"Cowards!" Clearchus cried, "why do you fly? Do you not see that Tyre is yours?"
He made a step toward the edge of the wall and would have leaped down into the city had not Chares caught him with an iron grasp.
"Leonidas!" cried the Theban.
"Here!" the voice of Leonidas replied, and he appeared through the smoke, smothering a patch of blazing pitch that had fallen upon his bare shoulder.
"Clearchus has gone crazy," Chares said. "Help me to carry him down."
"You shall not!" the Athenian cried. "Traitors! Set me free!"
Leonidas calmly twisted the sword out of his hand and threw it aside. They lifted him between them, despite his struggles. Suddenly his muscles relaxed and his head fell backward.
"That's right," Chares said. "He has fainted. We can carry him better so."
He threw the limp form over his shoulder and strode after Leonidas into the black curtain, which had become so dense that it was impossible for sight to penetrate it in any direction. Sulphur and pepper had been mixed in the caldrons, giving the smoke a pungent, choking quality. Stumbling over jagged blocks of stone, and tripping upon the bodies of the dead, Chares, with Clearchus in his arms, followed Leonidas through that vale of death. Blinded and gasping, they staggered to the edge of the water. They were the last to come alive out of the smoke. They were drawn upon one of the siege boats, and lay there until the unwieldy vessel was towed out into the clear sunshine and safety.