themistocles, hopelessly,“canclaim this handiwork? Democrates or I?—for no other has seen the memorandum,—that I swear. It has not yet gone to Leonidas. It has been guarded as the apple of my eye. We three alone knew thereof. And it is in this narrow room the betrayer of Hellas must stand.”[pg 135]“I cannot explain.”Glaucon staggered back to his seat. His wife’s head sank upon his lap. The two sat in misery.“Confess, by the remnants of our friendship I implore, confess,”ordered Democrates,“and then Themistocles and I will strive to lighten if possible your inevitable doom.”The accused man sat dumb, but Hermione struck back as some wild creature driven to bay. She lifted her head.“Has Glaucon here no friend but me, his wife?”She sent beseeching eyes about the room.“Do you all cry‘guilty, guilty’? Then is your friendship false, for when is friendship proved, save in the hour of need?”The appeal brought an answer from her father, who had been standing silent; and in infinite distress kindly, cautious, charitable Hermippus began:—“Dear Glaucon, Hermione is wrong; we were never more your friends. We are willing to believe the best and not the worst. Therefore tell all frankly. You have been a victim of great temptation. The Isthmian victory has turned your head. The Persian was subtle, plausible. He promised I know not what. You did not realize all you were doing. You had confederates here in Athens who are more guilty. We can make allowances. Tell only the truth, and the purse and influence of Hermippus of Eleusis shall never be held back to save his son-in-law.”“Nor mine, nor mine,”cried Themistocles, snatching at every straw;“only confess, the temptation was great, others were more guilty, everything then may be done—”Glaucon drew himself together and looked up almost proudly. Slowly he was recovering strength and wit.“I have nothing to confess,”he spoke,“nothing. I know nothing of this Persian spy. Can I swear the god’s own oath—by Earth, by Sky, by the Styx—”Themistocles shook his head wearily.[pg 136]“How can we say you are innocent? You never visited the Babylonian?”“Never. Never!”“Polus and Lampaxo swear otherwise. The letter?”“A forgery.”“Impossible. Is the forger Democrates or I?”“Some god has done this thing in malice, jealous of my great joy.”“I fear Hermes no longer strides so frequently about Athens. The hand and seal are yours,—and still you do not confess?”“If I must die,”Glaucon was terribly pale, but his voice was steady,“it is not as a perjurer!”Themistocles turned his back with a groan.“I can do nothing for you. This is the saddest hour in my life.”He was silent, but Democrates sprang to the athlete’s side.“Have I not prayed each god to spare me this task?”he spoke.“Can I forget our friendship? Do not brave it to the end. Pity at least your friends, your wife—”He threw back his cloak, pointing to a sword.“Ai,”cried the accused, shrinking.“What would you have me do?”“Save the public disgrace, the hooting jury, the hemlock, the corpse flung into the Barathrum. Strike this into your breast and end the shame.”No further. Glaucon smote him so that he reeled. The athlete’s tone was terrible.“Villain! You shall not tempt me.”Then he turned to the rest, and stood in his white agony, yet beautiful as ever, holding out his arms.“O friends, do you all believe the worst? Do you, Themistocles, turn silently against me?”No answer.“And[pg 137]you, Hermippus?”No answer again.“And you, Cimon, who praised me as the fairest friend in all the world?”The son of Miltiades simply tore his hair. Then the athlete turned to Democrates.“And you I deemed more than comrade, for we were boys at school together, were flogged with the same rod, and drank from the same cup, had like friends, foes, loves, hates; and have lived since as more than brothers,—do you too turn utterly away?”“I would it were otherwise,”came the sullen answer. Again Democrates pointed to the sword, but Glaucon stood up proudly.“No. I am neither traitor, nor perjurer, nor coward. If I must perish, it shall be as becomes an Alcmæonid. If you have resolved to undo me, I know your power over Athenian juries. I must die. But I shall die with unspotted heart, calling the curse of the innocent upon the god or man who plotted to destroy me.”“We have enough of this direful comedy,”declared Democrates, pale himself.“Only one thing is left. Call in the Scythians with their gyves, and hale the traitor to prison.”He approached the door; the others stood as icy statues, but not Hermione. She had her back against the door before the orator could open.“Hold,”she commanded,“for you are doing murder!”Democrates halted at the menacing light in her eyes. All the fear had gone out of them. Athena Promachos,“Mistress of Battles,”must have stood in that awful beauty when aroused. Did the goddess teach her in that dread moment of her power over the will of the orator? Glaucon was still standing motionless, helpless, his last appeal having ended in mute resignation to inevitable fate. She motioned to him desperately.[pg 138]“Glaucon! Glaucon!”she adjured,“do not throw your life away. They shall not murder you. Up! Rouse yourself! There is yet time. Fly, or all is lost.”“Fly!”spoke the athlete, almost vacantly.“No, I will brave them to the end.”“For my sake, fly,”she ordered, and conjured by that potent talisman, Glaucon moved toward her.“How? Whither?”“To the ends of the earth, Scythia, Atlantis, India, and remain till all Athens knows you are innocent.”As men move who know not what they do, he approached the door. Held by the magic of her eyes the others stood rigid. They saw Hermione raise the latch. Her husband’s face met hers in one kiss. The door opened, closed. Glaucon was gone, and as the latch clicked Democrates shook off the charm and leaped forward.“After the traitor! Not too late!—”For an instant he wrestled with Hermione hand to hand, but she was strong through fear and love. He could not master her. Then a heavy grasp fell on his shoulder—Cimon’s.“You are beside yourself, Democrates. My memory is longer than yours. To me Glaucon is still a friend. I’ll not see him dragged to death before my eyes. When we follow even a fox or a wolf, we give fair start and fair play. You shall not pursue him yet.”“Blessing on you!”cried the wife, falling on her knees and seizing Cimon’s cloak.“Oh, make Themistocles and my father merciful!”Hermippus—tender-hearted man—was in tears. Themistocles was pacing the little chamber, his hand tugging his beard, clearly in grievous doubt.“The Scythians! The constables!”Democrates clam[pg 139]oured frantically;“every instant gives the traitor better start.”But Cimon held him fast, and Themistocles was not to be interrupted. Only after a long time he spoke, and then with authority which brooked no contradiction.“There is no hole in the net of Democrates’s evidence that Glaucon is guilty of foul disloyalty, disloyalty worthy of shameful death. Were he any other there would be only one way with him and that a short one. But Glaucon I know, if I know any man. The charges even if proved are nigh incredible. For of all the thousands in Hellas his soul seemed the purest, noblest, most ingenuous. Therefore I will not hasten on his death. I will give the gods a chance to save him. Let Democrates arraign me for‘misprision of treason’if he will, and of failing in duty to Athens. There shall be no pursuit of Glaucon until morning. Then let the Eleven7issue their hue and cry. If they take him, let the law deal with him. Till then give respite.”Democrates attempted remonstrance. Themistocles bade him be silent sharply, and the other bowed his head in cowed acquiescence. Hermione staggered from the door, her father unbarred, and the whole wretched company went forth. In the passage hung a burnished steel mirror; Hermione gave a cry as she passed it. The light borne by Hermippus showed her in her festival dress, the rippling white drapery, the crown of white violets.“My father!”she cried, falling into his arms,“is it still the day of the Panathenæa, when I marched in the great procession, when all Athens called me happy? It was a thousand years ago! I can never be glad again—”[pg 140]He lifted her tenderly as she fainted. Old Cleopis, the Spartan nurse who had kissed her almost before her mother, ran to her. They carried her to bed, and Athena in mercy hid her from consciousness that night and all the following day.

Flowers on every head, flowers festooned about each pillar, and flowers under foot when one crossed the Agora. Beneath the sheltering porticos lurked bright-faced girls who pelted each passer with violets, narcissus, and hyacinths. For this was the morn of the final crowning day of the Panathenæa, greatest, gladdest of Athenian festivals.

Athletic contests had preceded it and stately Pyrrhic dances of men in full armour. There had been feasting and merry-making despite the darkening shadow of the Persian. Athens seemed awakened only to rejoice. To-day was the procession to the Acropolis, the bearing of the sacred robe to Athena, the public sacrifice for all the people. Not even the peril of Xerxes could hinder a gladsome holiday.

The sun had just risen above Hymettus, the Agora shops were closed, but the plaza itself and the lesches—the numerous little club houses about it—overran with gossipers. On the stone bench before one of these buzzed the select coterie that of wont assembled in Clearchus’s booth; only Polus the juror now and then nodded and snored. He had sat up all night hearing the priestesses chant their ceaseless litanies on the Acropolis.

“Guilty—I vote guilty,”the others heard him muttering, as his head sank lower.

“Wake up, friend,”ordered Clearchus;“you’re not condemning any poor scoundrel now.”

“Ai!ah!”Polus rubbed his eyes,“I only thought I was dropping the black bean—”

“Against whom?”quoth Crito, the fat contractor.

“Whom? Why that aristocrat Glaucon, surely,—to-night—”Polus suddenly checked himself and began to roll his eyes.

“You’ve a dreadful grievance against him,”remarked Clearchus;“the gods know why.”

“The wise patriot can see many things,”observed Polus, complacently,“only I repeat—wait till to-night—and then—”

“What then?”demanded all the others.

“Then you shall see,”announced the juror, with an oratorical flourish of his dirty himation,“and not you only but all of Athens.”

Clearchus grinned.

“Our dear Polus has a vast sense of his own importance. And who has been making you partner of the state secrets—Themistocles?”

“A man almost his peer, the noble patriot Democrates. Ask Phormio’s wife, Lampaxo; ask—”Once more he broke off to lay a finger on his lips.“This will be a notable day for Athens!”

“Our good friend surely thinks so!”rejoined the potter, dryly;“but since he won’t trust us with his precious secret, I think it much more interesting to watch the people crossing the square. The procession must be gathering outside the Dipylon Gate. Yonder rides Themistocles now to take command.”

The statesman cantered past on a shining white Thessalian. At his heels were prancing Cimon, Democrates, Glau[pg 118]con, and many another youth of the noble houses of Athens. At sight of the son of Conon, Polus had wagged his head in a manner utterly perplexing to his associates, and they were again perplexed when they saw Democrates wheel back from the side of his chief and run up for a hurried word with a man in the crowd they recognized as Agis.

“Agis is a strange fish to have dealings with a‘steward’of the procession to-day,”wondered Crito.

“You’ll be enlightened to-morrow,”said Polus, exasperatingly. Then as the band of horsemen cantered down the broad Dromos street,“Ah, me,—I wish I could afford to serve in the cavalry. It’s far safer than tugging a spear on foot. But there’s one young man out yonder on whose horse I’d not gladly be sitting.”

“Phui,”complained Clearchus,“you are anxious to eat Glaucon skin and bones! There goes his wife now, all in white flowers and ribbons, to take her place in the march with the other young matrons. Zeus! But she is as handsome as her husband.”

“She needn’t‘draw up her eyebrows,’”6growled the juror, viciously;“they’re marks of disloyalty even in her. Can’t you see she wears shoes of the Theban model, laced open so as to display her bare feet, though everybody knows Thebes is Medizing? She’s no better than Glaucon.”

“Hush,”ordered Clearchus, rising,“you have spoken folly enough. Those trumpets tell us we must hasten if we hope to join in the march ourselves.”

* * * * * * *

Who can tell the great procession? Not the maker of books,—what words call down light on the glancing eyes, on the moving lines of colour? Not the artist,—his pencil may not limn ten thousand human beings, beautiful and[pg 119]glad, sweeping in bright array across the welcoming city. Nor can the sculptor’s marble shape the marching forms, the rippling draperies, the warm and buoyant life. The life of Athens was the crown of Greece. The festival of the Panathenæa was the crown of Athens.

Never had Helios looked down on fairer landscape or city. The doors of the patrician houses were opened; for a day unguarded, unconstrained, the daughters, wives, and mothers of the nobility of Athens walked forth in their queenly beauty. One could see that the sculptor’s master works were but rigid counterparts of lovelier flesh and blood. One could see veterans, stalwart almost as on the day of the old-time battles, but crowned with the snow of years. One could see youths, and need no longer marvel the young Apollo was accounted fair. Flowers, fluttering mantles, purple, gold, the bravery of armour, rousing music—what was missing? All conjoined to make a perfect spectacle.

The sun had chased the last vapours from the sky. The little ravines on distant Hymettus stood forth sharply as though near at hand. The sun grew hot, but men and women walked with bared heads, and few were the untanned cheeks and shoulders. Children of the South, and lovers of the Sun-King, the Athenians sought no shelter, their own bright humour rejoicing in the light.

On the broad parade ground outside the Dipylon, the towering northwestern gate, the procession gathered. Themistocles the Handsome, never more gallant than now upon the white Thessalian, was ordering the array, the ten young men,“stewards of the Panathenæa,”assisting. He sent his last glance down the long files, his ivory wand signed to the musicians in the van.

“Play! march!”

Fifty pipers blew, fifty citharas tinkled. The host swept into the city.

Themistocles led. Under the massy double gate caracoled the charger. The robe of his rider blew out behind him like purple wings. There was the cry and clang of cymbals and drums. From the gray battlement yellow daisies rained down like gold. Cantering, halting, advancing, beckoning, the chief went forward, and behind swept the“knights,”the mounted chivalry of Athens,—three hundred of the noblest youths of Attica, on beasts sleek and spirited, and in burnished armour, but about every helm a wreath. Behind the“knights”rode the magistracy, men white-headed and grave, some riding, some in flower-decked cars. After these the victors in the games and contests of the preceding day. Next the elders of Athens—men of blameless life, beautiful in hale and honoured age. Next theephebi,—the youths close to manhood, whose fair limbs glistened under their sweeping chitons. Behind them, their sisters, unveiled, the maidens of Athens, walking in rhythmic beauty, and with them their attendants, daughters of resident foreigners. Following upon these was the long line of bleating victims, black bulls with gilded horns and ribbon-decked rams without blemish. And next—but here the people leaned from parapet, house-roof, portico, and shouted louder than ever:

“The car and the robe of Athena! Hail,Io, pæan!hail!”

Up the street on a car shaped like a galley moved the peplus, the great robe of the sovran goddess. From afar one could see the wide folds spread on a shipyard and rippling in the breeze. But what a sail! One year long had the noblest women of Attica wrought on it, and all the love and art that might breathe through a needle did not fail. It was a sheen of glowing colour. The strife of Athena with the brutish giants, her contest with Arachne, the deeds of the heroes of Athens—Erechtheus, Theseus, Codrus: these[pg 121]were some of the pictures. The car moved noiselessly on wheels turned by concealed mechanism. Under the shadow of the sail walked the fairest of its makers, eight women, maids and young matrons, clothed in white mantles and wreaths, going with stately tread, unmoved by the shouting as though themselves divine. Seven walked together. But one, their leader, went before,—Hermione, child of Hermippus.

Many an onlooker remembered this sight of her, the deep spiritual eyes, the symmetry of form and fold, the perfect carriage. Fair wishes flew out to her like doves.

“May she be blessed forever! May King Helios forever bring her joy!”

Some cried thus. More thought thus. All seemed more glad for beholding her.

Behind the peplus in less careful array went thousands of citizens of every age and station, all in festival dress, all crowned with flowers. They followed the car up the Dromos Street, across the cheering Agora, and around the southern side of the Acropolis, making a full circuit of the citadel. Those who watched saw Glaucon with Democrates and Cimon give their horses to slaves, and mount the bare knoll of Areopagus, looking down upon the western face of the Acropolis. As the procession swung about to mount the steep, Hermione lifted her glance to Areopagus, saw her husband gazing down on her, raised her hands in delighted gesture, and he answered her. It was done in the sight of thousands, and the thousands smiled with the twain.

“Justice! The beautiful salutes the beautiful.”And who thought the less of Hermione for betraying the woman beneath the mien of the goddess?

But now the march drew to an end. The procession halted, reformed, commenced the rugged way upward.[pg 122]Suddenly from the bastion of the Acropolis above wafted new music. Low, melancholy at first, as the pipers and harpers played in the dreamy Lydian mode, till, strengthening into the bolder Æolic, the strains floated down, inviting,“Come up hither,”then stronger still it pealed in the imperious crash of the Doric as the procession mounted steadily. Now could be seen great Lamprus, Orpheus’s peer, the master musician, standing on the balcony above the gate, beating time for the loud choral.

A chorus amongst the marchers and a second chorus in the citadel joined together, till the red crags shook,—singing the old hymn of the Homeridæ to Athena, homely, rude, yet dear with the memory of ages:—

“Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom,Thy praise I sing!Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city,Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bringForth from his forehead.Thou springest forth valiant;The clangour swells far as thy direful arms ring.

“Pallas Athena, gray-eyed queen of wisdom,

Thy praise I sing!

Steadfast, all holy, sure ward of our city,

Triton-born rule whom High Zeus doth bring

Forth from his forehead.

Thou springest forth valiant;

The clangour swells far as thy direful arms ring.

“All the Immortals in awed hush are bending,Beautiful, terrible, thy light thou’rt sendingFlashed from thine eyes and thy pitiless spear.Under thy presence Olympus is groaning,Earth heaves in terrors, the blue deeps are moaning;‘Wisdom, the All-Seeing Goddess is here!’

“All the Immortals in awed hush are bending,

Beautiful, terrible, thy light thou’rt sending

Flashed from thine eyes and thy pitiless spear.

Under thy presence Olympus is groaning,

Earth heaves in terrors, the blue deeps are moaning;

‘Wisdom, the All-Seeing Goddess is here!’

“Now the sea motionless freezes before thee;Helios, th’ Sun-Lord, draws rein to adore thee;Whilst thou, O Queen, puttest on divine might.Zeus, the deep-councillor, gladly greets thee!Hail, Holy Virgin—our loud pæan meets thee,Pallas, Chaste Wisdom, Dispeller of Night!”

“Now the sea motionless freezes before thee;

Helios, th’ Sun-Lord, draws rein to adore thee;

Whilst thou, O Queen, puttest on divine might.

Zeus, the deep-councillor, gladly greets thee!

Hail, Holy Virgin—our loud pæan meets thee,

Pallas, Chaste Wisdom, Dispeller of Night!”

Up the face of the Rock, up the long, statue-lined way, till through the gate the vision burst,—the innumerable[pg 123]fanes and altars, the assembly of singers and priests, the great temple in its pride of glittering marble. Clearer, stronger sounded the choral, shot up through the limpid azure; swaying, burning, throbbing, sobs and shouting, tears and transports, so mounted new strains of the mighty chorus, lit through with the flames of Homeric verse. Then stronger yet was the mingling of voices, earth, sky, deep, beasts’ cry and gods’ cry, all voiced, as chorus answered to chorus. Now the peplus was wafted on a wave of song toward the temple’s dawn-facing portal, when from beneath the columns, as the tall valves turned and the sun leaped into the cella, hidden voices returned the former strains—mournful at first. Out of the adytum echoed a cry of anguish, the lament of the Mother of Wisdom at her children’s deathly ignorance, which plucks them down from the Mount of the Beautiful Vision. But as the thousands neared, as its pæans became a prayer, as yearning answered to yearning, lo! the hidden song swelled and soared,—for the goddess looked for her own, and her own were come to her. And thus in beneath the massy pediment, in through the wide-flung doors, floated the peplus, while under its guardian shadow walked Hermione.

So they brought the robe to Athena.

* * * * * * *

Glaucon and his companions had watched the procession ascend, then followed to see the sacrifice upon the giant altar. The King Archon cut the throat of the first ox and made public prayer for the people. Wood soaked in perfumed oil blazed upon the huge stone platform of the sacrifice. Girls flung frankincense upon the roaring flames. The music crashed louder. All Athens seemed mounting the citadel. The chief priestess came from the holy house, and in a brief hush proclaimed that the goddess had received the robe with[pg 124]all favour. After her came the makers of the peplus, and Hermione rejoined her husband.

“Let us not stay to the public feast,”was her wish;“let these hucksters and charcoal-burners who live on beans and porridge scramble for a bit of burned meat, but we return to Colonus.”

“Good then,”answered Glaucon,“and these friends of course go with us.”

Cimon assented readily. Democrates hesitated, and while hesitating was seized by the cloak by none other than Agis, who gave a hasty whisper and vanished in the swirling multitude before Democrates could do more than nod.

“He’s an uncanny fox,”remarked Cimon, mystified;“I suppose you know his reputation?”

“The servant of Athens must sometimes himself employ strange servants,”evaded the orator.

“Yet you might suffer your friends to understand—”

“Dear son of Miltiades,”Democrates’s voice shook in the slightest,“the meaning of my dealings with Agis I pray Athena you may never have cause to know.”

“Which means you will not tell us. Then by Zeus I swear the secret no doubt is not worth the knowing.”Cimon stopped suddenly, as he saw a look of horror on Hermione’s face.“Ah, lady! what’s the matter?”

“Glaucon,”she groaned,“frightful omen! I am terrified!”

Glaucon’s hands dropped at her cry. He himself paled slightly. In one of his moods of abstraction he had taken the small knife from his belt and begun to pare his nails,—to do which after a sacrifice was reputed an infallible means of provoking heaven’s anger. The friends were grave and silent. The athlete gave a forced laugh.

“The goddess will be merciful to-day. To-morrow I will propitiate her with a goat.”

“Now, now, not to-morrow,”urged Hermione, with white lips, but her husband refused.

“The goddess is surfeited with sacrifices this morning. She would forget mine.”

Then he led the rest, elbowing the way through the increasing swarms of young and old, and down into the half-deserted city. Democrates left them in the Agora, professing great stress of duties.

“Strange man,”observed Cimon, as he walked away;“what has he this past month upon his mind? That Persian spy, I warrant. But the morning wanes. It’s a long way to Colonus.‘Let us drink, for the sun is in the zenith.’So says Alcæus—and I love the poet, for he like myself is always thirsty.”

The three went on to the knoll of Colonus where Glaucon dwelt. Cimon was overrunning with puns and jests, but the others not very merry. The omen of Glaucon’s thoughtlessness, or something else, made husband and wife silent, yet it was a day when man or maid should have felt their spirits rise. The sky had never been brighter, not in Athens. Never had the mountains and sea spread more gloriously. From the warm olive-groves sounded the blithesome note of the Attic grasshopper. The wind sweeping over the dark cypresses by the house set their dark leaves to talking. The afternoon passed in pleasure, friends going and coming; there was laughter, music, and good stories. Hermione at least recovered part of her brightness, but her husband, contrary to all custom, remained taciturn, even melancholy. At last as the gentle tints of evening began to cover hill and plain and the red-tiled roofs of the ample city, all the friends were gone, saving only Cimon, and he—reckless fellow—[pg 126]was well able to dispense with companionship, being, in the words of Theognis,“not absolutely drunk, nor sober quite.”Thus husband and wife found themselves alone together on the marble bench beneath the old cypress.

“Oh,makaire! dearest and best,”asked Hermione, her hands touching his face,“is it the omen that makes you grow so sad? For the sun of your life is so seldom under clouds that when it is clouded at all, it seems as deep darkness.”

He answered by pressing back her hair,“No, not the omen. I am not a slave to chance like that. Yet to-day,—the wise God knows wherefore,—there comes a sense of brooding fear. I have been too happy—too blessed with friendship, triumph, love. It cannot last. Clotho the Spinner will weary of making my thread of gold and twine in a darker stuff. Everything lovely must pass. What said Glaucus to Diomedes?‘Even as the race of leaves, so likewise are those of men; the leaves that now are, the wind scattereth, and the forest buddeth forth more again; thus also with the race of men, one putteth forth, another ceaseth.’So even my joy must pass—”

“Glaucon,—take back the words. You frighten me.”

He felt her in his arms trembling, and cursed himself for what he had uttered.

“A blight upon my tongue! I have frightened you, and without cause. Surely the day is bright enough, surely Athena having been thus far good we can trust her goodness still. Who knows but that it be many a year before our sun comes to his setting!”

He kissed her many times. She grew comforted, but they had not been together long when they were surprised by the approach of Themistocles and Hermippus. Hermione ran to her father.

“Themistocles and I were summoned hither,”explained[pg 127]Hermippus,“by a message from Democrates bidding us come to Colonus at once, on an urgent matter touching the public weal.”

“He is not here. I cannot understand,”marvelled Glaucon; but while he spoke, he was interrupted by the clatter of hoofs from a party of horsemen spurring furiously and heading from the pass of Daphni.

[pg 128]CHAPTER XIIA TRAITOR TO HELLASBefore the house six riders were reining,—five Scythian“bowmen”of the constabulary of Athens, tow-headed Barbarians, grinning but mute; the sixth was Democrates. He dismounted with a bound, and as he did so the friends saw that his face was red as with pent-up excitement. Themistocles advanced hastily.“What’s this? Your hands seem a-quiver. Whom has that constable tied up behind him?”“Seuthes!”cried Glaucon, bounding back,“Seuthes, by every god, and pinioned like a felon.”“Ay!”groaned the prisoner, lashed to a horse,“what have I done to be seized and tried like a bandit? Why should I be set upon by these gentlemen while I was enjoying a quiet pot of wine in the tavern at Daphni, and be haled away as if to crucifixion?Mu! Mu!make them untie me, dear Master Glaucon.”“Put down your prisoner,”ordered Democrates,“and all you constables stay without the house. I ask Themistocles, Hermippus, and Glaucon to come to an inner room. I must examine this man. The matter is serious.”“Serious?”echoed the bewildered athlete,“I can vouch for Seuthes—an excellent Corinthian, come to Athens to sell some bales of wool—”[pg 129]“Answer, Glaucon,”Democrates’s voice was stern.“Has he no letters from you for Argos?”“Certainly.”“You admit it?”“By the dog of Egypt, do you doubt my word?”“Friends,”called Democrates, dramatically,“mark you that Glaucon admits he has employed this Seuthes as his courier.”“Whither leads this mummery?”cried the athlete, growing at last angry.“If to nothing, I, Democrates, rejoice the most. Now I must bid you to follow me.”Seizing the snivelling Seuthes, the orator led into the house and to a private chamber. The rest followed, in blank wonderment. Cimon had recovered enough to follow—none too steadily. But when Hermione approached, Democrates motioned her back.“Do not come. A painful scene may be impending.”“What my husband can hear, that can I,”was her retort.“Ah! but why do you look thus dreadfully on Glaucon?”“I have warned you, lady. Do not blame me if you hear the worst,”rejoined Democrates, barring the door. A single swinging lamp shed a fitful light on the scene—the whimpering prisoner, the others all amazed, the orator’s face, tense and white. Democrates’s voice seemed metallic as he continued:—“Now, Seuthes, we must search you. Produce first the letter from Glaucon.”The fat florid little Corinthian was dressed as a traveller, a gray chalmys to his hips, a brimmed brown hat, and high black boots. His hands were now untied. He tugged from his belt a bit of papyrus which Democrates handed to Themistocles, enjoining“Open.”[pg 130]Glaucon flushed.“Are you mad, Democrates, to violate my private correspondence thus?”“The weal of Athens outweighs even the pleasure of Glaucon,”returned the orator, harshly,“and you, Themistocles, note that Glaucon does not deny that the seal here is his own.”“I do not deny,”cried the angry athlete.“Open, Themistocles, and let this stupid comedy end.”“And may it never change to tragedy!”proclaimed Democrates.“What do you read, Themistocles?”“A courteous letter of thanks to Ageladas.”The senior statesman was frowning.“Glaucon is right. Either you are turned mad, or are victim of some prank,—is it yours, Cimon?”“I am as innocent as a babe. I’d swear it by the Styx,”responded that young man, scratching his muddled head.“I fear we are not at the end of the examination,”observed Democrates, with ominous slowness.“Now, Seuthes, recollect your plight. Have you no other letter about you?”“None!”groaned the unheroic Corinthian.“Ah! pity, kind sirs; what have I done? Suffer me to go.”“It is possible,”remarked his prosecutor,“you are an innocent victim, or at least do not realize the intent of what you bear. I must examine the lining of your chalmys. Nothing. Your girdle. Nothing. Your hat, remove it. Quite empty. Blessed be Athena if my fears prove groundless. But my first duty is to Athens and Hellas. Ah! Your high boots. Remove the right one.”The orator felt within, and shook the boot violently.“Nothing again. The left one, empty it seems.Ei!what is this?”In a tense silence he shook from the boot a papyrus, rolled and sealed. It fell on the floor at the feet of Themistocles,[pg 131]who, watching all his lieutenant did, bent and seized it instantly; then it dropped from his hands as a live coal.“The seal! The seal! May Zeus smite me blind if I see aright!”Hermippus, who had been following all the scene in silence, bent, lifted the fateful paper, and he too gave a cry of grief.“It is the seal of Glaucon. How came it here?”“Glaucon,”—hard as Democrates’s voice had been that night, it rang like cold iron now,—“as the friend of your boyhood, and one who would still do for you all he may, I urge you as you love me to look upon this seal.”“I am looking,”but as he spoke paleness followed the angry flush on the athlete’s forehead. He needed no omen to tell him something fearful was about to ensue.“The seal is yours?”“The very same, two dancing mænads and over them a winged Eros. But how came this letter here? I did not—”“As you love life or death, as you preserve any regard for our friendship, I adjure you,—not to brave it longer, but to confess—”“Confess what? My head is reeling.”“The treason in which you have dipped your hands, your dealings with the Persian spy, your secret interviews, and last of all this letter,—I fear a gross betrayal of all trust,—to some agent of Xerxes. I shudder when I think of what may be its contents.”“And—this—from—you! Oh,—Democrates,—”The accused man’s hands snatched at the air. He sank upon a chest.“He does not deny it,”threw out the orator, but Glaucon’s voice rang shrilly:—“Ever! Ever will I deny! Though the Twelve Gods all cried out‘guilty!’The charge is monstrous.”[pg 132]“It is time, Democrates,”said Themistocles, who had preserved a grim silence,“that you showed us clearly whither your path is leading. This is a fearful accusation you launch against your best-loved friend.”“Themistocles is right,”assented the orator, moving away from the luckless Seuthes as from a pawn no longer important in the game of life and death.“The whole of the wretched story I fear I must tell on the Bema to all Athens. I must be brief, but believe me, I can make good all I say. Since my return from the Isthmia, I have been observed to be sad. Rightly—for knowing Glaucon as I did, I grew suspicious, and I loved him. You have thought me not diligent in hunting down the Persian spy. You were wrong. But how could I ruin my friend without full proof? I made use of Agis,—no genteel confederate, to be sure, but honest, patriotic, indefatigable. I soon had my eyes on the suspected Babylonish carpet-seller. I observed Glaucon’s movements closely, they gave just ground for suspicion. The Babylonian, I came to feel, was none other than an agent of Xerxes himself. I discovered that Glaucon had been making this emissary nocturnal visits.”“A lie!”groaned the accused, in agony.“I would to Athena I believed you,”was the unflinching answer;“I have direct evidence from eye-witnesses that you went to him. In a moment I can produce it. Yet still I hesitated. Who would blast a friend without damning proof? Then yesterday with your own lips you told me you sent a messenger to disloyal Argos. I suspected two messages, not one, were entrusted to Seuthes, and that you proclaimed the more innocent matter thus boldly simply to blind my eyes. Before Seuthes started forth this morning Agis informed me he had met him in a wine-shop—”“True,”whimpered the unhappy prisoner.[pg 133]“And this fellow as much as admitted he carried a second and secret message—”“Liar!”roared Seuthes.“Men hint strange things in wine-shops,”observed Democrates, sarcastically.“Enough that a second papyrus with Glaucon’s seal has been found hidden upon you.”“Open it then, and know the worst,”interjected Themistocles, his face like a thunder-cloud; but Democrates forbade him.“A moment. Let me complete my story. This afternoon I received warning that the Babylonish carpet-vender had taken sudden flight, presumably toward Thebes. I have sent mounted constables after him. I trust they can seize him at the pass of Phyle. In the meantime, I may assure you I have irrefutable evidence—needless to present here—that the man was a Persian agent, and to more purpose hear this affidavit, sworn to by very worthy patriots.“Polus, son of Phodrus of the Commune of Diomea, and Lampaxo his sister take oath by Zeus, Dike, and Athena, thus: We swear we saw and recognized Glaucon, son of Conon, twice visiting by night in the past month of Scirophorion a certainBabylonishcarpet-seller, name unknown, who had lodgings above Demas’s shield factory in Alopece.”“Details lack,”spoke Themistocles, keenly.“To be supplied in full measure at the trial,”rejoined the orator.“And now to the second letter itself.”“Ay, the letter, whatever the foul Cyclops that wrought it!”groaned Glaucon through his teeth.Themistocles took the document from Hermippus’s trembling hands. His own trembled whilst he broke the seal.“The handwriting of Glaucon. There is no doubt,”was his despairing comment. His frown darkened. Then he attempted to read.[pg 134]“Glaucon of Athens to Cleophas of Argos wishes health:—“Cleophas leads the Medizers of Argos, the greatest friend of Xerxes in Greece. O Zeus, what is this next—“Our dear friend, whom I dare not name, to-day departs for Thebes, and in a month will be safe in Sardis. His visit to Athens has been most fruitful. Since you at present have better opportunity than we for forwarding packets to Susa, do not fail to despatch this at once. A happy chance led Themistocles to explain to me his secret memorandum for the arraying of the Greek fleet. You can apprize its worth, for the only others to whom it is entrusted are Democrates and later Leonidas—”Themistocles flung the papyrus down. His voice was broken. Tears stood in his eyes.“O Glaucon, Glaucon,—whom I have trusted? Was ever trust so betrayed! May Apollo smite me blind, if so I could forget what I read here! It is all written—the secret ordering of the fleet—”For a terrible moment there was silence in the little room, a silence broken by a wild, shrill cry,—Hermione’s, as she cast her arms about her husband.“A lie! A snare! A wicked plot! Some jealous god has devised this guile, seeing we were too happy!”She shook with sobs, and Glaucon, roused to manhood by her grief, uprose and faced the stern face of Democrates, the blenching faces of the rest.“I am the victim of a conspiracy of all the fiends in Tartarus,”—he strove hard to speak steadily;“I did not write that second letter. It is a forgery.”“But who, then,”groaned Themistocles, hopelessly,“canclaim this handiwork? Democrates or I?—for no other has seen the memorandum,—that I swear. It has not yet gone to Leonidas. It has been guarded as the apple of my eye. We three alone knew thereof. And it is in this narrow room the betrayer of Hellas must stand.”[pg 135]“I cannot explain.”Glaucon staggered back to his seat. His wife’s head sank upon his lap. The two sat in misery.“Confess, by the remnants of our friendship I implore, confess,”ordered Democrates,“and then Themistocles and I will strive to lighten if possible your inevitable doom.”The accused man sat dumb, but Hermione struck back as some wild creature driven to bay. She lifted her head.“Has Glaucon here no friend but me, his wife?”She sent beseeching eyes about the room.“Do you all cry‘guilty, guilty’? Then is your friendship false, for when is friendship proved, save in the hour of need?”The appeal brought an answer from her father, who had been standing silent; and in infinite distress kindly, cautious, charitable Hermippus began:—“Dear Glaucon, Hermione is wrong; we were never more your friends. We are willing to believe the best and not the worst. Therefore tell all frankly. You have been a victim of great temptation. The Isthmian victory has turned your head. The Persian was subtle, plausible. He promised I know not what. You did not realize all you were doing. You had confederates here in Athens who are more guilty. We can make allowances. Tell only the truth, and the purse and influence of Hermippus of Eleusis shall never be held back to save his son-in-law.”“Nor mine, nor mine,”cried Themistocles, snatching at every straw;“only confess, the temptation was great, others were more guilty, everything then may be done—”Glaucon drew himself together and looked up almost proudly. Slowly he was recovering strength and wit.“I have nothing to confess,”he spoke,“nothing. I know nothing of this Persian spy. Can I swear the god’s own oath—by Earth, by Sky, by the Styx—”Themistocles shook his head wearily.[pg 136]“How can we say you are innocent? You never visited the Babylonian?”“Never. Never!”“Polus and Lampaxo swear otherwise. The letter?”“A forgery.”“Impossible. Is the forger Democrates or I?”“Some god has done this thing in malice, jealous of my great joy.”“I fear Hermes no longer strides so frequently about Athens. The hand and seal are yours,—and still you do not confess?”“If I must die,”Glaucon was terribly pale, but his voice was steady,“it is not as a perjurer!”Themistocles turned his back with a groan.“I can do nothing for you. This is the saddest hour in my life.”He was silent, but Democrates sprang to the athlete’s side.“Have I not prayed each god to spare me this task?”he spoke.“Can I forget our friendship? Do not brave it to the end. Pity at least your friends, your wife—”He threw back his cloak, pointing to a sword.“Ai,”cried the accused, shrinking.“What would you have me do?”“Save the public disgrace, the hooting jury, the hemlock, the corpse flung into the Barathrum. Strike this into your breast and end the shame.”No further. Glaucon smote him so that he reeled. The athlete’s tone was terrible.“Villain! You shall not tempt me.”Then he turned to the rest, and stood in his white agony, yet beautiful as ever, holding out his arms.“O friends, do you all believe the worst? Do you, Themistocles, turn silently against me?”No answer.“And[pg 137]you, Hermippus?”No answer again.“And you, Cimon, who praised me as the fairest friend in all the world?”The son of Miltiades simply tore his hair. Then the athlete turned to Democrates.“And you I deemed more than comrade, for we were boys at school together, were flogged with the same rod, and drank from the same cup, had like friends, foes, loves, hates; and have lived since as more than brothers,—do you too turn utterly away?”“I would it were otherwise,”came the sullen answer. Again Democrates pointed to the sword, but Glaucon stood up proudly.“No. I am neither traitor, nor perjurer, nor coward. If I must perish, it shall be as becomes an Alcmæonid. If you have resolved to undo me, I know your power over Athenian juries. I must die. But I shall die with unspotted heart, calling the curse of the innocent upon the god or man who plotted to destroy me.”“We have enough of this direful comedy,”declared Democrates, pale himself.“Only one thing is left. Call in the Scythians with their gyves, and hale the traitor to prison.”He approached the door; the others stood as icy statues, but not Hermione. She had her back against the door before the orator could open.“Hold,”she commanded,“for you are doing murder!”Democrates halted at the menacing light in her eyes. All the fear had gone out of them. Athena Promachos,“Mistress of Battles,”must have stood in that awful beauty when aroused. Did the goddess teach her in that dread moment of her power over the will of the orator? Glaucon was still standing motionless, helpless, his last appeal having ended in mute resignation to inevitable fate. She motioned to him desperately.[pg 138]“Glaucon! Glaucon!”she adjured,“do not throw your life away. They shall not murder you. Up! Rouse yourself! There is yet time. Fly, or all is lost.”“Fly!”spoke the athlete, almost vacantly.“No, I will brave them to the end.”“For my sake, fly,”she ordered, and conjured by that potent talisman, Glaucon moved toward her.“How? Whither?”“To the ends of the earth, Scythia, Atlantis, India, and remain till all Athens knows you are innocent.”As men move who know not what they do, he approached the door. Held by the magic of her eyes the others stood rigid. They saw Hermione raise the latch. Her husband’s face met hers in one kiss. The door opened, closed. Glaucon was gone, and as the latch clicked Democrates shook off the charm and leaped forward.“After the traitor! Not too late!—”For an instant he wrestled with Hermione hand to hand, but she was strong through fear and love. He could not master her. Then a heavy grasp fell on his shoulder—Cimon’s.“You are beside yourself, Democrates. My memory is longer than yours. To me Glaucon is still a friend. I’ll not see him dragged to death before my eyes. When we follow even a fox or a wolf, we give fair start and fair play. You shall not pursue him yet.”“Blessing on you!”cried the wife, falling on her knees and seizing Cimon’s cloak.“Oh, make Themistocles and my father merciful!”Hermippus—tender-hearted man—was in tears. Themistocles was pacing the little chamber, his hand tugging his beard, clearly in grievous doubt.“The Scythians! The constables!”Democrates clam[pg 139]oured frantically;“every instant gives the traitor better start.”But Cimon held him fast, and Themistocles was not to be interrupted. Only after a long time he spoke, and then with authority which brooked no contradiction.“There is no hole in the net of Democrates’s evidence that Glaucon is guilty of foul disloyalty, disloyalty worthy of shameful death. Were he any other there would be only one way with him and that a short one. But Glaucon I know, if I know any man. The charges even if proved are nigh incredible. For of all the thousands in Hellas his soul seemed the purest, noblest, most ingenuous. Therefore I will not hasten on his death. I will give the gods a chance to save him. Let Democrates arraign me for‘misprision of treason’if he will, and of failing in duty to Athens. There shall be no pursuit of Glaucon until morning. Then let the Eleven7issue their hue and cry. If they take him, let the law deal with him. Till then give respite.”Democrates attempted remonstrance. Themistocles bade him be silent sharply, and the other bowed his head in cowed acquiescence. Hermione staggered from the door, her father unbarred, and the whole wretched company went forth. In the passage hung a burnished steel mirror; Hermione gave a cry as she passed it. The light borne by Hermippus showed her in her festival dress, the rippling white drapery, the crown of white violets.“My father!”she cried, falling into his arms,“is it still the day of the Panathenæa, when I marched in the great procession, when all Athens called me happy? It was a thousand years ago! I can never be glad again—”[pg 140]He lifted her tenderly as she fainted. Old Cleopis, the Spartan nurse who had kissed her almost before her mother, ran to her. They carried her to bed, and Athena in mercy hid her from consciousness that night and all the following day.

Before the house six riders were reining,—five Scythian“bowmen”of the constabulary of Athens, tow-headed Barbarians, grinning but mute; the sixth was Democrates. He dismounted with a bound, and as he did so the friends saw that his face was red as with pent-up excitement. Themistocles advanced hastily.

“What’s this? Your hands seem a-quiver. Whom has that constable tied up behind him?”

“Seuthes!”cried Glaucon, bounding back,“Seuthes, by every god, and pinioned like a felon.”

“Ay!”groaned the prisoner, lashed to a horse,“what have I done to be seized and tried like a bandit? Why should I be set upon by these gentlemen while I was enjoying a quiet pot of wine in the tavern at Daphni, and be haled away as if to crucifixion?Mu! Mu!make them untie me, dear Master Glaucon.”

“Put down your prisoner,”ordered Democrates,“and all you constables stay without the house. I ask Themistocles, Hermippus, and Glaucon to come to an inner room. I must examine this man. The matter is serious.”

“Serious?”echoed the bewildered athlete,“I can vouch for Seuthes—an excellent Corinthian, come to Athens to sell some bales of wool—”

“Answer, Glaucon,”Democrates’s voice was stern.“Has he no letters from you for Argos?”

“Certainly.”

“You admit it?”

“By the dog of Egypt, do you doubt my word?”

“Friends,”called Democrates, dramatically,“mark you that Glaucon admits he has employed this Seuthes as his courier.”

“Whither leads this mummery?”cried the athlete, growing at last angry.

“If to nothing, I, Democrates, rejoice the most. Now I must bid you to follow me.”

Seizing the snivelling Seuthes, the orator led into the house and to a private chamber. The rest followed, in blank wonderment. Cimon had recovered enough to follow—none too steadily. But when Hermione approached, Democrates motioned her back.

“Do not come. A painful scene may be impending.”

“What my husband can hear, that can I,”was her retort.“Ah! but why do you look thus dreadfully on Glaucon?”

“I have warned you, lady. Do not blame me if you hear the worst,”rejoined Democrates, barring the door. A single swinging lamp shed a fitful light on the scene—the whimpering prisoner, the others all amazed, the orator’s face, tense and white. Democrates’s voice seemed metallic as he continued:—

“Now, Seuthes, we must search you. Produce first the letter from Glaucon.”

The fat florid little Corinthian was dressed as a traveller, a gray chalmys to his hips, a brimmed brown hat, and high black boots. His hands were now untied. He tugged from his belt a bit of papyrus which Democrates handed to Themistocles, enjoining“Open.”

Glaucon flushed.

“Are you mad, Democrates, to violate my private correspondence thus?”

“The weal of Athens outweighs even the pleasure of Glaucon,”returned the orator, harshly,“and you, Themistocles, note that Glaucon does not deny that the seal here is his own.”

“I do not deny,”cried the angry athlete.“Open, Themistocles, and let this stupid comedy end.”

“And may it never change to tragedy!”proclaimed Democrates.“What do you read, Themistocles?”

“A courteous letter of thanks to Ageladas.”The senior statesman was frowning.“Glaucon is right. Either you are turned mad, or are victim of some prank,—is it yours, Cimon?”

“I am as innocent as a babe. I’d swear it by the Styx,”responded that young man, scratching his muddled head.

“I fear we are not at the end of the examination,”observed Democrates, with ominous slowness.“Now, Seuthes, recollect your plight. Have you no other letter about you?”

“None!”groaned the unheroic Corinthian.“Ah! pity, kind sirs; what have I done? Suffer me to go.”

“It is possible,”remarked his prosecutor,“you are an innocent victim, or at least do not realize the intent of what you bear. I must examine the lining of your chalmys. Nothing. Your girdle. Nothing. Your hat, remove it. Quite empty. Blessed be Athena if my fears prove groundless. But my first duty is to Athens and Hellas. Ah! Your high boots. Remove the right one.”The orator felt within, and shook the boot violently.“Nothing again. The left one, empty it seems.Ei!what is this?”

In a tense silence he shook from the boot a papyrus, rolled and sealed. It fell on the floor at the feet of Themistocles,[pg 131]who, watching all his lieutenant did, bent and seized it instantly; then it dropped from his hands as a live coal.

“The seal! The seal! May Zeus smite me blind if I see aright!”

Hermippus, who had been following all the scene in silence, bent, lifted the fateful paper, and he too gave a cry of grief.

“It is the seal of Glaucon. How came it here?”

“Glaucon,”—hard as Democrates’s voice had been that night, it rang like cold iron now,—“as the friend of your boyhood, and one who would still do for you all he may, I urge you as you love me to look upon this seal.”

“I am looking,”but as he spoke paleness followed the angry flush on the athlete’s forehead. He needed no omen to tell him something fearful was about to ensue.

“The seal is yours?”

“The very same, two dancing mænads and over them a winged Eros. But how came this letter here? I did not—”

“As you love life or death, as you preserve any regard for our friendship, I adjure you,—not to brave it longer, but to confess—”

“Confess what? My head is reeling.”

“The treason in which you have dipped your hands, your dealings with the Persian spy, your secret interviews, and last of all this letter,—I fear a gross betrayal of all trust,—to some agent of Xerxes. I shudder when I think of what may be its contents.”

“And—this—from—you! Oh,—Democrates,—”

The accused man’s hands snatched at the air. He sank upon a chest.

“He does not deny it,”threw out the orator, but Glaucon’s voice rang shrilly:—

“Ever! Ever will I deny! Though the Twelve Gods all cried out‘guilty!’The charge is monstrous.”

“It is time, Democrates,”said Themistocles, who had preserved a grim silence,“that you showed us clearly whither your path is leading. This is a fearful accusation you launch against your best-loved friend.”

“Themistocles is right,”assented the orator, moving away from the luckless Seuthes as from a pawn no longer important in the game of life and death.“The whole of the wretched story I fear I must tell on the Bema to all Athens. I must be brief, but believe me, I can make good all I say. Since my return from the Isthmia, I have been observed to be sad. Rightly—for knowing Glaucon as I did, I grew suspicious, and I loved him. You have thought me not diligent in hunting down the Persian spy. You were wrong. But how could I ruin my friend without full proof? I made use of Agis,—no genteel confederate, to be sure, but honest, patriotic, indefatigable. I soon had my eyes on the suspected Babylonish carpet-seller. I observed Glaucon’s movements closely, they gave just ground for suspicion. The Babylonian, I came to feel, was none other than an agent of Xerxes himself. I discovered that Glaucon had been making this emissary nocturnal visits.”

“A lie!”groaned the accused, in agony.

“I would to Athena I believed you,”was the unflinching answer;“I have direct evidence from eye-witnesses that you went to him. In a moment I can produce it. Yet still I hesitated. Who would blast a friend without damning proof? Then yesterday with your own lips you told me you sent a messenger to disloyal Argos. I suspected two messages, not one, were entrusted to Seuthes, and that you proclaimed the more innocent matter thus boldly simply to blind my eyes. Before Seuthes started forth this morning Agis informed me he had met him in a wine-shop—”

“True,”whimpered the unhappy prisoner.

“And this fellow as much as admitted he carried a second and secret message—”

“Liar!”roared Seuthes.

“Men hint strange things in wine-shops,”observed Democrates, sarcastically.“Enough that a second papyrus with Glaucon’s seal has been found hidden upon you.”

“Open it then, and know the worst,”interjected Themistocles, his face like a thunder-cloud; but Democrates forbade him.

“A moment. Let me complete my story. This afternoon I received warning that the Babylonish carpet-vender had taken sudden flight, presumably toward Thebes. I have sent mounted constables after him. I trust they can seize him at the pass of Phyle. In the meantime, I may assure you I have irrefutable evidence—needless to present here—that the man was a Persian agent, and to more purpose hear this affidavit, sworn to by very worthy patriots.

“Polus, son of Phodrus of the Commune of Diomea, and Lampaxo his sister take oath by Zeus, Dike, and Athena, thus: We swear we saw and recognized Glaucon, son of Conon, twice visiting by night in the past month of Scirophorion a certainBabylonishcarpet-seller, name unknown, who had lodgings above Demas’s shield factory in Alopece.”

“Details lack,”spoke Themistocles, keenly.

“To be supplied in full measure at the trial,”rejoined the orator.“And now to the second letter itself.”

“Ay, the letter, whatever the foul Cyclops that wrought it!”groaned Glaucon through his teeth.

Themistocles took the document from Hermippus’s trembling hands. His own trembled whilst he broke the seal.

“The handwriting of Glaucon. There is no doubt,”was his despairing comment. His frown darkened. Then he attempted to read.

“Glaucon of Athens to Cleophas of Argos wishes health:—

“Cleophas leads the Medizers of Argos, the greatest friend of Xerxes in Greece. O Zeus, what is this next—

“Our dear friend, whom I dare not name, to-day departs for Thebes, and in a month will be safe in Sardis. His visit to Athens has been most fruitful. Since you at present have better opportunity than we for forwarding packets to Susa, do not fail to despatch this at once. A happy chance led Themistocles to explain to me his secret memorandum for the arraying of the Greek fleet. You can apprize its worth, for the only others to whom it is entrusted are Democrates and later Leonidas—”

Themistocles flung the papyrus down. His voice was broken. Tears stood in his eyes.

“O Glaucon, Glaucon,—whom I have trusted? Was ever trust so betrayed! May Apollo smite me blind, if so I could forget what I read here! It is all written—the secret ordering of the fleet—”

For a terrible moment there was silence in the little room, a silence broken by a wild, shrill cry,—Hermione’s, as she cast her arms about her husband.

“A lie! A snare! A wicked plot! Some jealous god has devised this guile, seeing we were too happy!”

She shook with sobs, and Glaucon, roused to manhood by her grief, uprose and faced the stern face of Democrates, the blenching faces of the rest.

“I am the victim of a conspiracy of all the fiends in Tartarus,”—he strove hard to speak steadily;“I did not write that second letter. It is a forgery.”

“But who, then,”groaned Themistocles, hopelessly,“canclaim this handiwork? Democrates or I?—for no other has seen the memorandum,—that I swear. It has not yet gone to Leonidas. It has been guarded as the apple of my eye. We three alone knew thereof. And it is in this narrow room the betrayer of Hellas must stand.”

“I cannot explain.”Glaucon staggered back to his seat. His wife’s head sank upon his lap. The two sat in misery.

“Confess, by the remnants of our friendship I implore, confess,”ordered Democrates,“and then Themistocles and I will strive to lighten if possible your inevitable doom.”

The accused man sat dumb, but Hermione struck back as some wild creature driven to bay. She lifted her head.

“Has Glaucon here no friend but me, his wife?”She sent beseeching eyes about the room.“Do you all cry‘guilty, guilty’? Then is your friendship false, for when is friendship proved, save in the hour of need?”

The appeal brought an answer from her father, who had been standing silent; and in infinite distress kindly, cautious, charitable Hermippus began:—

“Dear Glaucon, Hermione is wrong; we were never more your friends. We are willing to believe the best and not the worst. Therefore tell all frankly. You have been a victim of great temptation. The Isthmian victory has turned your head. The Persian was subtle, plausible. He promised I know not what. You did not realize all you were doing. You had confederates here in Athens who are more guilty. We can make allowances. Tell only the truth, and the purse and influence of Hermippus of Eleusis shall never be held back to save his son-in-law.”

“Nor mine, nor mine,”cried Themistocles, snatching at every straw;“only confess, the temptation was great, others were more guilty, everything then may be done—”

Glaucon drew himself together and looked up almost proudly. Slowly he was recovering strength and wit.

“I have nothing to confess,”he spoke,“nothing. I know nothing of this Persian spy. Can I swear the god’s own oath—by Earth, by Sky, by the Styx—”

Themistocles shook his head wearily.

“How can we say you are innocent? You never visited the Babylonian?”

“Never. Never!”

“Polus and Lampaxo swear otherwise. The letter?”

“A forgery.”

“Impossible. Is the forger Democrates or I?”

“Some god has done this thing in malice, jealous of my great joy.”

“I fear Hermes no longer strides so frequently about Athens. The hand and seal are yours,—and still you do not confess?”

“If I must die,”Glaucon was terribly pale, but his voice was steady,“it is not as a perjurer!”

Themistocles turned his back with a groan.

“I can do nothing for you. This is the saddest hour in my life.”He was silent, but Democrates sprang to the athlete’s side.

“Have I not prayed each god to spare me this task?”he spoke.“Can I forget our friendship? Do not brave it to the end. Pity at least your friends, your wife—”

He threw back his cloak, pointing to a sword.

“Ai,”cried the accused, shrinking.“What would you have me do?”

“Save the public disgrace, the hooting jury, the hemlock, the corpse flung into the Barathrum. Strike this into your breast and end the shame.”

No further. Glaucon smote him so that he reeled. The athlete’s tone was terrible.

“Villain! You shall not tempt me.”Then he turned to the rest, and stood in his white agony, yet beautiful as ever, holding out his arms.

“O friends, do you all believe the worst? Do you, Themistocles, turn silently against me?”No answer.“And[pg 137]you, Hermippus?”No answer again.“And you, Cimon, who praised me as the fairest friend in all the world?”The son of Miltiades simply tore his hair. Then the athlete turned to Democrates.

“And you I deemed more than comrade, for we were boys at school together, were flogged with the same rod, and drank from the same cup, had like friends, foes, loves, hates; and have lived since as more than brothers,—do you too turn utterly away?”

“I would it were otherwise,”came the sullen answer. Again Democrates pointed to the sword, but Glaucon stood up proudly.

“No. I am neither traitor, nor perjurer, nor coward. If I must perish, it shall be as becomes an Alcmæonid. If you have resolved to undo me, I know your power over Athenian juries. I must die. But I shall die with unspotted heart, calling the curse of the innocent upon the god or man who plotted to destroy me.”

“We have enough of this direful comedy,”declared Democrates, pale himself.“Only one thing is left. Call in the Scythians with their gyves, and hale the traitor to prison.”

He approached the door; the others stood as icy statues, but not Hermione. She had her back against the door before the orator could open.

“Hold,”she commanded,“for you are doing murder!”

Democrates halted at the menacing light in her eyes. All the fear had gone out of them. Athena Promachos,“Mistress of Battles,”must have stood in that awful beauty when aroused. Did the goddess teach her in that dread moment of her power over the will of the orator? Glaucon was still standing motionless, helpless, his last appeal having ended in mute resignation to inevitable fate. She motioned to him desperately.

“Glaucon! Glaucon!”she adjured,“do not throw your life away. They shall not murder you. Up! Rouse yourself! There is yet time. Fly, or all is lost.”

“Fly!”spoke the athlete, almost vacantly.“No, I will brave them to the end.”

“For my sake, fly,”she ordered, and conjured by that potent talisman, Glaucon moved toward her.

“How? Whither?”

“To the ends of the earth, Scythia, Atlantis, India, and remain till all Athens knows you are innocent.”

As men move who know not what they do, he approached the door. Held by the magic of her eyes the others stood rigid. They saw Hermione raise the latch. Her husband’s face met hers in one kiss. The door opened, closed. Glaucon was gone, and as the latch clicked Democrates shook off the charm and leaped forward.

“After the traitor! Not too late!—”

For an instant he wrestled with Hermione hand to hand, but she was strong through fear and love. He could not master her. Then a heavy grasp fell on his shoulder—Cimon’s.

“You are beside yourself, Democrates. My memory is longer than yours. To me Glaucon is still a friend. I’ll not see him dragged to death before my eyes. When we follow even a fox or a wolf, we give fair start and fair play. You shall not pursue him yet.”

“Blessing on you!”cried the wife, falling on her knees and seizing Cimon’s cloak.“Oh, make Themistocles and my father merciful!”

Hermippus—tender-hearted man—was in tears. Themistocles was pacing the little chamber, his hand tugging his beard, clearly in grievous doubt.

“The Scythians! The constables!”Democrates clam[pg 139]oured frantically;“every instant gives the traitor better start.”

But Cimon held him fast, and Themistocles was not to be interrupted. Only after a long time he spoke, and then with authority which brooked no contradiction.

“There is no hole in the net of Democrates’s evidence that Glaucon is guilty of foul disloyalty, disloyalty worthy of shameful death. Were he any other there would be only one way with him and that a short one. But Glaucon I know, if I know any man. The charges even if proved are nigh incredible. For of all the thousands in Hellas his soul seemed the purest, noblest, most ingenuous. Therefore I will not hasten on his death. I will give the gods a chance to save him. Let Democrates arraign me for‘misprision of treason’if he will, and of failing in duty to Athens. There shall be no pursuit of Glaucon until morning. Then let the Eleven7issue their hue and cry. If they take him, let the law deal with him. Till then give respite.”

Democrates attempted remonstrance. Themistocles bade him be silent sharply, and the other bowed his head in cowed acquiescence. Hermione staggered from the door, her father unbarred, and the whole wretched company went forth. In the passage hung a burnished steel mirror; Hermione gave a cry as she passed it. The light borne by Hermippus showed her in her festival dress, the rippling white drapery, the crown of white violets.

“My father!”she cried, falling into his arms,“is it still the day of the Panathenæa, when I marched in the great procession, when all Athens called me happy? It was a thousand years ago! I can never be glad again—”

He lifted her tenderly as she fainted. Old Cleopis, the Spartan nurse who had kissed her almost before her mother, ran to her. They carried her to bed, and Athena in mercy hid her from consciousness that night and all the following day.

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