Part 28 (1/2)
More than all else was the keen longing for Hermione. He saw her in the night. Vainly, amidst the storms of the gathering war, he had sought a messenger to Athens. In this he dared ask no help from Mardonius. Then almost from the blue a bolt fell that made him wish to tear Hermione from his heart.
A Carian slave, a trusted steward at the Athenian silver mines of Laurium, had loved his liberty and escaped to Sardis. The Persians questioned him eagerly, for he knew all the gossip of Athens. Glaucon met the runaway, who did not know then who he was, so many Greek refugees were always fluttering around the king's court. The Carian told of a new honour for Democrates.
”He is elected strategus for next year because of his proud patriotism.
There is talk, too, of a more private bit of good fortune.”
”What is it?”
”That he has made successful suit to Hermippus of Eleusis for his daughter,-the widow of Glaucon, the dead outlaw. They say the marriage follows at the end of the year of mourning-Sir, you are not well!”
”I was never better.” But the other had turned ashen. He quitted the Carian abruptly and shut himself in his chamber. It was good that he wore no sword. He might have slain himself.
Yet, he communed in his heart, was it not best? Was he not dead to Athens?
Must Hermione mourn him down to old age? And whom better could she take than Democrates, the man who had sacrificed even friends.h.i.+p for love of country?
Artaba.n.u.s, the vizier, gave a great feast that night. They drank the pledge, ”Victory to the king, destruction to his enemies.” The lords all looked on Glaucon to see if he would touch the cup. He drank deeply. They applauded him. He remained long at the wine, the slaves bore him home drunken. In the morning Mardonius said Xerxes ordered him to serve in the cavalry guards, a post full of honour and chance for promotion. Glaucon did not resist. Mardonius sent him a silvered cuira.s.s and a black horse from the steppes of Bactria,-fleet as the north wind. In his new armour he went to the chambers of Artazostra and Roxana. They had never seen him in panoply before. The brilliant mail became him rarely. The ladies were delighted.
”You grow Persian apace, my Lord Prexaspes,”-Roxana always called him by his new name now,-”soon we shall hail you as 'your Magnificence' the satrap of Parthia or Asia or some other kingly province in the East.”
”I do well to become Persian,” he answered bitterly, unmoved by the admiration, ”for yesterday I heard that which makes it more than ever manifest that Glaucon the Athenian is dead. And whether he shall ever rise to live again, Zeus knoweth; but from me it is hid.”
Artazostra did not approach, but Roxana came near, as if to draw the buckle of the golden girdle-the gift of Xerxes. He saw the turquoise s.h.i.+ning on the tiara that bound her jet-black hair, the fine dark profile of her face, her delicate nostrils, the sweep of drapery that half revealed the form so full of grace. Was there more than pa.s.sing friends.h.i.+p in the tone with which she spoke to him?
”You have heard from Athens?”
”Yes.”
”And the tidings were evil.”
”Why call them evil, princess? My friends all believe me dead. Can they mourn for me forever? They can forget me, alas! more easily than I in my lonesomeness can forget them.”
”You are very lonely?”-the hand that drew the buckle worked slowly. How soft it was, how delicately the Nile sun had tinted it!
”Do you say you have no friends? None? Not in Sardis? Not among the Persians?”
”I said not that, dear lady,-but when can a man have more than one native country?-and mine is Attica, and Attica is far away.”
”And you can never have another? Can new friends.h.i.+ps never take the place of those that lie forever dead?”
”I do not know.”
”Ah, believe, new home, new friends, new love, are more than possible, will you but open your heart to suffer them.”
The voice both thrilled and trembled now, then suddenly ceased. The colour sprang into Roxana's forehead. Glaucon bowed and kissed her hand. It seemed to rise to his lips very willingly.
”I thank you for your fair hopes. Farewell.” That was all he said, but as he went forth from Roxana's presence, the pang of the tidings brought by the Carian seemed less keen.
The hosts gathered daily. Xerxes spent his time in dicing, hunting, drinking, or amusing himself with his favourite by-play, wood-carving. He held a few solemn state councils, at which he appeared to determine all things and was actually guided by Artaba.n.u.s and Mardonius. Now, at last, all the colossal machinery which was to crush down h.e.l.las was being set in motion. Glaucon learned how futile was Themistocles's hope of succour to Athens from the Sicilian Greeks, for,-thanks to Mardonius's indefatigable diplomacy,-it was arranged that the Phnicians of Carthage should launch a powerful armament against the Sicilians, the same moment Xerxes descended on Sparta and Athens. With calm satisfaction Mardonius watched the completion of his efforts. All was ready,-the army of hundreds of thousands, the twelve hundred war-s.h.i.+ps, the bridges across the h.e.l.lespont, the ca.n.a.l at Mt. Athos. Glaucon's admiration for the son of Gobryas grew apace. Xerxes was the outward head of the attack on h.e.l.las.
Mardonius was the soul. He was the idol of the army-its best archer and rider. Unlike his peers, he maintained no huge harem of jealous concubines and conspiring eunuchs. Artazostra he wors.h.i.+pped. Roxana he loved. He had no time for other women. No servant of Xerxes seemed outwardly more obedient than he. Night and day he wrought for the glory of Persia.