"If the Macedonians should come after all, you may be able to repay me," Iphicrates continued, reaching the real purpose of his visit. "In time of war men are likely to judge hastily, and it may be that old Iphicrates will have to look to you for protection as you have looked to him."
"What have you to fear?" Artemisia asked in surprise. "And why do you think that I may be able to protect you?"
"It is possible that some of your countrymen may be with the army," he replied evasively. "But they may not come here, even if they win in the north."
He rose with some difficulty from his chair. "Is there anything you want?" he inquired. "You know that if I can give it to you, you have only to ask."
"There is nothing," Artemisia said, and the mockery of her answer struck her to the heart.
Artemisia's mind was diverted for a time by the activity in the city, which seemed at least to portend a change; but soon the novelty wore off, and although the soldiers did not go away, she fell once more into the listless mood against which she found it so difficult to struggle.
When she least expected it, the change came. A disturbance arose in the narrow street before the house which led up from the harbor. There was a medley of cries and shouting, and Artemisia, leaning from her window, saw the street below her filled with a throng of men who had met in conflicting currents at the turn of the way. In the midst of the press lay a litter, whose gilded frame was curtained with crimson silk. It had been overturned by collision with a chariot in which one of the generals had been proceeding toward the harbor. Beside the litter Artemisia saw the form of a young woman. Her robe was of shimmering saffron, and her copper-colored hair, broken from its coil, lay spread upon the pavement.
While she looked, the general, whose chariot had been the cause of the mishap, descended and stood beside the prostrate figure. Glancing about him in evident embarrassment, his eyes met her own as she leaned from the casement. Brief as the meeting was, she felt the piercing power and directness of his glance. He turned quickly to his escort and gave a brief command, motioning toward the house of Iphicrates as he spoke. As he resumed his place in his chariot, the soldiers lifted the unconscious woman into the litter and bore it to the door of the house, followed by a curious crowd.
Artemisia heard them enter and the sound of voices, among which she recognized that of Iphicrates raised in whining protest.
"I have no room for her here," he cried.