“We are in dark days, Eëtíon. Perhaps not one of us will be alive to-morrow. Let us not grieve over what may not in any case come to pass.”
“The hope would be so much,” said Eëtíon with sudden tears. Eëtíon’s fortunate beauty made each emotion of his appealing, whether bowing the head in grief or lifting it with sudden smile. Nikander loved him for his grief and, forgetting his own bitter share in it, set about earnestly to calm him.
“My dear boy,” he said, “in the coming battle you will forget this love for a maid. It will be unimportant in the light of great deeds. Men love other men with such devotion and companioning but hardly a maid.”
“But this is Theria,” said Eëtíon childishly.
“Yes,” mused the father proudly. “It is Theria.”
“Do you know,” went on Eëtíon in a low voice, “I thought she was a goddess the first time I saw her. I really did. It was in the Precinct of Athena. I was weeping aloud with misery because my work of four years was brought to naught and I was pushed back into slavery, for I had been long in bondage. And Theria came leaping down the hill in the morning light. She spoke to me. (Oh, such wonderful kindness to which I had long been a stranger.) Then afterward, O Nikander, she saved me. Braving all sorts of punishment, she saved me. Could a man have done more than that? Is it any wonder that I love her?”
Nikander felt it his duty to dissuade the youth from a love so hopeless—but he suddenly had no word to say. That love seemed so sweet and right and pure. He was proud that this daughter of his had called it forth.
The youth went on:
“We of Argos are worshippers of Hera. There is a saying among us that the ‘Souls who follow Hera desire a love of royal quality.’ Hera cherishes the lawful union of man and woman.”