CHAPTER XXXIX
NIKANDER PLEADS FOR HIS DAUGHTER
Early next morning Nikander returned to the Precinct. The smoke of the Great Altar was lifting in a glorious column. Not one priest of Delphi but had promised gifts to the Far-Darter if he would but save them. And now they were offering those gifts.
Nikander mingled with the crowd on the temple platform. He was heavy hearted where all were gay. Old Akeretos was sitting on the temple steps worn out with hours of ritual. A little squat Delphic farmer was talking to him. Near by stood two cloaked females.
“And, Akeretos,” said the eager little man, as if driving a bargain, “you can’t get any better anywhere. The two of ’em at once and portents to both of ’em.”
“Bring them here,” said the old shrine president.
The man pushed the two females to the front and without ceremony flicked off their veils.
He showed two girls as alike as two peas. They were peasant-built but flabby. Their faces, brown because the sun had made them so, had somehow a look of paleness under the brown. The eyes of both were large and haunted as if with ill-health. They were simpering with the excitement.
“Hyeroche, here, is the oldest,” went on the farmer. “Before she was born my wife had a dream. Any of the neighbours can tell ye, for, Paian help us, she told it enough! She dreamed that she was searchin’ for her baby in the mountains, an’ she found it, a little weepin’ thing lyin’ on top of a milkin’ stool. She started to take it off of the milkin’ stool, but quick, the milkin’ stool shot up tall with its three legs, a very tripod, an’ she couldn’t reach the baby.
“Now I ain’t no reader of dreams. But what do ye think o’ that, Akeretos? Doesn’t it seem pointin’ the baby to be Pythia?”
Old Akeretos nodded. He was much impressed.
“An’ this other one here, Timo, before she was born, Paian help us, the same dream to her, too.”
Akeretos was not listening. He was studying the girls. Well did he know the successful Pythia type.
The little farmer turned to Nikander. “Now ain’t they just made for Pythias?” he demanded, “the both on ’em, an’ free-born Delphians both.”
Nikander studied them. He was trying to keep his judgment clear and unbiassed by his earnest wish. If these girls were made Pythias at once would it not afford a chance to secure his daughter’s freedom?
Akeretos turned to Nikander.
“These might put your daughter into the background,” he said. “You will forgive me, Nikander, if I say that these have more the Pythia look than has Theria.”
“My daughter is not the Pythian type,” said Nikander, trying to speak indifferently. “I realize that, Akeretos. Anyway, we require three Pythias. It has been the custom and is right.”
That afternoon a council of all the priests was held to decide upon the farmer girls.
Beforehand Nikander sought his kinsman Timon. Perhaps Timon would listen now as he would not on that other occasion when Nikander had spoken—then when the Persians were so nigh at hand. Nikander must steer his course carefully. Timon must not suspect the dangerous truth—Theria’s deception on the tripod. Yet Nikander must bring forth every argument possible for his child’s release.
“Timon,” he began, “I am feeling more and more that my daughter Theria is not the Pythia type.”
“Not the type!” repeated his kinsman. “But she gave magnificent oracles, Nikander. Very unusual oracles. And the manner of giving was unusual, also. Do not you think so?”
Timon looked sharply at Nikander, or did Nikander fancy it? Nikander had much ado to keep himself steady and unmoved. He hastily changed the subject.
“Yes, they were good oracles. But the girl is breaking too fast under the ecstasy. That, of course, would make me wish to have her cease prophesying. But that is not all. I would not let mere personal feelings sway me. You know that, Timon.”
“Yes.”
“Theria had a vision on the mountain. You have no doubt of that, have you?”
Timon assented. To the Greek this was easy of belief. Timon had seen Theria in her state of trance. He had seen her yesterday, and even then the expression of her face showed the vision state through which she had passed. Yes, yes, Theria had seen a vision.
“She has lately told me more about it,” pursued Nikander. “Apollo spoke to her. She has told me the words of the god and I have written them down.”
With a hand he could not keep from trembling Nikander brought forth the tablet.
Timon read it slowly, as Greeks were wont to read. Again he read it. “No priestess of mine art thou.—Begone from my temple.—Nay, for I love thee—thou hast sung at my bidding.”
“Was all this in it when you spoke of this before?” asked Timon seriously.
“Yes, the same.”
“I remember only the silver shaft of Apollo. But this!—Why, Nikander, the god has actually driven the girl from his temple. It might even be dangerous to hold her there after this express command.”
“Do you think that?” queried Nikander eagerly. “Will you say that in the Council?”
“But suppose she is freed—what should then be done with her?” asked Timon.
But with this encouragement Nikander determined to apply formally to the Priests’ Council for her release.
Never in all his days would Nikander forget the bitter anxiety of that afternoon with the Council. Many strifes had he striven with that august body, strifes for the good name of Delphi, strifes for the honour and safety of Hellas, yet never one that had given him this suffocation at the thought of defeat.
Timon became his earnest helper and Nikander sorely needed help.
“Never before,” maintained the older priests, “never before had the Pythia been given back to her family or been given in marriage. It would cause a pestilence.”
But as the debate progressed Nikander gradually became aware of his own new power in the Council. For many months Nikander had been the sole one who had counselled resistance to the Persian. It was Nikander who had supplicated for the more hopeful oracles and received them. Suppose the more timid interpretations had prevailed, where would the Delphians now be?
Nikander had been right and his prayers had changed the mind of the god. Now Nikander was making a strange request. Might he not be right in this also? Surely Nikander would not ask this save in honest conviction. Had Nikander ever been selfish toward the shrine? Would he ask that his daughter be dismissed if it were likely to bring disaster? Did he not bring them now the god’s actual command: “Begone from my temple”?
Nikander saw friend after friend spring to his feet with arguments like these until his heart warmed and in a clear, impassioned speech he moved the Council to his side.
It was old Akeretos who made answer.
“Apollo has spoken to free the girl. It is not usual. But neither is it usual for Apollo to appear in person and hurl mountains upon the enemy. It is a time of portents and wonders. Let the girl be freed, and at once.”
Nikander’s brain whirled as this verdict was pronounced.
But a still further joy awaited him.
Kobon, who had always been his bitterest antagonist, now rose in the Council and proposed to elect Dryas, son of Nikander, to the priesthood, also to give Dryas the crown for the best warrior in yesterday’s battle.