Part 46 (2/2)

Confidence, yes, power came through the tones of the admiral's voice.

Themistocles went away to the belated council. Sicinnus led his charge through the crooked streets of the town of Salamis. Sailors were sleeping in the open night, and they stumbled over them. At last they found a small tavern where a dozen s.h.i.+pmen sprawled on the earthen floor, and a gaping host was just quenching his last lamp. Sicinnus, however, seemed to know him. There was much protesting and headshaking, at last ended by the glint of a daric. The man grumbled, departed, returned after a tedious interval with a pot of ointment, found Hermes knew where. By a rush-candle's flicker Sicinnus applied the dark dye with a practised hand.

”You know the art well,” observed the outlaw.

”a.s.suredly; the agent of Themistocles must be a Proteus with his disguises.”

Sicinnus laid down his pot and brushes. They had no mirror, but Glaucon knew that he was transformed. The host got his daric. Again they went out into the night and forsaking the crowded town sought the seaside. The strand was broad, the sand soft and cool, the circling stars gave three hours yet of night, and they lay down to rest. The sea and the sh.o.r.e stretched away, a magic vista with a thousand mystic shapes springing out of the charmed darkness, made and unmade as overwrought fancy summoned them. As from an unreal world Glaucon-whilst he lay-saw the lights of the scattered s.h.i.+ps, heard the clank of chains, the rattling of tacklings.

Nature slept. Only man was waking.

”The mountain brows, the rocks, the peaks are sleeping, Uplands and gorges hus.h.!.+

The thousand moorland things are silence keeping, The beasts under each bush Crouch, and the hived bees Rest in their honeyed ease; In the purple sea fish lie as they were dead, And each bird folds his wing over his head.”

The school-learned lines of Alcman, with a thousand other trivial things, swarmed back through the head of Glaucon the Alcmaeonid. How much he had lived through that night, how much he would live through,-if indeed he was to live,-upon the morrow! The thought was benumbing in its greatness. His head swam with confused memories. Then at last all things dimmed. Once more he dreamed. He was with Hermione gathering red poppies on the hill above Eleusis. She had filled her basket full. He called to her to wait for him. She ran away. He chased, she fled with laughter and sparkling eyes. He could hear the wavings of her dress, the little cries she flung back over her shoulder. Then by the sacred well near the temple he caught her. He felt her struggling gayly. He felt her warm breath upon his face, her hair was touching his forehead. Rejoicing in his strength, he was bending her head toward his-but here he wakened. Sicinnus had disappeared.

A bar of gray gold hung over the water in the east.

”This was the day. _This was the day!_”

Some moments he lay trying to realize the fact in its full moment. A thin mist rested on the black water waiting to be dispelled by the sun. From afar came sounds not of seamen's trumpets, but horns, harps, kettledrums, from the hidden mainland across the strait, as of a host advancing along the sh.o.r.e. ”Xerxes goes down to the marge with his myriads,” Glaucon told himself. ”Have not all his captains bowed and smiled, 'Your Eternity's victory is certain. Come and behold.' ” But here the Athenian shut his teeth.

People at length were pa.s.sing up and down the strand. The coast was waking. The gray bar was becoming silver. Friends pa.s.sed, deep in talk,-perchance for the last time. Glaucon lay still a moment longer, and as he rested caught a voice so familiar he felt all the blood surge to his forehead,-Democrates's voice.

”I tell you, Hiram,-I told you before,-I have no part in the ordering of the fleet. Were I to interfere with ever so good a heart, it would only breed trouble for us all.”

So close were the twain, the orator's trailing chiton almost fell on Glaucon's face. The latter marvelled that his own heart did not spring from its prison in his breast, so fierce were its beatings.

”If my Lord would go to Adeimantus and suggest,”-the other's Greek came with a marked Oriental accent.

”Harpy! Adeimantus is no Medizer. He is pushed to bay now, and is sure to fight. Have you Barbarians no confidence? Has not the king two triremes to our one? Only fools can demand more. Tell Lycon, your master, I have long since done my uttermost to serve him.”

”Yet remember, Excellency.”

”Begone, scoundrel. Don't threaten again. If I know your power over me, I can also promise you not to go down to Orchus alone, but take excellent pains to have fair company.”

”I am sorry to bear such tidings to Lycon, Excellency.”

”Away with you!”

”Do not raise your voice, _kyrie_,” spoke Hiram, never more blandly, ”here is a man asleep.”

The hint sent Democrates from the spot almost on a run. Hiram disappeared in the opposite direction. Glaucon rose, shook the sand from his cloak, and stood an instant with his head whirling. The voice of his boyhood friend, of the man who had ruined him because of a suspicion of treason-and now deep in compromising talk with the agent of the chief of the peace party at Sparta! And wherefore had Mardonius spoken those mysterious words at their parting, ”Beware of Democrates”? For an instant the problems evoked made him forget even the coming battle.

A clear trumpet-blast down the strand gave a truce to questioning.

Sicinnus reappeared, and led Glaucon to one of the great fires roaring on the beach, where the provident Greek sailors were breakfasting on barley porridge and meat broth before dining on spears and arrow-heads. A silent company, no laughter, no jesting. All knew another sun for them might never rise. Glaucon ate not because he hungered, but because duty ordered it. As the light strengthened, the strand grew alive with thousands of men at toil. The triremes drawn on sh.o.r.e went down into the sea on their rollers. More trumpet-blasts sent the rowers aboard their s.h.i.+ps. But last of all, before thrusting out to do or die, the Greeks must feast their ears as well as their stomachs. On the sloping beach gathered the officers and the armoured marines,-eighteen from each trireme,-and heard one stirring harangue after another. The old feuds were forgotten. Adeimantus and Eurybiades both spoke bravely. The seers announced that every bird and cloud gave good omen. Prayer was offered to Ajax of Salamis that the hero should fight for his people. Last of all Themistocles spoke, and never to fairer purpose. No boasts, no lip courage, a painting of the n.o.ble and the base, the glory of dying as freemen, the infamy of existing as slaves. He told of Marathon, of Thermopylae, and asked if Leonidas had died as died a fool. He drew tears. He drew vows of vengeance. He never drew applause.

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