"They say Alexander will try to cross the Hellespont," he replied, attempting a shrug.
"And will he come here?" she inquired.
He caught the eagerness in her voice and his eyes grew cunning among their wrinkles. "Perhaps," he replied. "Who can tell? These Asiatic dogs laugh at him, but they may find themselves mistaken. We Greeks know how to fight."
"Why are they sending their army here?" she persisted.
"It is Memnon of Rhodes," he told her. "He is a great general, but the Persians do not trust him. He is on his way to the north with his troops."
"Can you not send me back to Athens before the war begins?" Artemisia pleaded.
"My dear child," he exclaimed with a gesture of despair, "it is impossible. All my plans have failed. The war has already begun. The Persian fleet holds the sea, and if you attempted to leave now, you would be captured and sold as a slave. You know how I have tried to grant your wish. Only yesterday I thought that at last I had found the vessel for which I had been looking, and I had hoped to earn your gratitude. But now—all is at an end while the war lasts. If they overthrow the Macedonians in the north, it will be short."
"I do not wish it," Artemisia said decisively. "I prefer to remain here. I hope that Alexander will win, and when he comes, I shall be free."
"You are free now," Iphicrates said reproachfully. "You know that I have kept you in seclusion only for your own safety and that I have done all I could do to console you."
"Yes, yes; I know," she replied hastily. "I have no complaint to make against you. You have tried to be kind."