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Then again face to face, swaying to and fro, panting, muttering, while the veins in the bare backs swelled still more. “He cannot endure it. He cannot! Ah! Athena Polias, pity him! Lycon is wearing him down,” moaned Pytheas, beside himself with fear, almost running to Glaucon’s aid. The stadium resumed its roaring. A thousand conflicting prayers, hopes, counsels, went forth to the combatants.
The friends of the huge Laconian were almost beside themselves with joy; while the herald called desperately that:— “Lycon of Sparta wins with the discus. Glaucon of Athens is second. Ctesias of Epidaurus throws poorest and drops from the games.” “Wake, Glaucon!” trumpeted Cimon, again his white face shining out amid the thousands of gazers now. “Wake, or Lycon wins again and all is lost!”
Cimon had risen now. In a momentary lull he trumpeted through his hands across the arena. “Wake, Glaucon; quit your golden thoughts of Eleusis; Lycon is filching the crown.” Themistocles, seated near Cimon’s side, was staring hard, elbows on knees and head on hands.
From among these, Melitus, Anytus and Lycon have attacked me; Melitus being angry on account of the poets, Anytus on account of the artisans and politicians, and Lycon on account of the rhetoricians. So that, as I said in the beginning, I should wonder if I were able in so short a time to remove from your minds a calumny that has prevailed so long.
“Would not Hiram be your dutiful messenger again?” queried the other, vainly watching for escape. “Hiram is worth twenty talents as a helper;”—Lycon gave a hound-like chuckle,—“still he is not Apollo, and there are too many strings on this lyre for him to play them all. Besides, he failed at Salamis.” “He did! Zeus blast his importunity and yours likewise. Where are you taking me?
His wealth the accumulations of so long a term of office enabled him to hire the services of a body of Greek mercenaries, who were commanded by an Athenian, called Lycon. On these troops he placed his chief dependence; but they failed him in the hour of need.
Democrates resigned himself to be led to a stone seat against the wall. The gray old “dog-watcher” by the gate glanced up to see that no dogs were straying into the holy house, noted only two gentlemen come for a chat, and resumed his siesta. Lycon took a long time in opening his business. “The world has used you well of late, dear fellow.” “Passing well, by Athena’s favour.”
“Lycon of Sparta wins the leaping. Glaucon of Athens is second. Scolus of Thasos leaps the shortest and drops from the pentathlon.” Again cheers and clamour. The inexperienced Thasian marched disconsolately to his tent, pursued by ungenerous jeers. “The quoit-hurling follows,” once more the herald; “each contestant throws three quoits. He who throws poorest drops from the games.”
Glaucon heard the derisive hootings, “pretty girl,” “pretty pullet,” from the serried host of the Laconians along the left side of the stadium; but an answering salvo, “Dog of Cerberus!” bawled by the Athenian crowds opposite, and winged at Lycon, returned the taunts with usury.
“Worthy Lacedæmonian,” said Democrates, with what patience he could command, “if you desire to go over all that little business which concerned us then, at least I would suggest not in the open Agora.” He started to walk swiftly away. The Spartan’s ponderous strides easily kept beside him. None in sight. Lycon kept fast hold of his cloak. For practical purposes Democrates was prisoner.
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