“No it does not appear strange to me, for I have often wondered at the petty jealousies existing between the gods and even between them and mortals,” answered the Persian.
“But,” said Pasicles earnestly, “the envy of the gods is just and divine. Have you never noticed that if a mortal rises to too great heights here below, some god will surely cause his downfall?”
“That, my friend,” said Zopyrus, seriously interested, “is not the envy of the gods, but the natural result of arrogance and pride.”
“As I can well testify,” said Cimon sadly, “for was not my father Miltiades, the greatest man in all Greece after Marathon? And did he not at the very summit of his glory, stoop to avenge some petty wrong and thus die an ignoble death? It seems that with complete success, passes that good judgment which is ever present as we strive to attain some worthy end.”
“The fate of your hapless parent,” said Pasicles, “should prove a warning, but alas, man is little content to profit by the sad experiences of his forefathers. Each one must learn for himself in the school of life, and many there be who, in the realization of success, do not lose their power of judgment, and such as these are partially rewarded by the gods here on earth.”
“What do you think of our statesman, Themistocles?” asked Polygnotus. “Is he not of the type likely to lose his head over his popularity, for truly one must admit his advice about Salamis was a turning point in our affairs with Persia.”
“In truth,” replied Pasicles, “I like not this blustering statesman any too well. My sympathies have always been with his rival, the just Aristides whose policies are not for the purpose of display, and whose reserved manner has won the confidence of the refined, thinking people.”
“Themistocles has the interest of Athens truly at heart, and the people have just awakened to a realization of this,” said another voice from the doorway.
Zopyrus looked up and saw a stranger, to him at least, whose gaze after it had fallen upon each of his three companions, rested in final friendly curiosity upon him. His waving hair and short beard of rich chestnut brown framed a face of surprising manly beauty, the face of a man about the age of Pasicles. His forehead was smooth and broad, the brows rather prominent, the eyes meditative, but containing indications of a hidden fire which might leap forth were their owner challenged to uphold a conviction.
“Welcome into our midst, Aeschylus,” exclaimed Pasicles rising and extending his hands to the newcomer. “We will not continue to argue about Themistocles and Aristides as we have been wont to do. You are acquainted with the soldier and the artist, are you not, but here is a stranger to you I am sure, Zopyrus who fought bravely at Platæa.”