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Updated: May 29, 2025
It flew from its scabbard as he leaped on the sailor. The stranger put forth his hand, snatched his opponent’s wrist, and with lightning dexterity sent the blade spinning back upon the grass. Then he threw Democrates a second time, and the latter did not rise again hastily, but lay cursing. The fall had not been gentle. But all this while Cleopis was screaming.
With such beauty spreading out before her eyes the phantasy was almost welcome. The people had wandered homeward. Cleopis set the parasol on the dry grass where it would shade her mistress and betook herself to the shelter of a rock. If Hermione was pleased to meditate so long, she would not deny her slave a siesta.
And I know you will smile on me when you have heard me through.” “Keep back your eloquence. You have destroyed Glaucon. That is enough.” “Hear me.” Democrates cried desperately now. Hermione feared even to retreat farther, lest he pass to violence. She summoned courage and looked him in the eye. “Say on, then. But remember I am a woman and alone save for Cleopis.
Here old Cleopis found her, took her in her arms, and sang her the old song about Alphæus chasing Arethusa—a song more fit for Phœnix than his mother, but most comforting. So the contest for the moment passed, but after a conference with Hermippus, Democrates went away on public business to Corinth unusually well pleased with the world and himself.
Treason and blasphemy you speak all in one.” She sought vainly with her eyes for refuge. None in sight. The hill slope seemed empty save for the scattered brown boulders. Far away a goat was wandering. She motioned to Cleopis. The old woman was staring now, and doubtless thought Democrates was carrying his familiarities too far, but she was a weak creature, and at best could only scream.
On the same day that Thebes capitulated the household of Hermippus left Trœzene to return to Athens. When they had told Hermione all that had befallen,—the great good, the little ill,—she had not fainted, though Cleopis had been sure thereof. The colour had risen to her cheeks, the love-light to her eyes. She went to the cradle where Phœnix cooed and tossed his baby feet.
People were hastening up the hill,—fishermen from a skiff upon the beach, slaves who had been carrying bales to the haven. In a moment they would be surrounded by a dozen. The strange sailor turned as if to fly. He had not spoken one word. Hermione herself at last called to him. “My preserver! Your name! Blessed be you forever!” The fisherfolk were very close. Cleopis was still screaming.
Enough that he will grow up fair as the Delian Apollo and an unspeakable joy to his mother.” “Her only joy,” was Hermione’s icy answer. “Wrap up the child, Cleopis. My father is coming. It is a long walk home to the city.” With a rustle of white Hermione went down the slope in advance of her mother. Hermippus and Lysistra were not pleased.
Little Phœnix 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.
“Welcome even as to shipmen On the swelling, raging sea; When Poseidon flings the whirlwind, When a thousand blasts roam free, Then at last the land appeareth;— E’en so welcome in her sight Was her lord, her arms long clasped him, And her eyes shone pure and bright.” After a long time Glaucon commanded, “Bring me our child,” and Cleopis gladly obeyed.
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