Dryas bore his pain with a look which ever and again started her tears, the look of a child come home.
As soon as Melantho came to replace her Theria turned to attend Eëtíon’s wounds. She knelt before him, binding up his bleeding ankle, then carefully washed the deep gash in his shoulder where the sword had grazed over the top of his shield. Her heart sang with the task.
Nikander, perhaps because he was an older, more skilful warrior, had received only scratches. Indeed the fight had not been long. The Persians had been conquered by the god ere ever man struck one blow.
More and more Delphians crowded into the Precinct. The happy news seemed to have mounted on wings of its own to those who had been hidden on Parnassos.
They came down in groups or singly, and each as he entered had to hear the story again from those fortunate ones who had stayed. All the talk was of the wonders, the portents, the direct action of the god. They told each other the tales which were to become the rich traditions of their race. Their faith grew with the telling.
And who shall say that their faith was vain? Even we to-day receive the benefit of that strange repulse, which helped to keep Europe what it was, to make it what it is to-day. We may not explain it as they did, but the mysterious, deciding succour is a basic historical fact. Apollo had saved more than his visible treasures by this prompt defence.
Now other Delphians came in with armfuls of battle-litter they had found on the road, the curious wicker shields, despicable in Greek eyes, rich torn garments, gold chains, head pins set with rubies, the silly Persian caps which set them all a-laughing, and whole mule-packs of trousers which made them laugh still more.
“Men, full-grown men, to hamper their legs with such a foolish gear!”
They found also the curious horse heads which the black men had worn. They were but skins flayed, with ears and mane remaining.
“And we thought those were monsters and were afraid!” laughed one.