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I wish I were dead. Then I could forget it!” “Constables—fetters!” howled Lampaxo, as a direful interlude, to be silenced by an angry gesture from her helpmeet. “Nevertheless, try to tell what you can,” spoke Phormio, mildly, and Glaucon, with what power he had, complied. Broken, faltering, scarce coherent often, his story came at last. He sat silent while Phormio clutched his own head.
But though I am not at a loss to know what to say about you and yours, I am at a loss to know what to mention first. But these things are known to all without my telling them. Shall I tell how Phormio, the ship's piper, the slave of Dion of Phrearrii, raised her up out of this noble profession?
Third Year of the War Investment of Plataea Naval Victories of Phormio Thracian Irruption into Macedonia under Sitalces The next summer the Peloponnesians and their allies, instead of invading Attica, marched against Plataea, under the command of Archidamus, son of Zeuxidamus, king of the Lacedaemonians.
“ ‘He?’ Whom do you mean?” “It’s not overeasy to tell, kyrie. He calls himself Critias, and wears a long black beard and tangled hair. Phormio brought him home one evening—said he was the prōreus of a Melian trireme caulking at Epidaurus, but was once in the fish trade at Peiræus and an old friend. I told Phormio we had enough these days to fill our own bellies, but my husband would be hospitable.
By nightfall Phormio had rescued eight of the nine Athenian triremes that had fallen into the hands of the enemy and sent the scattered remnants of the Peloponnesian fleet in full flight towards Corinth. This battle of Naupaktis remains one of the most brilliant naval victories in history, a victory won against overwhelming odds by quick decision and superb audacity.
This memorable incident, following close on the brilliant victories of Phormio, taught the Athenians to take better precautions for the future. Hitherto they would have scoffed at the suggestion that their own arsenals and dockyards were exposed to attack. But now they provided for the safety of Peiraeus by closing the harbours and keeping a vigilant watch.
Glaucon had stood perfectly passive during all this grim by-play. Once Phormio saw his fellow-captive’s face twist into a smile, but in the excitement of the moment the fishmonger as well as the Carthaginians almost forgot the Isthmionices, and Hib relaxed his grip and guard. Lars’s finger was streaming red, when Hasdrubal threw away the steering-paddle in a rage. “Silence her forever!
It’s getting dark.” “Well,” decided Phormio, “we can easily tell. He has left his stick below by the door. Steal across, Polus, and fetch it. It must be carved with the owner’s name.” The juror readily obeyed; but to read the few characters on the crooked handle was beyond the learning of any save Clearchus, whose art demanded the mystery of writing.
Between the columns of the portico stood Phormio the fishmonger, behind a table heaped with his scaly wares. He was a thick, florid man with blue eyes lit by a humourous twinkle. His arms were crusted with brine. To his waist he was naked. As the friends edged nearer he held up a turbot, calling for a bid. A clamour answered him. The throng pressed up the steps, elbowing and scrambling.
Then yesterday he sent me for Agis—” “Agis?” Phormio pricked up his ears. “The gambling-house keeper? What does Democrates with him?” “Answer yourself. My master has been to Agis’s pretty place before to see his cocks. However, this is different. To-day I met Theon.” “Who’s he?” “Agis’s slave, the merriest scoundrel in Athens. Agis, he says, has been prancing like an ass stuffed with barley.
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