Part 3 (1/2)
On opening there was revealed a bracelet of Egyptian turquoise; the price thereof Simonides wisely set at two minae. Nothing betrayed the ident.i.ty of the giver save a slip of papyrus written in Greek, but in very uncertain hand. ”_To the Beautiful Champion of Athens: from one he has greatly served._”
Cimon held the bracelet on high, admiring its perfect l.u.s.tre.
”Themistocles was wrong,” he remarked; ”the Oriental was not ungrateful.
But what 'slave' or 'lad' was this that Glaucon succoured?”
”Perhaps,” insinuated Simonides, ”Themistocles was wrong yet again. Who knows if a stranger giving such gifts be not sent forth by Xerxes?”
”Don't chatter foolishness,” commanded Democrates, almost peevishly; but Glaucon replaced the bracelet in the casket.
”Since the G.o.d sends this, I will rejoice in it,” he declared lightly. ”A fair omen for to-morrow, and it will s.h.i.+ne rarely on Hermione's arm.” The mention of that lady called forth new protests from Cimon, but he in turn was interrupted, for a half-grown boy had entered the tent and stood beckoning to Democrates.
CHAPTER III
THE HAND OF PERSIA
The lad who sidled up to Democrates was all but a hunchback. His bare arms were grotesquely tattooed, clear sign that he was a Thracian. His eyes twinkled keenly, uneasily, as in token of an almost sinister intelligence.
What he whispered to Democrates escaped the rest, but the latter began girding up his cloak.
”You leave us, _philotate_?” cried Glaucon. ”Would I not have all my friends with me to-night, to fill me with fair thoughts for the morrow?
Bid your ugly Bias keep away!”
”A greater friend than even Glaucon the Alcmaeonid commands me hence,” said the orator, smiling.
”Declare his name.”
”Declare _her_ name,” cried Simonides, viciously.
”n.o.ble Cean, then I say I serve a most beautiful, high-born dame. Her name is Athens.”
”Curses on your public business,” lamented Glaucon. ”But off with you, since your love is the love of us all.”
Democrates kissed the athlete on both cheeks. ”I leave you to faithful guardians. Last night I dreamed of a garland of lilies, sure presage of a victory. So take courage.”
”_Chaire! chaire!_”(1) called the rest; and Democrates left the tent to follow the slave-boy.
Evening was falling: the sea, rocks, fields, pine groves, were touched by the red glow dying behind Acro-Corinthus. Torches gleamed amid the trees where the mult.i.tudes were buying, selling, wagering, making merry. All Greece seemed to have sent its wares to be disposed of at the Isthmia.
Democrates idled along, now glancing at the huckster who displayed his painted clay dolls and urged the sightseers to remember the little ones at home. A wine-seller thrust a sample cup of a choice vintage under the Athenian's nose, and vainly adjured him to buy. Thessalian easy-chairs, pottery, slaves kidnapped from the Black Sea, occupied one booth after another. On a pulpit before a bellowing crowd a pair of marionettes were rolling their eyes and gesticulating, as a woman pulled the strings.
But there were more exalted entertainments. A rhapsodist stood on a pine stump chanting in excellent voice Alcaeus's hymn to Apollo. And more willingly the orator stopped on the edge of a throng of the better sort, which listened to a man of n.o.ble aspect reading in clear voice from his scroll.
”aeschylus of Athens,” whispered a bystander. ”He reads choruses of certain tragedies he says he will perfect and produce much later.”
Democrates knew the great dramatist well, but what he read was new-a ”Song of the Furies” calling a terrific curse upon the betrayer of friends.h.i.+p.
”Some of his happiest lines,” meditated Democrates, walking away, to be held a moment by the crowd around Lamprus the master-harpist. But now, feeling that he had dallied long enough, the orator turned his back on the two female acrobats who were swinging on a trapeze and struck down a long, straight road which led toward the distant cone of Acro-Corinthus. First, however, he turned on Bias, who all the time had been accompanying, dog-fas.h.i.+on.