The orator groaned. He had not expected this last humiliation; but being forced to drink the cup, he drained it to the lees. He swore by Zeus Orchios, Watcher of Oaths, and Dike, the Eternal Justice, that he brought true copies, and that if he was perjured, he called a curse upon himself and all his line. The Cyprian received his oath with calm satisfaction, then held out the half of a silver shekel broken in the middle.
“Show this to Mydon, the Sicyonian banker at Phaleron. He holds its counterpart. He will pay the man who completes the coin ten talents.”
Democrates received the token, but felt that he must stand upon his dignity.
“I have given an oath, stranger, but give the like to me. What proof have I of this Mydon?”
The question seemed to rouse the unseen lion in the Cyprian. His eye kindled. His voice swelled.
“We leave oaths, Hellene, to men of trade and barter, [pg 100]to men of trickery and guile. The Aryan noble is taught three things: to fear the king, to bend the bow, to speak the truth. And he learns all well. I have spoken,—my word is my oath.”
The Athenian shrank at the storm he had roused. But the Prince almost instantly curbed himself. His voice sank again to its easy tone of conciliation.
“So much for my word, good friend; yet better than an oath, look here. Can the man who bears this ring afford to tell a lie?”
He extended his right hand. On the second finger was a huge beryl signet. Democrates bent over it.
“Two seated Sphynxes and a winged cherub flying above,—the seal of the royal Achæmenians of Persia! You are sent by Xerxes himself. You are—”