The Mortal Gods and Other Plays Part 51

_Hie._ How like you this, sir? Biades has stripped The galley of its rowers,--sent them all To his gilded _Ino_,--every boat in charter To bear his trappings,--parchments, maps, and gifts From Phernes,--curtains, instruments----

_Lys._ The stuff Goes with the admiral, and what other way Than by the boats? Say naught of 't.

_Hie._ This a time To spend a feathering!

_Lys._ Nay----

_Hie._ And why send all?

A half--a third--had answered. There's not left An oarsman on the galley save the men Who brought you from the _Thetis_.

_Lys._ You've the guard,-- Yourself its head. Give Biades his way When prudence pays no cost. We've hedged and hemmed His wrestling will until his pride is brashed To the rebel quick----

_Hie._ Sst! He is here.

[_Biades stands in door_]

_Bia._ Lysander, They hail you from Thrasyllus' s.h.i.+p. You stay The rites.

_Lys._ [_Troubled_] But is it time----

_Bia._ Full time.

_Lys._ My boat----

_Bia._ Is waiting.

_Lys._ I--you, sir----

_Bia._ You'll bear my grace To our priestly captains?

_Lys._ You stay here?

_Bia._ I shall, If you'll not press me other. As you pray For clearer omen and a morning battle, Let only those whose land holds them untainted Stand in the holy ring.

_Lys._ Above our prayers This act will speak to Heaven in Sparta's name And make her G.o.ds your own.

_Bia._ If that might be, Lysander! To have no altars is a fate Man can not bear for long.

_Hie._ The rowers, sir!

How soon do they return?

_Bia._ They've leave to see The midnight toward with their fellow crew On the _Ino_.

_Hie._ Midnight!

_Bia._ Loyal beggars, all.

They're sad to lose their captain, and I pay Their grieving flattery with this stinted lease From duty here. They'll use 't in prayerful rite----

_Hie._ Not prayer! The casks will drip too free for that.

If any prayers come from the heart to throat, They'll downward wash again, not out and fly.

Say'st midnight, sir?

_Bia._ I do. They will return In time to set the galley from the cast Of morning danger.

_Hie._ Move again? The s.h.i.+p Is now to rearward, by some rods.

_Bia._ She is.

And shall go farther. Here's no fighting deck.

_Hie._ Ay, these soft cabins, Corinth-modelled as A prince, would make a floating holiday, Put soldiers from their place.

_Bia._ The s.h.i.+p must lie Full east, on th' safest wave. We've treasure 'neath These sails that make their weathered woof more dear Than threaded gold of Hera's mantle.

_Hie._ Ah, You mean the women.

_Bia._ No,--a woman. Come, Lysander.

_Lys._ Sir, what time wilt take your place Aboard the _Ino_?

_Bia._ Give me till the midnight, I'll from that moment be your admiral.

But for these gentle hours that lie between, I would as merest man use their light wings To chase a hope through heaven.

_Lys._ [_With a glance at Pyrrha_] And bring it down, My lord!

[_Exeunt Lysander, Biades, and Hieron_]

_Pyrr._ Now, Impudence, no more's to do!

Go up and take thy crown. Before my eyes He teaches them he wooes me, and my pride Mutely abets his guile. [_Holds up the dagger_] My fine defence, Thou'rt warder to a bosom unbesieged.

In Biades' contempt I have a guard That saves thine office. Go, you glittering mock!

[_In a pa.s.sion of resolution she throws the dagger through the door_]

That's done. No matter. He does not look at me, Or looks as though his eyes begged pardon of him, For their chance stop on nothing.

[_Re-enter Biades, the dagger in his hand_]

_Bia._ Here's a toy Caught from the rigging. Yours, I think.

[_Offers it to her. She does not take it_]

It must be dear. I've seen you fondle it.

Is it not yours?

_Pyrr._ It was.

_Bia._ Then is. And worth Your keeping. A good blade, though Spartan plain.

_Pyrr._ I'm weary of it. In Athens I shall find Another pattern.

_Bia._ [_Testing blade_] Fine and strong. Will wear A hundred years, then make a door for death.

[_Turns it against his heart. She starts_]

You'll take it, Pyrrha. To throw it to the sea Were waste for an Athenian.