Alkibiades had been gone some days, the escort had returned, when the sanguinary mandate of the Ephors came to Pharnabazos. He argued with himself that if he merely suggested the wishes of the Spartan government to someone else, and left the rest to chance, he would not be responsible for the result, whatever it might be. And even if others, in consequence of the whispered suggestion, sought to do an act of violence, perhaps they might not overtake the brave Athenian; or if they did,—well, he bore a charmed life, so all men said, and might escape or overcome assailants. In any case he, Pharnabazos, would not be implicated in the deed. He would save himself, and perhaps his honour. Pharnabazos had two relatives, a brother and an uncle, who lived near him at Daskylion. To them, in strictest confidence, he told his trouble, and the dilemma in which he found himself. He would not have even a suspicion cast upon his fame, and could not allow any injury to be done to his friend and former guest, but, he said, the burden that was laid upon him overwhelmed him; he asked them their advice how he could get rid of it. He confided to them how he wished that something, almost anything, would happen to take it from him. Without another word, the two relatives set out upon the track of the travellers, taking some retainers with them. By rapid marches they arrived at Synnada, a few miles from Melissa, where we left Alkibiades resting with his friends, after their long and tiring journey, seeking to gain fresh strength before they started on the more hazardous and less known way which lay between them and the Persian capital. Agrestides had noticed that his master, for the first time since he had known him, began to show signs of weariness while they were on the road, and, soon after they had reached Melissa, he told them of a foolish dream which had troubled him the night before, the meaning of which he could not understand. In his dream he fancied that a woman was supporting his head and looking sorrowfully at him, while she combed his hair. The next night, sadly, as if from some presentiment that could not be overcome, he went early to rest. Timandra and Agrestides, having attended to his wants, retired to their own rooms, at a little distance from his, which was in the front part of the solitary house. Like sleuth-hounds the sneaking emissaries stole on; they reached the village at nightfall. They heard their victim was living there almost alone. There were six of the pursuers altogether, yet they feared to strike the blow. One of them, more daring than the rest of the band of cowards, undertook to do it. He crept stealthily into the room, snatched with shaking hand the sword that lay by the couch side, saw the hero lying restlessly in sleep, and, seized by a sudden panic at the sight, slunk tremblingly away.