A great gong silenced the sound of talking and laughter after all the Athenians had arrived. A curtain at the end of the cella dropped revealing the image of the god of wine and revelry and immediately a hymn of praise was sung following which the sacrifice of a goat was consummated at the feet of the idol.
Night was turned into day, wine flowed freely and many a youth’s spirits rose in proportion to the amount of wine he imbibed. To all this revelry Persephone and Agne were horrified witnesses. They had heard that Dionysus was worshipped with much rejoicing, especially at his temple at Naxos, but they had not had occasion to realize to what depths his worshippers sometimes fell. The two women looked furtively about seeking some way in which they might escape unobserved to the boats where for a few drachmas a couple of rowers would take them back to the mainland. They crouched near a pillar watching with increasing terror, wine-filled creatures who caroused around them. Many a youth lounged upon a couch or the flower-strewn floor, his head in some fair one’s lap.
Ephialtes made his way with unsteady step to where the two women cowered. The Greek blood which ran in his veins preserved his grace even in drunkenness. Laughingly he held toward each a goblet of sparkling wine which they declined. In provocation he accidentally spilled the contents of the cup proffered to Persephone. For an instant he stood dismayed watching the blood-like liquid as it flowed over the marble floor, then with frenzied determination, he forced between the lips of Agne the wine contained in the other goblet, after which he stood swaying unsteadily with folded arms, a sinister smile curling his handsome lips. Persephone determined to flee but she did not want to leave Agne at the mercies of the drunken brutes around them.
“Come, come, Agne,” she whispered wildly, “You and I never dreamed what would be the nature of this celebration—oh, Agne!”
The older woman made an attempt to answer and even to rise to her feet, but in vain! In another instant she sank in a pitiful heap, apparently lifeless. Persephone’s temples throbbed with angry passion as she turned toward Ephialtes.
“There was a narcotic in that wine! I am glad mine was spilled.”
“There was no drug in yours, Persephone. I did not bring you here to put you to sleep. It is a living maiden I want!” cried the young Greek passionately.
He lurched toward her to take her in his arms, but she eluded his grasp and he found himself embracing the fluted pillar near which she had sat. A chance observer roared with laughter, and calling to his companions cried, “A king of revelers here, my friends. What say you to crowning him as Bacchus? Down with the god of stone and up with one of flesh and blood!”
So saying he and his male companions ran to the throne where the stone Dionysus sat. With unnatural strength due to the freeness of their imbibing, they tore the god from his throne and forced the half reluctant Ephialtes upon it. The wreath of grape leaves which had adorned the head of Dionysus, was rudely snatched from it and placed upon the young man’s curls.
After Ephialtes was ceremoniously enthroned, someone cried out, “where is Ariadne? Bacchus must have his Ariadne! Where did she go? Bring her back!”