“Because my father, who is out there with the Greek fleet, left me in the care of an old friend, Kyrsilus, who believed that Athens could be saved by defending the Acropolis. My father will be frantic with grief when he hears of the fate of Athens, for he lost a son, my twin brother, in the battle of Thermopylæ. My brother Phales, was considered too young to fight and was refused permission to join the naval forces when he applied to Eurybiades, the commander of our fleet, so he united with the Spartans under king Leonidas, and as you know, not one of the three-hundred soldiers escaped death.”
Zopyrus was too overcome with emotion to trust himself to speak. Like a flash the association of her lovely face as she lay passive in his arms, with that other face, so strangely similar, was made clear. His had been the hand that had laid low that youth just on the threshold of manhood, and caused sorrow to the brave father and the devoted sister! In his mind he lived over again that period of mental anguish preceding the battle of Thermopylæ. Then once again as in the heat of battle he saw before him the handsome face of the Greek lad as he lay at his feet in the peace of death. Oh, it was unbearable! He passed his hand across his eyes as if to shut out the haunting vision and lo! as he drew his hand away the same face was before him still, only now it appeared in the fresh vigor of life! As they followed the course of the little by-path, she noticed his sudden silence and wondered if it were possible that he felt any sorrow that a Greek soldier, though her brother, had met death in the pass of Thermopylæ.
No more words passed between them until they stood side by side on a small promontory, the bay, reflecting the glory of an afternoon sun at their feet. Persephone stood shading her eyes and looking eagerly toward the Greek triremes as if she hoped even at that distance to be able to discern a familiar figure on board. It was with new emotions that Zopyrus watched the slender form of the girl silhouetted against a horizon of water and sky like a sylph limned on gauze. She was clad in the flowing white, sleeveless chiton of the women of higher caste, with a plaited kolpos, giving a puff effect at the waist. Her hair, gold where the sun shone upon it but brown in the shadows, was parted so that it fell in loose waves around her temples. At the back, low in her neck, it was gathered in a soft Psyche knot. Her nose was typically Greek, straight and thin, and the perfect contour of cheek and chin was the same that Zopyrus had observed in the slain lad at Thermopylæ.
“Just so have the opposing fleets lain for days,” she cried. “That is the position in which they were when news was received at Athens that Aristides had arrived from Aegina whither he had been banished.”
“Do you think the Greek fleet would do well to strike first? Why not wait for the Persians to take the initiative?” Zopyrus asked.
“Do you think I will tell you, a Persian, what I think?” she cried angrily.
He thought she was going to leave him, but in that he was mistaken. She walked a few paces away still gazing with shaded eyes toward the triremes. Her features now showed the tragic expression of despair. Themistocles had told the Athenians that the Peloponnesians might withdraw their ships, and this, Persephone knew would mean victory to the Persians, and Asiatic rule in Greece. Why, oh why did the Greek ships hold back! It was in an agony of despair that the girl sank to her knees and would have fallen had Zopyrus not run to her assistance.
“The prayer, oh, I had nearly forgotten the prayer for my people! I said I would pray at the shore and so I shall, for the salvation of Greece and the expulsion of the enemy!” The tears were coursing down her rounded cheeks and her frame shook with sobs. Reverently she raised her eyes to heaven and prayed with greater fervor than she had on the Acropolis. Then a few lives had been at stake, now the future of a nation and possibly races of mankind were involved!
The sun apparently crept a few feet nearer its goal and still the girl remained in her attitude of supplication. All at once she stood erect and turned amazed in the direction of Eleusis and the Sacred Way. Borne on the breeze that was wafted across the picturesque bay of Eleusis came the sound of myriads of voices raised in a mighty pæan of joy. The chant rose and fell in awful grandeur striking fear and adoring wonder to the hearts of Persians and Greeks.
“It is the Hymn to Dionysus!” cried Persephone. “That is the way it sounds at festival times, only this is a thousand times grander. There are none left in Greece to sing that hymn! Do you not see it is a miracle sent by the Deity in answer to my prayer? Listen!”