Leonidas was taken. Themistocles was left,—left to bear as crushing a load as ever weighed on man,—to fight two battles, one with the Persian, one with his own unheroic allies, and the last was the harder. Three hundred and seventy Greek triremes rode off Salamis, half from Athens, but the commander-in-chief was Eurybiades of Sparta, the sluggard state that sent only sixteen ships, yet the only state the bickering Peloponnesians would obey. Hence Themistocles’s sore problems.
Different from the man of unruffled brow who ruled from the bema was he who paced the state cabin of the Nausicaä a few nights after the evacuation. For he at least knew the morn would bring Hellas her doom. There had been a gloomy council that afternoon. They had seen the Acropolis flame two days before. The great fleet of Xerxes rode off the Attic havens. At the gathering of the Greek chiefs in Eurybiades’s cabin Themistocles had spoken one word many times,—“Fight!”
To which Adeimantus, the craven admiral of Corinth, and many another had answered:—
“Delay! Back to the Isthmus! Risk nothing!”
Then at last the son of Neocles silenced them, not with arguments but threats. “Either here in the narrow straits we can fight the king or not at all. In the open seas his numbers [pg 280]can crush us. Either vote to fight here or we Athenians sail for Italy and leave you to stem Xerxes as you can.”
There had been sullen silence after that, the admirals misliking the furrow drawn above Themistocles’s eyes. Then Eurybiades had haltingly given orders for battle.
That had been the command, but as the Athenian left the Spartan flag-ship in his pinnace he heard Globryas, the admiral of Sicyon, muttering, “Headstrong fool—he shall not destroy us!” and saw Adeimantus turn back for a word in Eurybiades’s ear. The Spartan had shaken his head, but Themistocles did not deceive himself. In the battle at morn half of the Hellenes would go to battle asking more “how escape?” than “how conquer?” and that was no question to ask before a victory.
The cabin was empty now save for the admiral. On the deck above the hearty shouts of Ameinias the trierarch, and chanting of the seamen told that on the Nausicaä at least there would be no slackness in the fight. The ship was being stripped for action, needless spars and sails sent ashore, extra oars made ready, and grappling-irons placed. “Battle” was what every Athenian prayed for, but amongst the allies Themistocles knew it was otherwise. The crucial hour of his life found him nervous, moody, silent. He repelled the zealous subalterns who came for orders.
“My directions have been given. Execute them. Has Aristeides come yet?” The last question was to Simonides, who had been half-companion, half-counsellor, in all these days of storm.
“He is not yet come from Ægina.”