ing assembles
millions of soldiers, thousands of ships: Median cavalry, Assyrian
archers, Egyptian battle-axemen--the best troops in the world. All the East
will be marching on our poor Hellas. And when has Persia failed to
conquer?"

"At Marathon."

"A drop of rain before the tempest! If Datis, the Persian general, had
only been more prudent!"

"Clearly, noblest Lycon," said Democrates, with a satirical smile, "for a
taciturn Laconian to become thus eloquent for tyranny must have taken a
bribe of ten thousand gold darics."

"But answer my arguments."

"Well--the old oracle is proved: 'Base love of gain and naught else shall
bear sore destruction to Sparta.' "

"That doesn't halt Xerxes's advance."

"An end to your croakings,"--Democrates was becoming angry,--"I know the
Persian's power well enough. Now why have you summoned me?"

Lycon looked on his visitor long and hard. He reminded the Athenian
disagreeably of a huge cat just considering whether a mouse were near
enough to risk a spring.

"I sent for you because I wished you to give a pledge."

"I'm in no mood to give it."

"You need not refuse. Giving or withholding the fate of Hellas will not be
altered, save as you wish to make it so."

"What must I promise?"

"That you will not reveal the presence in Greece of a man I intend to set
before you." Another silence. Democrates knew even then, if vaguely, that
he was making a decision on which might hinge half his future. In the
after days he looked back on this instant with unspeakable regret. But the
Laconian sat before him, smiling, sneering, commanding by his more
dominant will. The Athenian answered, it seemed, despite himself:--

"If it is not to betray Hellas."

"It is not."

"Then I promise."

"Swear it then by your native Athena."

And Democrates--perhaps the wine was strong--lifted his right hand and swore
by Athena Polias of Athens he would betray no secret.

Lycon arose with what was part bellow, part laugh. Even then the orator
was moved to call back the pledge, but the Spartan acted too swiftly. The
short moments which followed stamped themselves on Democrates's memory.
The flickering lamps, the squalid room, the long, dense shadows, the
ungainly movements of the Spartan, who was opening a door,--all this passed
after the manner of a vision. And as in a vision Democrates saw a stranger
stepping through the inner portal, as at Lycon's summons--a man of no huge
stature, but masterf