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Francis was reminding Stephen of years before when they had been at school together in Conmee's time. He asked about Glaucon, Alcibiades, Pisistratus. Where were they now? Neither knew. You have spoken of the past and its phantoms, Stephen said. Why think of them? If I call them into life across the waters of Lethe will not the poor ghosts troop to my call? Who supposes it?
Stone the traitor!” Leonidas, without a word, smote the man nearest to him with a spear butt. The soldiers were silent instantly. Then the chief turned back to the deserter. “Why here?” Glaucon had never prayed for the gifts of Peitho, “Our Lady Persuasion,” more than at that crucial moment.
And to Zeus, the father, and to all the immortals be thanks." As he prayed he turned the cup and spilled the wine upon the ground. That was the god's portion. A slave spread down a rug for his master to lie upon and put cushions under his elbow. Glaucon did the same for Charmides, and the meal began. Menon talked gaily about their journey, the games to-morrow, Creon's training.
Themistocles? Impossible. Democrates?—“the friend with the understanding heart no less than a brother dear,” as Homer said? More impossible. An unknown enemy, then, had stolen the fleet order from Themistocles? But what man had hated Glaucon? One answer remained,—unwittingly the athlete had offended some god, forgotten some vow, or by sheer good fortune had awakened divine jealousy.
True Orientals, in the fate of their chief they saw decreeing Destiny,—what use to resist it? “Yield, my Lord, yield,” called Glaucon, in Persian, “the battle is against you, and no fault of yours. Save the lives of your men.” Ariamenes gave a toss of his princely head, and with his left hand plucked the javelin from his shoulder.
He knew that whatever glory he might gain on the morrow, he could never win a fairer victory than he had won that night. When his barge came alongside, his boat crew knew that his eyes were dancing, that his whole mien was of a man in love with his fortune. Many times, as Glaucon sat beside him, he heard the son of Neocles repeating as in ecstasy:— “They must fight. They must fight.”
They drank the pledge, “Victory to the king, destruction to his enemies.” The lords all looked on Glaucon to see if he would touch the cup. He drank deeply. They applauded him. He remained long at the wine, the slaves bore him home drunken. In the morning Mardonius said Xerxes ordered him to serve in the cavalry guards, a post full of honour and chance for promotion. Glaucon did not resist.
"It comes into my mind too," continued Socrates, "that you have never been at the mines of silver, to examine why they bring not in so much now as they did formerly." "You say true, I have never been there." "Indeed, they say the place is very unhealthy, and that may excuse you." "You rally me now," said Glaucon.
Even as the magistrate took breath after reciting the victor’s noble ancestry, there was a cry, a parting of the crowd, and Glaucon the Alcmæonid leaped from the chariot as never on the sands at Corinth. The veil and the violet wreath fell from the head of Hermione when her face went up to her husband’s. The blossoms that had covered the athlete shook over her like a cloud as his face met hers.
They were in royal purple. The amethysts in their hair were worth a month’s revenues of Corinth. Roxana had never been lovelier. Glaucon was again in the simple Greek dress, but he knelt and kissed the robes of both the women. Then rising he spoke to them. “To you, O princess, my benefactress, I wish all manner of blessing.
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