Part 59 (1/2)

Glaucon told it: the encounter on the hillside at Trzene, the seizure in Phormio's house, the coming of Democrates and his boasts over the captives, the voyage and the pursuing. The son of Neocles never hastened the recital, though once or twice he widened it by an incisive question.

At the end he demanded:-

”And does Phormio confirm all this?”

”All. Question him.”

”Humph! He's a truthful man in everything save the price of fish. Now let us open the packet.”

Themistocles was exceeding deliberate. He drew his dagger and pried the wrapper open without breaking the seals or tearing the papyrus. He turned the strips of paper carefully one by one, opened a casket, and drew thence a written sheet which he compared painfully with those before him.

”The same hand,” his remark in undertone.

He was so calm that a stranger would have thought him engaged with routine business. Many of the sheets he simply lifted, glanced at, laid down again. They did not seem to interest. So through half the roll, but the outlaw, watching patiently, at last saw he eyebrows of the son of Neocles pressing ever closer,-sign that the inscrutable brain was at its fateful work.

At last he uttered one word, ”Cipher.”

A sheet lay before him covered with broken words and phrases-seemingly without meaning-but the admiral knew the secret of the Spartan _scytale_, the ”cipher wood.” Forth from his casket came a number of rounded sticks of varying lengths. On one after another he wound the sheet spirally until at the fifth trial the scattered words came together. He read with ease.

Then Themistocles's brows grew closer than before. He muttered softly in his beard. But still he said nothing aloud. He read the cipher sheet through once, twice; it seemed thrice. Other sheets he fingered delicately, as though he feared the touch of venom. All without haste, but at the end, when Themistocles arose from his seat, the outlaw trembled.

Many things he had seen, but never a face so changed. The admiral was neither flushed nor pale. But ten years seemed added to those lines above his eyes. His cheeks were hollowed. Was it fancy that put the gray into his beard and hair? Slowly he rose; slowly he ordered the marine on guard outside the cabin to summon Simonides, Cimon, and all the officers of the flag-s.h.i.+p. They trooped hither and filled the narrow cabin-fifteen or more hale, handsome Athenians, intent on the orders of the admiral. Were they to dash at once for Samos and surprise the Persian? Or what other adventure waited? The breeze had died. The gray breast of the aegean rocked the _Nausicaa_ softly. The thranites of the upper oar bank were alone on the benches, and stroking the great trireme along to a singsong chant about Amphitrite and the Tritons. On the p.o.o.p above two sailors were grumbling lest the penteconter's people get all the booty of the _Bozra_.

Glaucon heard their grunts and complainings whilst he looked on Themistocles's awful face.

The officers ranged themselves and saluted stiffly. Themistocles stood before them, his hands closed over the packet. The first time he started to speak his lips closed desperately. The silence grew awkward. Then the admiral gave his head a toss, and drew his form together as a runner before a race.

”Democrates is a traitor. Unless Athena shows us mercy, h.e.l.las is lost.”

”Democrates is a traitor!”

The cry from the startled men rang through the s.h.i.+p. The rowers ceased their chant and their stroking. Themistocles beckoned angrily for silence.

”I did not call you down to wail and groan.” He never raised his voice; his calmness made him terrible. But now the questions broke loose as a flood.

”When? How? Declare.”

”Peace, men of Athens; you conquered the Persian at Salamis, conquer now yourselves. Harken to this cipher. Then to our task and prove our comrades did not die in vain.”

Yet despite him men wept on one another's shoulders as became true h.e.l.lenes, whilst Themistocles, whose inexorable face never relaxed, rewound the papyrus on the cipher stick and read in hard voice the words of doom.

”This is the letter secreted on the Carthaginian. The hand is Democrates's, the seals are his. Give ear.

”Democrates the Athenian to Tigranes, commander of the hosts of Xerxes on the coasts of Asia, greeting:-Understand, dear Persian, that Lycon and I as well as the other friends of the king among the h.e.l.lenes are prepared to bring all things to pa.s.s in a way right pleasing to your master. Even now I depart from Trzene to join the army of the allied h.e.l.lenes in Botia, and, the G.o.ds helping, we cannot fail. Lycon and I will contrive to separate the Athenians and Spartans from their other allies, to force them to give battle, and at the crisis cause the divisions under our personal commands to retire, breaking the phalanx and making Mardonius's victory certain.

”For your part, excellent Tigranes, you must avoid the h.e.l.lenic s.h.i.+ps at Delos and come back to Mardonius with your fleet ready to second him at once after his victory, which will be speedy; then with your aid he can readily turn the wall at the Isthmus. I send also letters written, as it were, in the hand of Themistocles. See that they fall into the hands of the other Greek admirals. They will breed more hurt amongst the h.e.l.lenes than you can accomplish with all your s.h.i.+ps. I send, likewise, lists of such Athenians and Spartans as are friendly to his Majesty, also memoranda of such secret plans of the Greeks as have come to my knowledge.

”From Trzene, given into the hands of Hiram on the second of Metageitnion, in the archons.h.i.+p of Xanthippus. _Chaire!_”

Themistocles ceased. No man spoke a word. It was as if a G.o.d had flung a bolt from heaven. What use to cry against it? Then, in an ominously low voice, Simonides asked a question.

”What are these letters which purport to come from your pen, Themistocles?”