“To speak frankly, I like Justinian.”
“In spite of his Punic faith?”
“As for that,” replied Maurice, coloring a little, “necessity knows no law; and Caliphronas is such a consummate scoundrel, that I can hardly blame Justinian for trying to beat him with his own weapons.”
“Justinian is a serpent of wisdom,” said the poet reflectively, taking off his sombrero. “You can have no idea how dexterously he manages these slippery Greeks. They have a wholesome respect for him, as they well may have, seeing that not one of them has ever yet had the better of the King of Melnos.”
“You used to speak bitterly of Justinian yourself, Crispin. Are your opinions changed?”
“Yes; I must admit they have changed, and for the better. What you told me the other day about Justinian desiring me for his successor has opened my eyes. It was a fear of losing me that made him refuse to tell me my real name, for he thought I would forsake him and go back to my kinsfolk.”
“Well, you have certainly forsaken him.”
“Yes; but I don’t think he regrets it, as he sees I am not made of the stuff necessary to rule this colony of serpents; so now he has no further reason to keep me in the dark, and will, I feel sure, tell me what I wish to know before we leave Melnos.”
“But you said Justinian thought you were not brave enough.”
“So he did! so he does! But I fancy I am indebted to my dear friend the Count for that. In all our expeditions with Alcibiades, Justinian was absent, so he could not have personally seen me fighting, and I can only think that Caliphronas, to oust me out of the possible throne, told this about me.”