“I will do all I can.” Themistocles’s voice was solemn as an æolian harp, but the prisoner caught at everything eagerly.
“Ah, you can do so much. Pausanias fought the battle, but they call you the true saviour of Hellas. They will do anything you say.”
“I am glad.” Themistocles’s face was impenetrable as the sphinx’s. Democrates seized the admiral’s red chlamys with his fettered hands.
“You will save me! I will fly to Sicily, Carthage, the Tin Isles, as you wish. Have you forgotten our old-time friendship?”
“I loved you,” spoke the admiral, tremulously.
“Ah, recall that love to-night!”
“I do.”
“O piteous Zeus, why then is your face so awful? If you will aid me to escape—”
“I will aid you.”
“Blessings, blessings, but quick! I fear to be stoned to death by the soldiers in the morning. They threaten to crucify—”