“And who are you, young man?” said the king.

“I am Theseus,” was the answer.

“What? the Theseus who has rid the world of the mountain robbers, and of Cercyon the wrestler, and of Procrustes, the pitiless Stretcher?”

“I am he,” said Theseus; “and I come from old Troezen, on the other side of the Saronic Sea.”

The king started and turned very pale.

“Troezen!  Troezen!” he cried.  Then checking himself, he said, “Yes! yes!  You are welcome, brave stranger, to such shelter and food and friendship as the King of Athens can give.”

Now it so happened that there was with the king a fair but wicked witch named Medea, who had so much power over him that he never dared to do anything without asking her leave.  So he turned to her, and said:  “Am I not right, Medea, in bidding this young hero welcome?”

“You are right, King AEgeus,” she said; “and let him be shown at once to your guest chamber, that he may rest himself and afterwards dine with us at your own table.”

Medea had learned by her magic arts who Theseus was, and she was not at all pleased to have him in Athens; for she feared that when he should make himself known to the king, her own power would be at an end.  So, while Theseus was resting himself in the guest chamber, she told AEgeus that the young stranger was no hero at all, but a man whom his nephews had hired to kill him, for they had grown tired of waiting for him to die.  The poor old king was filled with fear, for he believed her words; and he asked her what he should do to save his life.

“Let me manage it,” she said.  “The young man will soon come down to dine with us.  I will drop poison into a glass of wine, and at the end of the meal I will give it to him.  Nothing can be easier.”

So, when the hour came, Theseus sat down to dine with the king and Medea; and while he ate he told of his deeds and of how he had overcome the robber giants, and Cercyon the wrestler, and Procrustes the pitiless; and as the king listened, his heart yearned strangely towards the young man, and he longed to save him from Medea’s poisoned cup.  Then Theseus paused in his talk to help himself to a piece of the roasted meat, and, as was the custom of the time, drew his sword to carve it—­for you must remember that all these things happened long ago, before people had learned to use knives and forks at the table.  As the sword flashed from its scabbard, AEgeus saw the letters that were engraved upon it—­the initials of his own name.  He knew at once that it was the sword which he had hidden so many years before under the stone on the mountain side above Troezen.

“My son! my son!” he cried; and he sprang up and dashed the cup of poisoned wine from the table, and flung his arms around Theseus.  It was indeed a glad meeting for both father and son, and they had many things to ask and to tell.  As for the wicked Medea, she knew that her day of rule was past.  She ran out of the palace, and whistled a loud, shrill call; and men say that a chariot drawn by dragons came rushing through the air, and that she leaped into it and was carried away, and no one ever saw her again.