And many a housewife, as she rewarded the singers, dropped a silent tear, wondering whether another spring would see the innocents anywhere save in a Persian slave-pen, or, better fate, in Orchus.
Yet to one woman that spring there came consolation. On Hermippus’s door hung a glad olive wreath. Hermione had borne a son. “The fairest babe she had ever seen,” cried the midwife. “Phœnix,” the mother called him, “for in him shall Glaucon the Beautiful live again.” Democrates sent a runner every day to Eleusis to inquire for Hermione until all danger was passed. On the “name-day,” ten days [pg 201]after the birth, he was absent from the gathering of friends and kinsmen, but sent a valuable statuette to Hermione, who left it, however, to her father to thank him.
The day after Phœnix was born old Conon, Glaucon’s father, died. The old man had never recovered from the blow given by the dishonourable death of the son with whom he had so lately quarrelled. He left a great landed estate at Marathon to his new-born grandson. The exact value thereof Democrates inquired into sharply, and when a distant cousin talked of contesting the will, the orator announced he would defend the infant’s rights. The would-be plaintiff withdrew at once, not anxious to cross swords with this favourite of the juries, and everybody said that Democrates was showing a most scrupulous regard for his unfortunate friend’s memory.
Indeed, seemingly, Democrates ought to have been the happiest man in Athens. He had been elected “strategus,” to serve on the board of generals along with Themistocles. He had plenty of money, and gave great banquets to this or that group of prominent citizens. During the winter he had asked Hermippus for his daughter in marriage. The Eumolpid told him that since Glaucon’s fearful end, he was welcome as a son-in-law. Still he could not conceal that Hermione never spoke of him save in hate, and in view of her then delicate condition it was well not to press the matter. The orator had seemed well content. “Woman’s fantasies would wear away in time.” But the rumour of this negotiation, outrunning truth, grew into the lying report of an absolute betrothal,—the report which was to drift to Asia and turn Glaucon’s heart to stone, gossip having always wrought more harm than malignant lying.
Yet flies were in Democrates’s sweet ointment. He knew Themistocles hardly trusted him as frankly as of yore. [pg 202]Little Simonides, a man of wide influence and keen insight, treated him very coldly. Cimon had cooled also. But worse than all was a haunting dread. Democrates knew, if hardly another in Hellas, that the Cyprian—in other words Mardonius—was safe in Asia, and likewise that he had fled on the Solon. Mardonius, then, had escaped the storm. What if the same miracle had saved the outlaw? What if the dead should awake? The chimera haunted Democrates night and day.
Still he was beginning to shake off his terrors. He believed he had washed his hands fairly clean of his treason, even if the water had cost his soul. He joined with all his energies in seconding Themistocles. His voice was loudest at the Pnyx, counselling resistance. He went on successful embassies to Sicyon and Ægina to get pledges of alliance. In the summer he did his uttermost to prepare the army which Themistocles and Evænetus the Spartan led to defend the pass of Tempē. The expedition sailed amid high hopes for a noble defence of Hellas. Democrates was proud and sanguine. Then, like a thunderbolt, there came one night a knock at his door. Bias led to his master no less a visitor than the sleek and smiling Phœnician—Hiram.
The orator tried to cover his terrors by windy bluster. He broke in before the Oriental could finish his elaborate salaam.
“Of all the harpies and gorgons you are the least welcome. Were you not warned when you fled Athens for Argos never to show your face in Attica again?”
“Your Excellency said so,” was the bland reply.
“Admirably you obey it. It remains for me to reward the obedience. Bias, go to the street; summon two Scythian watchmen.”