“An end to your croakings,”—Democrates was becoming angry,—“I know the Persian’s power well enough. Now why have you summoned me?”
Lycon looked on his visitor long and hard. He reminded the Athenian disagreeably of a huge cat just considering whether a mouse were near enough to risk a spring.
“I sent for you because I wished you to give a pledge.”
“I’m in no mood to give it.”
“You need not refuse. Giving or withholding the fate of Hellas will not be altered, save as you wish to make it so.”
“What must I promise?”
“That you will not reveal the presence in Greece of a man I intend to set before you.” Another silence. Democrates knew even then, if vaguely, that he was making a decision on which might hinge half his future. In the after days he looked back on this instant with unspeakable regret. But the Laconian sat before him, smiling, sneering, commanding by his more dominant will. The Athenian answered, it seemed, despite himself:—
“If it is not to betray Hellas.”
“It is not.”
“Then I promise.”