Very skilfully Nikander quieted him, urging upon him kindness and wisdom of the Oracle, persuading him to speak. It was a terrible tale of this man Corobios and his friend Pythias—one of those Greek friendships so seriously considered that marriage was not allowed between the children of the two.
“We were on a journey,” said Corobios. “Five robbers leaped from ambush upon Pythias. It was him they were after, not me. I whipped out my sword and struck at one of them. And just at that moment Pythias was thrown in the struggle straight under my blade. It cut him to the bone. Oh, if he had only lived to exculpate me! If he had only spoken some word. But there was no time. I saw only his eyes raised to me in agony, in reproach. O priest—in terrible reproach. Ah, I see them now! Wherever I go I see them! The Eumenides are coming upon me. To my children’s children will the curse run unless Apollo will clean me.”
How Theria loved her father as he leaned toward the man laying his hand upon the shaking shoulder, fearless of the terrible curse which could run so quickly from man to man.
“The Son of Leto will hear you,” Nikander said. “Our god is pitiful of those whose hearts are clean. Do not fear. To-morrow you shall consult the god. I shall see that you go in first of them all to the Oracle. Your case is needy.”
The interview was long. For as the man grew quieter, Nikander did not fail to sound him as to his attitude in the coming war. Every pilgrim was so tested by Nikander. Thus Nikander learned the public mind.
At Corobios’s departure Nikander wandered back to where Theria sat. He was quite unaware that he was seeking his daughter again.
Theria ran toward him with overflowing eyes.
“Oh the poor man, the poor man! Father, surely the Oracle will help him—it must help him!”
“The poor man, hey! What do you know about the poor man? Theria, I will not have you listening from corners—do you heed me?”