Part 21 (2/2)
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.
CHAPTER XIII
THE DISLOYALTY OF PHORMIO
On the evening of the Panathenaea, Bias, servant of Democrates, had supped with Phormio,-for in democratic Athens a humble citizen would not disdain to entertain even a slave. The Thracian had a merry wit and a story-teller's gift that more than paid for the supper of barley-porridge and salt mackerel, and after the viands had disappeared was ready even to tell tales against his master.
”I've turned my brain inside out, and shaken it like a meal sack. No wisdom comes. The _kyrios_ has something on his mind. He prays to Hermes Dolios as often as if he were a cut-purse. Then yesterday he sent me for Agis-”
”Agis?” Phormio p.r.i.c.ked up his ears. ”The gambling-house keeper? What does Democrates with _him_?”
”Answer yourself. My master has been to Agis's pretty place before to see his c.o.c.ks. However, this is different. To-day I met Theon.”
”Who's he?”
”Agis's slave, the merriest scoundrel in Athens. Agis, he says, has been prancing like an a.s.s stuffed with barley. He gave Theon a letter from Democrates to take to your Babylonian opposite; Theon must hunt up Seuthes, a Corinthian, and worm out of him when and how he was leaving Athens. Agis promised Theon a gold stater if all was right.”
Phormio whistled. ”You mean the carpet-dealer here? By Athena's owls, there is no light in his window to-night!”
”None, indeed,” crackled Lampaxo; ”didn't I see that cursed Babylonian with his servants gliding out just as Bias entered? Zeus knows whither! I hope ere dawn Democrates has them by the heels.”
”Democrates does something to-night,” a.s.serted Bias, extending his cup for wine. ”At noon Agis flew up to him, chattered something in his ear, whereupon Democrates bade me be off and not approach him till to-morrow, otherwise a cane gets broken on my shoulders.”
”It's not painful to have a holiday,” laughed Phormio.
”It's most painful to be curious yet unsatisfied.”
”But why did not you take the letter to the Babylonian?” observed Phormio, shrewdly.
”I'm perplexed, indeed. Only one thing is possible.”
”And that is-”
”Theon is not known in this street. I am. Perhaps the _kyrios_ didn't care to have it rumoured he had dealings with that Babylonian.”
”Silence, undutiful scoundrel,” ordered Lampaxo, from her corner; ”what has so n.o.ble a patriot as Democrates to conceal? Ugh! Be off with you!
Phormio, don't dare to fill up the tipsy fox's beaker again. I want to pull on my nightcap and go to bed.”
Bias did not take the hint. Phormio was considering whether it was best to join combat with his redoubtable spouse, or save his courage for a more important battle, when a slight noise from the street made all listen.
”Pest light on those bands of young roisterers!” fumed Lampaxo. ”They go around all night, beating on doors and vexing honest folk. Why don't the constables trot them all to jail?”
”This isn't a drunken band, good wife,” remarked Phormio, rising; ”some one is sitting on the stones by the Hermes, near the door, groaning as if in pain.”
”A drunkard? Let him lie then,” commanded Lampaxo; ”let the coat-thieves come and filch his chiton.”
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