Part 16 (1/2)
”Why, twice the Barbarian, she swears, has had an evening visitor-and he our dear Glaucon.”
”Impossible.”
”Of course. The good woman is mistaken. Still, question her. Pry into this Babylonian's doings. He may be selling more things than carpets. If he has corrupted any here in Athens,-by Pluto the Implacable, I will make them tell out the price!”
”I'll inquire at once.”
”Do so. The matter grows serious.”
Themistocles caught sight of one of the archons and hastened across the Agora to have a word with him. Democrates pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead, beaded with sudden sweat-drops. He knew-though Themistocles had said not a word-that his superior was beginning to distrust his efforts, and that Sicinnus was working independently. Democrates had great respect for the acuteness of that Asiatic. He was coming perilously near the truth already. If the Cyprian and Hiram were arrested, the latter at least would surely try to save his life by betraying their nocturnal visitor. To get the spy safely out of Athens would be the first step,-but not all.
Sicinnus once upon the scent would not readily drop it until he had discovered the emissary's confederate. And of the fate of that confederate Themistocles had just given a grim hint. There was one other solution possible. If Democrates could discover the confederate _himself_, Sicinnus would regard the matter as cleared up and drop all interest therein. All these possibilities raced through the orator's head, as does the past through one drowning. A sudden greeting startled him.
”A fair morning, Democrates.” It was Glaucon. He walked arm-in-arm with Cimon.
”A fair morning, indeed. Where are you going?”
”To the Peiraeus to inspect the new tackling of the _Nausicaa_. You will join us?”
”Unfortunately I argue a case before the King Archon.”
”Be as eloquent as in your last speech. Do you know, Cimon declares I am disloyal too, and that you will soon be prosecuting me?”
”Avert it, G.o.ds! What do you mean?”
”Why, he is sending a letter to Argos,” a.s.serted Cimon. ”Now I say Argos has Medized, therefore no good h.e.l.lene should correspond with a traitorous Argive.”
”Be jury on my treachery,” commanded Glaucon. ”Ageladas the master-sculptor sends me a bronze Perseus in honour of my victory. Shall I churlishly send him no thanks because he lives in Argos?”
” 'Not guilty' votes the jury; the white beans prevail. So the letter goes to-day?”
”To-morrow afternoon. You know Seuthes of Corinth-the bow-legged fellow with a big belly. He goes home to-morrow afternoon after seeing the procession and the sacrifice.”
”He goes by sea?” asked Democrates, casually.
”By land; no s.h.i.+p went to his liking. He will lie overnight at Eleusis.”
The friends went their ways. Democrates hardly saw or heard anything until he was in his own chambers. Three things were graven on his mind: Sicinnus was watching, the Babylonian was suspected, Glaucon was implicated and was sending a letter to Argos.
Bias the Thracian was discovered that afternoon by his master lurking in a corner of the chamber. Democrates seized a heavy dog-whip, lashed the boy unmercifully, then cast him out, threatening that eavesdropping would be rewarded by ”cutting into shoe soles.” Then the master resumed his feverish pacings and the nervous twisting of his fingers. Unfortunately, Bias felt certain the threat would never have been uttered unless the weightiest of matters had been on foot. As in all Greek dwellings, Democrates's rooms were divided not by doors but by hanging curtains, and Bias, letting curiosity master fear, ensconced himself again behind one of these and saw all his master's doings. What Democrates said and did, however, puzzled his good servant quite sufficiently.
Democrates had opened the privy cupboard, taken out one of the caskets and scattered its contents upon the table, then selected a papyrus, and seemed copying the writing thereon with extreme care. Next one of the clay seals came into play. Democrates was testing it upon wax. Then the orator rose, dashed the wax upon the floor, put his sandal thereon, tore the papyrus on which he wrote to bits. Again he paced restlessly, his hands clutching his hair, his forehead frowns and blackness, while Bias thought he heard him muttering as he walked:-
”O Zeus! O Apollo! O Athena! I cannot do this thing! Deliver me! Deliver!”
Then back to the table again, once more to pick up the mysterious clay, again to copy, to stamp on the wax, to fling down, mutilate, and destroy.
The pantomime was gone through three times. Bias could make nothing of it.
Since the day his parents-following the barbarous Thracian custom-had sold him into slavery and he had pa.s.sed into Democrates's service, the lad had never seen his master acting thus.