“Guard your tongue, wife!” interrupted the old general in a tone of grave rebuke.  “The vipers on the crowns of Upper and Lower Egypt symbolize the King’s swift power over life and death.  To the Egyptians the Philadelphi, Ptolemy and Arsinoe, are gods, and what cause have we to reproach them except that they use their omnipotence?”

“And, mother,” Eumedes eagerly added, “do not the royal pair on the throne merely follow the example of far greater ones among the immortal gods?  When the very Gauls who are devoted to death yonder, greedy for booty, attacked Delphi, four years ago, it was the august brother and sister, Apollo and Artemis, who sent them to Hades with their arrows, while Zeus hurled his thunderbolts at them and ordered heavy boulders to fall upon them from the shaken mountains.  Many of the men over there fled from destruction at Delphi.  Unconverted, they added new crimes to the old ones, but now retribution will overtake them.  The worse the crime, the more bloody the vengeance.

“Even the last must die, as my sovereign commands; only I shall determine the mode of death according to my own judgment, and at the same time, mother, feel sure of your approval.  Instead of lingering starvation, I shall use swift arrows.  Now you know what you were obliged to learn.  It would be wise, mother, for you to leave this abode of misery.  Duty summons me to my ship.”  He held out his hand to his parents and Hermon as he spoke, but the latter clasped it firmly, exclaiming in a tone of passionate emotion, “What is the name of the woman to whom, though she is not of their race, the lawless barbarians yielded?”

“Ledscha,” replied the admiral.

Hermon started as if stung by a scorpion, and asked, “Where is she?”

“On my ship,” was the reply, “if she has not yet been taken ashore with the others.”

“To be killed with the pitiable band there?” cried Thyone angrily, looking her son reproachfully in the face.

“No, mother,” replied Eumedes.  “She will be taken to the others under the escort of trustworthy men in order, perhaps, to induce her to speak.  It must be ascertained whether there were accomplices in the attack on the royal palaces, and lastly whence the woman comes.”

“I can tell you that myself,” replied Hermon.  “Allow me to accompany you.  I must see and speak to her.”

“The Arachne of Tennis?” asked Thyone.  Hermon’s mute nod of assent answered the question, but she exclaimed:  “The unhappy woman, who called down the wrath of Nemesis upon you, and who has now herself fallen a prey to the avenging goddess.  What do you want from her?”

Hermon bent down to his old friend and whispered, “To lighten her terrible fate, if it is in my power.”

“Go, then,” replied the matron, and turned to her son, saying, “Let Hermon tell you how deeply this woman has influenced his life, and, when her turn comes, think of your mother.”