Chapter II: Preface (2)

“No, no,” persisted Nomion, who as the son of a chief used greater freedom of speech in addressing Periphas than most others would have ventured to do. “If Lyrcus was the murderer, how could he enter the places of assembly before the houses and move about among the other Cychreans? Who will associate with an assassin? Are not trials in all cases of murder, according to ancient custom, held under the open sky that neither accusers nor judges may be beneath the same roof with the slayer?”

“I know,” muttered Periphas with a sullen glance, “that a murderer is unclean.”

“Not merely unclean--but under a double ban. The victim’s and the wrath of the gods. Shall the murdered soul wander away from light and life without demanding a bloody vengeance? And the gods--to whom murder is an abomination--shall they forbear to practise righteous retribution?”

Periphas, averting his face, remained silent.

“Forgive me!” exclaimed Nomion, “I forgot that you yourself....”

“The soothsayer,”--said Periphas, lowering his voice, “yes, he fell before my spear. But he was rightly served. Did not the fool proclaim aloud, in the presence of all, what he ought to have confided to me alone?”

“Yet it was a murder.”

“No, my friend, believe me, it was something very different from their crime. Don’t you know, Nomion, that no Pelasgian owns larger herds than I--well! If I have offended the gods, no one has brought them more numerous and costly offerings. Besides, I went directly to Kranaai and caused Ariston to purify me, according to priestly fashion, from the stain of blood. As for the dead man’s family--I appeased them long ago with costly gifts.”

“But--the disposition?” asked Nomion, looking Periphas straight in the eye.

“The disposition!” replied Periphas, shunning Nomion’s glance. “Youth, you utter strange words. When neither gods nor men complain, who asks about the disposition?”

And Periphas burst into a strange, forced laugh, that echoed almost uncannily through the cave.

“Be that as it may,” said Nomion. “If the Cychreans suffer murderers to live among them unpunished, will not they, too, will not the whole nation be unclean and exposed to the wrath of the gods?”

“It seems so.”

“Yet the Cychreans remain victors, while we, Tydeus’ avengers, are scattered like chaff before the wind. What is the cause?”

“Perhaps their gods are stronger than ours.”

“The sea-nymph Melite stronger than Zeus Hypsistos! You cannot believe that.”

“Perhaps we ought to have waited for a lucky day.”

“No,” retorted Nomion, “I believe that Lyrcus conquered because he has done no evil. He is a warlike fellow and foremost in the fray, so he cannot content himself with carrying away goats, barley, figs, and honey. But he has never killed a man except in fair fight. Had he been present, Tydeus would never have been stoned.”

“You have a remarkably good opinion of Lyrcus,” said Periphas. “But why talk about this Cychrean continually? There are other chiefs in the country.... Well! We’ll see whether the gods will protect him another time.”

“Periphas! What are you planning?”

“Do you know the pretty bird whose name is Kitta? It loves its mate so dearly that it cannot live without it. Let the hen be caught in the nest by some simple snare, and the cock will fly after her of its own accord and allow itself to be captured.”

“In the name of the gods! Do I understand you? Do you mean to steal Byssa?”

“Doesn’t she seem to you worth having? Well, by Zeus,” continued Periphas, the blood mounting into his cheeks, “I would rather carry her away than goats, barley, figs, and honey.”

“Beware, Periphas! Don’t drive Lyrcus to frenzy. He will then be capable of anything.”

“Not when he is in _my_ power.”

IX.

At the foot of the heights of Agrae, a part of Mt. Hymettus, the channel of the Ilissus widens. The river here divides into two arms, which enclose a level island. At the place where the branches meet the banks form a bluff with two pits; here, trickling between the layers of stone, excellent drinking water collects in such abundance as to form a pond. It is the fountain of Callirhoë (beautiful spring) and is used at the present day as a pool for washing.

At the time of this story Callirhoë was the place from which the wives and daughters of the Cychreans, as well as the Cranai, brought water when the little wells on the cliffs were exhausted. The fountain of Clepsydra was considerably nearer; but as the name (water that steals forth) implies, it was too scanty to supply two colonies. Therefore the people were obliged to fetch water from the banks of the Ilissus, more than two thousand feet off, in a desolate tract of country called Agrae. The journey was not wholly free from peril, for the Pelasgians roving over Mt. Hymettus considered the pool their own and looked askance at all others who sought to use it. Women had often been molested there and several times even abducted. Therefore it had become the custom for the women and girls to go to the fountain in parties, and to be accompanied by armed men. But several years had now elapsed since any one had been molested, and the guard of men was beginning to be rather careless. Instead of weapons, many of the younger ones took the implements of the chase and amused themselves by snaring hares, great numbers of which were found in this region.

The trip to the fountain on the whole was a pleasure excursion. With the faculty for making life easy and pleasant possessed by all southern nations, the time was well-chosen. In the first place the party started in the afternoon; the sun was then behind them and when they returned it was hidden below Mt. Corydallus. One of the older men took a syrinx or a flute; the young fellows jested with the pretty maids and matrons, they relieved each other in carrying the water-jars, laughter and song resounded, sometimes they even danced in long lines on the open ground beside the pool.

A few days after the conversation between Periphas and Nomion in the cave on Mt. Hymettus one of these expeditions was made. After the recent victory there was two-fold mirth, and the party could be heard for a long distance amid the rural stillness of the country bordering the Ilissus. At the first sound of the notes of the flute and the merry voices something stirred in the bushes on the crag just below the fountain of Callirhoë. Two sunburnt hands pushed the branches aside and a brown visage appeared, of which, however, little could be seen, as a goat-skin hood was drawn low over the brow. Periphas--for it was he--saw from his hiding-place the women approaching between a double row of men.

“There they are!” he said to Nomion, who lay concealed behind him. “What do you say to the plot? First the wife, then the husband. To-morrow morning, perhaps to-night, Lyrcus will be in our power. Will you help me?”

“No, by Zeus, no!” replied Nomion firmly. “On the contrary, I will warn you again. Consider, Periphas! Don’t throw the last anchor upon treacherous ground. It ill-beseems the younger man to advise the older--may Zeus open your eyes while there is yet time.”

“Begone to the vultures, foolish boy!” cried Periphas angrily. “You use sword and lance like a man. But where is your courage?”

“By the gods, it isn’t courage I lack,” replied Nomion, as he let himself slide down the precipice and vanished among the hills.

Meantime the party had come nearer. Suddenly there was a movement in the last rank and the joyous shout: “A hare! A hare!” Without losing a moment the youths divided into two bands who, with long poles in their hands, tried to drive the animal towards some snares set at the end of the valley. The older ones convinced themselves that no Pelasgians were in sight, and then slowly followed to witness the result of the chase.

Had Lyrcus been present, this would not have happened; but he had remained at home to forge some weapons.

X.

The women, who were left to themselves by the men’s zeal for the chase, went to the pool and set down their water-jars. The barren, dreary region, where usually nothing was seen except a few goats and shepherds, now swarmed with young Cychrean women in white and variegated robes. Most of them stood talking together by the pond--some, weary and breathless, stretched themselves on the mossy bank of the river; others wiped the dust from their limbs with dry leaves; many gathered flowers in the shade, others waded out into the stream to cool their feet in the shallow, but clear and inviting water.

Periphas, from his hiding-place, saw them all, yet among the whole party his eye sought only one.

Byssa was sitting near the pool among some young matrons of her own age. She had removed her sandals, and while he was watching her, rested her foot on her knee to examine a scratch she had received from the stones on the way. A young woman, whose appearance indicated that she was about to become a mother, approached with her arms full of flowers and, smiling, flung them all into Byssa’s lap, whispering something in her ear as if it were to be kept a secret from the very stones. Byssa flushed crimson and snatched up one of the sandals lying by her side to make a feint of punishing her friend; but, as she raised her arm, the sandal slipped from her hand and flew far out in the water.

There was a general outburst of screams and laughter.

Byssa started up, shaking all the flowers from her lap on the ground, hastily gathered up the folds of her garments, and waded out into the stream. But the current had already swept the sandal into somewhat deeper water, so that, to avoid being wet, she was obliged to lift her clothes above her knees. She soon perceived that the task was not so easy. Every time she stretched out her hand she was baffled. The little whirlpools in the stream played sportively with their prize; each moment they bore the sandal under their light foam, and when it again appeared it was in an entirely different place from where its owner expected.

A cold wind was blowing and Byssa, like many of her companions, wore a goat-skin bodice. As she had become heated by the long walk she allowed it to hang loosely about her, and every time the pretty Cychrean bent forward to grasp the sandal, Periphas’ gaze could take a dangerous liberty.

Of all the materials that can be used for clothing, nothing displays better than fur the smoothness and fairness of a woman’s form. At the sight of the beautiful shoulders and still more exquisite bosom rising from the rough, blackish-brown skin Periphas’ eyes dilated, and when Byssa’s movements, ere she succeeded in seizing the sandal, revealed more and more of her nude charms, the half-savage Pelasgian’s passionate heart kindled.

He cast a hurried glance towards the spot where the men had vanished and, as he neither saw nor heard anything, he took a large green leaf between his lips to hide the lower part of his face, drew his hood down to his eyes, burst suddenly out of the bushes and leaped from the shore into the stream.

The women, shrieking with terror, instantly sprang to their feet.

But Periphas paid no heed. Seizing Byssa, who was paralyzed by surprise, in his arms, he bore her, spite of her struggles, to the shore. Like all well-developed women she was no light burden and, notwithstanding the Pelasgian’s strength, he felt that it would be impossible for him to carry her up the steep bank and therefore put her down, though without releasing his hold on her arm. But Byssa no sooner felt the solid earth under her feet than her senses returned.

“Help! Help!” she screamed. “Shall we fear this one man? Are we not strong enough to capture him?”

And, following words by action, she boldly grasped the Pelasgian’s belt with her left hand, which was free.

“Quick! quick!” she added. “Only hold him a moment--the men will return directly.”

Byssa’s courage produced its effect. The women hurried towards her from all sides; yet the nearest gave themselves considerably more time than those who were farther away.

Periphas perceived that his position was very critical. Without releasing Byssa’s arm, he drew his sword.

“Beware!” he shouted fiercely, “I’ll hew down on the spot the first one who approaches.”

And, as Byssa still did not loosen her grasp from his belt, he muttered between his teeth.

“Follow me, or by Zeus....” He did not finish the sentence, but his sinister glance left no doubt of his meaning.

Byssa trembled, for she thought of the soothsayer of whose death she had heard.

“You are the stronger!” she said, and allowed herself to be led up the bank without resistance.

At the top Periphas turned and shouted:

“Women, the first one who shows herself here I’ll give up to my bondmen.”

But the Pelasgian had nothing more to fear. The sight of the naked sword had banished the women’s courage.

He now carried Byssa among some small hills, where a low, two-wheeled vehicle, drawn by two horses, was waiting under the charge of a slave. “Get in!” said Periphas imperiously, then, to render her more yielding, added: “No harm shall befall you! I only want you to serve me as a hostage.”

“I will obey,” replied Byssa, “but on condition that you don’t lay hands on me again.”

She took her place in the front of the chariot, resting both hands on the top. Periphas grasped the reins, dismissed the slave by a sign, braced his feet firmly against the inner foot-board and, standing behind his enemy’s wife, gave his steeds the rein, swung the whip--and off they rattled over stock and stone.

XI.

Meantime the men had wandered a considerable distance from the fountain. The youths succeeded in driving the hare into a snare, whose owner thought he had exclusive right to it, while those who had driven it into the trap demanded a share of the prize. When the older people came up their opinions differed and, amid the dispute, they did not notice the screams of the women, especially as they often shrieked in sport when they splashed water upon each other.

Suddenly a very young girl, scarcely beyond childhood, came running towards them, beckoning with agitated gestures while still a long way off. The men suspected that something unusual must have happened and hurried to meet the messenger, though without forgetting the hare. Weeping bitterly, she told them what had occurred.

Her hearers were filled with alarm.

“Byssa carried off!” exclaimed the oldest. “Woe betide us! Woe betide us! Curses on the hare, it is the cause of the whole misfortune.”

The walk home from the fountain was very different from usual.

In those days it was not well to be the bearer of evil tidings. Lyrcus’ outbursts of fury were well known; it was also known how passionately he loved Byssa, and no one felt the courage to tell him what had happened. Yet it was necessary that he should hear it.

The party had almost reached the Cychrean cliff, and still no plan had been formed. But an unexpected event ended their indecision.

Lyrcus came to meet the returning band.

He had just finished his task of forging and, after standing in the heat and smoke, it was doubly pleasant to breathe the cool sea-breeze. He had never felt more joyous and light-hearted.

“How silent you are!” he called as he advanced. “Have the women lost their voices? By Pan, that would be the greatest of miracles.”

But when he came nearer, seeing their troubled faces, he himself became grave, and with the speed of lightning his glance sought Byssa.

The men, one by one, slunk behind the women.

“Where is Byssa?” said Lyrcus.

No one answered.

He now put the same question to a very young girl, who chanced to be the same one who had rushed from the fountain to meet the men and brought the ill-omened message.

Startled by the unexpected query, she turned pale and vainly tried to answer; her throat seemed choked.

Lyrcus seized her firmly by the arm.

“Speak, luckless girl, speak!” he said. “What have you to tell?”

The girl strove to collect her thoughts, and in faltering words said that a Pelasgian had sprung out of the thicket and carried Byssa away.

Then, falling at Lyrcus’ feet, she clasped her hands over the knife he wore in his belt, shrieking:

“Don’t kill me. I did nothing....”

“Where were the men?” asked Lyrcus sternly.

She was silent.

“Where were the men?” Lyrcus repeated, in a tone which demanded an answer.

The girl clasped his knees imploringly.

“They had gone hunting,” she whispered almost inaudibly.

Several minutes passed ere Lyrcus opened his lips. The men wished the earth would swallow them; but their chief’s thoughts were already far from their negligence.

“Who was the Pelasgian?” he asked with a calmness which, to those who knew him, boded danger.

No one replied.

At last the young wife who had flung the flowers into Byssa’s lap stepped forward, drew the kneeling girl away and, without raising her eyes to Lyrcus, said with a faint blush:

“No one knew the ravisher. He held in his mouth a green leaf which concealed his face. But Byssa was _forced_ to obey him or she would have been killed before our eyes. He drew his sword.... Directly after we heard a chariot roll away.”

“A chief then!” said Lyrcus, and without another word he returned by the same way he had come.

Lyrcus was too good a hunter to have any doubt what he should do. Going directly home he unfastened Bremon, led him into the house, and let him snuff Byssa’s clothes, repeating:

“Where is she? Where is Byssa?”

The dog uttered a low whine, put his muzzle to the ground and snuffed several times, wagging his tail constantly as if to show that he knew what was wanted. Lyrcus buckled his sword around his waist, seized a spear and shield, flung a cloak over his arm and led Bremon out.

The dog fairly trembled with impatience, and without once losing the trail guided Lyrcus, who held his chain, directly to the fountain of Callirhoë.

Here he followed the bank of the river a short distance but suddenly, as if at a loss, began to run to and fro in all directions.

Lyrcus released the animal but, as it constantly ran down to the bank and snuffed the water, the chief perceived that Byssa must have waded out into the stream. So he led Bremon along the shore, hoping to find the place where she had come out on the land.

Suddenly the dog stopped, snuffed, and began to wag his tail again. This was the spot where Periphas had put Byssa down after having carried her to the bank. Bremon now led Lyrcus away from the brink among some low hills, but here once more he began to run to and fro irresolutely--doubtless where Byssa had entered the chariot.

Meantime night had closed in.

Lyrcus at first thought of getting a torch, but soon perceived the impossibility of following the trail of the chariot by torch-light. There was nothing to be done except to wait for morning.

It was a time of terrible torture.

Byssa in a stranger’s power! At the thought he was seized with a frenzy of rage that almost stifled him. But whither should he turn? Who was the ravisher--Periphas? No, he would not have had courage for such a deed directly after a defeat. Besides, the abductor seemed to have gone in the opposite direction to the road to Periphas’ home.

Lyrcus did not know that the Pelasgian had concealed himself in a cave in Mt. Hymettus.

XII.

While Lyrcus allowed himself to be led by Bremon, Periphas was continuing his wild career. At the foot of a distant height of Hymettus he gave the chariot to a slave and ascended the mountain with Byssa, who had remained perfectly silent during the whole ride.

At the entrance of the cave Periphas cast a stolen glance at her. The young wife’s face was clouded and threatening; not only the expression of her features, but her bearing and movements showed that she was filled with burning wrath. She resembled at this moment an incensed swan, darting along with half-spread wings, every feather ruffled in rage. Periphas perceived that he must try to soothe her.

He led her into a room in the cave where a clay lamp was burning and on a large flat stone stood dishes containing barley bread, fruit, honey, and milk.

“Do not grieve, fair Byssa,” he said. “A man must secure himself against such a foe as Lyrcus....”

“By stealing women?” Byssa contemptuously interrupted. “Is that the custom among the Pelasgians? Lyrcus carried home neither maids nor matrons.”

“Perhaps so,” replied Periphas calmly. “But the Pelasgians have made war upon the Cychreans and were defeated. As one of the chiefs who took up arms, I have everything to fear. So I sought a hostage, and where could I find a better one than the woman who is most dear to Lyrcus?”

“Your tongue is smooth, Periphas! But I do not trust you.”

“What do you fear, Byssa? Hostages are sacred; you are as secure as if you were under a father’s roof.”

“And Lyrcus! Will he have no suspicion? Will he think I have been under a father’s roof?”

“You will tell him so, and he will believe you. The inside of the cave is yours; no one shall molest you. You will be compelled to stay here only a few days, until everything is arranged between the Pelasgians and Cychreans.”

Byssa gazed sullenly into vacancy.

“Beware, Periphas!” she said. “This will surely bring misfortune.”

“To you or to me?” asked Periphas.

“That I do not know,” replied Byssa. “But one thing I _do_ know. It will cause bloodshed.”

Periphas shrugged his shoulders.

“Look,” he said, pointing to a bear-skin couch, “you can rest here in safety; you must be weary. May the gods grant you pleasant dreams--in the morning everything will seem brighter.”

With these words he left her, went to the outer part of the cavern, passed through the entrance, and walking several paces away clapped his hands.

There was a rustling sound among the huge piles of mouldering debris above the cavern. A dark figure clad in skins, with a huge staff in his hand, stood outlined against the grey evening sky. It was the herdsman who supplied the cave with provisions.

“Have you done what I ordered?” asked Periphas. “Have you put sentinels on both sides and brought the men?”

“When you sound the horn, Periphas, twenty Pelasgians will hasten to your aid.”

“Do they know Lyrcus, the Cychrean?”

“Not all of them, but some do.”

“Very well. When he comes, the men must hide until he is half-way between them. Then let him be surrounded. I will make the man rich who brings me Lyrcus alive or dead. Tell the warriors so.”

Periphas then entered the cave and lay down on the couch of skins flung behind the boulder projecting at the entrance. It was a still, star-lit evening, yet spite of the peace and silence without, a strange restlessness seized upon him. Sometimes he felt a presentiment of impending misfortune, at others he exulted in the thought of having Byssa in his power. Thanks to the green leaf he had held in his mouth when he carried her away, none of the Cychreans had recognized him. But so long as Lyrcus knew not where to turn he would not summon the warriors. He would pursue his quest alone and fall into the ambush. At the thought Periphas rubbed his hands and became absorbed in planning how he should best humiliate his captive.

The night was far advanced ere the Pelasgian leader fell asleep. A strange dream visited him. It seemed as if he were with Byssa--when he felt a hand on his shoulder. The soothsayer whom he had murdered stood before him, pale and rigid, with a dark blood-stain on his white robes. Periphas stretched out his hand to keep him off, touched his own body, felt with horror an icy, corpse-like chill, opened his eyes, and was broad awake.

As he rose he accidentally laid his hand on the boulder at the entrance. It was dank with the night-dew, and he again felt a chill.

“It was only the rock,” he muttered, with inexpressible relief.

The clear dawn brooded over the land like a soft grey gleam. The mountains were wrapped in clouds and vapor and the swallows were twittering. Periphas breathed the fresh morning air and felt strengthened and inspirited. His first thought was that in the cave, only a few paces from him, he had the fairest woman in the Cychrean city, the woman whom he had once wooed, and who had been given to another.

Doubtless she, like himself, had at last fallen asleep from weariness. He must go to her, see her.

With a slight shiver, caused by emotion more than by the chill air of the morning, he bound a goat-skin around his loins, buckled a belt about his waist, thrust his knife into it and with bare feet stole noiselessly into the cave.

XIII.

At every step Periphas took the darkness increased, and the lamplight in the inner room was but a feeble substitute for the dawning day. Yet he instantly distinguished the light figure which lay extended on the black skin.

Byssa slept resting on her side, with her face half averted. Instead of lying on the couch wholly undressed, with her garments loosely thrown over her, she had, probably from fear of some nocturnal visitor, retained her white kirtle and spread the goat-skin bodice over her breast.

Holding his breath, Periphas stole to the couch with a throbbing heart.

Byssa’s head rested on her round arm and her long black hair flowed down in two streams, one behind her shoulders, the other over her neck, where it was lost in the swelling outlines of the bust, only the upper portion of which could be seen above the shaggy edge of the bodice. The troubled expression of her features had given place to a sweet repose, which harmonized perfectly with the unconstrained grace of her recumbent attitude. Her cheeks were still somewhat paler than usual, but her half-parted lips were ruddy with the freshness of youth. In her slumber she had drawn her limbs under her in a peculiarly feminine way, and from the sea of white folds formed by her garments appeared a naked foot as smooth and plump as a child’s.

Periphas bent softly over the sleeper and listened to her calm, regular breathing. He felt like a thief who dreads being caught, and thought with terror that she might open her eyes. But when his glance fell upon the white foot that peeped from under the garments, he mentally compared Byssa to the Pelasgian women who, according to ancient custom, climbed the mountains to bring the shepherds food, and with their brown skins and muscular figures closely resembled beasts of burden. He could not avert his gaze from the bare foot. It seemed to him a perfect marvel and, even at the risk of waking Byssa, he could not refrain from touching it. Slowly and cautiously extending his huge hand, he took hold of it as gently as if it had been a little bird.

Byssa started and sat erect on the couch. Half-stupefied by sleep, she pushed her long hair back from her eyes with both hands, but scarcely had she recognized the Pelasgian when with a loud shriek she thrust him away.

“Wretch!” she exclaimed as she sprang up almost frantic with terror and fled.

At the entrance of the cave she felt herself seized and stopped. She turned.

Periphas was a terrible spectacle; his brown cheeks were deeply flushed and his eyes flashed like a wildcat’s.

“Woman!” he gasped breathlessly, in a voice tremulous with passion. “You are in my power ... you shall obey me.”

But Byssa bent backward over his arm to get as far away from him as possible. At that instant, she remembered her father’s parting charge: “Do not abandon Zeus Hypsistos, that Zeus Hypsistos may not abandon you.”

She called loudly upon the god’s name.

Periphas laughed.

“Zeus is far away,” he said.

Byssa gazed wildly around the cave, expecting to see Lyrcus appear with spear and shield. But no living creature was visible far or near--naught save clouds and mountains.

Again Periphas laughed.

“No one is coming,” he murmured. “If you want to be saved, help yourself.”

The words darted into Byssa’s brain like a flash of lightning.

Yes!--it was “a voice of fate,” a sign sent by the gods, an answer to her appeal placed in Periphas’ mouth, without his suspecting it, by Zeus himself.

A thrill of emotion ran through her frame and with all the strength that animates a person who believes himself acting in the name of a god, she snatched the knife from the Pelasgian’s belt and with the speed of light drove it up to the hilt in his bare breast.

Periphas staggered back a step. He felt no special pain, he lost very little blood, yet he perceived that a change was taking place which could mean nothing but death.

Turning frightfully pale, he tottered and covered his eyes with both hands as though to escape a sight full of awe and horror.

“The soothsayer!” he exclaimed. “I see him ... in the midst of the darkness.... He is stretching out his arms to clutch me.”

Then, with failing voice, he murmured:

“That was the prediction ... that vile ... death by a woman’s hand.”

As he spoke, without an effort to save himself, he fell prostrate on the ground behind the boulder at the entrance of the cave, clouds of dust whirling upward around him.

Byssa, so brave a few moments before, trembled from head to foot. Her knees could no longer support her, and she sank down on a rock at the other side of the entrance.

Her eyes, as if by some magic spell, were fixed upon the figure behind the boulder. She saw the last convulsions shake the Pelasgian’s shoulders; she saw his hand clench in a spasmodic tremor; she saw the waxen hue of a corpse spread over his body--and could not avert her gaze.

XIV.

How long Byssa sat thus she knew not.

She felt neither hope nor fear; she had no distinct consciousness of what had happened.

A shadow passed before the entrance of the cave; there was a howl of joy, and Byssa felt herself pushed against the cliff.

It was Bremon, who in delight at finding her trail at the foot of the mountain, had snatched his chain from Lyrcus’ hand and now leaped upon her, overwhelming her with caresses.

The dog’s affection cheered Byssa’s heart; she roused herself from her stupor and covered the faithful animal with tears and kisses.

Again a shadow glided past the opening of the cavern.

Lyrcus, armed with spear and shield, stood before her, gazing wildly beyond her into the cave as though his glance sought someone. Then he looked searchingly into her eyes, as if he would fain read her inmost soul.

Byssa rose--her knees no longer trembled. As though answering the doubt in her husband’s glance, she pointed to the Pelasgian stretched in the dust and said:

“I have killed him.”

A shudder ran through Lyrcus’ limbs and he stared, as though unable to trust his eyes, at the lifeless form lying in the darkness.

“Byssa!” he cried, stretching out his arms to embrace his wife.

But she shrank back, shrieking:

“No, no, do not touch me.” Then in a low tone she added: “Shall I go to Mekone to be purified from the blood?”

For a moment Lyrcus made no answer, then he replied:

“No. Go to your father. It was a righteous murder.”

When, a short time after, they left the cave Lyrcus lingered behind and, unnoticed by his wife, drew the murderous weapon from the wound and thrust it into his own belt.

Scarcely had Bremon followed the pair out, ere in his joy, he leaped and danced around them, barking with all his might.

Instantly the whole mountain seemed to be alive. The loose stones above the cave rattled again and, urged by some dark foreboding, Periphas’ faithful herdsman hastily descended. At the same time, from the nearest chasm on each side, emerged half a score of armed men, yawning, rubbing their eyes, and straightening their skin cloaks, as if suddenly roused from sleep.

The shepherd entered the cave, but instantly came out again, looking very pale and troubled, as pointing to the two retreating figures he shouted wrathfully:

“Seize them! They have killed him ... with his own knife.”

The sleepy Pelasgians opened their eyes and several recognized the Cychrean leader.

“It’s Lyrcus!” they shouted to the other party.

“Let us surround him,” was the reply.

The men approached from both sides and speedily formed a circle around the departing pair. At each step they took the ring grew smaller. Bremon noticed the danger, showed his teeth, growled, and no longer wandered away from his master.

“Keep close behind me, wife,” said Lyrcus.

And, to obtain greater freedom of movement, he took off his upper garment and flung it to her. Then, crouching slightly behind his shield, he waited until the difficulty of marching on the uneven surface of the mountain should make a breach in the Pelasgians’ circle.

“Follow me!” he called to Byssa, and set off at a run, but to give her time did not go at full speed and, ere he knew it, he was surrounded.

With the courage given by superior strength Lyrcus now tried to fight his way through. He felled two Pelasgians to the earth, and Bremon furiously attacked two others and made them unfit for combat. But the poor dog was soon killed, and Lyrcus needed all his skill in the use of arms to defend himself.

Just at that moment a loud shout was heard close at hand.

“Hold! In the name of the gods, hold!”

A youth in full armor suddenly forced his way to Lyrcus and covered him with his own body.

“Pelasgians!” he cried, “so brave a warrior ought not to die thus ... one against many.”

Lyrcus’ assailants let their weapons fall and looked around them in surprise. They were already outflanked by the young chieftain’s men.

Several raised their voices:

“This Cychrean has killed Periphas.”

“I know it,” replied the youth; “I heard the shepherd call to you. But Periphas fell by his own deeds. He stole this man’s wife.”

Lyrcus had thrust his spear into the ground and used his sword when his assailants pressed upon him. He now drew it out and approached the young leader.

“Who are you, youth?” he asked in surprise; for he perceived by the new-comers’ arms and dress that they were Pelasgians.

“My name is Nomion,” the young man answered: “I am a son of Hyllus, surnamed ‘the old.’ Ten days ago he gave me the command of our tribe. A few hours after I assembled the other chiefs to hold a council. My most ardent desire is to establish peace and friendship between the Pelasgians and Cychreans.”

Lyrcus shook his head.

“It will be no easy task. There is blood between us.”

“I can smooth over Periphas’ murder,” said Nomion, “but Tydeus’ assassination is a harder matter. How did he perish?”

“He fell in a popular brawl one day when I was away fishing.”

Nomion nodded with a look of satisfaction.

“I thought that you were absent,” he said.

Then, turning to his men, he shouted in a loud voice:

“This Cychrean and his wife are free. They can go where they list.”

XV.

The day was far advanced when Lyrcus and his wife reached Kranaai. Weighed down by the sin of murder, Byssa could not enter the places of general assembly and it was only with difficulty and by circuitous paths that she approached the house of her father, the priest Ariston.

The outer room was empty--Byssa entered and silently seated herself beside the hearth. Lyrcus thrust the bloody knife he had brought from the cave into the earth at her feet.

Then he turned to go; but ere he did so fixed his eyes on Byssa with a half-anxious, half-pitying look. He would gladly have extended his hand to her, uttered a word of encouragement. But he dared not. A fugitive murderer, until the rite of purification had been performed, was like a person plague-stricken.

Lyrcus silently departed. Byssa hid her face in her hands, tears trickled through her fingers.

As she sat there quietly she heard the business of the household pursuing its usual course. Her father was whetting his sacrificial knife, her mother was busying herself with the hand-mill, and the female slave was chopping wood outside. Then her mother began to hum a hymn:

Zeus Ombrius, we pray thee
Gentle, fruitful rain to send,
Bless, refresh our native country,
Bid the torturing drought to end.

How well Byssa knew those notes! Her whole soul yearned for her parents--and now she must cause them so great a sorrow.

She dreaded the moment when her father would enter and see her sitting by the hearth, crime-stained and unclean. How gladly she would have warned him, that the surprise and shame might not kill the old man! But a single word from her lips might bring misfortune.

So she remained sitting silently, hiding her face with both hands. Then she heard a rustling, and a peculiar dry cough told her that her father had entered.

A convulsive shudder ran through her limbs. She dared not raise her eyes.

Ariston had come to put a vessel used to hold offerings in its place in a recess in the wall. He was clad in a grey garment, worn when he was occupied in the house. As he held the dish up to the light to see if it was bright his glance rested upon Byssa.

At the sight of his daughter, sitting humbly beside the hearth, he stared at her as though she were some terrible vision in a dream or a spectre risen from Hades. He could not believe what he beheld--then he perceived the knife thrust into the earth at her feet.

His face blanched almost as white as his snowy beard, the vessel fell from his hand, and he stood for a moment as though turned to stone. Then he pressed both hands on his breast.

“Horrible!” he faltered. “Byssa ... my gentle Byssa ... has shed blood!”

Byssa’s mother, Strybele, appeared in the doorway. Uttering a loud cry, she rushed with outstretched arms toward her daughter.

Ariston hastily stepped between them.

“Come!” he said, and with resolute authority led his wife out of the room.

“Ariston,” whispered the poor mother, “utter no curses, no evil words. Remember, she is your daughter.”

When Ariston returned he was clad in his priestly robes. A long white garment fell to his feet, and he wore around his brow a chaplet.

He approached Byssa. In the deep stillness of the house the mother was heard sobbing and praying within.

Ariston, raising his voice, said with great solemnity:

“Zeus was, Zeus is, and Zeus will be; oh, supreme god Zeus! In thy name, Catharsius, cleanser from all guilt, in thy name Meilichius, all-merciful one, I say to ... this woman....”

At the last word his voice trembled.

“This is thy command, oh Zeus. Purification shall be given to him who comes humbly to ask for purification. No one must ask his name, no one must inquire the name of him who is slain; for it is seemly to keep silence in the presence of the unclean. But no one, neither man nor woman, shall refuse to yield him the blessing of purification.”

Ariston then brought the animal to be sacrificed, a tiny sucking-pig. The blood flowed from a wound in the neck.

At the sight of the red stream he fixed an accusing glance on his daughter’s head and then raised his eyes to Heaven, as though seeking refuge from inexpressible agony.

“Woman,” he murmured, “prepare!”

Byssa stretched out her arms.

Ariston held the animal before her and let the blood stream down over her hands, repeating in a low voice:

“Blood expiates blood.”

Then he brought a basin of consecrated water in which Byssa’s mother, to strengthen its effect, had placed a brand from the altar before the house.

Invoking Zeus as the god of purification and the guardian of those who prayed, he washed Byssa’s hands and arms. When this was accomplished he burned the cakes and other offerings, first pouring on them as a libation water mixed with honey--meantime praying that Zeus would restrain the wrath of the goddess of vengeance and show himself merciful and gracious.

Then, taking Byssa’s hand, he drew her up from the hearth.

“My daughter,” he said, “the blood is expiated and the uncleanness washed away with consecrated water. Thou art no longer an outcast, odious to the gods. Thou canst again enter the places of assemblage and the temples consecrated to the deities; thou canst once more mingle among thy companions, amid bond and free. But this is not all. Now that thou hast obtained the forgiveness of the gods, thou must be answerable to men....”

Strybele anxiously entered, approached Ariston, and seized his arm.

“What will be done to her?” she asked.

“Justice.”

“Will she be punished?”

“Yes, if she has sinned.”

With these words Ariston led his daughter into the inner room. A cold perspiration stood on his brow, and the muscles around his lips quivered. He who had cleansed Byssa from blood did not yet know _whose_ blood she had shed.

“Speak!” he said, “and conceal nothing from us.”

Strybele silently pressed her daughter’s hand.

Byssa raised her calm black eyes to her father’s face and answered:

“I have nothing to conceal.”

Then she related the expedition to the fountain, the abduction, and the stay in the cave on Mt. Hymettus. But when she spoke of her appeal to Zeus and the sacred tremor with which, as swiftly as the lightning, she had obeyed the god’s sign, Ariston’s eyes sparkled and, bending low with his arms folded on his breast, he said:

“Zeus deserts no one. But praised be thou, my daughter, for having heard the god’s voice. In saving yourself, you slew the Cychreans’ foe. The nation to which thy husband belongs owes thee thanks and honor.”

Strybele pressed Byssa to her bosom and mother and daughter, clasped in each other’s embrace, wept long together.

XVI.

At noon Lyrcus came back to Kranaai for his wife. He found her reconciled to gods and men, gay and happy in the reverent admiration of her parents. Ariston was proud of his daughter’s having received a sign from Zeus, and Strybele tenderly smoothed her dark hair as though she were still a child.

The meeting between Lyrcus and Byssa was as touching as if there had been a long separation.

On their return to the Cychrean city they found the place of assembly filled with an anxious throng. Several boys, while returning from bird-snaring, had seen in the distance parties of Pelasgians moving towards the cliff.

Lyrcus carried Byssa into the house and then, hurrying to the edge of the bluff, gazed out over the plain.

He had not waited long ere dark groups appeared from between the low hills. There were more than one chieftain’s men.

Lyrcus was already in the act of calling his people to arms, when his eye fell on several Pelasgians marching in front of the others and among them Nomion. The young chief held in his left hand an olive branch and, instead of resting his lance on his shoulder he carried it under his arm, with its point turned towards the earth.

At this sign of peace Lyrcus felt great relief, and the feeling was much strengthened when Nomion and his companions left their men behind a bow-shot from the cliff.

Shortly after the young Pelasgian, accompanied by three or four other leaders, stood before Lyrcus. When he had heard their errand he sounded the horn five times as a signal for the assembling of the oldest and most respected men in the tribe.

After all had met and formed a large semi-circle in the place of assemblage, Lyrcus stepped forward with Nomion by his side.

“Cychreans!” he shouted, “listen in silence to what this stranger has to say.”

Then he asked Nomion to step on a block of stone, where he could be seen and heard by all.

The young Pelasgian chief had laid aside helmet, armor, spear, and shield. A gold circlet confined his waving black hair, and a white cloak with a broad yellow border fell in graceful folds a little below his knees. All eyes rested with pleasure on the handsome youth.

“Cychreans!” he said in a clear, loud voice, “we Pelasgians have come--if you agree--to conclude peace and form an alliance with you.”

A murmur of approval greeted the words; for though the Cychreans had recently conquered, the horrors of war were too freshly remembered for them not to prefer peace.

“As you know,” Nomion continued, “we live in friendship with the Cranai. We now desire that there shall also be a good understanding between us and you. One of our chiefs, who was your bitterest foe, is no more. He was a rich and distinguished man, and his funeral will be so magnificent that it will be talked about far and wide. A huge pyre shall be erected for him and tall urns, filled with oil and honey, shall be placed at the corners of the bier; sheep and oxen, dogs and horses shall be slain and burned upon the pyre. But one thing we will not do--we do not mean to avenge his death. He is responsible for his own deeds, and it is a just punishment that he fell by a woman’s hand. Since he had taken her for a hostage, she ought to have been sacred to him.”

“Yes, yes, the youth speaks the truth!” murmured the Elders, and some applauded him.

After Nomion had explained his wishes more definitely and some of the Elders of the Cychrean nation had spoken, both parties agreed to conclude peace and form an alliance for twenty years.

Lyrcus, with an impatient gesture, said:

“Then I can close my forge and break my weapons.”

Nomion smiled.

“You don’t mean that, Lyrcus,” he replied, “for what man is mad enough to prefer war to peace? Is not war like a tempest or an earthquake? It turns everything upside down. In peace the sons bury their fathers, but in war fathers bury their sons.”

To strengthen the compact a lamb was offered to Zeus, to the sun, and to the earth--to Zeus and the sun a white wether for the glittering masculine divinity, but to the earth a black ewe-lamb as if to a female deity that acted in secret. During the offerings prayers were addressed not only to the three gods, but to the rivers and to the deities of the nether world who avenge perjury.

Finally there was a foaming mixture prepared from Cychrean and Pelasgian wine, and during the libation an invocation was solemnly repeated.

“Oh, Zeus! oh, Sun, oh Earth!... If any one dares to violate this compact, let his brains and his children’s brains be poured out on the ground like this wine.”

Thus they sought to secure peace.

After the sacrifices were finished, several voices shouted:

“Hail to Lyrcus! The honor is his--he trained us in the use of arms.”

“Hail to Byssa!” cried another.

“Honor to Byssa, Byssa the strong and brave. She has received a sign from Zeus.”

“She killed the man who brought war upon us.”

“Hail to Byssa! We want to see Byssa.”

Lyrcus smiled, yet his brows contracted in a frown. He felt half proud, half jealous.

But the shouts became so loud and persistent that he was forced to yield and hurried into his house.

When he came out again, leading Byssa by the hand, every eye was fixed upon the pretty native of Kranaai.

She wore an ample snow-white over-garment and on her head a blue Sidonian veil, which encircled her black hair like a wreath.

Hundreds of voices greeted her with the shout:

“Hail, Byssa! Avenger of thyself and of thy people.”

Byssa stood motionless, pale with emotion. Lyrcus made a sign that he wished to speak; but the people cried: “No, no, let thy wife speak.”

Byssa blushed and lowered her eyes, but she did not lose her presence of mind.

A death-like silence reigned over the whole place and, though Byssa did not speak loudly, every word uttered by her clear, resonant voice reached the farthest ranks of soldiers.

“Cychreans!” she said, “women, it seems to me, should be silent among men; for only a man is fit to answer men. Yet, since you give me liberty to speak, know that I have only fulfilled a higher command. So raise your voices with me and say: Praised be the supreme god, Zeus Hypsistos.”

Then a deafening shout was raised by hundreds of voices. Even the cliffs repeated:

“Zeus Hypsistos.”

From that day Lyrcus never asked Byssa to accompany the other women to Melite’s sanctuary. And when some talked of the miracles performed by the goddess of the place he smiled like one who knows better and said:

“Yet Zeus is the mightiest.”

THE SYCOPHANT.

SECOND YEAR OF THE 89TH OLYMPIAD (423 B.C.)

THE SYCOPHANT.

I.

Callippides was universally detested in Athens. Every one knew him to be one of the most dangerous informers, who lived by extorting money from people by threatening them with some ruinous impeachment.

When he entered a workshop, a hair-dresser’s, or a lesche,[C] any of the places where the citizens met to discuss the incidents of the day or to drive a bargain, one after another stole away till he was left alone. If he bought a fillet from one of the pretty perfume dealers in the market-place, she put his copper coins aside that they might not become mixed with the other money and so bring ill-luck to the day’s receipts; if he spoke in the street to a female slave who knew the residents of the city she hurried off, and if he had merely laid the tips of his fingers on her arm, she rubbed it with the palm of her hand as though some poisonous reptile had touched her. If he was seen in any one’s company more than once, that person was known to be a timid man who was trying to flatter and cajole him in order to be safe from him. In other respects he led so solitary a life that a well-known jester, the parasite Meidias, said of him that “the only thing that stood near him was his shadow.”

[C] A sort of portico, supplied with
seats, and free to all.

Yet there was _one_ person in Athens who valued him. This was Pyrrhander, the Ildmand,[D] to whom he was inestimable in tracking the hetaeriae or secret societies and who, when Callippides was mentioned, used to say: “He’s the best sleuth-hound in our pack.”

[D] Ildmand--the red-haired, seems to
have been a nickname for Cleon,
who at this time was treasurer.
(Aristophanes, equites v. 901.)

The sycophant was by no means frightful in his external appearance. On the contrary, he was a stately man. Of noble lineage, he had belonged in his youth to the select circle of the “gilded youth” of Athens, and in the company of the young Eupatridae, Proxenides and Theagenes, he had squandered his ancestral property in a few years upon horses and chariots. At every horse and chariot race he was seen among the most excited spectators. No one could say how often he had been thrown from his chariot while swinging around the race-course, or how frequently a snorting, foaming team of four horses had been driven over him. The last time this had happened he had been kicked so violently on the head by one of the steeds that he always bore the mark of it. He was so severely injured that the physician, Pittalus, had already sent a messenger for the wailing women.

When Callippides regained his health, his passion for horses and chariots was at an end. His fortune was expended and, like so many Athenians of rank before him, he now sold his last Samphora steed and bought the sandals of a sycophant. With this foot-covering, which made every step noiseless, he stole around the market-place like a snake or a scorpion, listened to backbiters, came behind whispering couples, questioned slaves and soon became as full of unsavory secrets as a marsh is full of croaking frogs. These secrets he used for his own profit and the ruin of others.