The old man looked sadly at the girl and turned his face away to hide a tear. He was deeply affected by her words and the sincerity of her manner, but he did not wish to betray his emotions.
With an effort at severity he said, “My daughter you do unwisely to ridicule the divine oracle of Apollo. The words it utters are not as you say ambiguous, but so fraught with significance that we mortals are incapable of full comprehension. We do our best to interpret the will of the god through his agents, and perhaps at best we can only guess what revelations he makes concerning the future. But it is unseemly in a maiden of your years to criticize our divine source of revelation.”
They were now at the top of a long flight of broad steps, and stood one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the city. In the distance through an atmosphere of unusual clarity they beheld to the south and east, isolated peaks which, though apparently devoid of vegetation, possessed a beauty of color and contour that was enchanting. It was the time of the year when the Etesian winds came from across the blue Aegean and the whole fair land of Greece smiled under the magic touch of the goddess, Demeter.
The faithful band of Kyrsilus’ followers passed through the gateway of the Pelasgic wall and stood in front of a large rectangular building, the temple of Athene Polias[1]. Upon a pediment of this temple was a grotesque serpent in relief, painted and gilded to a dazzling brightness. Processions of priests and priestesses with conventional head-dress and stereotyped smile, formed a frieze which adorned the entablature. A figure in relief of Theseus carrying across his shoulders the Marathonian bull aroused in these, his supposed descendents, a renewed courage to protect their threatened city. They made ready for use what few weapons of defense they had among them, then retired to the temple to pray for the safety of Athens.
“My daughter,” said old Kyrsilus, “pray to Ares that our soldiers may be possessed of unusual valor and courage in the coming conflict, and pray to Athena that our generals may wisely direct the approaching battle.”
“Father Kyrsilus,” replied the maiden, “I always pray to one God! You may call Him Zeus if you wish, but He is all powerful and in His hands alone rests the fate of Greece.”
“Hush my child,” said the aged one, horrified, “you will call down the wrath of the goddess in whose temple you now stand! Will you not pray to Athena?”
Before the girl could reply, a young cripple, who because of his affliction, had been unable to join his friends in the defense of his land, hobbled into the temple.
“They are coming, they are coming!” he cried pointing with trembling finger to the west. The refugees, looking in the direction indicated, beheld on the distant horizon a mass of purplish nimbus which as it gathered momentum gradually took the definite shape of a vast glittering array of horsemen and foot-soldiers. Petrified with terror they stood watching the approaching multitude, which swept relentlessly toward them, a great human deluge!
“Quick! gather rocks and stones and pile them near the wall. The ascent is steep and few can attempt to scale it at a time. We can easily hold them back from the steps with these stones till our soldiers at Salamis return to our aid.” Kyrsilus forced an air of bravado to encourage his countrymen, but his heart sank as he beheld the barbarian host! For a brief space the maid’s doubt as to the wisdom of the oracle also took possession of him, but only for a moment. He thought, “When all else fails, Athena will protect her sanctuary and we can find refuge there.” Soon the oscillating wave of humanity was beneath them. A voice from below rang out clearly above the clash of weapons: