Democrates had prospered. He had been reëlected strategus. If Themistocles no longer trusted him quite so freely as once, Aristeides, restored now to much of his former power, gave him full confidence. Democrates found constant and honourable employment through the winter in the endless negotiations at Sparta, at Corinth, and elsewhere, while the jealous Greek states wrangled and intrigued, more to humiliate some rival than to advance the safety of Hellas. But amongst all the patriot chiefs none seemed more devoted to the common weal of Hellas than the Athenian orator.
Hermippus at least was convinced of this. The Eleusinian had settled at Trœzene on the Argive coast, a hospitable city that received many an outcast Athenian. He found his [pg 334]daughter’s resistance to another marriage increasingly unreasonable. Was not Glaucon dead for more than a year? Ought not any woman to bless Hera who gave her so noble, so eloquent, a husband as Democrates—pious, rich, trusted by the greatest, and with the best of worldly prospects?
“If you truly desire any other worthy man, makaira,” said Hermippus, once, “you shall not find me obstinate. Can a loving father say more? But if you are simply resolved never to marry, I will give you to him despite your will. A senseless whim must not blast your highest happiness.”
“He ruined Glaucon,” said Hermione, tearfully.
“At least,” returned Lysistra, who like many good women could say exceeding cruel things, “he has never been a traitor to his country.”
Hermione’s answer was to fly to her chamber, and to weep—as many a time before—over Phœnix in the cradle. Here old Cleopis found her, took her in her arms, and sang her the old song about Alphæus chasing Arethusa—a song more fit for Phœnix than his mother, but most comforting. So the contest for the moment passed, but after a conference with Hermippus, Democrates went away on public business to Corinth unusually well pleased with the world and himself.
It was a tedious, jangling conference held at the Isthmus city. Mardonius had tempted the Athenians sorely. In the spring had come his envoys proffering reparation for all injuries in the wars, enlarged territory, and not slavery, but free alliance with the Great King, if they would but join against their fellow-Hellenes. The Athenians had met the tempter as became Athenians. Aristeides had given the envoys the answer of the whole people.
“We know your power. Yet tell it to Mardonius, that so long as Helios moves in the heavens we will not make [pg 335]alliance with Xerxes, but rather trust to the gods whose temples he has burned.”
Bravely said, but when the Athenians looked to Sparta for the great army to hasten north and give Mardonius his death-stroke, it was the old wearisome tale of excuses and delay. At the conference in Corinth Aristeides and Democrates had passed from arguments to all but threats, even such as Themistocles had used at Salamis. It was after one of these fruitless debates that Democrates passed out of the gathering at the Corinthian prytaneum, with his colleagues all breathing forth their wrath against Dorian stupidity and evasiveness.
Democrates himself crossed the city Agora, seeking the house of the friendly merchant where he was to sup. He walked briskly, his thoughts more perhaps on the waiting betrothal feast at Trœzene, than on the discussion behind him. The Agora scene had little to interest, the same buyers, booths, and babel as in Athens, only the citadel above was the mount of Acro-Corinthus, not the tawny rock of Athena. And in late months he had begun to find his old fears and terrors flee away. Every day he was growing more certain that his former “missteps”—that was his own name for certain occurrences—could have no malign influence. “After all,” he was reflecting, “Nemesis is a very capricious goddess. Often she forgets for a lifetime, and after death—who knows what is beyond the Styx?”