“Did Democrates?”
“Absurd again, still—”
“Do you not see, dearest outlaw,” said Themistocles, mildly, “until you can lay that letter on some other man’s shoulders, I cannot answer, ‘I believe you’?”
“I did not ask that. I have a simpler request. Will you let me serve Hellas?”
“How do I know you are not a spy sent from Mardonius?”
“Because too many deserters and talebearers are flying to Xerxes now to require that I thrust my head in the Hydra’s jaws. You know surely that.”
Themistocles raised his eyebrows.
“There’s truth said there, Simonides. What do you think?” The last question was to the poet.
“That this Glaucon, whatever his guilt a year ago, comes to-night in good faith.”
“Euge! that’s easily said. But what if he betrays us again?”