by the deepest wine-cup. They did not know
that every time he closed his eyes he was seeing the face of Glaucon. That
morning he had mocked at Nemesis. That night he heard the beating of her
brazen wings.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE STRANGER IN TROEZENE

Despite exile, life had moved pleasantly for Hermippus's household that
spring. The Troezenians had surpassed all duties to Zeus Xenios--the
stranger's god--in entertaining the outcast Athenians. The fugitives had
received two obols per day to keep them in figs and porridge. Their
children had been suffered to roam and plunder the orchards. But Hermippus
had not needed such generosity. He had placed several talents at interest
in Corinth; likewise bonds of "guest-friendship" with prominent Troezenians
made his residence very agreeable. He had hired a comfortable house, and
could enjoy even luxury with his wife, daughter, young sons, and score of
slaves.

Little Phoenix grew marvellously day by day, as if obeying his mother's
command to wax strong and avenge his father. Old Cleopis vowed he was the
healthiest, least tearful babe, as well as the handsomest, she had ever
known,--and she spoke from wide experience. When he was one year old, he
was so active they had to tie him in the cradle. When the golden spring
days came, he would ride forth upon his nurse's back, surveying the Hellas
he was born to inherit, and seeming to find it exceeding good.

But as spring verged on summer, Hermione demanded so much of Cleopis's
care that even Phoenix ceased to be the focus of attention. The lordly
Alcmaeonid fell into the custody of one Niobe, a dark-haired lass of the
islands, who treated him well, but cared too much for certain young
"serving-gentlemen" to waste on her charge any unreciprocated adoration.
So on one day, just as the dying grass told the full reign of the Sun
King, she went forth with her precious bundle wriggling in her arms, but
her thoughts hardly on Master Phoenix. Procles the steward had been cold of
late, he had even cast sly glances at Jocasta, Lysistra's tiring-woman.
Mistress Niobe was ready--since fair means of recalling the fickle Apollo
failed--to resort to foul. Instead, therefore, of going to the promenade
over the sea, she went--burden and all--to the Agora, where she was sure old
Dion, who kept a soothsayer's shop, would give due assistance in return
for half a drachma.

The market was j