“Ah! sir,” cried the man, “we were helpless, we had not a sword between us. We hid ourselves, and the next morning took our master’s body and carried it to Timandra. She made a great funeral, spending upon it, poor thing, nearly every drachma she had. When we had seen the last of my dear master, the secretary said that he had friends at Tarsus, and set out to go there. I thought that I had best make my way to Smyrna. Thanks to your goodness, I shall now be able to get there, but I was very nearly dying of starvation. But what, if I may ask, are you thinking of doing?”
“That I can’t tell,” replied the Athenian; “as I told you, I was on my way to Alcibiades.”
“Well, sir, I can tell you this,” rejoined the stranger, “no friends of my master’s will be safe here. Pharnabazus, I feel sure, had no great love for him, notwithstanding all his politeness; as for the Spartans, they hated him; and I did hear that the people who are now in power at Athens had sent to say that peace could not last unless he were put out of the way. Yes, sir, if anyone recognizes that you are my master’s friend, you are a dead man.”
“Why,” said Callias, “I have made no secret of it. In Smyrna I spoke about him to the people with whom I was staying. No one said a word against him.”
“Very likely not,” replied the man, “for they thought that he was alive, and no one liked to have my master for an enemy. He had a wonderful way of making friends to have the upper hand and contriving that his adversaries should have the worst of it. But now that he is dead you will find things very different.”
“What is to be done?” asked the young Athenian.
“Can you trust your guide?”
“I know nothing of the man. I simply hired him because I was told that he was a fairly honest fellow, knew the country very well, and would not run away if a robber made his appearance.”
“Well, then get rid of him.”