As Glaucon interpreted, the shout of relieved gladness from the Persian grandees made the tent-cloths shake. Xerxes’s eyes kindled. He clapped his hands.
“Reward? He shall have ten talents! But where? How?”
The man asserted that the path was easy and practicable for a large body of troops. He had often been over it with his sheep and goats. If the Persians would start a force at once—it was already quite dark—they could fall upon Leonidas at dawn. The Spartan would be completely trapped, or forced to open the defile without another spear thrust.
“A care, fellow,” warned Mardonius, regarding the man sharply; “you speak glibly, but if this is a trick to lead a band of the king’s servants to destruction, understand you play with deadly dice. If the troops march, you shall have your hands knotted together and a soldier walking behind to cut your throat at the first sign of treachery.”
Glaucon interpreted the threat. The man did not wince.
“There is no trap. I will guide you.”
That was all they could get him to say.
“And do not the Hellenes know of this mountain path and guard it?” persisted the bow-bearer.
Ephialtes thought not; at least if they had, they had not told off any efficient detachment to guard it. Hydarnes cut the matter short by rising from his stool and casting himself before the king.
“A boon, your Eternity, a boon!”