Part 55 (1/2)

”You have seized him?”

”Blessed be Moloch, Baal, and Melkarth! They have poured sleep upon my Lord's enemy.” The sailor's Greek was harsh and execrable. ”Your servants did even as commanded. The woman let us in. The young man my Lord hates was bound and gagged almost ere he could waken, likewise the fishmonger was seized.”

”Bravely done. I never forget good service. And the woman?”

”She is retained likewise. I have hastened hither to learn the further will of my Lord.”

Democrates arose hastily.

”My himation, staff, and shoes, boy!” he ordered. ”I will go forth myself.

The prisoners are still at the fishmonger's house?”

”Even so, Excellency.”

”I go back with you. I must see this stranger with my own eyes. There must be no mistake.”

Scodrus stared widely when he saw his master go out into the dark, for his only escort a black Carthaginian sailor with a dirk a cubit long.

Democrates did not even ask for a lantern. None of the servants could fathom their master's doings of late. He gave strappings when they asked questions, and Bias was away.

The streets of Trzene were utterly deserted when Democrates threaded them. There was no moon, neither he nor his companion were overcertain of the way. Once they missed the right turn, wandered down a blind alley, and plunged into a pile of offal awaiting the scavenger dogs. But finally the seaman stopped at a low door in a narrow street, and a triple rap made it open. The scene was squalid. A rush-candle was burning on a table. Around it squatted seven men who rose and bowed as the strategus entered. In the dim flicker he could just recognize the burly s.h.i.+pmaster Hasdrubal and gigantic Hib, the Libyan ”governor,” whose ebon face betrayed itself even there.

”We have expected you, _kyrie_,” said Hiram, who was one of the group.

”Thanks be to Hermes and to you all. I have told my guide already I will be grateful. Where is he?”

”In the kitchen behind, your Lords.h.i.+p. We were singularly favoured. Hib had the cord around his arms before he wakened. He could scarcely struggle despite his power. The fishmonger awoke before Hasdrubal could nip him.

For a moment we feared his outcries would rouse the street. But again the G.o.ds blessed us. No one stirred, and we soon throttled him.”

”Take the light,” ordered Democrates. ”Come.”

Accompanied by Hiram, the orator entered the kitchen, a small square room.

The white-washed ceiling was blacked around the smoke-hole, a few pots and pans lay in the corners, a few dying embers gleamed on the hearth. But Democrates had eyes only for two objects,-human figures tightly bound lying rigid as f.a.ggots in the further corner.

”Which is he?” asked Democrates again, stepping softly as though going to danger.

”The further one is Phormio, the nearer is my Lord's enemy. Your Excellency need not fear to draw close. He is quite secure.”

”Give me the candle.”

Democrates held the light high and trod gently over to the prostrate men.

Hiram spoke rightly that his victim was secure. They had lashed him hand and foot, using small chains in lieu of cords. A bit of wood had been thrust into his mouth and tied with twine under the ears. Democrates stood an instant looking down, then very deliberately knelt beside the prisoner and moved the candle closer. He could see now the face hidden half by the tangled black hair and beard and the gag-but who could doubt it?-the deep blue eye, the chiselled profile, the small, fine lips, yes, and the G.o.dlike form visible in its comeliness despite the bands. He was gazing upon the man who two years ago had called him ”bosom-friend.”

The prisoner looked straight upward. The only thing he could move was his eyes, and these followed Democrates's least motion. The orator pressed the candle closer yet. He even put out his hand, and touched the face to brush away the hair. A long look-and he was satisfied. No mistake was possible.

Democrates arose and stood over the prisoner, then spoke aloud.

”Glaucon, I have played at dice with Fortune. I have conquered. I did not ruin you willingly. There was no other way. A man must first be a friend to himself, and then friendly to others. I have cast in my lot with the Persians. It was I who wrote that letter which blasted you at Colonus.