GATHERING MORE THREADS
The next morning Nikander returned to his home. He retired at once to
rest after his journey. Theria met him as he came forth again from his
room in the late afternoon. It was plain that no sleep had been his. He
was haggard. There was something in his face which cut Theria to the
heart. She put herself directly in his path.
“Father,” she said, “I know your trouble. Do not hide it from me. You
think I cannot help you, but, oh, let me try.”
The love outgoing from her face and from the little trembling gesture of
her hand—these he could not choose but see.
“You say a great deal when you say that you know all about my trouble,”
he smiled.
“Don’t laugh at me, please. I am a grown woman. I am sixteen years old.”
“What is it you want to know, child?”
“About the Persians,” she said breathlessly. She was daring the question
now. What a fool she felt herself to be! “If they’re really coming
against only Athens and Sparta couldn’t the other states stand aside—and
keep out of it—wouldn’t it be best?”
His face went black.
“Theria, who has been talking to you?” he demanded.
“Nobody, Father. We hear things in the house. We can’t help hearing them.
I heard, too, that Argos has Medized. I wanted to tell you that. The
Pythia’s answer had nothing to do with it. They Medized long before. They
are in actual league with the Persian!”
Nikander looked as if she had dashed water in his face.
“By the thundering Zeus, how did you know that? The priests only made
certain of it last night.”
“It’s because I want so much to know, Father, that I learn. And I know
that you are in bitter danger from Kobon. Are you sure”—she caught her
breath before the plunge—“are you sure you are right? Are you sure that
_all_ the states should fight the Persian? Wouldn’t it be better to treat
with the Persian just as the Oracle bids us do?”
This time his eyes flashed with anger. “Am I to hear myself flouted,” he
said, “by the very women of my household?”
She suddenly threw both arms about his neck in a passion of tears.
“No—no—no—I am not flouting you! Kobon! He may kill you. Any day he may
kill you.”
“That side of the question is not to be dwelt upon,” he said severely. He
put his arm about her, but his face was like a mask.
“Come with me,” he said.
He led her into his room and shut the door. She could not tell whether he
would punish her or not.
“Do you know what is meant by ‘treating with the Persian’?” he demanded.
“No.”
“It means to be his slave, to submit to his rule in ways that would ruin
the freedom of Greece. We Greeks could meet in our Councils—oh, yes, we
could _meet_! But the Councils would count for naught. The Great King’s
word would be law. It would mean that we would be called out to fight the
King’s battles, not our own—that he would take our young men to his court
and make eunuchs of them, take our young girls for his concubines. Don’t
you think that any state of Greece should prefer death to such a fate?”
“Yes, oh, yes,” she whispered with wide eyes. At last she was to know the
truth.
“Yet this is the fate you tell me Argos prefers. I suppose,” he added
whimsically, “you know all about the Council at the Isthmos of Corinth,
from which I have just come.”
“No, nothing of that.”
“Then I will tell you. Athens, Sparta, and all the lesser states who want
to defend our Hellas have sent representatives to this congress. They are
making our plan of defence. They have sent envoys to all the doubtful
states of Greece, begging them to join in the fight. Now, here, my child,
is my grief and should be yours—these states, Argos, Crete, and others
sent at once to our Pythia to ask whether or not they should enter the
war. And in every case the oracles have been negative. It has been so
when there was no need.
“You know, my child, that oracles are not always clear! Just as prayers
to the gods are not always answered. And when the oracles are not clear,
surely it is because the Son of Leto wishes us to use our own wisdom in
the interpretation thereof.
“These oracles to Argos and Crete came forth in confused utterance and
could have been interpreted into splendid words of courage to those
states. We could have _forced_ them to join the League.”
Nikander’s voice began to ring with his message. He forgot it was only to
his daughter, Theria, that he was speaking. She meanwhile thrilled and
quivered with the sudden enlightenment. Yesterday she had been for the
moment persuaded by Lycophron. But this from her father was the truth, so
clear that she ought to have known it without any telling.
Nikander went on:
“But all the priests were for bending the oracles the other way. They
fashioned them into drivelling nonsense, only adding enough of sense to
warn the states away, to make them afraid to fight.
“Oh, that our Delphi should come to this.
“The priests themselves are scared. Many of them have visited Persia and
remember its vast power. I, too, have visited it. What of it? Cannot they
see that in a pass like this the gods will fight on our side?
“But among all the priests, only Timon and I are for the nobler part. I
am not accustomed to failure. I do not know how to bear it.”
His head bowed, but it lifted again quickly.
“But we have not failed yet, Timon and I. There are yet Athens and Sparta
for us to help.”
Suddenly he seemed aware of his daughter. He took her hand.
“Athens and Sparta prefer death to the Persian rule. They are going to
fight the Persian though he be twenty times their number. Do you see
nothing fine in that, my child?”
Her wide-open eyes answered him.
“Up till now the Oracle has disheartened them both. It shall not
dishearten them again. Athens and Sparta will certainly visit the Oracle
once more. If I have to die in giving them the message of the god, that
is a small matter. The message shall be given.”
Theria moved toward him in awed, shining acquiescence.
“Father,” she said clearly, “if you have to die that way, I will not cry
out any more.”
Nikander framed her white face in his two hands.
“My darling child!” he said in a kind of amazement. “How strangely you
understand.”
She felt his hands tremble; then he smiled almost merrily.
“But I do not intend to die, Theria. I intend to win!”
Her trust in him now was too complete for her even to urge her own help
upon him.
“I will not ask you again, Father, to make me Pythia, but if I can help
you that way or any way, you will let me—you will let me?”
“Persistent Theria! You cannot help me by being Pythia. How many times
must I tell you that the Pythia is the empty mouthpiece of the god.”
“Yes, Father,” she consented.
“You can help me,” he said, “by keeping up the courage of the household.
Do not let the slaves talk. Don’t let your mother cringe and worry. Most
of all, do not be surprised at anything. I’ll tell you now the fullness
of it. The Persians will come to Delphi. No amount of treating will keep
their greedy hands off this rich spoil. Our streets will know their
footsteps, our temples and households their desecration.
“They are a great horde. All the armies of the past taken together will
not make the sum of them. Yet we must fight them. There is no other
choice, my child. Can you keep a brave heart and stiff will?”
“Yes,” she answered. “Yes.”
She went back to her room exalted and actually refreshed. The danger was
so great, so certain, that it bred not fear but only a deep solemnity.
Nikander, however, walking out into the street, was not encouraged by
this conversation, but miserably cast down.
He had received sympathy; but not from his sons had he received it. The
fullness of Theria’s understanding but made him feel the more keenly
their aloofness. This poor child, a daughter! wanted to help him by
becoming the Pythia—futile effort! Yet the only one open to her. His
sons, had they desired, might have been already in the priesthood,
fighting by his side for this—the greatest cause the Oracle had ever
known.
Meanwhile, he must fight alone. In bitterness of heart he made his way
through the midsummer heat up toward the Council House.