She bawled that much through the lattice before her husband and Bias dragged her back. Fortunately the street was empty.
“That I should see this! My own husband betraying the city! Aiding a traitor!” Then she began whimpering through her nose. “Mu! mu! leave the villain to his fate. Think of me if not of your own safety. Woe! when was a woman more misused?”
But here her lament ended, for Phormio, with the firmness of a man thoroughly determined, thrust a rag into her mouth and with Bias’s help bound her down upon the couch by means of a convenient fish-cord.
“I am grieved to stop your singing, blessed dear,” spoke the fishmonger, indulging in a rare outburst of sarcasm against his formidable helpmeet, “but we play a game with Fate to-night a little too even to allow unfair chances. Bias will watch you until I return, and then I can discover, philotata, [pg 148]whether your love for Athens is so great you must go to the Archon to denounce your husband.”
The Thracian promised to do his part. His affection for Democrates was clearly not the warmest. Lampaxo’s farewell, as Phormio guided his half-dazed companion into the street, was a futile struggle and a choking. The ways were empty and silent. Glaucon allowed himself to be led by the hand and did not speak. He hardly knew how or whither Phormio was taking him. Their road lay along the southern side of the Acropolis, past the tall columns of the unfinished Temple of Zeus, which reared to giant height in the white moonlight. This, as well as the overshadowing Rock itself, they left behind without incident. Phormio chose devious alleys, and they met neither Scythian constables nor bands of roisterers. Only once the two passed a house bright with lamps. Jovial guests celebrated a late wedding feast. Clearly the two heard the marriage hymn of Sappho.
“The bridegroom comes tall as Ares,
Ho, Hymenæus!
Taller than a mighty man,
Ho, Hymenæus!”
Glaucon stopped like one struck with an arrow.