XII.
While Lyrcus allowed himself to be led by Bremon, Periphas was continuing his wild career. At the foot of a distant height of Hymettus he gave the chariot to a slave and ascended the mountain with Byssa, who had remained perfectly silent during the whole ride.
At the entrance of the cave Periphas cast a stolen glance at her. The young wife’s face was clouded and threatening; not only the expression of her features, but her bearing and movements showed that she was filled with burning wrath. She resembled at this moment an incensed swan, darting along with half-spread wings, every feather ruffled in rage. Periphas perceived that he must try to soothe her.
He led her into a room in the cave where a clay lamp was burning and on a large flat stone stood dishes containing barley bread, fruit, honey, and milk.
“Do not grieve, fair Byssa,” he said. “A man must secure himself against such a foe as Lyrcus....”
“By stealing women?” Byssa contemptuously interrupted. “Is that the custom among the Pelasgians? Lyrcus carried home neither maids nor matrons.”
“Perhaps so,” replied Periphas calmly. “But the Pelasgians have made war upon the Cychreans and were defeated. As one of the chiefs who took up arms, I have everything to fear. So I sought a hostage, and where could I find a better one than the woman who is most dear to Lyrcus?”
“Your tongue is smooth, Periphas! But I do not trust you.”
“What do you fear, Byssa? Hostages are sacred; you are as secure as if you were under a father’s roof.”
“And Lyrcus! Will he have no suspicion? Will he think I have been under a father’s roof?”
“You will tell him so, and he will believe you. The inside of the cave is yours; no one shall molest you. You will be compelled to stay here only a few days, until everything is arranged between the Pelasgians and Cychreans.”
Byssa gazed sullenly into vacancy.
“Beware, Periphas!” she said. “This will surely bring misfortune.”
“To you or to me?” asked Periphas.
“That I do not know,” replied Byssa. “But one thing I do know. It will cause bloodshed.”
Periphas shrugged his shoulders.
“Look,” he said, pointing to a bear-skin couch, “you can rest here in safety; you must be weary. May the gods grant you pleasant dreams—in the morning everything will seem brighter.”
With these words he left her, went to the outer part of the cavern, passed through the entrance, and walking several paces away clapped his hands.
There was a rustling sound among the huge piles of mouldering debris above the cavern. A dark figure clad in skins, with a huge staff in his hand, stood outlined against the grey evening sky. It was the herdsman who supplied the cave with provisions.
“Have you done what I ordered?” asked Periphas. “Have you put sentinels on both sides and brought the men?”
“When you sound the horn, Periphas, twenty Pelasgians will hasten to your aid.”
“Do they know Lyrcus, the Cychrean?”
“Not all of them, but some do.”
“Very well. When he comes, the men must hide until he is half-way between them. Then let him be surrounded. I will make the man rich who brings me Lyrcus alive or dead. Tell the warriors so.”
Periphas then entered the cave and lay down on the couch of skins flung behind the boulder projecting at the entrance. It was a still, star-lit evening, yet spite of the peace and silence without, a strange restlessness seized upon him. Sometimes he felt a presentiment of impending misfortune, at others he exulted in the thought of having Byssa in his power. Thanks to the green leaf he had held in his mouth when he carried her away, none of the Cychreans had recognized him. But so long as Lyrcus knew not where to turn he would not summon the warriors. He would pursue his quest alone and fall into the ambush. At the thought Periphas rubbed his hands and became absorbed in planning how he should best humiliate his captive.
The night was far advanced ere the Pelasgian leader fell asleep. A strange dream visited him. It seemed as if he were with Byssa—when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The soothsayer whom he had murdered stood before him, pale and rigid, with a dark blood-stain on his white robes. Periphas stretched out his hand to keep him off, touched his own body, felt with horror an icy, corpse-like chill, opened his eyes, and was broad awake.
As he rose he accidentally laid his hand on the boulder at the entrance. It was dank with the night-dew, and he again felt a chill.
“It was only the rock,” he muttered, with inexpressible relief.
The clear dawn brooded over the land like a soft grey gleam. The mountains were wrapped in clouds and vapor and the swallows were twittering. Periphas breathed the fresh morning air and felt strengthened and inspirited. His first thought was that in the cave, only a few paces from him, he had the fairest woman in the Cychrean city, the woman whom he had once wooed, and who had been given to another.
Doubtless she, like himself, had at last fallen asleep from weariness. He must go to her, see her.
With a slight shiver, caused by emotion more than by the chill air of the morning, he bound a goat-skin around his loins, buckled a belt about his waist, thrust his knife into it and with bare feet stole noiselessly into the cave.