Ephialtes’ Plot.
“So drives self-love through just, and through unjust,
To one man’s power, ambition, lucre, lust.”
Pope.
It was eventide in the Agora. Booths were being closed for the night
while merchants and customers were preparing to seek the comfort of
their homes. Gradually the streets became quite deserted except for a
few dogs whose opportunity to feast came at the close of day when some
of the refuse from the meat and vegetable markets lay about the stalls.
Cimon on his way to dine at the home of Pasicles nearly collided with a
figure as he turned the corner directly in front of the shop of Aphobus,
a dealer in jewelry and vases. After the first moment of surprise at
meeting anyone at this hour he recognized Ephialtes. With a friendly nod
and word of greeting he would have passed on his way, but Ephialtes
called him by name and indicated that he wished to speak with him.
“My dear friend Cimon,” he began, “excuse me if I seem to intrude where
your affairs are concerned, but after having been myself a witness to
the evidence of your great passion for the girl Ladice, I can not but
desire to assist you and I believe I can be of some use to you in
attaining your heart’s desire if you will but listen to me.”
Cimon detected the reek of wine upon the breath of Ephialtes and fought
against a desire to give some plausible excuse and hasten on his way,
but the words of the latter undeniably aroused his curiosity.
“Are you aware,” continued Ephialtes, glancing about to make certain
they were not heard, “that Ladice is now a ward of the great
Themistocles.” Ephialtes laid special emphasis upon the word “great” and
looked keenly to note the affect of his words upon his listener.
Cimon made an impatient gesture. “Do you think to make me jealous of a
man twice my age who has a family of ten children, and has probably
taken Ladice under his protection because he was a personal friend of
her brave father who was killed at Salamis?”
“Indeed you misjudge me, my friend,” replied Ephialtes assuming an
aggrieved air. “I had not thought of him in the role of lover. But while
she is under the protection of Themistocles her mind must constantly be
impressed by his opinions, and you know, yourself, that the statesman
does not love you nor did he your father before you. And why, pray tell
me, does Themistocles hate you? Ah, you hesitate because of personal
modesty, but I will tell you why. It is because you are likely to become
his bitter rival. He sees in you not only qualities which he himself
possesses as a leader, but likewise some that you have inherited from
your brave father. He fears to lose public favor, and you, would you
hesitate to take for yourself that which he might lose?”
Ephialtes could see that his words had touched a vulnerable spot.
“It is true,” replied Cimon, “that Themistocles would never consent to
my suit, but you forget that Ladice does not return my affection.”
“With Themistocles out of the way your chances with his ward are far
greater,” persisted the other. “Now I have a friend by the name of
Leobotes who for personal reasons, dislikes the statesman so much that
he would gladly cause his downfall. Leobotes is endeavoring to stir up
public opinion against Themistocles and thus bring about the latter’s
banishment. With Themistocles out of Greece forever what is to prevent
you from stepping up into his place? And once there you can see realized
your ambitions of uniting Sparta and the islands with us in an alliance,
and at the head of hosts of faithful followers you can put down the
revolts of our colonies. Do you think that with you as tyrant of Athens,
Ladice would continue to treat you with disdain? My dear fellow,”
laughed Ephialtes clapping him upon the shoulder, “she would gladly
forget the disgrace in which your father died and would be proud to be
the chosen bride of the idol of Athens!”
Cimon’s vanity could no longer resist the subtle power of Ephialtes’
flattery. In his mind’s eye he pictured himself the envy of all men. He
would first win the favor of the populace by his magnanimity, then he
would rebuild the temples of Athens that had been destroyed; the
Acropolis must have a splendid shrine to her goddess, and as Ephialtes
had said, the city must be on friendly terms with Sparta. As he realized
that all this which he visioned was possible of achievement he could
scarcely hold himself in restraint. Though it was already past the
dinner hour at the home of the poet, Cimon continued talking and
planning with Ephialtes, all else forgotten.
“Come with me now and I will introduce you to Leobotes,” suggested
Ephialtes, and he was amazed at the readiness with which the other
complied.
They threaded their way through the winding streets which without walks
were lined on either side by the rough masonry of the houses. Since it
was past the hour of the evening meal they met parties of youths singing
and laughing and exchanging coarse jests, all of which was a painful
reminder to Cimon of a period of his youth, not so long ago, that he
would just as soon forget.
Cimon did not trust Ephialtes, but the well contrived scheme which the
latter laid before him was irresistible. As they brushed by open
doorways, obtaining brief glimpses of life within or heard occasional
snatches of conversation, an ecstatic mood possessed Cimon. Might not he
some day possess the power to change the lives of these people and to
put his name upon their lips, his name spoken in praise and reverence!
As they approached one entrance, a pretty child, a girl of about ten
years, sat upon the doorstep holding in her arms a very young infant.
Cimon paused, for he was always irresistibly drawn toward children, and
drew aside the shawl which covered the baby’s face.
“Oho,” he laughed bending over the tiny figure, “behold, Ephialtes, a
future citizen of Athens, and who knows,” he added meditatively, “the
possibilities that lie in that small bundle of life. What is his name,
child?” pinching the girl’s cheek. “A good name means a good start in
life.”
The girl’s brown eyes flashed proudly. “We have given him a wonderful
name. There is no better in Athens. We call him Themistocles.”
Ephialtes laughed outright and pulled at Cimon’s tunic. “Come,” he said,
“we must hurry on—to the business of naming the unborn citizens of
Attica.”
The house of Leobotes was the last one before the widening of the
street, where four other lanes like the fingers of a hand united at the
palm, and the so-called “palm” was a small square beautified by an
ornate drinking place. The two men refreshed themselves at the well
before seeking to gain entrance at the home of Leobotes. The owner
himself answered their knock.
It is a peculiar thing that we are sensitive at times to the proximity
of extremely agreeable or antagonistic natures, though they be out of
range of sight or hearing. Such a feeling of repellence Cimon possessed
as he stood at the doorway of Leobotes. True he had never loved
Ephialtes any too well, but there was a subtle charm of manner in the
handsome young Greek that drew his victims toward him, an attraction
that Leobotes with perhaps no baser traits of character, lacked.
Leobotes was a thin man with a pointed beard of sandy color and shifty
eyes of a nondescript pale blue variety. His appearance was anything but
inspiring, and Cimon felt his previous aspirations shrivel within him
whenever he tried to meet the evasive glance of this friend of
Ephialtes. Leobotes, as soon as he had been informed of the reason for
the visit, set some wine before his guests and after taking a draught
himself, rubbed his hands and smacked his lips as he turned to Cimon,
whom he had known by sight as the son of the hero of Marathon.
“I am a patriotic and loyal citizen,” he began, “and I believe in
promoting that which is for the good of our beloved city, and I believe
equally,” he paused impressively, “in doing away with that which is a
menace to Athens. Themistocles is only waiting his chance to sell our
city and the freedom of its inhabitants to the highest bidder. How do I
know? I was near him at Salamis and I heard the messages he sent by his
slave to the Persian king, to block the Greek ships up in the bay.”
“Is it possible,” asked Cimon deeply impressed, “that he sent such word
to Xerxes?”
“Not only possible,” exclaimed Leobotes, “it is a fact. As you know that
was done too,” he concluded with an air of satisfaction.
“Yes it was done,” Cimon acknowledged, “but we won, did we not? Terror
fell upon the Persians when they heard the loud chant of battle and the
martial sound of trumpet from the Greek ranks and soon ships, Persian
ships, were colliding, their oars—”
“Yes, I know all that,” Leobotes interrupted with impatience, “but that
was all contrary to the way Themistocles had planned, and I believe the
purpose of the deed and not the result should be the cause of punishment
to the perpetrator.”
“If the truth were sufficient to convict him,” said Cimon, “I should
agree with you that the motive of an act is of primal importance, but do
you not think banishment a very severe punishment unless the accusers
can obtain the most convincing evidence against the accused?”
Leobotes smiled as he said, “You are aware of the accusations of Medism
against Pausanias. The lure of wealth and an eastern satrapy following
his victory at Platæa proved too attractive. Just recently a slave sent
by him with a message to the Persian king was overcome by curiosity and
upon reading the contents of the missive learned that he was to be put
to death as soon as his message was delivered. So had all previous
messengers between Pausanias and Xerxes met their fate in order that
absolute secrecy might be maintained. This slave returned to Greece and
made known to the Ephors the treachery of his master.”
“What did Pausanias do?” asked Ephialtes for whom the fate of a traitor
possessed a peculiar fascination.
Leobotes turned his pale eyes in the questioner’s direction, and to the
latter his voice sounded like the utterance of judgment as he replied:
“Pausanias fled just yesterday to a shrine of Poseidon in which place he
feels secure for the present against any violence.”
All three were silent for a few moments. At length Cimon asked, “Do you
believe Themistocles to be implicated in this plot of Pausanias?”
Leobotes hesitated before answering. He did not like the reluctance
which Cimon showed in accepting what he, Leobotes, liked to think of as
proof of Themistocles’ guilt.
“It seems to me,” he answered evasively, “that all men who have tasted
success in battle and have won public favor, sooner or later succumb to
an insatiable yearning for worldly riches and glory no matter at what
price.”
“Now Cimon is very different,” said Ephialtes quickly, fearing that the
trend of conversation was beginning to defeat the purpose for which he
had sought Leobotes’ help. “If Cimon were to succeed Themistocles as the
leading Athenian, he would accept no bribery.”
“No of course not,” agreed the older man, quick to comprehend the
significance of the other’s remark. “There are some men whom one knows
instinctively are above such deeds.”
Feeling that this was a suitable remark for Cimon to ponder, he arose
and refilled the empty wine goblets.
“Well what do you propose that I should do?” asked Cimon after he had
drained his cup.
“Nothing for the present but talk,” answered Leobotes. “You are popular
and influential. A word from you will go twice as far as a lengthy
speech from either Ephialtes or myself.”
“Do you really think my influence could be felt?” asked Cimon as he
arose to leave.
“My dear young man,” Leobotes made answer, and his tone was
ingratiating, while at the same time he turned and gave a knowing nod to
Ephialtes, “Much is expected of you as the son of a brave soldier. Your
name is on the tongues of many, and there is only one man who stands
between you and the highest of mortal attainments. Need I say more?”