A Victor of Salamis Part 44

Themistocles touched a bronze gong; a marine adjutant entered.

"My pinnace," ordered the admiral. As the man went out, Themistocles took a long himation from the locker and wrapped it around the newcomer.

"Since even Simonides and I did not recognize you in your long beard, I doubt if you are in danger of detection to-night. But remember your name is Critias. You can dye your hair if you come safe back from this adventure. Have you eaten?"

"Who has hunger now?"

Themistocles laughed.

"So say all of us. But if the gifts of Demeter cannot strengthen, it is not so with those of Dionysus. Drink."

He took from a hook a leathern bottle and poured out a hornful of hot Chian. Glaucon did not refuse. After he had finished the admiral did likewise. Then Glaucon in turn asked questions.

"Where is my wife?"

"In the town of Salamis, with her father; do you know she has borne-"

"A son. Are both well?"

"Well. The child is fair as the son of Leto."

They could see the light flash out of the eyes of the outlaw. He turned toward the statue and stretched out his hand.

"O Aphrodite, I bless thee!" Then again to the admiral, "And Hermione is not yet given to Democrates in marriage?" The words came swiftly.

"Not yet. Hermippus desires it. Hermione resists. She calls Democrates your destroyer."

Glaucon turned away his face that they might not behold it.

"The G.o.d has not yet forgotten mercy," Simonides thought he heard him say.

"The pinnace is waiting, _kyrie_," announced the orderly from the companionway.

"Let the deserter's skiff be towed behind," ordered Themistocles, once on deck, "and let Sicinnus also go with me."

The keen-eyed Asiatic took his place with Themistocles and Glaucon in the stern. The st.u.r.dy boatmen sent the pinnace dancing. All through the brief voyage the admiral was at whispers with Sicinnus. As they reached the Spartan flag-ship, half a score of pinnaces trailing behind told how the Peloponnesian admirals were already aboard clamouring at Eurybiades for orders to fly. From the ports of the stern-cabin the glare of many lamps spread wavering bars of light across the water. Voices came, upraised in jarring debate. The marine guard saluted with his spear as Themistocles went up the ladder. Leaving his companions on deck, the admiral hastened below. An instant later he was back and beckoned the Asiatic and the outlaw to the ship's rail.

"Take Sicinnus to the Persian high admiral," was his ominous whisper, "and fail not,-fail not, for I say to you except the G.o.d prosper you now, not all Olympus can save our h.e.l.las to-morrow."

Not another word as he turned again to the cabin. The pinnace crew had brought the skiff alongside, Sicinnus entered it, Glaucon took the oars, pulled out a little, as if back to the _Nausicaa_, then sent the head of the skiff around, pointing across the strait, toward the havens of Athens.

Sicinnus sat in silence, but Glaucon guessed the errand. The wind was rising and bringing clouds. This would hide the moon and lessen the danger. But above all things speed was needful. The athlete put his strength upon the oars till the heavy skiff shot across the black void of the water.

It was little short of midnight when Glaucon swung the skiff away from the tall trireme of Ariabignes, the Barbarian's admiral. The deed was done. He had sat in the bobbing boat while Sicinnus had been above with the Persian chiefs. Officers who had exchanged the wine-cup with Glaucon in the days when he stood at Xerxes's side pa.s.sed through the glare of the battle lanterns swaying above the rail. The Athenian had gripped at the dagger in his belt as he watched them. Better in the instant of discovery to slay one's self than die a few hours afterward by slow tortures! But discovery had not come. Sicinnus had come down the ladder, smiling, jesting, a dozen subalterns salaaming as he went, and offering all manner of service, for had he not been a bearer of great good tidings to the king?

"Till to-morrow," an olive-skinned Cilician navarch had spoken.

"Till to-morrow," waved the messenger, lightly. He did all things coolly, as if he had been bearing an invitation to a feast, took his post in the stern of the skiff deliberately, then turned to the silent man with him.

"Pull."

"Whither?" Glaucon was already tugging the oars.

"To Eurybiades's ship. Themistocles is waiting. And again all speed."

The line of twinkling water betwixt the skiff and the Persian widened. For a few moments Glaucon bent himself silently to his task, then for the first time questioned.

"What have you done?"

Even in the darkness he knew Sicinnus grinned and showed his teeth.

"In the name of Themistocles I have told the Barbarian chiefs that the h.e.l.lenes are at strife one with another, that they are meditating a hasty flight, that if the king's captains will but move their ships so as to enclose them, it is likely there will be no battle in the morning, but the h.e.l.lenes will fall into the hands of Xerxes unresisting."

"And the Persian answered?"

"That I and my master would not fail of reward for this service to the king. That the Egyptian ships would be swung at once across the strait to cut off all flight by the h.e.l.lenes."

The outlaw made no answer, but pulled at the oars. The reaction from the day and evening of strain and peril was upon him. He was unutterably weary, though more in mind than in body. The clumsy skiff seemed only to crawl. Trusting the orders of Sicinnus to steer him aright, he closed his eyes. One picture after another of his old life came up before him now he was in the stadium at Corinth and facing the giant Spartan, now he stood by Hermione on the sacred Rock at Athens, now he was at Xerxes's side with the fleets and the myriads pa.s.sing before them at the h.e.l.lespont, he saw his wife, he saw Roxana, and all other things fair and lovely that had crossed his life. Had he made the best choice? Were the desperate fates of h.e.l.las better than the flower-banked streams of Bactria, whose delights he had forever thrust by? Would his Fortune, guider of every human destiny, bring him at last to a calm haven, or would his life go out amid the crashing ships to-morrow? The oars b.u.mped on the thole-pins. He pulled mechanically, the revery ever deepening, then a sharp hail awoke him.

"O-op! What do you here?"

The call was in Phnician. Glaucon scarce knew the harsh Semitic speech, but the _lembos_, a many-oared patrol cutter, was nearly on them. A moment more, and seizure would be followed by identification. Life, death, h.e.l.las, Hermione, all flashed before his eyes as he sat numbed, but Sicinnus saved them both.

"The pa.s.sword to-night? You know it," he demanded in quick whisper.

" 'Hystaspes,' " muttered Glaucon, still wool-gathering.

"Who are you? Why here?" An officer in the cutter was rising and upholding an unmasked lantern. "We've been ordered to cruise in the channel and snap up deserters, and by Baal, here are twain! The crows will pick at your eyes to-morrow."

Sicinnus stood upright in the skiff.

"Fool," he answered in good Sidonian, "dare you halt the king's privy messenger? It is not _our_ heads that the crows will find the soonest."

The cutter was close beside them, but the officer dropped his lantern.

"Good, then. Give the pa.s.sword."

" 'Hystaspes.' "

They could see the Phnician's hand rise to his head in salute.

"Forgive my rudeness, worthy sir. It's truly needless to seek deserters to-night with the h.e.l.lenes' affairs so desperate, yet we must obey his Eternity's orders."

"I pardon you," quoth the emissary, loftily, "I will commend your vigilance to the admiral."

"May Moloch give your Lordship ten thousand children," called back the mollified Semite.

The crew of the cutter dropped their blades into the water. The boats glided apart. Not till there was a safe stretch betwixt them did Glaucon begin to grow hot, then cold, then hot again. Chill Thanatos had pa.s.sed and missed by a hair's breadth. Again the b.u.mping of the oars and the slow, slow creeping over the water. The night was darkening. The clouds had hid the moon and all her stars. Sicinnus, shrewd and weatherwise, remarked, "There will be a stiff wind in the morning," and lapsed into silence. Glaucon toiled on resolutely. A fixed conviction was taking possession of his mind,-one that had come on the day he had been preserved at Thermopylae, now deepened by the event just pa.s.sed,-that he was being reserved by the G.o.d for some crowning service to h.e.l.las, after which should come peace, whether the peace of a warrior who dies in the arms of victory, whether the peace of a life spent after a deed well done, he scarcely knew, and in the meantime, if the storms must beat and the waves rise up against him, he would bear them still. Like the hero of his race, he could say, "Already have I suffered much and much have I toiled in perils of waves and war, let this be added to the tale of those."