“Entirely, Mardonius. I am weary of warfare and only too glad to try any plan that may bring the quickest results.”
To Zopyrus only did this remark have any special significance. He knew that Artabazus was thinking of the fair captive whom he was to possess as soon as the battle was over.
“There,” cried Zopyrus, “the Greeks are retreating. Our arrows have held them in check. At this time tomorrow there will be a surprise in store!”
It was true. The Greeks were fleeing from the open plain to the shady recesses of the mountain, there to rally for a renewed defense on the morrow.
* * * * * * * *
On the silken covers of a couch in a remote corner of the tent which was occupied by the women of the harem of Artabazus, lay the grief-stricken form of the Greek captive, Ladice. She had been informed of the death of Masistius, and with that realization had come also the awful knowledge that soon she would be the property of the Persian Artabazus, whose lewdness was the common talk of the camp. Her brows were delicately arched and her long lashes swept her cheeks meeting the flush of color brought to her face as a result of hours of feverish weeping. Her hair, brown with a gleam of copper, hung over her partially bare shoulders.
Hovering above her with contemptuous gaze, was the Persian girl, Phædime, the reigning queen of Artabazus’ harem until the close of the battle of Platæa. Her full lips were twisted into a sneer, and there was a venomous light in the almond-shaped eyes of jet. Her blue-black hair was parted above a low white brow and hung in long, thick, glossy braids over her shoulders.
“So your lover is dead!” she said tauntingly. “You can not regret that fact more than I, for I had hoped to see him take you away from Artabazus, but Artabazus is mine, do you hear? Do you think I can bear to see you in his arms? I have promised not to kill you, but I will try to assist you to escape if you can do so without these others knowing what I have done.” She indicated the other women in the tent.
“It is impossible,” sobbed Ladice. “The eyes of that hideous eunuch are forever upon me and there are armed guards without.”
Phædime bent over the prostrate form in a more menacing attitude.