“You are from Athens, beautiful Hellene,” spoke Xerxes, still admiring the stranger. “I will question you. Let Mardonius interpret.”
“I have learned Persian, great sir,” interposed Glaucon, never waiting for the bow-bearer.
“You have done well,” rejoined the smiling monarch; “yet better had you learned our Aryan manners of courtliness. No matter—you will learn them likewise in good time. Now tell me your name and parentage.”
“I am Glaucon, son of Conon, of the house of the Alcmæonidæ.”
“Great nobles, Omnipotence,” interposed Mardonius, “so far as nobility can be reckoned among the Greeks.”
“I have yet to learn their genealogies,” remarked Xerxes, dryly; then he turned back to Glaucon. “And do your parents yet live, and have you any brethren?” The question was a natural one for an Oriental. Glaucon’s answer came with increased pride.
“I am a child of my parent’s old age. My mother is dead. My father is feeble. I have no brethren. Two older brothers I had. One fell here at Sardis, when we Athenians sacked the city. One fell victorious at Marathon, while he burned a Persian ship. Therefore I am not ashamed of their fates.”
“Your tongue is bold, Hellene,” said the good-natured king; “you are but a lame courtier. No matter. Tell me, nevertheless, why you churlishly refuse to do me reverence. Do you set yourself above all these princes of the Persians who bow before me?”
“Not so, great sir. But I was born at Athens, not at Susa. We Hellenes pray standing even to Zeus, stretching forth our hands and looking upward. Can I honour the lord of all the satrapies above the highest god?”
“A nimble tongue you have, Athenian, though an unbending neck.” Xerxes sat and stroked his beard, pleased at the frank reply. “Mardonius has told how you saved his and my sister’s lives, and that you are an outlaw from Athens.”