The two had been in the town a day or so, and happened to be standing near the southern [213] gate of the city when a traveller who had the appearance of being equipped for a journey, for his horse carried heavy saddle-bags, passed out by the gate. The time was near sunset, and as the road happened not to bear a very good reputation, the proceeding struck the two as somewhat strange. The Corsican, whose hearty manners put him on friendly terms with everybody, spoke to the porter in charge of the gate.
“I do not know what you think, but this is hardly the time that I should choose for starting on a journey, especially if I had to travel by this road, which, they tell me, is not as safe as it might be.”
“It is a little odd,” replied the porter, “but I suppose that he knows what he is about.”
“Do you know him?” asked the Corsican.
“Oh, yes, I know him,” said the porter, with a smile. “He is no greenhorn, as you might think. He knows the point of a sword from the hilt, if any man in Corinth does.”
“Who is he?”
“Well, his name is Ariston; he is a betting man, and as sharp as they make them; much more in the way, I should say, of lightening other people’s purses than of letting other people lighten his. But it is not my business to give him advice. If it had been a young fellow now, [214] one who did not know his way about, I might have made so bold as to say a word; but Ariston is not one of that sort: he must go his own way.”
ARISTON RIDING OUT OF CORINTH.
Rufus, the ex-bandithe had definitely retired from the professionpulled his companion’s cloak, and whispered that they should move out of earshot.
“I could not quite catch what the fellow said; he talked such queer Greek.” Rufus, it may be explained, was bilingual, as were many of the Italians of the south, (Footnote: The southern part of the peninsula, my readers will remember, had been known by the name of Magna Graecia. Polybius (203-121 B.C.) is the first writer to employ the name, of course in its Greek equivalent, but it had been in use long before.) but his Greek was naturally something of a patois, while the porter’s speech was fairly pure, of course with the broad vowels of the Corinthian dialect, but still good enough. “You were talking about the travellerwas it not so?”
The Corsican explained to his companion what had been said. Rufus mused awhile.
“Maybe,” he said, “he wants to meet these gentlemen of the road. You see I know something of the ins and outs of the business. I have had to do in my time with some very respectable persons indeed, and what used to happen when they had something particular to tell us, [215] was that they were taken prisoners. It seemed straightforward to other people.”
“Well, my good Rufus,” said the Corsican, “there could hardly be a better judge in such matters than you. It is quite clear that there is some plot hatching, but I don’t know that it is any business of ours to meddle with it. But we will keep our ears and eyes open, and it is quite possible that we may understand what puzzles other people.”
AMONG THE HILLS
[216] ARISTON had calculated his time with sufficient nicety. Riding at a smart pace for about an hour and a half, he came to a spot where he had calculated on finding some of the bandit troop on the watch for travellers. And there, accordingly, he found them. The men were allowed to deal as they thought best with wayfarers who did not seem to be of any particular importance or to promise any noteworthy gain. The poor they left absolutely unharmed. It was an axiom in their occupation to make friends with this class. In every age and all the world over the professional robber has claimed to be the champion of the poor. He does his best, he would say, to redress the inequalities of life, to make the rich a little less rich, if he does not accomplish very much to making the poor less poor. Practically they know that their days are numbered if for any reason the labouring class of the region where they are at work turn against them. Travellers of the middle class were allowed [217] to pass on paying a toll which was nicely calculated to suit the apparent means, present or future, of the victim. A long experience had taught the members of the band who were detailed for outpost duty what they might reasonably and profitably ask from those who came in their way. Ariston seemed to be of the class who would pay a moderate toll. When he was informed of the amount which was expected of him, five shillings or so, he acknowledged that it was perfectly reasonable. “As a matter of fact, however,” he went on, “I have come here on business, and profitable business too, I hope. Perhaps you will take me to PausonPauson is still in command, I presumefor I am bound to put him in possession of the facts. Meanwhile, gentlemen, I am much obliged to you for your courtesy. I am not a rich man, but if the price of as good a flagon of wine as can be got in this country is of any use to you, it is at your service.” And he pressed a silver coin into the hand of each of his two captors.
Pauson and his men were bivouacking in an open space in the wood which bordered the road on both sides. They were about to sit down to their evening meal, at which Ariston was asked to join them. A sign had passed between his captors or friends, as we may be pleased to call them, [218] indicating that this hospitality might be properly extended to him. The meal finished, Ariston suggested a private interview with the chief, and on obtaining it, proceeded to propound his plan.
“I will be perfectly straightforward with you,” he went on, after explaining that he wanted to have Eubulus captured and carried off. “I am acting for some friends. It is essential for us that Eubulus should not win the race. For helping us to that result we are ready to pay you. That then is your first profit out of the business. Then the young man has friends in Corinth, friends who will be willing to pay ransom, but not, I take it, a very high ransom. They are not old friends, you will understand, and they are not, as far as we know, really rich. Still there will be a ransom, I do not doubt. You will easily reckon out what you may judiciously ask. Now comes in another consideration. I don’t conceal from you that, on the whole, we should prefer to have the young man put out of the way altogether. ‘Dead men tell no tales’; that, I take it, is a proverb that you fully appreciate. What I propose, then, is that when you have fixed the amount of ransom which you think of asking, you will give us the choice of paying it, and with it, of course, the [219] liberty of dealing with the young man as we see fit.” The chief looked at his visitor with an admiration that was half ironical.
“You gentlemen of the city,” he said, after a pause, are thorough-going. We simple folk out in the country here cannot pretend to come up to you. We don’t like killing people. Of course it has to be done from time to time. If a man is foolish enough to resist when we want to take himwell, he leaves us no choice. Then again, if a man’s friends don’t care to ransom himwe always are strictly moderate in our chargesthen again we have no choice. It must be established as a rule without an exceptionno ransom, no release. Why, if we were to let men go without payment made, we should have half Corinth coming out to spend their holidays free of expense among the mountains. To think that we should keep an idle fellow for a month, eating and drinking of the bestwe never stint our guests, and their appetites are tremendous after the first day or twoand that he should get off scot-free at the last, the idea is absolutely preposterous. But to take ransom for him, and then let him be killed before he gets homethat is not our way. It would be a serious injury to our character, for we have to think of that just like other people.”
[220] “But it wouldn’t be your doing,” said Ariston, “it would be ours.”
“The world is very uncharitable,” replied Pauson, “and especially in its dealings with us, and we should have the thing laid at our door for a certainty. You see when we take ransom for a prisoner we give him what is virtually a safe conduct to his home. If we were to let him go and then take him again it would be pure villainy, and killing him or letting him be killedfor it comes to the same thingwhen he is on his way back would be altogether unfair.”