It is easy to praise the blessings of peace. Still easier to paint the horrors of war,—and yet war will remain for all time the greatest game at which human wits can play. For in it every form of courage, physical and moral, and every talent are called into being. If war at once develops the bestial, it also develops as promptly the heroic. Alone of human activities it demands a brute’s strength, an iron will, a serpent’s intellect, a lion’s courage—all in one. And of him who has these things in justest measure, history writes, “He conquered.” It was because Mardonius seemed to possess all these, to foresee everything, to surmount everything, that Glaucon despaired for the fate of Hellas, even more than when he beheld the crushing armaments of the Persian.
Yet for long it seemed as if the host would march even to Athens without battle, without invoking Mardonius’s skill. The king crossed Thrace and Macedonia, meeting only trembling hospitality from the cities along his route. At Doriscus he had held a review of his army, and smiled when the fawning scribes told how one million seven hundred thousand foot and eighty thousand horse followed his banners.[8] Every fugitive and spy from southern Hellas told how the hearts of the stanchest patriots were sinking, how everywhere save in Athens and Sparta loud voices urged the [pg 210]sending of “earth and water,”—tokens of submission to the irresistible king. At the pass of Tempē covering Thessaly, Glaucon, who knew the hopes of Themistocles, had been certain the Hellenes would make a stand. Rumour had it that ten thousand Greek infantry were indeed there, and ready for battle. But the outlaw’s expectations were utterly shattered. To the disgust of the Persian lords, who dearly loved brisk fighting, it was soon told how the cowardly Hellenes had fled by ship, leaving the rich plains of Thessaly bare to the invader.
Thus was blasted Glaucon’s last hope. Hellas was doomed. He almost looked to see Themistocles coming as ambassador to bring the homage of Athens. Since his old life seemed closed to the outlaw, he allowed Mardonius to have his will with him,—to teach him to act, speak, think, as an Oriental. He even bowed himself low before the king, an act rewarded by being commanded one evening to play at dice with majesty itself. Xerxes was actually gracious enough to let his new subject win from him three handsome Syrian slave-boys.
“You Hellenes are becoming wise,” announced the monarch one day, when the Locrian envoys came with their earth and water. “If you can learn to speak the truth, you will equal even the virtues of the Aryans.”
“Your Majesty has not found me a liar,” rejoined the Athenian, warmly.
“You gather our virtues apace. I must consider how I can reward you by promotion.”
“The king is overwhelmingly generous. Already I fear many of his servants mutter that I am promoted beyond all desert.”
“Mutter? mutter against you?” The king’s eyes flashed ominously. “By Mazda, it is against me, then, who advanced [pg 211]you! Hearken, Otanes,”—he addressed the general of the Persian footmen, who stood near by,—“who are the disobedient slaves who question my advancement of Prexaspes?”
The general—he had been the loudest grumbler—bowed and kissed the carpet.
“None, your Eternity; on the contrary, there is not one Aryan in the host who does not rejoice the king has found so noble an object for his godlike bounty.”