Part 66 (2/2)
”I hardly understand.”
”When first your need of money drove you to crime, why did you not come to me? You knew I loved you. You knew I looked on you as my political son and heir in the great work of making Athens the light of h.e.l.las. I would have given you the gold,-yes, fifty talents.”
”_Ai, ai_, if I had only dared! I thought of it. I was afraid.”
”Right.” Themistocles's lip was curling. ”You are more coward than knave or traitor. Phobos, Black Fear, has been your leading G.o.d, not Hermes. And now-”
”But you have promised I shall escape.”
”You shall.”
”To-night? What is that you have?” Themistocles was opening the casket.
”The papers seized in your chest. They implicate many n.o.ble h.e.l.lenes in Corinth, Sicyon, Sparta. Behold-” Themistocles held one papyrus after another in the torch-flame,-”here is crumbling to ashes the evidence that would destroy them all as Medizers. Mardonius is dead. Let the war die with him. h.e.l.las is safe.”
”Blessings, blessings! Help me to escape. You have a sword. Pry off these gyves. How easy for you to let me fly!”
”Wait!” The admiral's peremptory voice silenced the prisoner. Themistocles finished his task. Suddenly, however, Democrates howled with animal fear.
”What are you taking now-a goblet?”
”Wait.” Themistocles was indeed holding a silver cup and flask. ”Have I not said you should escape this captivity-to-night?”
”Be quick, then, the night wanes fast.”
The admiral strode over beside the creature who plucked at his hem.
”Give ear again, Democrates. Your crimes against Athens and h.e.l.las were wrought under sore temptation. The money you stole from the public chest, if not returned already, I will myself make good. So much is forgiven.”
”You are a true friend, Themistocles.” The prisoner's voice was husky, but the admiral's eyes flashed like flint-stones struck by the steel.
”Friend!” he echoed. ”Yes, by Zeus Orcios, guardian of oaths and friends.h.i.+p, you had a friend. Where is he now?”
Democrates lay on the turf floor of the tent, not even groaning.
”You had a friend,”-the admiral's intensity was awful. ”You blasted his good name, you sought his life, you sought his wife, you broke every bond, human or divine, to destroy him. At last, to silence conscience' sting, you thought you did a deed of mercy in sending him in captivity to a death in life. Fool! Nemesis is not mocked. Glaucon has lain at death's door. He has saved h.e.l.las, but at a price. The surgeons say he will live, but that his foot is crippled. Glaucon can never run again. You have brought him misery. You have brought anguish to Hermione, the n.o.blest woman in h.e.l.las, whom you-ah! mockery-professed to hold in love! You have done worse than murder. Yet I have promised you shall escape this night. Rise up.”
Democrates staggered to his feet clumsily, only half knowing what he did.
Themistocles was extending the silver cup. ”Escape. Drink!”
”What is this cup?” The prisoner had turned gray.
”Hemlock, coward! Did you not bid Glaucon to take his life that night in Colonus? The death you proffered him in his innocency I proffer you now in your guilt. Drink!”
”You have called me friend. You have said you loved me. I dare not die. A little time! Pity! Mercy! What G.o.d can I invoke?”
”None. Cerberus himself would not hearken to such as you. Drink.”
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