“And how?”
“The stranger said: ‘So she will not wed Democrates. She loathes him. Aphrodite shed joy on her forever.’ Then Phormio answered him, ‘Therefore, dear Glaucon, you should trust the gods a little longer.’ ”
“ ‘Glaucon,’ said he?” Democrates leaped from the chair.
“ ‘Glaucon,’ on my oath by the Styx. Then I covered my head and wept. I knew my husband harboured the arch-traitor. Heaven can tell how he escaped the sea. As soon as Phormio was sleeping snug beside me, I went down the ladder, intending to call the watch. In the street I met a man, this good Phœnician here,—he explained he was suspecting this ‘Critias’ himself, and lurked about in hopes of tracing him in the morning. I told my story. He said it was best to come straight to you. And now I have accused my own husband, Excellency. Ai! was wife ever harder beset? Phormio is a kindly and commonly obedient man, even if he doesn’t know the value of an obol. You will be merciful—”
“Peace,” commanded Democrates, with portentous gravity, “justice first, mercy later. Do you solemnly swear you heard Phormio call this stranger ‘Glaucon’?”
“Yes, kyrie. Woe! woe!”
“And you say he is now asleep in your house?”
“Yes, the wine has made them both very heavy.”
“You have done well.” Democrates extended his hand again. “You are a worthy daughter of Athens. In years to come they will name you with King Codrus who sacrificed his life for the freedom of Attica, for have you not sacrificed what should be dearer than life,—the fair name of your [pg 365]husband? But courage. Your patriotism may extenuate his crime. Only the traitor must be taken.”
“Yes, he was breathing hard when I went out. Ah! seize him quickly.”