"I don't know," the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. "They say these Macedonians are wonderful fighters, and I am not sure, after all, that I want to see them beaten. Blood is thicker than water, and this is a Greek city, when all is said, even though it pays tribute to Darius. I can't see how we should be worse off under Alexander than we are now. The Persians are robbers, and my grandfather was a Bœotian."
"Would you have the city surrender?" Mena demanded, in affected surprise.
"No, of course not," the shopkeeper said hastily, taking his cue from his customer, after the manner of his kind. "No, I would never surrender, for our walls are so strong and high that the Macedonians will never get through them; but we might make terms," he added cautiously.
His embarrassment was relieved by a boy who came to tell him that two strangers who had just entered the shop desired to speak with him. He excused himself to the Egyptian, whose sharp eyes followed him as he went to obey the summons. He could not suppress a start of surprise when he saw who had sent it. The two men had taken their places at a remote table, evidently not wishing to be remarked. They wore the garb of light-armed foot-soldiers and their accoutrement seemed much the worse for rough usage. One of them was of great size and strength, with blue eyes and yellow hair which curled about his temples. The other was smaller and more delicate in appearance. The cunning Egyptian recognized them in an instant. They were Clearchus and Chares.
Mena knew the two young men had set out with the army of Alexander, and that they must have had some purpose in coming to Halicarnassus. Either they had found some clew, he thought, to Artemisia's hiding place, or they had been sent forward from the army as spies. He gradually shifted his position so that he might watch their conversation with the host without danger of being recognized. Their talk lasted long enough for Chares to drain a huge measure of wine, after which the keeper of the shop bowed them out and returned to Mena.
"They were two Athenians," he said. "They wanted to know where Iphicrates lives."
"Who is Iphicrates?" Mena asked innocently.
"He is an old rascal who makes his living out of the necessities of others," the shopkeeper replied. "I dare say they want to borrow money from him. They will have to pay well for it!"
"Did they say they wanted money?" queried Mena.
"No, they did not say why they wished to see him," was the reply.