“O Xerxes, King of the Medes and Persians and would-be conqueror of the world, I come to you with an important message. For two days your soldiers have been defeated by the Greeks at the entrance of the pass of Thermopylæ. The Greeks are so inferior in number that right now is the time to strike, but not in the method heretofore employed. The Greeks are well trained, and if they are to be conquered, it must be by the greater forces of the enemy. Listen, O Xerxes! If you would succeed in overwhelming the enemy, you must attack from behind, but this you can not do since you are not acquainted with this wild, impassable country. I am a native Malian and well acquainted with this locality. If you will make it worth my while, I will show you a mountain pass that will lead you to the rear of Leonidas’ army unobserved.”
During the Persian’s recital, Ephialtes’ behavior had undergone many mutations. From startled curiosity to fearful apprehension, thence to genuine fright and finally to abject terror, his demeanor had rapidly changed. By the time the Persian had ceased speaking, the Greek’s face was as livid as a corpse.
Zopyrus sprang to the side of the doomed man and clutching him by either shoulder cried, “Speak, traitor of Thermopylæ. What have you to say for yourself?”
For answer Ephialtes drew from the folds of his robe a ruby handled dagger which he raised for a death-dealing thrust at Zopyrus, but the latter, free from the influence of wine, was the quicker, and caught his enemy’s arm in its lightning-like descent, thus warding off the blow that might have been fatal.
A muttering that grew to a rumble and then to a mighty roar that shook the very pillars of the temple was heard, and with one impulse an angry mob rushed toward the dais. Above the din and confusion a voice screamed: “Death to the traitor who opened the gateway to Greece! Upon his head and no other rests the loss of our homes and the deaths of our fathers and brothers.”
Zopyrus drew the half fainting form of Persephone to his side and with one strong arm gave her bodily support and with the other forced a passage through the enraged crowd down the length of the cella. At the door they turned and looked back toward the throne which was completely hidden from their sight by the oscillating wave of humanity which hovered about it and its ill-fated occupant.
Shuddering with horror they rushed out into the darkness. The cool breeze from across the water revived their benumbed senses. As they sped along the pathway which led to the shore, the drunken figure of a man emerged from a clump of bushes to their left. Zopyrus would have ordinarily paid no heed, as the man was in type a duplicate of hundreds of others within the temple, but something familiar in the drunkard’s appearance caused him to pause and take a second look, and in doing so he recognized beyond the question of a doubt the coarse companion of Corinna. His conscience smote him as he remembered that although he had come to Naxos for the very purpose of serving as Corinna’s protector, he had abandoned her to whatever fate might befall when he had seen Persephone in distress.
He seized Persephone’s hand and said hastily: “Come with me. We must find Corinna.”
“Do you mean Corinna the daughter of the poet Pasicles?” asked Persephone.
“The same,” he replied, “Do you know her?”