Themistocles’s head went down between his hands; at last he lifted it and gazed the deserter in the face.
“Now, son of Conon, do you still persist that you are innocent? Do you repeat those oaths you swore at Colonus?”
“All. I did not write that letter.”
“Who did, then?”
“A malignant god, I said. I will say it again.”
Themistocles shook his head.
“Gods take human agencies to ruin a man in these days, even Hermes the Trickster. Again I say, who wrote that letter?”
“Athena knows.”
“And unfortunately her Ladyship the Goddess will not tell,” cried the admiral, blasphemously. “Let us fall back on easier questions. Did I write it?”
“Absurd.”