Part 37 (2/2)
of h.e.l.las.
One hundred and twenty-seven triremes were to go forth, and three and fifty to follow, bearing the best and bravest of Athens with them.
Themistocles was in absolute command, and perhaps in his heart of hearts Democrates was not mournful if it lay out of his power to do a second ill-turn to his country.
It was again summer, and again such a day as when Glaucon with glad friends had rowed toward Salamis. The Saronian bay flashed fairest azure.
The scattered isles and the headlands of Argolis rose in clear beauty. The city had emptied itself. Mothers hung on the necks of sons as the latter strode toward Peiraeus; friends clasped hands for the last time as he who remained promised him who went that the wife and little ones should never be forgotten. Only Hermione, as she stood on the hill of Munychia above the triple havens, shed no tear. The s.h.i.+p bearing her all was gone long since. Themistocles would never lead it back. Hermippus was at the quay in Peiraeus, taking leave of the admiral. Old Cleopis held the babe as Hermione stood by her mother. The younger woman had suffered her gaze to wander to far aegina, where a featherlike cloud hung above the topmost summit of the isle, when her mother's voice called her back.
”They go.”
A line of streamers blew from the foremast of the _Nausicaa_ as the piper on the flag-s.h.i.+p gave the time to the oars. The triple line of blades, pumiced white, splashed with a steady rhythm. The long black hull glided away. The trailing line of consorts swiftly followed. From the hill and the quays a shout uprose from the thousands, to be answered by the fleet,-a cheer or a prayer to sea-ruling Poseidon those who gave it hardly knew. The people stood silent till the last dark hull crept around the southern headland; then, still in silence, the mult.i.tudes dissolved. The young and the strong had gone from them. For Athens this was the beginning of the war.
Hermione and Lysistra awaited Hermippus before setting homeward, but the Eleusinian was delayed. The fleet had vanished. The havens were empty. In Cleopis's arms little Phnix wept. His mother was anxious to be gone, when she was surprised to see a figure climbing the almost deserted slope. A moment more and she was face to face with Democrates, who advanced outstretching his hand and smiling.
The orator wore the dress of his new office of strategus. The purple-edged cloak, the light helmet wreathed with myrtle, the short sword at his side, all became him well. If there were deeper lines about his face than on the day Hermione last saw him, even an enemy would confess a leader of the Athenians had cause to be thoughtful. He was cordially greeted by Lysistra and seemed not at all abashed that Hermione gave only a sullen nod. From the ladies he turned with laughter to Cleopis and her burden.
”A new Athenian!” spoke he, lightly, ”and I fear Xerxes will have been chased away before he has a chance to prove his valour. But fear not, there will be more brave days in store.”
Hermione shook her head, ill-pleased.
”Blessed be Hera, my babe is too young to know aught of wars. And if we survive this one, will not just Zeus spare us from further bloodshed?”
Democrates, without answering, approached the nurse, and Phnix-for reasons best known to himself-ceased lamenting and smiled up in the orator's face.
”His mother's features and eyes,” cried Democrates. ”I swear it-ay, by all Athena's owls-that young Hermes when he lay in Maia's cave on Mt. Cylene was not finer or l.u.s.tier than he. His mother's face and eyes, I say.”
”His father's,” corrected Hermione. ”Is not his name Phnix? In him will not Glaucon the Beautiful live again? Will he not grow to man's estate to avenge his murdered father?” The lady spoke without pa.s.sion, but with a cold bitterness that made Democrates cease from smiling. He turned away from the babe.
”Forgive me, dear lady,” he answered her, ”I am wiser at ruling the Athenians than at ruling children, but I see nothing of Glaucon about the babe, though much of his beautiful mother.”
”You had once a better memory, Democrates,” said Hermione, reproachfully.
”I do not understand your Ladys.h.i.+p.”
”I mean that Glaucon has been dead one brief year. Can you forget _his_ face in so short a while?”
But here Lysistra interposed with all good intent.
”You are fond and foolish, Hermione, and like all young mothers are enraged if all the world does not see his father's image in their first-born.”
”Democrates knows what I would say,” said the younger woman, soberly.
”Since your Ladys.h.i.+p is pleased to speak in riddles and I am no seer nor oracle-monger, I must confess I cannot follow. But we will contend no more concerning little Phnix. Enough that he will grow up fair as the Delian Apollo and an unspeakable joy to his mother.”
”Her only joy,” was Hermione's icy answer. ”Wrap up the child, Cleopis. My father is coming. It is a long walk home to the city.”
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