Part 38 (1/2)
With a rustle of white Hermione went down the slope in advance of her mother. Hermippus and Lysistra were not pleased. Plainly their daughter kept all her prejudice against Democrates. Her cold contempt was more disappointing even than open fury.
Once at home Hermione held little Phnix long to her heart and wept over him. For the sake of her dead husband's child, if for naught else, how could she suffer them to give her to Democrates? That the orator had destroyed Glaucon in black malice had become a corner-stone in her belief.
She could at first give for it only a woman's reason-blind intuition. She could not discuss her conviction with her mother or with any save a strange confidant-Phormio.
She had met the fishmonger in the Agora once when she went with the slaves to buy a mackerel. The auctioneer had astonished everybody by knocking down to her a n.o.ble fish an obol under price, then under pretext of showing her a rare Botian eel got her aside into his booth and whispered a few words that made the red and white come and go from her cheeks, after which the lady's hand went quickly to her purse, and she spoke quick words about ”the evening” and ”the garden gate.”
Phormio refused the drachma brusquely, but kept the tryst. Cleopis had the key to the garden, and would contrive anything for her mistress-especially as all Athens knew Phormio was harmless save with his tongue. That evening for the first time Hermione heard the true story of Glaucon's escape by the _Solon_, but when the fishmonger paused she hung down her head closer.
”You saved him, then? I bless you. But was the sea more merciful than the executioner?”
The fishmonger let his voice fall lower.
”Democrates is unhappy. Something weighs on his mind. He is afraid.”
”Of what?”
”Bias his slave came to see me again last night. Many of his master's doings have been strange to him. Many are riddles still, but one thing at last is plain. Hiram has been to see Democrates once more, despite the previous threats. Bias listened. He could not understand everything, but he heard Lycon's name pa.s.sed many times, then one thing he caught clearly.
'_The Babylonish carpet-seller was the Prince Mardonius._' 'The Babylonian fled on the _Solon_.' 'The Prince is safe in Sardis.' If Mardonius could escape the storm and wreck, why not Glaucon, a king among swimmers?”
Hermione clapped her hands to her head.
”Don't torture me. I've long since trodden out hope. Why has he sent me no word in all these months of pain?”
”It is not the easiest thing to get a letter across the aegean in these days of roaring war.”
”I dare not believe it. What else did Bias hear?”
”Very little. Hiram was urging something. Democrates always said, 'Impossible.' Hiram went away with a very sour grin. However, Democrates caught Bias lurking.”
”And flogged him?”
”No, Bias ran into the street and cried out he would flee to the Temple of Theseus, the slave's sanctuary, and demand that the archon sell him to a kinder master. Then suddenly Democrates forgave him and gave him five drachmae to say no more about it.”
”And so Bias at once told you?” Hermione could not forbear a smile, but her gesture was of desperation. ”O Father Zeus-only the testimony of a slave to lean on, I a weak woman and Democrates one of the chief men in Athens! O for strength to wring out all the bitter truth!”
”Peace, _kyria_,” said Phormio, not ungently, ”Aletheia, Mistress Truth, is a patient dame, but she says her word at last. And you see that hope is not quite dead.”
”I dare not cherish it. If I were but a man!” repeated Hermione. But she thanked Phormio many times, would not let him refuse her money, and bade him come often again and bring her all the Agora gossip about the war.
”For we are friends,” she concluded; ”you and I are the only persons who hold Glaucon innocent in all the world. And is that not tie enough?”
So Phormio came frequently, glad perhaps to escape the discipline of his spouse. Now he brought a rumour of Xerxes's progress, now a bit of Bias's tattling about his master. The talebearing counted for little, but went to make Hermione's conviction like adamant. Every night she would speak over Phnix as she held him whilst he slept.
”Grow fast, _makaire_, grow strong, for there is work for you to do! Your father cries, 'Avenge me well,' even from Hades.”
After the departure of the fleet Athens seemed silent as the grave. On the streets one met only slaves and graybeards. In the Agora the hucksters'