l you that certain miserable Hellenes
have been seized in the camp to-night--spies sent to pry out your power. Do
you deign to have them impaled, crucified, or cast into the adders' cage?"

The king smiled magnanimously.

"They shall not die. Show them the host, and all my power. Then send them
home to their fellow-rebels to tell the madness of dreaming to withstand
my might."

The smile of Xerxes had spread, like the ripple from a pebble splashing in
a pool, over the face of every nobleman in hearing. Now their praises came
as a chant.

"O Ocean of Clemency and Wisdom! Happy Eran in thy sagacious yet merciful
king!"

Xerxes, not heeding, turned to Mardonius.

"Ah! yes,--you were telling how you corrupted one of the chief Athenians,
then had to flee. On the voyage you were shipwrecked?"

"So I wrote to Babylon, to your Eternity."

"And a certain Athenian fugitive saved your lives? And you brought him to
Sardis?"

"I did so, Omnipotence."

"Of course he is at the banquet."

"The king speaks by the promptings of Mazda. I placed him with certain
friends and bade them see he did not lack good cheer."

"Send,--I would talk with him."

"Suffer me to warn your Majesty," ventured Mardonius, "he is an Athenian
and glories in being of a stubborn, Persian-hating stock. I fear he will
not perform due obeisance to the Great King."

"I can endure his rudeness," spoke Xerxes, for once in excellent humour;
"let the 'supreme usher' bring him with full speed."

The functionary thus commanded bowed himself to the ground and hastened on
his errand.

But well that Mardonius had deprecated the wrath of the monarch. Glaucon
came with his head high, his manner almost arrogant. The mere fact that
his boldness might cost him his life made him less bending than ever. He
trod firmly upon the particular square of golden carpet at the foot of the
dais which none, saving the king, the vizier, and the "Six Princes," could
lawfully tread. He held his hands at his sides, firmly refusing to conceal
them in his cloak, as court etiquette demanded. As he stood on the steps
of the throne, he gave the glittering monarch the same familiar bow he
might have awarded a friend he met in the Agora. Mardonius was troubled.
The supreme usher was horrified. The master-of-punishments, ever near his
chief, gazed eagerly to see if Xerxes would not touch the audacious
Hellene's girdle--a sign for prompt decapitation. Only the good nature of
the king p