“Several, dear fellow, although if they are lies, then Aletheia, Lady Truth, must almost own them for her children. At least they are interesting lies; as, for example, how you advised the Cyprian to escape from Athens, how you gave Agis a letter to hide in the boots of Glaucon’s messenger, of your interviews with Lampaxo and Archias, of the charming art you possess of imitating handwritings and seals.”
“Base-born swine! who will believe him?”
“Base born, Democrates, but hardly swinish. He can tell a very clear story. Likewise, Lampaxo and Archias must testify at the trial, also your slave Bias can tell many interesting things.”
“Only if I consent to produce him.”
“When did a master ever refuse to let his slave testify, [pg 341]if demanded, unless he wished to blast his own cause with the jury? No, makaire, you will not enjoy the day when Themistocles arrays the testimony against you.”
Democrates shivered. The late spring sun was warm. He felt no heat. A mere charge of treason he was almost prepared now to endure. If Mistress Fortune helped him, he might refute it, but to be branded before Hellas as the destroyer of his bosom friend, and that by guile the like whereof Tantalus, Sisyphus, and Ixion conjoined had never wrought—what wonder his knees smote together? Why had he not foreseen that Agis would fall into Lycon’s hands? Why had he trusted that lying tale from Artemisium? And worst of all, worse than the howls of the people who would tear his body asunder like dogs, not waiting the work of the hemlock, was the thought of Hermione. She hated him now. How she would love him, though he sat on Xerxes’s throne, if once her suspicion rose to certainty! He saw himself ruined in life and in love, and blazoned as infamous forever.
Lycon was wise enough to sit some moments, letting his utterance do its work. He was confident, and rightly. Democrates looked on him at last. The workings of the Athenian’s face were terrible.
“I am your slave, Spartan. Had you bought me for ten minæ and held the bill of sale, I were not yours more utterly. Your wish?”
Lycon chose his words and answered slowly.
“You must serve Persia. Not for a moment, but for all time. You must place that dreadful gift of yours at our disposal. And in return take what is promised,—the lordship of Athens.”