“I remember only the silver shaft of Apollo. But this!—Why, Nikander, the god has actually driven the girl from his temple. It might even be dangerous to hold her there after this express command.”
“Do you think that?” queried Nikander eagerly. “Will you say that in the Council?”
“But suppose she is freed—what should then be done with her?” asked Timon.
But with this encouragement Nikander determined to apply formally to the Priests’ Council for her release.
Never in all his days would Nikander forget the bitter anxiety of that afternoon with the Council. Many strifes had he striven with that august body, strifes for the good name of Delphi, strifes for the honour and safety of Hellas, yet never one that had given him this suffocation at the thought of defeat.
Timon became his earnest helper and Nikander sorely needed help.
“Never before,” maintained the older priests, “never before had the Pythia been given back to her family or been given in marriage. It would cause a pestilence.”
But as the debate progressed Nikander gradually became aware of his own new power in the Council. For many months Nikander had been the sole one who had counselled resistance to the Persian. It was Nikander who had supplicated for the more hopeful oracles and received them. Suppose the more timid interpretations had prevailed, where would the Delphians now be?
Nikander had been right and his prayers had changed the mind of the god. Now Nikander was making a strange request. Might he not be right in this also? Surely Nikander would not ask this save in honest conviction. Had Nikander ever been selfish toward the shrine? Would he ask that his daughter be dismissed if it were likely to bring disaster? Did he not bring them now the god’s actual command: “Begone from my temple”?
Nikander saw friend after friend spring to his feet with arguments like these until his heart warmed and in a clear, impassioned speech he moved the Council to his side.