“And why not?” replied Phorion gravely. “Of what consequence here is the mere tie of blood? Nothing is needed except a son’s affection. Yes,” he added warmly, “among those who have known Simonides in his days of happiness, why should there not be one person that would take pleasure in coming to the sick man’s help and making amends for the wrong others have done him?”
Opasion thrust his foxy face from behind one of the pillars, and noticing that the conversation had almost ceased, made a sign to the young girls.
The flute-player began a lively tune; the juggler threw off her shabby upper-robe and took from the box she used as a foot-stool nine short swords whose handles ended in a sharp point. These swords she stuck firmly into the cracks between the flag-stones, placing them in two rows, all with their keen two-edged blades in the air. Then she stepped between them and, after straightening her short breeches a little, walked on her hands, to the music of the flute, between the weapons, then rising turned somersaults over them so swiftly that the eye could scarcely follow the movements of her slender, pliant body.
This was the dangerous sword-dance, always greatly admired.
The young men clapped their hands and shouted their plaudits.
“What ought not a man to be able to accomplish,” exclaimed Deinocrates, “when a woman can learn to leap so boldly between swords?”
Aristeides had not watched this scene; his eyes were fixed on Lycon. The latter had risen. He was a little paler than usual and stood gazing into vacancy with a strange look, as if he saw something far, far away. Something extraordinary seemed to be occupying his thoughts, and he repeatedly passed his huge hand over his face.
Then, apparently by chance, he approached Phorion. “I’m going to Thessaly in a few days,” he said in a tone which he endeavored to make as careless as possible, “and shall probably visit Methone. If you wish, Phorion I will carry your regards to Simonides.”
“Do so, and if you can, be his guest for a short time. Perhaps there is reason to report the servants’ conduct to the magistrates. His daughter Myrtale, according to his own account, is a child of seventeen who cannot rule slaves. But one thing you must know in advance—the door-keeper turns all strangers away; it is not easy to get into the house.”
“I shall get in,” said Lycon.