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So Phormio came frequently, glad perhaps to escape the discipline of his spouse. Now he brought a rumour of Xerxes’s progress, now a bit of Bias’s tattling about his master. The talebearing counted for little, but went to make Hermione’s conviction like adamant. Every night she would speak over Phœnix as she held him whilst he slept.
Aiding a traitor!” Then she began whimpering through her nose. “Mu! mu! leave the villain to his fate. Think of me if not of your own safety. Woe! when was a woman more misused?” But here her lament ended, for Phormio, with the firmness of a man thoroughly determined, thrust a rag into her mouth and with Bias’s help bound her down upon the couch by means of a convenient fish-cord.
Tell him to come hither instantly. He shall not lack reward. Make your feet fly. Here is something to speed them.” He flung at the boy a coin. Bias opened eyes and mouth in wonder. It was not silver, but a golden daric. “Don’t blink at it, sheep, but run. Bring Agis,” ordered the master,—and Bias’s legs never went faster than on that afternoon. Agis came.
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