"This is the very path, sir," said the chief, "by which Ephialtes brought the Persians to take King Leonidas and his army in the rear. That villainous traitor was, I regret to say, a native of Malia, the only dishonest man that the place has ever produced. I myself have the honour of having been born there."
An hour's smart walking brought the party to a small grassy plateau. Here they left the path, and, making their way through a clump of ilex, reached the entrance to a cavern in the mountain side. The entrance was narrow, and so low that a man of even moderate stature had to stoop before he could pass under it; but the cavern was spacious and lofty.
"My men's quarters," said the chief, with a wave of the hand; "rather dark, as you see, but dry, and fairly warm. My own apartment is a little further this way."
Another doorway, not unlike that by which they had entered, led from the larger into a smaller cavern. This, as Cleanor observed, could be shut off by a thick door solidly backed with iron.
"I like to be by myself now and then," explained the chief. "Our friends, too, are sometimes a little boisterous in their mirth, and the noise interferes with my studies."
The arrangement, it occurred to Cleanor, served for protection as well as retirement. The smaller cave had also, he concluded from a ray of light which made its way through the wall, a separate exit.
It had been furnished with some attempt at comfort. There was a couch in one of the corners; in the middle, round a hearth on which a few sticks were smouldering, coverlets and skins were piled. A couple of hunting-spears, a bow, and a quiver hung on the walls, and a curtain could be drawn over the door that led into the outer cave.
"Welcome to my home!" said the chief; "a poor place; but better men have been worse lodged. If you have any money, you had better let me take care of it. My men are not bad fellows on the whole, but you must not trust them too far. They are common Phocians, you must know, not men of Malia."
Cleanor had again to make a virtue of necessity. He had taken the precaution of sending a remittance on to Pella, to await his arrival at that place, and carried about with him little more than what would be wanted on the journey. This—some twenty gold pieces—he had in a purse-girdle round his waist,[24] which he now produced and handed to the chief. The man examined it, not without first making an apology, and counted the coins. Cleanor fancied that his face fell somewhat at finding that they were so few. His manner, however, continued to be as gay and friendly as before, and the talk, which he poured forth in an unceasing stream, as intelligent as it was amusing.
"The sun must be nearly setting," he said, looking upwards at the aperture in the roof—long practice had enabled him to guess the time of day very accurately by the variation in the light—"and you must be ready by this time for dinner. 'Tis but a humble repast I can offer you, but you can understand that we have to rough it up here. My neighbours, however, are very kind, and we always have enough, though the quality now and then leaves something to be desired."