“Ay, murdered!” repeated Alcmaeon.
“But who would wish him harm?” she asked sorrowfully.
“Have I not always said there might be danger in knowing a secret? Woe to him who knows a secret in that den of murderers! Gannon has learned one. This secret has been one that even prison walls could not keep quiet. Death was the only way to silence him,” groaned Alcmaeon.
“O Alcmaeon! Woe is on our house!” cried Hera.
“Ay, Hera. Gannon did not fall; he was thrown. Mark thou, Hera, ’twas a crime, a crime! O Zeus and ye other eternal gods, avenge this dastardly deed!” he called to heaven.
“A curse is upon Greece and her people,” said Hera.
“Ay, a curse is upon us, O Hera,” added Alcmaeon. “And how can a schoolmaster contend against such men? Ah, we must live silently. We must bow our heads without raising a revengeful hand. Oh! is this not worse than slavery?” he cried.
“Ah, Alcmaeon! Oh that we might have had some word from him, some last word that we could forever remember!” she said, weeping.
“No doubt the dear lad tried to send us word, but he could not.”
Alcmaeon now approached the table. He drew away entirely the cloth that covered the dead body of his son. He looked lovingly into Gannon’s face. His eyes began to float in tears as the memories of his dear boy surged through his mind; he completely broke down and sobbed like a child.