Again the danger brought to Theria its dark and solemn peace.
“Poor Baltè,” she said. “How could I live in the mountain with Delphi destroyed? Could I be a peasant all my days?”
“You could never be a peasant,” said old Baltè proudly, “and you would always have one slave. Old Baltè will last long.”
“Dear Baltè,” she answered, and kissed her. Baltè was a Helot from Sparta and some high Spartan blood ran in her veins.
But Baltè had more to tell.
“Yesterday came a runner. Poor lad, he was sore spent. Your father brought him in from the highroad and gave him wine and made the slaves rub him well. Then he sent him on his way to Sparta wi’ another runner to help in case he fall.”
“Whence came the runner?” asked Theria.
“From Leonidas at Thermopylæ. He was to beg the Spartans to come quick and help.”
“Those laggard Spartans,” cried Theria. “Why do they not go to help their king without his begging and summoning?”
“Leonidas is already fighting the Persians—he and his Spartans,” said Baltè proudly. “So few against so many. Only three hundred Spartans and a few allies. If the Persians beat they’ll be comin’ straight here—straight to Delphi.”