“Here, Son,” said Nikander. “Give him a drachma.”
The poor creature snatched the money and seeing the look of relenting in Nikander’s face, sprang up the hill with sudden life. He was quickly lost among the crags.
The incident soon got abroad in Delphi. The boys at school made a hero of Dryas. They had always liked him.
Nikander, however, could not help recurring to Dryas’s curious, passionate weeping. He told himself that it was natural. The young boy should be pitiful. But the weeping had not seemed to be pity. Something selfish, almost craven was in it. And a look in the slave boy’s face made Nikander think that the slave had done as much or more of the deed than Dryas himself.
Nikander pushed these thoughts from him and when Dryas’s praise came in from every side, Nikander gladly forgot them.
For from this time the Delphians began to take notice of Nikander’s younger son. His beauty was growing every day. He had a voice high, clear, unearthly sometimes, and he played the lyre with firm touch while he sang. He was only fourteen years old.
One day, as the priests broke up their council after the giving of the Oracle, the old Akeratus, president of the priests, detained Nikander. He told him that his boy Dryas had been chosen the “Laurel-Bearer” for the next Strepterion feast. It was the greatest honour the Delphians could give to a young Delphian boy. Then Nikander went home feeling that his cup of joy was full.
CHAPTER IX
LAUREL FROM TEMPÈ
Theria’s joy, too, was full. The tie between Dryas and herself was very strong and his happiness closely touched her.