The brave Kyrsilus knelt before his captor whose spear-head disappeared in his breast. His face was convulsed in the agony of death, but with his last faint breath he tried to speak to Persephone. “Perhaps you were right—about the oracle—to the rocks—below—”
Immediately following the tragic death of the leader the remaining men were killed and the rough floor of the little chapel became slippery with blood. A number of the women, following old Kyrsilus’ advice, flung themselves to certain death upon the ground below rather than fall into the hands of Xerxes’ soldiers.
It was Artabazus, one of the most insolent and rapacious of the king’s officers, who discovered Persephone and Ladice cowering in a remote corner.
“Oho, look what I have found here!” he laughed in a coarse loud voice. “Surely such a prize was worth that perilous climb.”
He took a step forward and seized Persephone roughly, but as he did so, he caught the eye of a young officer who had just arrived upon the scene together with Xerxes himself. The king took in the situation at a glance and his narrow eyes gleamed in approbation.
“A brave soldier deserves a fair prize, Artabazus,” he said.
“One moment please!” It was the voice of the young officer Zopyrus. “Did you not, cousin Xerxes, promise me a choice of the fairest maidens of the kingdom? This land of Greece is now a part of your kingdom, O mighty conqueror, and out of it I choose the maiden whom Artabazus now holds.”
“It is all one with me,” cried the impatient monarch, “Artabazus shall have the other maid.”
Zopyrus stepped forward and took the half unconscious form of the beautiful girl in his arms, and amid the coarse jests and ribaldry of the Persian soldiery, fled with his burden to the city below.