But Themistocles lingered outside; an instant more brought a summons to Democrates, who found Themistocles in an antechamber, deep in talk with Sicinnus,—nominally the tutor of his sons, actually a trusted spy. The first glance at the Asiatic’s keen face and eyes was disturbing. An inward omen—not from the entrails of birds, nor a sign in the heavens—told Democrates the fellow brought no happy tidings.
With incisive questions Themistocles had been bringing out everything.
“So it is absolutely certain that Xerxes begins his invasion next spring?”
“As certain as that Helios will rise to-morrow.”
“Forewarned is forearmed. Now where have you been since I sent you off in the winter to visit Asia?”
The man, who knew his master loved to do the lion’s share of the talking, answered instantly:—
“Sardis, Emesa, Babylon, Susa, Persepolis, Ecbatana.”
“Eu! Your commission is well executed. Are all the rumours we hear from the East well founded? Is Xerxes assembling an innumerable host?”
“Rumour does not tell half the truth. Not one tribe in Asia but is required to send its fighting men. Two bridges of boats are being built across the Hellespont. The king will have twelve hundred war triremes, besides countless transports. The cavalry are being numbered by hundreds of thousands, the infantry by millions. Such an army was never assembled since Zeus conquered the Giants.”
“A merry array!” Themistocles whistled an instant through his teeth; but, never confounded, urged on his questions. “So be it. But is Xerxes the man to command this host? He is no master of war like Darius his father.”