Part 5 (1/2)
” 'A prince of Cyprus'-did you not hear me?”
”Cerberus eat me if that man has seen Cyprus. No Cyprian is so blond. The man is Xerxes's brother.”
”We shall see, friend; we shall see: 'Day by day we grow old, and day by day we grow wiser.' So your own Solon puts it, I think.”
Democrates drew himself up angrily. ”I know my duty; I'll denounce you to Leonidas.”
”You gave a pledge and oath.”
”It were a greater crime to keep than to break it.”
Lycon shrugged his huge shoulders. ”_Eu!_ I hardly trusted to that. But I do trust to Hiram's pretty story about your bets, and still more to a tale that's told about where and how you've borrowed money.”
Democrates's voice shook either with rage or with fear when he made s.h.i.+ft to answer.
”I see I've come to be incriminated and insulted. So be it. If I keep my pledge, at least suffer me to wish you and your 'Cyprian' a very good night.”
Lycon good-humouredly lighted him to the door. ”Why so hot? I'll do you a service to-morrow. If Glaucon wrestles with me, I shall kill him.”
”Shall I thank the murderer of my friend?”
”Even when that friend has wronged you?”
”Silence! What do you mean?”
Even in the flickering lamplight Democrates could see the Spartan's evil smile.
”Of course-Hermione.”
”Silence, by the infernal G.o.ds! Who are you, Cyclops, for _her_ name to cross your teeth?”
”I'm not angry. Yet you will thank me to-morrow. The pentathlon will be merely a pleasant flute-playing before the great war-drama. You will see more of the 'Cyprian' at Athens-”
Democrates heard no more. Forth from that wine-house he ran into the sheltering night, till safe under the shadow of the black cypresses. His head glowed. His heart throbbed. He had been partner in foulest treason.
Duty to friend, duty to country,-oath or no oath,-should have sent him to Leonidas. What evil G.o.d had tricked him into that interview? Yet he did not denounce the traitor. Not his oath held him back, but benumbing fear,-and what sting lay back of Lycon's hints and threats the orator knew best. And how if Lycon made good his boast and killed Glaucon on the morrow?
CHAPTER IV
THE PENTATHLON
In a tent at the lower end of the long stadium stood Glaucon awaiting the final summons to his ordeal. His friends had just cried farewell for the last time: Cimon had kissed him; Themistocles had gripped his hand; Democrates had called ”Zeus prosper you!” Simonides had vowed that he was already hunting for the metres of a triumphal ode. The roar from without told how the stadium was filled with its chattering thousands. The athlete's trainers were bestowing their last officious advice.
”The Spartan will surely win the quoit-throw. Do not be troubled. In everything else you can crush him.”
”Beware of Mrocles of Mantinea. He's a knavish fellow; his backers are recalling their bets. But he hopes to win on a trick; beware, lest he trip you in the foot-race.”
”Aim low when you hurl the javelin. Your dart always rises.”
Glaucon received this and much more admonition with his customary smile.