“But the fleet,” pursued Nikander, “was the fleet also destroyed?”
Upon this the heralds had better news to tell.
“Oh, the fleet, wonderful! The gods themselves! Never was known such a storm. Three days it lasted, oh, Delphians. Rain, torrents of rain, now in midsummer when we never have rain. Wind! Oh, such wind that it strewed the Persian ships in heaps along the shore—windrows of ships and drowned Persians. But our ships, the Athenians were safe in the Eubœan strait. Not one was lost in the storm and very few by battle. Well said your Oracle: ‘Pray to the winds.’”
Nikander, his heart swelling with joy and pride, began to see dimly that miracles can happen in spite of sacrilege and in other than accepted ways.
“The Athenians?” he asked. “Are they hopeful?”
“Oh, hopeful! Heartened by the god’s help and the storm’s help. Of course the Persian and Ionian ships still outnumber them. But the Athenians say that some god is on their side. They are ready to fight again. They are hastening back to Athenian waters for the fighting.”
But Delphi had no such hope. Delphi was all confusion. She had no real army even though she was an independent state. She had only her temple guard. This guard had been sufficient in ordinary times. For all Hellas revered Apollo’s temple. No Hellenic state would dare plunder Apollo’s shrine. But now! Those hordes of barbarians who knew not the god. From these the Delphians well knew what to expect.
They hurriedly left the heralds. Everywhere now were seen men with their families, their slaves, carrying burdens, some hurrying up toward the mountain, some hurrying down toward the port of Kirrha. But the braver citizens stayed with white faces to consult the Oracle once more.
Nikander, hastening homeward, found these and the priests already at his door.
“You must give us back the Pythia, Nikander,” spoke Kobon angrily. “The Oracle must be consulted at once. Who ever heard of a Pythia being taken home again?”