Persephone of Eleusis: A Romance of Ancient Greece

by Clare Winger Harris

Their chance thrice glorious, and their fate thrice-blest.

No tears for them, but memory’s loving gaze;

For them no pity, but proud hymns of praise.”

Simonides.

Like a great crawling serpent, the army of Xerxes, augmented by the cowardly Thessalians, wound its circuitous and perilous way from Trachis; first ascending the gorge of the river Asopus and the hill called Anopæa, then crossing the pitch-dark, oak-covered crest of Oeta. Its venomous head was the treasonable Greek, dressed as a Persian foot-soldier. Many were the woes of that nocturnal journey! Soldiers tripping over fallen branches and entangled in the undergrowth were trampled to death. Some were pressed into the treacherous morass, but the malignant monster, heedless of this sloughing, crept on toward its goal which was the town of Alpeni at the east end of the pass.

But the small army of the Greeks was not destined to suffer such a complete surprise as Xerxes had hoped, for the revengeful Tyrastiadas, limping painfully as a result of his forty lashes, had succeeded in deserting and had apprised Leonidas of the startling fact that the Persians were coming across the pass. The Spartan king sent a Phocian guard of one thousand men to prevent the enemy from crossing the summit of Oeta, but this guard was speedily overwhelmed by the Persians who were under the leadership of Hydarnes. The next morning shortly after sunrise, the Persian hordes descended upon the Greeks. The sun was reflected with dazzling brilliancy from thousands of breast-plates, spears, shields and helmets, and upon the ears of the heroic sons of Hellas fell the deafening war-cry from myriads of throats.

A suffocating sensation seized Zopyrus as he beheld the mere handful of Greeks bravely awaiting certain death at the hands of a pitiless foe, but to turn back was now impossible. Strange that he could in fancy so easily picture himself as one of that brave minority, awaiting inevitable death! To his own sorrow he had not infrequently lamented the faculty which he possessed of seeing the praiseworthy aspect of an enemy’s view-point. It was this attribute of leniency toward the opinions of his fellow-men that was especially irritating to the intolerant Xerxes. In the mind of the latter all men were divided into two great classes; subjects and enemies. To Zopyrus all men seemed friends unless by their own initiative they proved themselves otherwise. It was extremely painful to him to see these brave Greeks meet this great crisis unflinchingly. It was humanly impossible for this mere handful of men to stem the tide of the onrushing Persians.

To us at this day and age it is apparent that these men did not sacrifice their manhood in vain. The result of any noble act is never lost. In some way and at some time it brings a result as satisfactory as that desired in the hearts of the original heroes themselves. Such a result was destined to come to Greece after the bones of Thermopylæ’s warriors had long mingled with the dust.

Zopyrus was swept on by the barbarian host. A shower of missiles diminished the number of Greeks and soon the enemy was upon them and the battle continued with spear and sword. Zopyrus received a slight wound on the left shoulder, the Greek inflicting the injury snatching away his spear. Zopyrus quickly unsheathed his sword, pressing his opponent to closer combat as a better chance for self defense. The two fought long over the bodies of Persian and Greek who now lay in inevitable amity beside their once ruthless foe. At length the Greek who was little more than a boy, weakened perceptibly and in an unguarded moment Zopyrus’ sword disappeared up to the hilt. As the lad fell his helmet rolled off revealing a countenance of incomparable beauty; deep-set eyes, brows that nearly met above a straight nose, refined mouth and a contour of cheek and chin that was flawless. All this was revealed to Zopyrus in a second’s time, but it left an indelible impression on his mind. As he pressed on he felt that the horrors of war were crazing him, and his soul cried out against the awful brutality of it.

With the slaughter of the three hundred the gateway to central Greece had now been forcibly opened and Xerxes in imitation of his father’s avenging words, cried out, “Remember the Athenians.” A journey of about six days lay between the oriental despot and his ultimate goal, the city of Athens, so with prancing steeds, waving plumes, glittering arms and triumphant shouts, the Asiatic legions resumed their deleterious course.