A Victor of Salamis Part 11

In the northern quarter of Athens the suburb of Alopece thrust itself under the slopes of Mt. Lycabettus, that pyramid of tawny rock which formed the rear bulwark, as it were, of every landscape of Athens. The dwellings in the suburb were poor, though few even in the richer quarters were at all handsome; the streets barely sixteen feet wide, ill-paved, filthy, dingy. A line of dirty gray stucco house-fronts was broken only by the small doors and the smaller windows in the second story. Occasionally a two-faced bust of Hermes stood before a portal, or a marble lion's head spouted into a corner water trough. All Athenian streets resembled these.

The citizen had his Pnyx, his Jury-Court, his gossiping Agora for his day.

These dingy streets sufficed for the dogs, the slaves, and the women, whom wise Zeus ordered to remain at home.

Phormio the fishmonger had returned from his traffic, and sat in his house-door meditating over a pot of sour wine and watching the last light flickering on the great bulk of the mountain. He had his sorrows,-good man,-for Lampaxo his worthy wife, long of tongue, short of temper, thrifty and very watchful, was reminding him for the seventh time that he had sold a carp half an obol too cheap. His patience indeed that evening was so near to exhaustion that after cursing inwardly the "match-maker" who had saddled this Amazon upon him, he actually found courage for an outbreak.

He threw up his arms after the manner of a tragic actor:-

"True, true is the word of Hesiod!"

"True is what?" flew back none too gently.

" 'The fool first suffers and is after wise.' Woman, I am resolved."

"On what?" Lampaxo's voice was soft as broken gla.s.s.

"Years increase. I shan't live long. We are childless. I will provide for you in my will by giving you in marriage to Hyperphon."(3)

"Hyperphon!" screamed the virago, "Hyperphon the beggarly hunchback, the laughing-stock of Athens! O Mother Hera!-but I see the villain's aim. You are weary of me. Then divorce me like an honourable man. Send me back to Polus my dear brother. Ah, you sheep, you are silent! You think of the two-minae dowry you must then refund. Woe is me! I'll go to the King Archon. I'll charge you with gross abuse. The jury will condemn you.

There'll be fines, fetters, stocks, prison-"

"Peace," groaned Phormio, terrified at the Gorgon, "I only thought-"

"How dared you think? What permitted-"

"Good evening, sweet sister and Phormio!" The salutation came from Polus, who with Clearchus had approached unheralded. Lampaxo smoothed her ruffled feathers. Phormio stifled his sorrows. Dromo, the half-starved slave-boy, brought a pot of thin wine to his betters. The short southern twilight was swiftly pa.s.sing into night. Groups of young men wandered past, bound homeward from the Cynosarges, the Academy, or some other well-loved gymnasium. In an hour the streets would be dark and still, except for a belated guest going to his banquet, a Scythian constable, or perhaps a cloak thief. For your Athenian, when he had no supper invitation, went to bed early and rose early, loving the sunlight far better than the flicker of his uncertain lamps.

"And did the jury vote 'guilty'?" was Phormio's first question of his brother-in-law.

"We were patriotically united. There were barely any white beans for acquittal in the urn. The scoundrelly grain-dealer is stripped of all he possesses and sent away to beg in exile. A n.o.ble service to Athens!"

"Despite the evidence," murmured Clearchus; but Lampaxo's shrill voice answered her brother:-

"It's my opinion you jurors should look into a case directly opposite this house. Spies, I say, Persian spies."

"Spies!" cried Polus, leaping up as from a coal; "why, Phormio, haven't you denounced them? It's compounding with treason even to fail to report-"

"Peace, brother," chuckled the fishmonger, "your sister smells for treason as a dog for salt fish. There is a barbarian carpet merchant-a Babylonian, I presume-who has taken the empty chambers above Demas's s.h.i.+eld factory opposite. He seems a quiet, inoffensive man; there are a hundred other foreign merchants in the city. One can't cry 'Traitor!' just because the poor wight was not born to speak Greek."

"I do not like Babylonish merchants," propounded Polus, dogmatically; "to the jury with him, I say!"

"At least he has a visitor," a.s.serted Clearchus, who had long been silent.

"See, a gentleman wrapped in a long himation is going up to the door and standing up his walking stick."

"And if I have eyes," vowed the juror, squinting through his hands in the half light, "that closely wrapped man is Glaucon the Alcmaeonid."

"Or Democrates," remarked Clearchus; "they look much alike from behind.

It's getting dark."

"Well," decided Phormio, "we can easily tell. He has left his stick below by the door. Steal across, Polus, and fetch it. It must be carved with the owner's name."

The juror readily obeyed; but to read the few characters on the crooked handle was beyond the learning of any save Clearchus, whose art demanded the mystery of writing.

"I was wrong," he confessed, after long scrutiny, " 'Glaucon, son of Conon.' It is very plain. Put the cane back, Polus."

The cane was returned, but the juror pulled a very long face.

"Dear friends, here is a man I've already suspected of undemocratic sentiments conferring with a Barbarian. Good patriots cannot be too vigilant. A plot, I a.s.sert. Treason to Athens and h.e.l.las! Freedom's in danger. Henceforth I shall look on Glaucon the Alcmaeonid as an enemy of liberty."

"_Phui!_" almost shouted Phormio, whose sense of humour was keen, "a n.o.ble conspiracy! Glaucon the Fortunate calls on a Babylonish merchant by night.

You say to plot against Athens. I say to buy his pretty wife a carpet."

"The G.o.ds will some day explain," said Clearchus, winding up the argument,-and so for a little while the four forgot all about Glaucon.

Despite the cane, Clearchus was right. The visitor was Democrates. The orator mounted the dark stair above the s.h.i.+eld-factory and knocked against a door, calling, "_Pai! Pai!_" "Boy! boy!" a summons answered by none other than the ever smiling Hiram. The Athenian, however, was little prepared for the luxury, nay splendour, which greeted him, once the Phnician had opened the door. The bare chamber had been transformed. The foot sank into the glowing carpets of Kerman and Bactria. The gold-embroidered wall tapestries were of Sidonian purple. The divans were covered with wondrous stuff which Democrates could not name,-another age would call it silk. A tripod smoked with fragrant Arabian frankincense.

Silver lamps, swinging from silver chains, gave brilliant light. The Athenian stood wonderbound, until a voice, not Hiram's, greeted him.

"Welcome, Athenian," spoke the Cyprian, in his quaint, eastern accent. It was the strange guest in the tavern by Corinth. The Prince-prince surely, whatever his other t.i.tle-was in the same rich dress as at the Isthmus, only his flowing beard had been dyed raven black. Yet Democrates's eyes were diverted instantly to the peculiarly handsome slave-boy on the divan beside his master. The boy's dress, of a rare blue stuff, enveloped him loosely. His hair was as golden as the gold thread on the round cap. In the shadows the face almost escaped the orator,-he thought he saw clear blue eyes and a marvellously brilliant, almost girlish, bloom and freshness. The presence of this slave caused the Athenian to hesitate, but the Cyprian bade him be seated, with one commanding wave of the hand.

"This is Smerdis, my constant companion. He is a mute. Yet if otherwise, I would trust him as myself."

Democrates, putting by surprise, began to look on his host fixedly.

"My dear Barbarian, for that you are a h.e.l.lene you will not pretend, you realize, I trust, you incur considerable danger in visiting Athens."

"I am not anxious," observed the Prince, composedly. "Hiram is watchful and skilful. You see I have dyed my hair and beard black and pa.s.s for a Babylonish merchant."

"With all except me, _philotate_,-'dearest friend,' as we say in Athens."

Democrates's smile was not wholly agreeable.

"With all except you," a.s.sented the Prince, fingering the scarlet ta.s.sel of the cus.h.i.+on whereon he sat. "I reckoned confidently that you would come to visit me when I sent Hiram to you. Yes-I have heard the story that is on your tongue: one of Themistocles's busybodies has brought a rumour that a certain great man of the Persian court is missing from the side of his master, and you have been requested to greet that n.o.bleman heartily if he should come to Athens."

"You know a great deal!" cried the orator, feeling his forehead grow hot.

"It is pleasant to know a great deal," smiled back the Prince, carelessly, while Hiram entered with a tray and silver goblets br.i.m.m.i.n.g with violet-flavoured sherbet; "I have innumerable 'Eyes-and-ears.' You have heard the name? One of the chief officers of his Majesty is 'The Royal Eye.' You Athenians are a valiant and in many things a wise people, yet you could grow in wisdom by looking well to the East."

"I am confident," exclaimed Democrates, thrusting back the goblet, "if your Excellency requires a n.o.ble game of wits, you can have one. I need only step to the window, and cry 'Spies!'-after which your Excellency can exercise your wisdom and eloquence defending your life before one of our Attic juries."

"Which is a polite and patriotic manner of saying, dearest Athenian, you are not prepared to push matters to such unfortunate extremity. I omit what his Majesty might do in the way of taking vengeance; sufficient that if aught unfortunate befalls me, or Hiram, or this my slave Smerdis, while we are in Athens, a letter comes to your n.o.ble chief Themistocles from the banker Pittacus of Argos."

Democrates, who had risen to his feet, had been flushed before. He became pale now. The hand that clutched the purple tapestry was trembling. The words rose to his lips, the lips refused to utter them. The Prince, who had delivered his threat most quietly, went on, "In short, good Democrates, I was aware before I came to Athens of our necessities, and I came because I was certain I could relieve them."

"Never!" The orator shot the word out desperately.

"You are a h.e.l.lene."

"Am I ashamed of it?"