In the Shadow of the Acropolis.
“Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood.”
Tennyson.
Zopyrus bade Themistocles and Ladice farewell and turned his footsteps
absent-mindedly to the house of Pasicles. As it was still early in the
afternoon he decided to walk to the Acropolis and view again the spoils
of the late war that were there on exhibition. Thinking to avoid the
busy street that passes to the front of the Theatre of Dionysus, Zopyrus
sought the shady but unfrequented side of the Acropolis. He was arrested
by the sound of conversation punctuated with light laughter. Something
familiar in one of the voices caused him to proceed cautiously.
Seated upon a moss-grown ledge, the lofty wall of the Acropolis covered
with creepers forming an artistic background, sat Corinna, daughter of
Pasicles. Zopyrus gazed in mute astonishment, for this coquettish maiden
seemed a new Corinna and not the sister of the serious Eumetis, or the
betrothed of the artist, Polygnotus. Leaning against the ledge and
gazing up at the girl with steadfast attention was a florid-faced young
man, a stranger to Zopyrus. The boldness of his demeanor displeased
Zopyrus greatly, and he decided to remain where he was and investigate
the stranger’s intentions to Corinna.
Covering Corinna’s head was a handsome brocaded scarf. When the girl
tossed back her head in laughter, the scarf slipped off and fell to the
ground. The youth picked it up, shook off the dust and restored it to
its owner. Corinna joyfully received it and warmly thanked the young man
who assured her he would delight in rendering her a real service some
day.
Zopyrus watched the two for some time and was about to conclude that it
was perhaps a harmless flirtation when the man’s face suddenly lost its
expression of gayety and took on a serious aspect, while his eyes
gleamed with a lustful light.
“My invitation of a few minutes ago was no joke, Corinna. Will you go
with me to Naxos on the second night of the next full moon? You will be
the queen of all there, you beautiful girl, with your crown of auburn
hair.”
Corinna drew away from the too ardent gestures.
“No, I can not do that. My parents, my sister, yes and Polygnotus,” she
added with a blush, “would be horrified.”
“Do not let them know,” persisted the man. “Have you not a sick friend
who might be visited that night?”
The maid hesitated. “Give me time to think it over. You say there will
be other girls and that the ceremonies are beautiful?”
“Yes indeed,” he cried eagerly, laying a hand on hers, “there will be
others, but none so lovely as you! As for the artist, he is too serious
to enjoy life. With him, Corinna, you would soon become an old woman,
but I am different. I enjoy life and I can make you so happy that the
festival of Dionysus will be an event in your life that you will never
forget.”
“Well I will try to arrange it so I can go. Where shall I meet you?”
“At the harbor of Piræus, an hour after sunrise.”
Zopyrus needed to hear no more. He hesitated between informing the
girl’s parents of what he had heard, and on the other hand, saying
nothing about it, but going to Naxos himself, unknown to her, as her
guardian. After debating the problem all the way home, he decided upon
the latter plan as the better, in that it might spare Pasicles and
Cleodice disappointment and mortification.
* * * * * * * *
On the day following the events of the preceding chapter, Cimon was the
recipient of a message the purport of which caused him to doubt the
accuracy of his sight. The note was from Ladice, the ward of
Themistocles, requesting him to meet her in the latter part of the
afternoon at the mossy ledge on the east side of the Acropolis.
Believing that it was all part of a dream from which he would awaken to
miserable reality, Cimon hurried to his trysting-place with fast beating
heart. His eyesight might still be tricking him, but there standing by
the ledge, her figure draped in a gown of palest blue that revealed
while yet it concealed the graceful lines of her form, stood Ladice, the
one being who could raise him to the heights of Olympus or plunge him to
the depths of Hades. The desire to take her in his arms was controlled
so that he presented a calm and dignified exterior as he approached with
the words: “I am here in answer to your summons, Ladice, and I am at
your service.”
She raised to his, eyes that betrayed no emotion either of love or
hatred, as she made reply: “I am here simply to say that if you will
cease in your attempt to bring about the ostracism of Themistocles and
will try to undo the evil you have already committed, I will become your
wife, otherwise my former decision concerning a marriage between us
remains unchanged.”
Cimon could no longer doubt the truth of his senses. This lovely maiden
whom he adored was offering herself to him, body and soul, but in return
for what? Ah yes, if he would discontinue his efforts to banish the one
man who stood between him and the pinnacle of fame and fortune which had
but recently appeared above him as possible of access. He looked about
him wildly, while for a moment his mind seemed a chaos. Athens or
Ladice, a city or a maid, fame or marital bliss! He could feel the blood
throbbing at his temples while it seemed an eternity before he could
speak.
Around him lay the city that he loved, the city for which his father had
fought and died, the home of his youth and the shelter of his maturing
ambitions. Before him stood a maiden in an attempt to rescue whom, a
friend had forfeited his life. Revenge toward her because he had failed
to awaken in her heart the love for which he yearned, had caused him to
first listen to the words of Ephialtes. Later had come the other
ambition. With a cry that expressed a realization of freedom after long
confinement, Cimon stepped forward and took the impassive form of Ladice
in his arms.