Part 66 (1/2)
”The prisoner sleeps,” said a hoplite, ”in spite of his fetters.”
Themistocles set down the casket and carefully drew the tent-flap. With silent tread he approached the slumberer. The face was upturned; white it was, but it showed the same winsome features that had won the clappings a hundred times in the Pnyx. The sleep seemed heavy, dreamless.
Themistocles's own lips tightened as he stood in contemplation, then he bent to touch the other's shoulder.
”Democrates,”-no answer. ”Democrates,”-still silence. ”Democrates,”-a stirring, a clanking of metal. The eyes opened,-for one instant a smile.
”_Ei_, Themistocles, it is you?” to be succeeded by a flash of unspeakable horror. ”O Zeus, the gyves! That I should come to this!”
The prisoner rose to a sitting posture upon his truss of straw. His fettered hands seized his head.
”Peace,” ordered the admiral, gently. ”Do not rave. I have sent the sentries away. No one will hear us.”
Democrates grew calmer. ”You are merciful. You do not know how I was tempted. You will save me.”
”I will do all I can.” Themistocles's voice was solemn as an aeolian harp, but the prisoner caught at everything eagerly.
”Ah, you can do so much. Pausanias fought the battle, but they call you the true saviour of h.e.l.las. They will do anything you say.”
”I am glad.” Themistocles's face was impenetrable as the sphinx's.
Democrates seized the admiral's red chlamys with his fettered hands.
”You will save me! I will fly to Sicily, Carthage, the Tin Isles, as you wish. Have you forgotten our old-time friends.h.i.+p?”
”I loved you,” spoke the admiral, tremulously.
”Ah, recall that love to-night!”
”I do.”
”O piteous Zeus, why then is your face so awful? If you will aid me to escape-”
”I will aid you.”
”Blessings, blessings, but quick! I fear to be stoned to death by the soldiers in the morning. They threaten to crucify-”
”They shall not.”
”Blessings, blessings,-can I escape to-night?”
”Yes,” but Themistocles's tone made the prisoner's blood run chill. He cowered helplessly. The admiral stood, his own fine face covered with a mingling of pity, contempt, pain.
”Democrates, hearken,”-his voice was hard as flint. ”We have seized your camp chest, found the key to your ciphers, and know all your correspondence with Lycon. We have discovered your fearful power of forgery. Hermes the Trickster gave it you for your own destruction. We have brought Hiram hither from the s.h.i.+p. This night he has ridden the 'Little Horse.'(17) He has howled out everything. We have seized Bias and heard his story. There is nothing to conceal. From the beginning of your peculation of the public money, till the moment when, the prisoners say, you were in Mardonius's camp, all is known to us. You need not confess.
There is nothing worth confessing.”
”I am glad,”-great beads were on the prisoner's brow,-”but you do not realize the temptation. Have you never yourself been betwixt Scylla and Charybdis? Have I not vowed every false step should be the last? I fought against Lycon. I fought against Mardonius. They were too strong. Athena knoweth I did not crave the tyranny of Athens! It was not that which drove me to betray h.e.l.las.”
”I believe you. But why did you not trust me at the first?”