XXIII.
The sentinel at the door made way at a sign from Phanos, and Hipyllos hurried into the bleaching-room.
A suffocating odor of sulphur, mingled with a horrible smell of urine and soap, greeted him. A copper lamp was burning on a tripod placed near the wall, and he scanned the whole apartment with a single glance. At the back were five recesses in the wall containing reservoirs of water, where lay soaking the material to be stamped by the slaves on the morrow. In the middle of the workshop stood a large stone table, on which lay some batlets. On the left, over a pole under the ceiling, hung a purple robe, in whose lower folded part was flung an iron teasel. Behind this article of clothing one could see the drying-room, where Hipyllos noticed hundreds of garments hanging on long poles. He was going to creep under them, when he heard a smothered sound from the opposite direction. Here, ranged along the wall, stood a number of wicker baskets, the height of a man, which resembled hen-coops. Clothes were spread over five or six where, as the vapor in the room showed, sulphur had been recently lighted to give them the requisite whiteness. From one of the centre ones issued a strange stifled moaning.
“I have him!” murmured Hipyllos smiling, as he took hold of the handle on top shaped like an owl, the sacred bird of Athens. When he had removed the basket, Acestor sat crouching before him with half-closed eyes, panting and groaning, almost fainting. The sulphur under the clothes had nearly smothered him, and Hipyllos found it difficult to lift him upon his legs.
But how entirely transformed was the stately Acestor! A couple of small metal jars filled with powdered sulphur had been placed under the basket, ready for the next day’s bleaching. In his confusion and terror Acestor had overturned them and, as he had afterwards pressed his hands on his head, he had filled his hair, eye-brows, and beard with sulphur, besides yellow spots on his nose, forehead, and cheeks. He had no sooner taken a few long breaths when he began to sneeze as though his head would burst. He seemed to be completely stupefied; his limbs tottered under him and he allowed himself to be led like a child.
Without wasting a word upon him, Hipyllos brought him before the waiting group.
At sight of this pitiful figure all burst into a shout of laughter; even the slaves mounting guard laughed till the spears shook in their hands.
“Why, why,” said Phanos, “is this the hero who banishes officials and erects pillars of infamy? Who would believe it? Does he look like a murderer?”
A fresh burst of laughter greeted the words.
“But—dangerous or not,” Phanos continued, “he has committed a crime and deserves punishment.”
“What has he done?” asked Xenocles.
“He is a spurious citizen. His father’s name cannot be found in the temple of Apollo Patrous.”
Acestor raised his head and fixed his eyes on Phanos with a venomous glance.
“You are mistaken,” he said. “It can be found there.”
“Where?”
“By the side of your father’s name.”
Phanos recoiled a step as though struck by an invisible shaft; but the next moment the veins in his temples swelled, and his eyes flashed.
“Wretch!” he exclaimed, his lips quivering with indignation. “My father’s name is not to be found in the temple—he was, as every one knows, a freedman. Nevertheless, my right to citizenship is a legal one, bestowed for services rendered to the state. Note this, Gobryas, son of Tisamenos.”
These words fell upon Acestor like a thunder-bolt. At hearing his name, his real name, which he had believed concealed from every one, he perceived that all was discovered.
Throwing himself at Phanos’ feet, he raised his arms submissively.
“Mercy!” he murmured, “mercy!”
“Do you know the dungeons in the cliff?” asked Phanos sternly.
Acestor made a sign of assent.
“Well! Sthenelus can tell you what rumor says of them.”
Merry Sthenelus limped a few steps nearer, cleared his throat, and answered in a sepulchral voice:
“Rumor says that prisoners walk into them, but are carried out, feet foremost.”
Acestor kissed the edge of Phanos’ robe.
“Mercy!” he cried. “Mercy! Forgive my evil speech.”
“Spare him,” said Xenocles.
“Let him run,” added Thuphrastos.
“Well then,” replied Phanos, “you boasted of your travels, Acestor. You must journey farther still. If you don’t want to have your hair clipped and become a slave for having your name spuriously inserted on the citizens’ list, you must leave Athens before to-morrow noon.”
Acestor bowed his head under Phanos’ hand in token of submission.
“Milon!” shouted Phanos.
The officer of the city-watch, who was still mounting guard inside the curtain, came forward.
“Follow this man,” said Phanos, pointing to Acestor, “and don’t lose sight of him. When he has quitted Athens, report to me.”
Milon grasped Acestor’s arm and went away with him.
Xenocles gazed after them.
“By Zeus!” he exclaimed, “believe me or not as you choose, but I’ve always had a presentiment that the eagle might become a crow.”
“And I,” replied Thuphrastos, “have always seen the crow, never the eagle.”
When, soon after, the house was cleared of the city-watch, the friends looked at each other a moment in silence.
“Who has done this?” asked Lamon.
Thuphrastos shrugged his shoulders.
“Is there any way of knowing who has denounced an hetaeria?” he muttered.
“It was probably Megas,” whispered Lysiteles in his faint, cracked voice.
“No,” replied Sthenelus positively, “had it been he, by Zeus, he would have been with them. Megas would have wanted to enjoy the sight of our faces when we were surprised. No, it was not he. I think it was Cephidosemos, who watched Xenocles and myself from behind the column. As an informer he is afraid of drawing hatred on his head, so he keeps away.”
Thuphrastos passed his hand thoughtfully over his beard.
“What offices can Phanos bestow upon us?” he asked.
“I have heard,” answered Lamon, “that a tax-collector is to be sent to some of the rebellious cities. He will have hundreds of soldiers with him. It would not surprise me, Thuphrastos, if you should be appointed to that office.”
“Well!” exclaimed the old captain, “I shall rely on Phanos’ words. He never forgets.”
“We will all trust him!” echoed the group in chorus.
“But,” continued Thuphrastos, turning to Xenocles, “however we may fare, there is one person who will lose....”
“Whom do you mean?”
“By Zeus, your daughter! Was she not betrothed to Acestor, and was not the wedding to have taken place this very day?”
Xenocles made a repellent gesture.
“Do not speak of it!” he cried.
“Well then,” replied Thuphrastos, “I’ll give you a son-in-law and, by the gods, a better one than that chatterer.”
Xenocles raised his head with a questioning glance.
“The man I shall bring you is not far off,” continued Thuphrastos. “Here you see Hipyllos! He loves the maiden. We know of him—what nobody knew about that shrieker—that he is rich. He showed his courage at the battle of Antirrhium—he has archons in his family. What more can you desire?”
“Nothing, by Zeus!” answered Xenocles laughing and grasping the young man’s hand, “what objection should I have to a son-in-law who will make me a family connection of Lacrateides?”
Hipyllos pressed Xenocles’ hand in both his own.
“Father!” he cried warmly, “give me your daughter Clytie! Neither you nor she shall repent it—that I swear by all the gods.”
Soon after Hipyllos stole out into the peristyle and called his slave.
“Myrmex,” he whispered, “hurry down to the house of Sauros, the armorer. Ask for Ninus, the priestess of Sabazius, and let her see that the young lady and her slave return home at once without being seen. Look, here is money.”
When Hipyllos returned, the last discussion among the hetaeria took place. It lasted an hour; finally the members of the society released one another from their oaths and divided the money which had been contributed.
As soon as possible Hipyllos slipped away, without taking leave of any one except Lamon, the owner of the house.