“Let him suffer,” said the youth indifferently. “If he wants her badly enough let him go to the Persian encampment and get her! He does not know nor do you, Icetes, what the result of tomorrow’s struggle will be. What if the enemy comes out victorious and the Persian leader carries the fair Ladice across the Hellespont? No doubt she has already yielded to his kisses and is beginning to enjoy the luxurious ease of an oriental harem. Women are—”
With an oath Cimon rushed at Ephialtes, but Icetes interposed himself.
“My friends,” he pled in a hoarse whisper, “your altercation will be heard by Pausanias himself. Let us sit down quietly again and maybe we can arrive at a definite conclusion.”
Icetes and Ephialtes seated themselves, but Cimon began to put on his armor piece by piece till he stood before them fully armed. They watched him wonderingly but ventured no inquiry. Then he strode toward the entrance and turning to face them, said, “I am going to find Ladice and bring her back.”
Ephialtes smiled in a contemptuous manner, but Icetes was on his feet in an instant.
“By Zeus,” he cried, “you shall not attempt such a rash undertaking. You, the son of the brave Miltiades, are needed for the morrow’s battle. Your counsel and advice are indispensable. Next to Pausanias we need you, just you, to show these barbarians that they can no longer abide within our borders. Think of it, my brave Cimon, Mardonius killed and the other leaders routed at Platæa! Make it the last battle of the last war with them! Don’t leave us at this critical period to satisfy a personal longing. Your father did that, Cimon, but not till he had fought Marathon!”
The words of Icetes had an enervating effect upon Cimon. He drooped perceptibly and then slowly he began to disarm. When the last piece of armor had been cast aside, he dropped into his chair again, and folding his arms upon the table, buried his face in them. His broad shoulders heaved, and in the silence that followed, an occasional groan was heard. Even Ephialtes’ supercilious air left him in the presence of this real grief of a fellow-man.
Cimon’s agony was too much for the kind-hearted Icetes. Rising and bending above the bowed form of the son of Miltiades, Icetes said in earnest tones. “Let me go this night and search for Ladice. I am acquainted with her father, Mamercus, who as you know perished at Salamis, probably unknown to his daughter who will now be alone if she returns to Athens.”
Cimon made a sign of remonstrance before he was able to speak. “No, my friend,” he said, when he had found voice, “I can not think of endangering the life of another in the performance of a task which concerns me so personally. I will give up what you consider a foolish enterprise, but I fear I have lost the zest for the morrow’s battle.”
“I will go for you Cimon,” Icetes cried eagerly, as he went for his armor, “My part in tomorrow’s conflict will be indirect, but it will be a vital part nevertheless. If by putting heart in you through this service, I thus enable you to fight bravely tomorrow, I shall indeed feel that I have helped to expel the Persians from Greece.”