u to
Leonidas."

"You gave a pledge and oath."

"It were a greater crime to keep than to break it."

Lycon shrugged his huge shoulders. "_Eu!_ I hardly trusted to that. But I
do trust to Hiram's pretty story about your bets, and still more to a tale
that's told about where and how you've borrowed money."

Democrates's voice shook either with rage or with fear when he made shift
to answer.

"I see I've come to be incriminated and insulted. So be it. If I keep my
pledge, at least suffer me to wish you and your 'Cyprian' a very good
night."

Lycon good-humouredly lighted him to the door. "Why so hot? I'll do you a
service to-morrow. If Glaucon wrestles with me, I shall kill him."

"Shall I thank the murderer of my friend?"

"Even when that friend has wronged you?"

"Silence! What do you mean?"

Even in the flickering lamplight Democrates could see the Spartan's evil
smile.

"Of course--Hermione."

"Silence, by the infernal gods! Who are you, Cyclops, for _her_ name to
cross your teeth?"

"I'm not angry. Yet you will thank me to-morrow. The pentathlon will be
merely a pleasant flute-playing before the great war-drama. You will see
more of the 'Cyprian' at Athens--"

Democrates heard no more. Forth from that wine-house he ran into the
sheltering night, till safe under the shadow of the black cypresses. His
head glowed. His heart throbbed. He had been partner in foulest treason.
Duty to friend, duty to country,--oath or no oath,--should have sent him to
Leonidas. What evil god had tricked him into that interview? Yet he did
not denounce the traitor. Not his oath held him back, but benumbing
fear,--and what sting lay back of Lycon's hints and threats the orator knew
best. And how if Lycon made good his boast and killed Glaucon on the
morrow?

CHAPTER IV

THE PENTATHLON

In a tent at the lower end of the long stadium stood Glaucon awaiting the
final summons to his ordeal. His friends had just cried farewell for the
last time: Cimon had kissed him; Themistocles had gripped his hand;
Democrates had called "Zeus prosper you!" Simonides had vowed that he was
already hunting for the metres of a triumphal ode. The roar from without
told how the stadium was filled with its chattering thousands. The
athlete's trainers were bestowing their last officious advice.

"The Spartan will surely win the quoit-throw. Do not be troubled. In
everything