“But you have promised I shall escape.”
“You shall.”
“To-night? What is that you have?” Themistocles was opening the casket.
“The papers seized in your chest. They implicate many [pg 442]noble Hellenes in Corinth, Sicyon, Sparta. Behold—” Themistocles held one papyrus after another in the torch-flame,—“here is crumbling to ashes the evidence that would destroy them all as Medizers. Mardonius is dead. Let the war die with him. Hellas is safe.”
“Blessings, blessings! Help me to escape. You have a sword. Pry off these gyves. How easy for you to let me fly!”
“Wait!” The admiral’s peremptory voice silenced the prisoner. Themistocles finished his task. Suddenly, however, Democrates howled with animal fear.
“What are you taking now—a goblet?”
“Wait.” Themistocles was indeed holding a silver cup and flask. “Have I not said you should escape this captivity—to-night?”
“Be quick, then, the night wanes fast.”
The admiral strode over beside the creature who plucked at his hem.