VIII.
During the first few days after the unsuccessful attack Periphas, from fear of the Cychreans, concealed himself in a cave in Mt. Hymettus. It was known only by the herdsman who brought him his provisions, and the furniture consisted of some goat-skin coverlids, a hand-mill, a few clay vessels, and a stone hearth.
One sultry afternoon when the sun shone into the cavern Periphas was lying almost naked behind a block of stone at the entrance. Before him stood a youth with curling black hair and a deer-skin thrown around his loins. Nomion was the son of a neighboring chieftain, and had been Tydeus’ friend from boyhood.
Both looked grave, nay troubled; they were talking about the Cychreans and Tydeus’ murder.
“I believe you are mistaken,” said Nomion. “Lyrcus had nothing to do with the matter. Tydeus fell in a broil; his refusal to serve the Cychreans irritated them and made them furious. Each threw a stone and wounded him until the hapless youth drew his last breath. It was like a swarm of bees attacking a mule; no single bee can be said to kill it, each one merely gives its little sting—but the animal dies of them.”
Periphas shook his head.
“I know better,” he answered. “Lyrcus hates me and all my race. Did I not woo Byssa?”
“No, no,” persisted Nomion, who as the son of a chief used greater freedom of speech in addressing Periphas than most others would have ventured to do. “If Lyrcus was the murderer, how could he enter the places of assembly before the houses and move about among the other Cychreans? Who will associate with an assassin? Are not trials in all cases of murder, according to ancient custom, held under the open sky that neither accusers nor judges may be beneath the same roof with the slayer?”
“I know,” muttered Periphas with a sullen glance, “that a murderer is unclean.”
“Not merely unclean—but under a double ban. The victim’s and the wrath of the gods. Shall the murdered soul wander away from light and life without demanding a bloody vengeance? And the gods—to whom murder is an abomination—shall they forbear to practise righteous retribution?”
Periphas, averting his face, remained silent.
“Forgive me!” exclaimed Nomion, “I forgot that you yourself....”
“The soothsayer,”—said Periphas, lowering his voice, “yes, he fell before my spear. But he was rightly served. Did not the fool proclaim aloud, in the presence of all, what he ought to have confided to me alone?”
“Yet it was a murder.”
“No, my friend, believe me, it was something very different from their crime. Don’t you know, Nomion, that no Pelasgian owns larger herds than I—well! If I have offended the gods, no one has brought them more numerous and costly offerings. Besides, I went directly to Kranaai and caused Ariston to purify me, according to priestly fashion, from the stain of blood. As for the dead man’s family—I appeased them long ago with costly gifts.”
“But—the disposition?” asked Nomion, looking Periphas straight in the eye.
“The disposition!” replied Periphas, shunning Nomion’s glance. “Youth, you utter strange words. When neither gods nor men complain, who asks about the disposition?”
And Periphas burst into a strange, forced laugh, that echoed almost uncannily through the cave.
“Be that as it may,” said Nomion. “If the Cychreans suffer murderers to live among them unpunished, will not they, too, will not the whole nation be unclean and exposed to the wrath of the gods?”
“It seems so.”
“Yet the Cychreans remain victors, while we, Tydeus’ avengers, are scattered like chaff before the wind. What is the cause?”
“Perhaps their gods are stronger than ours.”
“The sea-nymph Melite stronger than Zeus Hypsistos! You cannot believe that.”
“Perhaps we ought to have waited for a lucky day.”
“No,” retorted Nomion, “I believe that Lyrcus conquered because he has done no evil. He is a warlike fellow and foremost in the fray, so he cannot content himself with carrying away goats, barley, figs, and honey. But he has never killed a man except in fair fight. Had he been present, Tydeus would never have been stoned.”
“You have a remarkably good opinion of Lyrcus,” said Periphas. “But why talk about this Cychrean continually? There are other chiefs in the country.... Well! We’ll see whether the gods will protect him another time.”
“Periphas! What are you planning?”
“Do you know the pretty bird whose name is Kitta? It loves its mate so dearly that it cannot live without it. Let the hen be caught in the nest by some simple snare, and the cock will fly after her of its own accord and allow itself to be captured.”
“In the name of the gods! Do I understand you? Do you mean to steal Byssa?”
“Doesn’t she seem to you worth having? Well, by Zeus,” continued Periphas, the blood mounting into his cheeks, “I would rather carry her away than goats, barley, figs, and honey.”
“Beware, Periphas! Don’t drive Lyrcus to frenzy. He will then be capable of anything.”
“Not when he is in my power.”