“I will force my daughter in no way!” he roared fiercely. “I forbade you to think of Helena as a bride, but, provided you brought Roylands here, I gave you permission to woo her. As to forcing her into a marriage with you, there was no question of such a thing.”
“I thought there was,” retorted the Greek, who was white with rage.
“You put your own base construction on my motives. How dare you question me, Andros! Am I master here, or are you? Helena is free to marry you if she wishes; but, as far as I am concerned, I would rather you were drowned in the sea than become my son-in-law.”
The Count went alternately red and white as Justinian spoke, and when the speech was ended tried to answer, but his rage was such that he could say nothing, so, with a choking cry of anger, he turned on his heel and darted out of the court; while the King, much agitated, walked up and down hurriedly, his white robe sweeping the pavement.
“What does the boy mean?” he muttered angrily. “I do not like these veiled threats. Melnos is well defended, but I mistrust Andros—he is too much a friend of that rascal Alcibiades. Bah! I have no fear—treachery for treachery!—and if Andros dares”—
He paused abruptly, and, raising his hands, shook them impotently at the sky, then resumed his seat with a frown, which boded ill for Caliphronas in the event of any double dealing on his part being discovered. A peacock came walking proudly along the court, with his splendid tail erect, shining like some rich product of the Eastern loom, with its manifold colors, fantastic moons, and iridescent sheen, which flashed gloriously in the sunshine. Evidently irritated at not being noticed, the vain bird uttered a discordant shriek, which had the effect of making his master look up suddenly.
“Ha, Argos!” he said, with a sardonic smile; “you are like Andros, my friend, fine to look at and nothing else. But it would be as easy to wring your neck, with all your bravery, as it would that of my handsome scamp yonder.”
The bird strutted proudly along, the feathers of its neck glistening with every movement of its head.
“You have many eyes, my Argos,” resumed Justinian, after a pause, “but your human prototype has none at all. He sees no farther than his own straight nose, else he would be more cautious in his deeds, and less daring in his words. It looks as if he were going to dispute my will; well, he can do so, and we will see who will come off best—Andros or Justinian.”
At this moment Maurice and the poet entered the court, whereupon Argos fled in dismay.