Part 21 (1/2)

”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 Alcmaeonid. 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.ddess 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 clamoured 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 h.e.l.las his soul seemed the purest, n.o.blest, most ingenuous. Therefore I will not hasten on his death. I will give the G.o.ds 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 Eleven(7) issue 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 pa.s.sage hung a burnished steel mirror; Hermione gave a cry as she pa.s.sed 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 Panathenaea, 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-”