“Give me a torch. I return in a moment.”
He went up the stair alone to the upper story, to the chambers of the women. Confusion here also,—the more valuable possessions gone, but much remaining. In one [pg 274]corner stood the loom and stretched upon it the half-made web of a shawl. He could trace the pattern clearly wrought in bright wools,—Ariadne sitting desolate awaiting the returning of Theseus. Would the wife or the betrothed of Democrates busy herself with that, whatever the griefs in her heart? Glaucon’s temples now were throbbing as if to burst.
A second room, and more littered confusion, but in one corner stood a bronze statue,—Apollo bending his bow against the Achæans,—which Glaucon had given to Hermione. At the foot of the statue hung a wreath of purple asters, dead and dry, but he plucked it asunder and set many blossoms in his breast.
A third room, and almost empty. He was moving back in disappointment, when the torch-light shook over something that swung betwixt two beams,—a wicker cradle. The woollen swaddling bands were still in it. One could see the spot on the little pillow with the impress of the tiny head. Glaucon almost dropped the torch. He pressed his hand to his brow.
“Zeus pity me!” he groaned, “preserve my reason. How can I serve Hellas and those I love if thou strikest me mad?”
With feverish anxiety he sent his eyes around that chamber. His search was not in vain. He almost trampled upon the thing that lay at his feet,—a wooden rattle, the toy older than the Egyptian pyramids. He seized it, shook it as a warrior his sword. He scanned it eagerly. Upon the handle were letters carved, but there was a mist before his eyes which took long to pass away. Then he read the rude inscription: “ΦΟΙΝΙΞ : ΥΙΟΣ : ΓΛΑΥΚΟΝΤΟΣ.” “Phœnix the son of Glaucon.” His child. He was the father of a fair son. His wife, he was sure thereof, had not yet been given to Democrates.
Overcome by a thousand emotions, he flung himself upon a chest and pressed the homely toy many times to his lips.
* * * * * * *
After a long interval he recovered himself enough to go down to the eunuchs, who were misdoubting his long absence.
“Persian,” he said to Mardonius, when he was again at the bow-bearer’s tents, “either suffer me to go back to my people right soon or put me to death. My wife has borne me a son. My place is where I can defend him.”