“Enough! They have enough! Glory to Athens!”
But here Ameinias gripped Themistocles’s arm. The chief turned, and all the Hellenes with him. The cheer died on their lips. A tall trireme was bearing down on them in full charge even while the Nausicaä drifted. They were as helpless as the Sidonian they had sent to death. One groan broke from the Athenians.
“Save, Athena! Save! It is Artemisia! The queen of Halicarnassus!”
The heavy trireme of the amazon princess was a magnificent sight as they looked on her. Her oars flew in a flashing rhythm. The foam leaped in a cataract over her ram. The sun made fire of the tossing weapons on her prow. A yell of triumph rose from the Phœnicians. On the Nausicaä men dropped sword and spear, moaned, raved, and gazed wildly on Themistocles as if he were a god possessing power to dash the death aside.
“To your places, men!” rang his shout, as he faced the foe unmoved, “and die as Athenians!”
Then even while men glanced up at the sun to greet Helios for the last time, there was a marvel. The threatening beak shot around. The trireme flew past them, her oars leaping madly, her people too intent on escape even to give a flight of javelins. And again the Athenians cheered.
“The Perseus! Cimon has saved us.”
Not three ships’ lengths behind the Halicarnassian raced the ship of the son of Miltiades. They knew now why Artemisia had veered. Well she might; had she struck the Nausicaä down, her own broadside would have swung defenceless to the fleet pursuer. The Perseus sped past her consort at full speed, Athenian cheering Athenian as she went.
“Need you help?” called Cimon, from his poop, as Themistocles waved his sword.
“None, press on, smite the Barbarian! Athena is with us!”