The Project Gutenberg eBook, Persephone of Eleusis, by Clare Winger Harris

Persephone of Eleusis
A Romance of Ancient Greece

by
CLARE WINGER HARRIS

1923
THE STRATFORD COMPANY, Publishers
Boston, Massachusetts

Copyright, 1923
The STRATFORD CO., Publishers
Boston, Mass.
The Alpine Press, Boston, Mass., U. S. A.

Preface

In this tale of Greece in the fifth century B. C., fact and fiction are so closely intervolved that a detailed explanation of their respective boundaries would be both tedious and superfluous. Suffice it to say that I have with reluctance departed from history only when the narration of the personal affairs of the characters made it necessary to do so. The difficulty of accurate adherence to historical facts seems insuperable. C. W. H.

Contents

Chapter Page I [At the Hot Gates] 1 II [“Remember the Athenians”] 10 III [The Defense on the Acropolis] 17 IV [The Miracle of Salamis] 28 V [The Traitor of Thermopylæ] 40 VI [Athena Speaks Through the Olive-Branch] 46 VII [The Banquet of Attaginus] 51 VIII [Masistius’ Message to Zopyrus] 60 IX [The Rescue of Ladice] 70 X [A Venture at the Eve of Battle] 80 XI [A Hero of Platæa] 86 XII [The Prophet at Delphi] 93 XIII [The House of Pasicles] 101 XIV [Beyond the Dipylon Gate] 111 XV [What Happened at the Theatre of Dionysus] 121 XVI [The Celebration of the Mysteries] 128 XVII [Persephone] 136 XVIII [Agne’s Advice] 142 XIX [Ephialtes’ Plot] 147 XX [The Ward of Themistosles] 155 XXI [In the Shadow of the Acropolis] 162 XXII [A Letter from Sicily] 167 XXIII [The Festivities at Naxos] 174 XXIV [Dionysus and Ariadne] 180 XXV [A Revelation] 187 XXVI [The Home of Aeschylus] 194 XXVII [The Allied Fleet Sails] 201 XXVIII [The Hand of Fate] 209 XXIX [After Twenty Years] 216

“What have I to do with the heroes or the monuments of ancient times? With times which never can return, and heroes, whose form of life was different from all that the present condition of mankind requires or allows?... At least we compare our own with former times, and either rejoice at our improvements, or, what is the first motion towards good, discover our defects.” Samuel Johnson in “Rasselas”

CHAPTER I.
At the Hot Gates.

“In gay hostility and barbarous pride,

With half mankind embattled at his side,

Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey,

And starves exhausted regions in his way.”

Samuel Johnson.

The reddening glow of an evening sun was shed upon the little town of Anthela in Locris as Zopyrus, a young Persian officer in the army of Xerxes passed quickly from the shadows of the temple to Demeter into the narrow street. In his general bearing and physique he was truly a Persian; large of frame, broad of shoulders, with a proportionally small but well poised head. But the tight clusters of blond curls, clear blue eyes and sensitiveness of mouth were not distinguishing traits of Persian parentage. There was a seriousness in his expression far in advance of his years which may have numbered four and twenty.

As he walked with swinging gait toward the Persian encampment, he turned his gaze in the direction of the ridge of Oeta whose northern slope silhouetted against the ruddy glow of an evening sky, approached the Malaic gulf. At any other period in his life the beauty of his surroundings would have called forth his admiration, but the scenes of the past two days which had been here enacted, had completely quelled the natural æsthetic tendencies of his soul. Here he had been a witness to the slaughter of Persian and Greek; he in whose veins flowed the blood of both peoples.

As he neared the encampment another officer clad in the familiar close-fitting leathern tunic of the Persian army hailed him. He was a giant in stature, a man born to command. It was he who had charge of the cavalry. Zopyrus recognized him at once.

“Ho, Masistius! Does this beautiful June evening summon you forth too? Truly a fair land is Hellas. Amid such surroundings as these the annals of Persia had been different!”

By this time darkness had descended and as Masistius surveyed the landscape an exclamation of spontaneous admiration burst from his lips, soldier though he was and unused to the gentler phases of life. Oeta cast its purple shadows across the Malaic gulf, whose waters now reflected countless stars, and in the shrubbery about the two soldiers were heard the mournful notes of the little owls, so common in this strange land. Occasionally the call of birds of prey grated on their ears and brought to their minds the loathsome fact that amidst all this entrancing loveliness of nature, death had come to hundreds of their countrymen and allies.

“Friend Zopyrus, although I am a soldier through and through, I am not blind to the beauties of this land of Greece, but sterner things brought me out tonight. I came to summon you to the presence of the king who wishes to speak with you. Artabazus and I were in the royal tent talking over the plans of the morrow when Xerxes suddenly commanded a slave to summon you to his presence. The order took both Artabazus and myself quite by surprise, for we have not been blind to the fact that Xerxes has avoided you since the very beginning of this campaign. Why he should do so, I cannot imagine. It has always seemed to me that the king has quite overlooked the physical prowess and ability of his cousin Zopyrus.”

Zopyrus shrugged his shoulders. “True my father was Artaphernes, satrap of Sardis and brother of Darius Hystaspis, but you must remember my mother was only a Greek from Miletus, although her parents were both Athenians of noble blood.”

“But you can subdue the Greek within you, for surely the influence of your royal father is the stronger,” said Masistius.

Zopyrus turned his gaze to the bejeweled vault of the heaven. A lie is an unpardonable sin to a Persian, and to that extent Zopyrus displayed his paternal heritage, but there rose before his eyes the vision of a beautiful woman with classic features whose last words to him before her death had been: “Zopyrus, it is my earnest desire that sometime you go to Greece, to Athens, and there acquire some of the culture of that freedom-loving people in that fair land. Here in Persia you will always be the victim of oriental despotism.” As he grew older Zopyrus realized that his mother’s words and the past influence of her life had been instrumental in causing him to hate not only the vain-glorious idolatry of the Persian court, but the weakness, licentiousness and tyranny of the Persian king. Zopyrus looked again at his companion.

“I will go at once to Xerxes,” he said, completely ignoring the other’s remark.

The tent of Xerxes was in the center of the encampment to insure its protection in case of an unexpected attack from the enemy. An Ethiopian slave parted the hanging folds as Zopyrus approached and held them as he passed into the interior. Seated upon a throne covered with richly woven tapestry and surrounded by slaves and courtiers sat the monarch of Persia.

Zopyrus never knew in what mood he would find his royal cousin. At times the king was most amicably inclined toward his subjects, upon which occasions he lavished upon them generous gifts; at others, the punitive aspect of his authority was made evident, and his dependents were punished out of all due proportion to their offenses.

Xerxes’ eyes followed the noble figure of his cousin with impatient tolerance as the latter bowed and performed the customary greetings.

“Where were you just previous to your meeting with Masistius?” questioned the king abruptly.

“In the town of Anthela,” was the reply.

“Is there not a temple to that pagan goddess, Demeter, there?”

“I believe so.”

“Well stay away from such temples except for the purpose of destroying them. By the way, Sikinnus,” he called, summoning a slave, “take that rascal, Tyrastiadas, who tried to desert today and give him forty lashes.”

Xerxes turned again toward the son of Artaphernes whose splendid physique and heroic mein summoned his reluctant admiration. Here he realized were unlimited possibilities for his army, for he sincerely believed Zopyrus to be a braver man than Mardonius or Artabazus, though he was many years their junior; then too he had respect for the independent air of this cousin who did not dog his footsteps with flattering remarks and hints for the promise of favors at the close of the war. So it was with a more deferential air that the politic Xerxes addressed his next remarks to his cousin.

“Zopyrus, you are too big a man to be in command of only one hundred soldiers. At your age your half-brother, Artaphernes, together with Datis, led the expedition which resulted in the battle of Marathon. If at the close of this battle with the Greeks in this pass you prove your valor, you shall be placed in command of one thousand men. Also I will allow you to choose among the fairest maidens of the kingdom for a wife, and for exceptional bravery I will give you a satrapy.” All eyes were turned to Zopyrus who acknowledged his king’s favor with a slight bow.

“I bear in mind,” continued Xerxes, “that your mother was a Greek, though she was a lawful wife of your father. It is this taint of blood that has stood in the way of previous honors, but with courage such as becomes the son of a noble Persian you may be able to make me forget completely the plebeian maternal blood.”

Anger such as had never before been experienced by Zopyrus surged within him at this insult to his mother’s memory, but he held it in subjection, merely bowing stoically before the ruler.

Xerxes had one dominating motive in attempting to win Zopyrus’ fidelity. At the beginning of the campaign he had secretly wished to cause his cousin’s death because he had feared him, but the latter’s advice when consulted on matters of doubt, forced him to the opinion that Zopyrus might become quite an asset to the Persian army if properly handled. That he, Xerxes, had failed in this he did not know.

At this moment the slave who stood at the entrance to the royal tent approached his master with these words:

“Most noble king, a Greek soldier waits without and would have word with you alone.”

“Bid him enter,” was the monarch’s response.

The courtiers quickly withdrew by a rear exit, Zopyrus passing out last. Moved by a sudden impulse and unnoticed, he quickly and silently re-entered the tent and stood a few feet behind the throne in the shadows. The canvas at the front entrance parted admitting the figure of a Greek soldier. He had removed his helmet and left his shield and javelin without in respect to the Persian monarch. Armed only with his short sword and wearing the characteristic scaled cuirass and leather greaves of Greek military dress he presented an interesting sight to both Persians. His head was uncovered, displaying the artistic hair-dress worn by the young men of Athens and Sparta. Long thick braids were crossed at the back of his shapely head and fastened together with a jeweled pin in front. From beneath the braids his brown hair lay in soft waves around his temples. His face was fair almost a degree of effeminacy and his figure of average height indicated graceful outlines even though concealed by the armour he wore. He addressed the king:

“O Xerxes, king of the Medes and Persians and would-be conqueror of the world, I come to you with a message of greatest importance! For two days your brave soldiers have met defeat at the hands of the Greeks at the entrance to the pass of Thermopylæ. Now the Greeks are so inferior in number, owing to the celebration of certain religious festivities which are soon due to come to an end, that right now is the time to strike, but not in the method which you have up till the present employed, when only a handful of men from each side could meet and enter into personal combat. The Greeks are well trained and if they are to be vanquished, it must be by the superior forces of the enemy.”

The king with offended dignity clutched the arms of his throne and raised himself, crying out in angry tones: “Am I to have a Greek tell me that my army lacks the military discipline of the Greeks?” Here he rose with an exaggerated attempt at majesty, “Behold, O Greek, Zeus himself in the form of an earthly monarch come to lead the whole race of mankind to the destruction of Greece!”

To Zopyrus’ amazement as he stood a silent and unobserved figure in the shadows, as well as to the amazement of Xerxes himself, the Greek did not tremble at the king’s words. An amused expression not without disdain passed over his fearless countenance. Xerxes’ face became purple with rage.

“Out of my sight grinning fool of a Greek,” he roared, “before I have your tongue cut out for your insolence!”

Zopyrus stood rooted to the spot in horror, but the graceful unemotional figure of the Greek remained unchanged. To Zopyrus it seemed an eternity before the young man spoke, but in reality it was almost immediately. He drew nearer the throne by a couple of paces, and Zopyrus feared for his life in that proximity to the wrathful monarch.

“Listen, O Xerxes, if you would succeed in overwhelming your foes you must attack them from behind, but this you can not do since you are unacquainted with this wild, impassable country. I am a native Malian and well acquainted with this locality. If you could make it worth my while, I could show you a mountain pass that would lead you to the rear of Leonidas’ army unobserved.”

While the Greek was speaking Xerxes’ expression gradually changed from malice to pleased attention: “And suppose, friend Greek, I do not permit you to leave unless you reveal to me this pass!”

The Greek smiled. “It is impossible simply to tell of this secret way, for it is beset with many dangers, such as almost impenetrable growths of underbrush, impermeable morasses and almost inaccessible cliffs. A native guide is absolutely essential and I am that guide who will receive my pay before the journey commences.”

The king nodded in affirmation and sank back quite dazed from the effect of the interview. The Greek was still unmoved and continued: “I will lead your army tomorrow night, as it is safest to travel under cover of darkness. We shall probably reach the other side of the pass at a very favorable time of day, when the market-place of the town is filling. I will meet you here tomorrow at sunset in Persian uniform, and except to your most important commanders, I wish to remain unknown. Till then, O Zeus, farewell!”

He passed quickly out of the bewildered kingly presence, and Zopyrus took advantage of this moment to make a hasty and unseen exit at the rear of the royal tent.

CHAPTER II.
“Remember the Athenians.”

“Who at Thermopylæ stood side by side,

And fought together and together died,

Under earth-barrows now are laid at rest,

Their chance thrice glorious, and their fate thrice-blest.

No tears for them, but memory’s loving gaze;

For them no pity, but proud hymns of praise.”

Simonides.

Like a great crawling serpent, the army of Xerxes, augmented by the cowardly Thessalians, wound its circuitous and perilous way from Trachis; first ascending the gorge of the river Asopus and the hill called Anopæa, then crossing the pitch-dark, oak-covered crest of Oeta. Its venomous head was the treasonable Greek, dressed as a Persian foot-soldier. Many were the woes of that nocturnal journey! Soldiers tripping over fallen branches and entangled in the undergrowth were trampled to death. Some were pressed into the treacherous morass, but the malignant monster, heedless of this sloughing, crept on toward its goal which was the town of Alpeni at the east end of the pass.

But the small army of the Greeks was not destined to suffer such a complete surprise as Xerxes had hoped, for the revengeful Tyrastiadas, limping painfully as a result of his forty lashes, had succeeded in deserting and had apprised Leonidas of the startling fact that the Persians were coming across the pass. The Spartan king sent a Phocian guard of one thousand men to prevent the enemy from crossing the summit of Oeta, but this guard was speedily overwhelmed by the Persians who were under the leadership of Hydarnes. The next morning shortly after sunrise, the Persian hordes descended upon the Greeks. The sun was reflected with dazzling brilliancy from thousands of breast-plates, spears, shields and helmets, and upon the ears of the heroic sons of Hellas fell the deafening war-cry from myriads of throats.

A suffocating sensation seized Zopyrus as he beheld the mere handful of Greeks bravely awaiting certain death at the hands of a pitiless foe, but to turn back was now impossible. Strange that he could in fancy so easily picture himself as one of that brave minority, awaiting inevitable death! To his own sorrow he had not infrequently lamented the faculty which he possessed of seeing the praiseworthy aspect of an enemy’s view-point. It was this attribute of leniency toward the opinions of his fellow-men that was especially irritating to the intolerant Xerxes. In the mind of the latter all men were divided into two great classes; subjects and enemies. To Zopyrus all men seemed friends unless by their own initiative they proved themselves otherwise. It was extremely painful to him to see these brave Greeks meet this great crisis unflinchingly. It was humanly impossible for this mere handful of men to stem the tide of the onrushing Persians.

To us at this day and age it is apparent that these men did not sacrifice their manhood in vain. The result of any noble act is never lost. In some way and at some time it brings a result as satisfactory as that desired in the hearts of the original heroes themselves. Such a result was destined to come to Greece after the bones of Thermopylæ’s warriors had long mingled with the dust.

Zopyrus was swept on by the barbarian host. A shower of missiles diminished the number of Greeks and soon the enemy was upon them and the battle continued with spear and sword. Zopyrus received a slight wound on the left shoulder, the Greek inflicting the injury snatching away his spear. Zopyrus quickly unsheathed his sword, pressing his opponent to closer combat as a better chance for self defense. The two fought long over the bodies of Persian and Greek who now lay in inevitable amity beside their once ruthless foe. At length the Greek who was little more than a boy, weakened perceptibly and in an unguarded moment Zopyrus’ sword disappeared up to the hilt. As the lad fell his helmet rolled off revealing a countenance of incomparable beauty; deep-set eyes, brows that nearly met above a straight nose, refined mouth and a contour of cheek and chin that was flawless. All this was revealed to Zopyrus in a second’s time, but it left an indelible impression on his mind. As he pressed on he felt that the horrors of war were crazing him, and his soul cried out against the awful brutality of it.

With the slaughter of the three hundred the gateway to central Greece had now been forcibly opened and Xerxes in imitation of his father’s avenging words, cried out, “Remember the Athenians.” A journey of about six days lay between the oriental despot and his ultimate goal, the city of Athens, so with prancing steeds, waving plumes, glittering arms and triumphant shouts, the Asiatic legions resumed their deleterious course.

The morning of the third day found the army within sight of Mt. Parnassus. With rapt gaze Zopyrus beheld the softest sculpture of cliff and peak against a cerulean sky. Upon yonder lofty summit dwelt the Muses, those daughters of Zeus who preside over the æsthetic and intellectual aspirations of man. It seemed to Zopyrus that surely now but one Muse, Melpomene, occupied that pinnacle, and with mournful gaze beheld the invasion of this fairest of lands.

In accordance with the order of Xerxes all faces were turned in the direction of Delphi, in spite of a report that the oracle of Delphi had prophesied that Apollo would protect his sanctuary. Through a gorge at the foot of Mt. Parnassus might Melpomene have seen the multitudes of Asiatic troops pursue their nefarious journey. Suddenly peal after peal of thunder reverberated from the apparent calm of a mid-summer sky. Then great crags from the mountain were loosened and rolled down upon the army which fled in wild terror, abandoning its attempt to plunder Delphi. So did Apollo protect his shrine! But fortune did not so favor the citizens of Thespiæ and Platæa in Bœotia both of which were ravaged and those citizens who would not join the Persian forces were put to death.

At length on the fifth day the army camped at night-fall outside of Athens. It was a beautiful intense dark blue Athenian night in which heaven’s vault seemed to blaze with innumerable jewels. Zopyrus sat at the door of his tent deep in his own thoughts. An army during its marches and battles must think, talk and act as one being, and that one subservient to its leader, but who shall say in the stillness of evening each living entity which comprises that vast unit shall not have his individual dreams, and those thoughts which render him distinct from every other living being? And Zopyrus as he sat in the darkness, thought of Athens and of his mother. What would she think if she knew he was approaching Attica’s stronghold as a plunderer and devastator! Conflicting emotions surged within his soul. Once again it seemed to him that he was in the far off Hermus valley, strolling by the little stream of Pactolus, and by his side was the austere Artaphernes whose stern visage was turned toward him with an expression of paternal rebuke. The vision faded leaving him troubled and sore at heart.

That night Zopyrus had a dream. It seemed to him that his father appeared and beckoned silently to him to follow and that he wonderingly rose and obeyed. When they were out in the open, Artaphernes, who Zopyrus noticed was fully armed, pointed with his sabre toward Athens and repeated the memorable words of Darius, “Remember the Athenians.” Suddenly the shade of his mother appeared to the right. She stood holding on her arm a scroll of papyrus, and while Zopyrus looked she pointed with it in the same direction as that indicated by the sabre of his father and behold, as Zopyrus turned he saw a beautiful city with numerous buildings of white marble, and in the center a temple-crowned hill. In the streets were many busy people hurrying to and fro. Some talked from the temple steps while the populace listened, some vied with each other in various physical sports and others sold the produce of the soil in the bustling marketplace, but whatever their occupation, they represented a happy and contented democracy.

Marveling at this vision, Zopyrus turned to his father and noticed that the sabre now pointed to the east. Following the direction of its keen blade with reluctant eyes, Zopyrus beheld another city more gorgeous, but totally lacking in the refined beauty which characterized the city which lay to the west. The buildings of this eastern city possessed a massiveness and grandeur that inspired in the beholder a profound awe. Upon the throne in the magnificent palace, and surrounded by a court retinue, sat a tyrant to whom all bowed in servility. On the streets the people moved and worked en masse. There was no individuality, no differentiation, for these people were victims of an oriental despotism.

When Zopyrus opened his eyes the palace and the toiling people had vanished and so likewise had the vision of the peaceful republic. The Persian father and Greek mother no longer stood before him. The youth knew that this dream represented the Persian and the Greek at war within himself for the supremacy.

When morning broke, the camp was astir at an early hour for this was to be the day of days! Zopyrus was awakened by the stamping and neighing of horses, the rattle of arms and the jocular voices of his comrades.

“Wake up, Zopyrus!” cried a friendly voice. Zopyrus saw his friend Masistius leaning over him.

“Xerxes bids us avenge the burning of Sardis today,” continued Masistius. “His words to all his officers this morning are, ‘Remember the Athenians!’”

“His advice to me is quite unnecessary,” replied Zopyrus, “for I can not forget them.”

CHAPTER III.
The Defense on the Acropolis.

“Dim is the scene to that which greets thee here,

Prompting to worship, waking rapture’s tear,

Yes, rise, fair mount! the bright blue heavens to kiss,

Stoop not thy pride, august Acropolis!”

Nicholas Michell.

The city of Athens was seething with excitement, for the news had just been received that the Greek soldiers had been unable to hold the pass of Thermopylæ. The streets were filled with groups of agitated old men, women of all ages, and children, who seemed no longer capable of being controlled by reason. Weighted down by the burdens of their personal property they prepared to flee. But whither!

In the center of a group near the Areopagus, at the foot of the Acropolis on the north-west, were gathered about fifty men, women and children intently listening to the counsel of one to whom they turned at this time. He was a man of venerable countenance, flowing beard, and wore a white chiton with a handsomely embroidered Greek border.

“My friends,” he was saying, “let us make haste to the top of the Acropolis, there to defend our temples and to seek refuge within the ‘wooden wall.’”

Some of his audience seemed inclined to take his admonition seriously, others hesitated as if in doubt. Presently a man whose personality was felt before he was actually visible came hurriedly into the group. He possessed a commanding bearing, noble face, an eye piercing and full of fire. There was decision in the swift gestures of his shapely hands. This man was Themistocles, the most powerful Athenian of his time. It was he who had persuaded his fellow-citizens to increase their navy at the time of the war with Aegina, and who sincerely believed that the future safety of his country lay with the ships which were now anchored in the bay of Salamis.

He approached with dignified air the terrified gathering of Greeks, and there was an imperious ring in his voice as he addressed the spokesman of the group.

“Kyrsilus, can you not persuade these people to come to the bay at once where some of the ships will conduct them safely to Salamis till all danger from this invasion is past?”

To his surprise the old man answered haughtily. “I am trying to prevail upon these frightened people to seek refuge behind the ‘wooden wall’ as the Delphic oracle warned us.”

“The ‘wooden wall,’” shouted Themistocles, “is not the Pelasgic wall which surrounds the top of the Acropolis. It is a wall of ships, and by this means alone will the people of Athens find refuge. Come!” he cried turning away, “all who wish to live to see the accursed foreigners expelled forever from Greece, follow me to the protection of the ‘wooden wall!’”

“And all who are brave enough to defend their city,” cried the old man, still firm in his conviction, “follow me to the protection of the ‘wooden wall!’”

There was a division of opinion at the last moment, Themistocles winning nearly half of Kyrsilus’ former followers.

Clinging tightly to Kyrsilus’ hand as they ascended the steps of the Acropolis was a young girl possessing exceptional charm of face and of personality. The usual clearness of her blue eyes was dimmed with tears, and the customary curve of her smiling lips had vanished. Upon her luxuriant brown hair the sun revealed gleams of gold. She was clad in a white garment which hung in graceful folds from her shoulders. Over this was slipped a kolpos plaited at the waist. Her neck and arms were bare except for a necklace and bracelets of silver. The white of her dress and ornaments brought out in favorable contrast the healthful pink of her youthful face.

“Dear Kyrsilus,” the girl was saying, “I shall think of you as my father while my own dear father is preparing to fight the Persians in the bay. He fought bravely at Marathon and I do not believe the gods will see him defeated at Salamis. My uncle too is in command of one of the ships!”

“It is possible that with such brave men as we possess on our side the victory will be ours,” said the elder, “but remember the words of the oracle at Delphi! Although there have been some differences of opinion as to the meaning of the words of the oracle, to me it is quite clear that our city should be defended from its sacred hill. I am not criticizing your father, nor Themistocles, nor others like them who seem sincere in their belief that our land will be saved by a battle upon the water. However your father left you in my care, and I shall do what I deem best for your safety.”

A faint smile flitted across the girl’s face. “Did it ever occur to you, Kyrsilus, that the words of the Delphic oracle are usually vague and ambiguous? Come, be frank, do we not all try to interpret its prophecies to our individual satisfactions? Take for instance Themistocles, whose one obsession ever since he has risen to a place of prominence, has been to increase our navy. It is natural that he should desire to bring his beloved navy into use at the first possible opportunity. Then again let us consider you, dear Kyrsilus, and I mean no offense whatever. Your sister served many years as a priestess of Athena, performing her duties with others in the temple of Athena on this Acropolis. Then too you have lived in Athens longer than has Themistocles. The city itself and above all its templed hill, the very nucleus of Athens, are dearer to you than relatives of whom you now have none surviving.”

The old man looked sadly at the girl and turned his face away to hide a tear. He was deeply affected by her words and the sincerity of her manner, but he did not wish to betray his emotions.

With an effort at severity he said, “My daughter you do unwisely to ridicule the divine oracle of Apollo. The words it utters are not as you say ambiguous, but so fraught with significance that we mortals are incapable of full comprehension. We do our best to interpret the will of the god through his agents, and perhaps at best we can only guess what revelations he makes concerning the future. But it is unseemly in a maiden of your years to criticize our divine source of revelation.”

They were now at the top of a long flight of broad steps, and stood one hundred and fifty feet above the level of the city. In the distance through an atmosphere of unusual clarity they beheld to the south and east, isolated peaks which, though apparently devoid of vegetation, possessed a beauty of color and contour that was enchanting. It was the time of the year when the Etesian winds came from across the blue Aegean and the whole fair land of Greece smiled under the magic touch of the goddess, Demeter.

The faithful band of Kyrsilus’ followers passed through the gateway of the Pelasgic wall and stood in front of a large rectangular building, the temple of Athene Polias[1]. Upon a pediment of this temple was a grotesque serpent in relief, painted and gilded to a dazzling brightness. Processions of priests and priestesses with conventional head-dress and stereotyped smile, formed a frieze which adorned the entablature. A figure in relief of Theseus carrying across his shoulders the Marathonian bull aroused in these, his supposed descendents, a renewed courage to protect their threatened city. They made ready for use what few weapons of defense they had among them, then retired to the temple to pray for the safety of Athens.

“My daughter,” said old Kyrsilus, “pray to Ares that our soldiers may be possessed of unusual valor and courage in the coming conflict, and pray to Athena that our generals may wisely direct the approaching battle.”

“Father Kyrsilus,” replied the maiden, “I always pray to one God! You may call Him Zeus if you wish, but He is all powerful and in His hands alone rests the fate of Greece.”

“Hush my child,” said the aged one, horrified, “you will call down the wrath of the goddess in whose temple you now stand! Will you not pray to Athena?”

Before the girl could reply, a young cripple, who because of his affliction, had been unable to join his friends in the defense of his land, hobbled into the temple.

“They are coming, they are coming!” he cried pointing with trembling finger to the west. The refugees, looking in the direction indicated, beheld on the distant horizon a mass of purplish nimbus which as it gathered momentum gradually took the definite shape of a vast glittering array of horsemen and foot-soldiers. Petrified with terror they stood watching the approaching multitude, which swept relentlessly toward them, a great human deluge!

“Quick! gather rocks and stones and pile them near the wall. The ascent is steep and few can attempt to scale it at a time. We can easily hold them back from the steps with these stones till our soldiers at Salamis return to our aid.” Kyrsilus forced an air of bravado to encourage his countrymen, but his heart sank as he beheld the barbarian host! For a brief space the maid’s doubt as to the wisdom of the oracle also took possession of him, but only for a moment. He thought, “When all else fails, Athena will protect her sanctuary and we can find refuge there.” Soon the oscillating wave of humanity was beneath them. A voice from below rang out clearly above the clash of weapons:

“I represent, O Athenians, one of the banished Peisistradi from this fair city. I beg of you, surrender your city to this world conqueror and save your holy places from pillage!”

It was the resolute voice of Kyrsilus that replied; “Behind the ‘wooden wall’ will we defend our temples, and the gods of Greece will aid us!”

The answer seemed to amaze the Persians. Their officers drew aside and discussed the situation, arriving at their decision without unanimity.

The cripple whose name was Philinus, was appointed sentinel since he was unable to lift the heavy rocks and stones. From a seat upon several boulders near the wall he could observe the movements of the Persians without being seen.

Many of the girls and women wept and prayed for themselves and for their fathers, brothers, husbands and sons now on the fleet. A few had lost loved ones at Thermopylæ. The maiden who had been with Kyrsilus showed remarkable self-control. To her the others now turned for strength and encouragement. One girl to whom she seemed especially dear, clung to her robe tenaciously.

Kyrsilus approached his charge, and there was on his countenance an expression of mingled horror and compassion.

“Persephone,” he said with trembling accents, “if a worse fate than death threatens you, and you can avail yourself of no weapon, better far fling yourself to the rocks below!”

The girl, Ladice, who clung tightly to Persephone’s hand wept bitterly, calling upon the names of all the gods and goddesses to protect her.

“Why are you so calm, Persephone?” she cried. “Do you not realize that this Acropolis may be our huge funeral pyre?”

“Yes I know that, Ladice, but I pray to one God, and I have a belief in a future existence beyond this one, so I am not afraid to die.”

“I too have not had the horror of death that is common to many, but not because of any thought of an existence continuing beyond this. The certainty of oblivion after a tumultuous life in this world of ours is reward enough for me. Surely the peace of nonexistence would be sufficient compensation.”

The smile on Persephone’s face was indicative of an inner knowledge out of which she derived supreme satisfaction and which was incomprehensible to Ladice.

An elderly man by the name of Moschion called excitedly from the gateway: “It will be necessary for all the women and girls who can, to help throw these stones upon the Persians who are climbing faster than we can prevent.”

Persephone and Ladice with others rushed to their task, rendering the needed assistance, though their fingers bled and their bodies, unused to such prolonged, strenuous labor, ached to the point of complete exhaustion. The additional help from the women turned the tide of fortune temporarily in their favor, and the Persians were forced to abandon their attack upon the well protected west side, but now they employed different tactics! They poured upon the wooden ramparts, arrows with burning tow attached to them and it was not long before the palisades were consigned to flames. Still the little group held its ground bravely, but Kyrsilus and Moschion at last sent the women into the temples where they soon joined them. Once within the sanctuary of the city’s patron goddess the frightened Greeks looked for a miracle, and indeed nothing short of a miracle could save them now! In this they were doomed to disappointment for the temple to Athena was the first to be reached by the hungry flames, and the frenzied Greeks were forced to abandon it for other smaller temples.

It was soon observed that Philinus was not with them. He had last been seen in prayer before the altar of Athena and doubtless there he had met his death! In unspoken terror all wondered who would be the next victim on the altar of oriental voracity. The chapel of Aglaurus was farthest from the flames and to it the terror-stricken Greeks fled. Here for a time at least was safety and possible salvation.

“Watch the north side now!” cried Kyrsilus, “The Persians may——” but the words froze on his lips, for there at the doorway stood fifteen or more of the besiegers, who had succeeded in scaling the precipitous northern side.

“To the rocks below, my daughter!” screamed Kyrsilus. “Do not forget my warning!”

An officer laid rough hands on the aged Moschion: “Old bald head, your time on earth is about up, anyway. You may as well journey on without delay. Old Charon is waiting to ferry you across the Styx.”

“Hold!” cried another voice, “I prefer to die first and not witness the end of these my followers.” It was Kyrsilus.

“As you wish,” cried the big Persian, “you are all to go anyway.”

The brave Kyrsilus knelt before his captor whose spear-head disappeared in his breast. His face was convulsed in the agony of death, but with his last faint breath he tried to speak to Persephone. “Perhaps you were right—about the oracle—to the rocks—below—”

Immediately following the tragic death of the leader the remaining men were killed and the rough floor of the little chapel became slippery with blood. A number of the women, following old Kyrsilus’ advice, flung themselves to certain death upon the ground below rather than fall into the hands of Xerxes’ soldiers.

It was Artabazus, one of the most insolent and rapacious of the king’s officers, who discovered Persephone and Ladice cowering in a remote corner.

“Oho, look what I have found here!” he laughed in a coarse loud voice. “Surely such a prize was worth that perilous climb.”

He took a step forward and seized Persephone roughly, but as he did so, he caught the eye of a young officer who had just arrived upon the scene together with Xerxes himself. The king took in the situation at a glance and his narrow eyes gleamed in approbation.

“A brave soldier deserves a fair prize, Artabazus,” he said.

“One moment please!” It was the voice of the young officer Zopyrus. “Did you not, cousin Xerxes, promise me a choice of the fairest maidens of the kingdom? This land of Greece is now a part of your kingdom, O mighty conqueror, and out of it I choose the maiden whom Artabazus now holds.”

“It is all one with me,” cried the impatient monarch, “Artabazus shall have the other maid.”

Zopyrus stepped forward and took the half unconscious form of the beautiful girl in his arms, and amid the coarse jests and ribaldry of the Persian soldiery, fled with his burden to the city below.

CHAPTER IV.
The Miracle of Salamis.

“First from the Greeks a tuneful shout uprose,

Well omened, and with replication loud,

Leaped the blithe echo from the rocky shore.

Fear seized the Persian host, no longer tricked

By vain opinion; not like wavering flight

Billowed the solemn paean of the Greeks,

But like the shout of men to battle urging,

With lusty cheer.”

Aeschylus.

The Persian forces were now turning from the Acropolis, and drunk with victory, were scattering over the city. Dwellings were plundered and burned, and a few wild-eyed Greeks who had remained to guard their valuable possessions, fled in mad confusion, but were overtaken by the ruthless enemy and slaughtered.

Zopyrus’ one desire was to leave behind him the horrors of massacre and conflagration. With great difficulty he forced his way through jostling crowds of demoniac soldiers, who upon recognition of his uniform and insignia, stayed their impulse which was to murder any who did not take part with them in the destruction of the city.

The heat of a noon-day sun shone upon a scene unparalleled in the gruesome aspect which it presented. Zopyrus turned his face to the west, for in this direction the Persians did not go. Their fiendish work was in the heart of the once glorious city which lay to the north and east. Many too were pursuing a south-west course in the direction of the bay of Phalerum where the Persian navy had its headquarters.

As Zopyrus trudged onward, the limp form of the Greek girl in his arms, he noticed that the road which he had chosen, though now deserted, was of unusual width and well paved. The dazzling heat, reflected from the white pavement, became oppressive, and it was with a feeling of ineffable joy that he saw to the right the cool green shadows of an olive-grove. Looking back between the gnarled trunks of two large trees whose branches were entwined in serpentine fashion, he beheld the Acropolis topped with its smoldering ruins. Once within the cool recesses of the grove he deposited his burden, and as he did so, he received a shock. Where before had he beheld those identical features in the relaxation of death? He looked again intently, thinking it an hallucination, and while his gaze rested upon her face, the maiden opened her eyes. With a look of unspeakable horror she recoiled, then as quickly turned her face in his direction, her features expressing amazement. The refinement of his countenance in combination with his Persian uniform astonished her greatly. She marveled at his attitude of reserve. His gaze met hers and held it with an impelling magnetism till she dropped her eyes in confusion.

“You—are a Greek in disguise?” she faltered.

“On the contrary, I am a Persian officer in the army of Xerxes,” he replied, and perceiving her look of terror, he added, “but I will not harm you, rather I have rescued you from a horrible fate.”

“And I am truly grateful, but I am puzzled as to why you should care to do that for me, a daughter of the enemy.”

“The motives of a Persian are not always altogether base,” he replied somewhat coldly.

“A thousand pardons,” she beseeched, “I am greatly indebted to you for your kindness, but my people have suffered horribly at the hands of yours, and surely you can not wonder at my attitude!”

“No,” he replied more gently, “I do not blame you, but I am glad to prove to you that Ahura-Mazdâo may be as deserving of worship as Zeus.”

To his surprise the suspicion of a smile flitted across her face. Was this bewitching Athenian maiden mocking him? Her features were again serious as she said: “Ahura-Mazdâo and Zeus are one. There is one all-powerful God, and compared with Him the others are quite insignificant.”

“You believe that?” he asked with fresh interest. “I had supposed polytheism to be the unshaken belief of the Greeks.”

“Of the majority that is true,” she replied seriously, “but many of us, while performing the rites due our gods and goddesses, send our prayers to a Deity who is above the petty jealousies of the gods of Olympus. It was a prayer to that Deity which saved me from a tragic fate on the Acropolis!”

He looked at her with a new interest. Not only did he consider her very beautiful, but he was surprised to find her possessing more intellect than was usual among the Persian girls of his acquaintance. He knew too, that the Greek women were educated to be principally home-makers, and that beyond the duties of wives and mothers, their training was somewhat deficient. Therefore he was not a little amazed that this maid of Athens could express her views on religion with the assurance of a man.

“If a prayer to the Deity saved you, can not another such prayer save your ships there at Salamis?” he asked, but so kindly that she did not resent his question.

“Let us go to the shore,” she cried eagerly, “and there I shall pray that success may come to my poor fellow-countrymen who know that their beloved city lies in ashes!”

As they ascended the ravine which intersects the range of Mt. Aegaleos and gazed beyond toward the low hills which lay like purple velvet, fold on fold, it seemed to the man and the maid that hatred and warfare must be altogether odious to a God who had created such beauty. And it seemed to them that man, the crown of his creation, was not fashioned for the murder of his fellows, or to perish on the bloody field of battle. They passed numerous sanctuaries and temples whose white pillars stood like silent ghosts hiding amid the dark foliage of shady groves, or half concealed behind some grassy hillock, but always the great vault of the universal temple impressed upon them their common beliefs. At length from the top of a woody eminence they beheld the silvery sheet of the bay of Salamis, dotted with the Greek triremes.

“Let us take this wooded path to the south,” suggested Zopyrus. “It will take us to the shore at a point considerably north of the Persian forces and out of the danger of meeting any chance pedestrians to Eleusis.”

Persephone had explained that the road which they had traveled up to this point was indeed the Sacred Way which led from Athens to the city of Eleusis where there was a temple dedicated to the worship of Demeter and of Dionysus.

“Many of my friends are now on yonder island,” said Persephone pointing in the direction of the mountains of Salamis which girdled the bay.

“Why were you not with them in this time of peril to your city?” asked the Persian.

“Because my father, who is out there with the Greek fleet, left me in the care of an old friend, Kyrsilus, who believed that Athens could be saved by defending the Acropolis. My father will be frantic with grief when he hears of the fate of Athens, for he lost a son, my twin brother, in the battle of Thermopylæ. My brother Phales, was considered too young to fight and was refused permission to join the naval forces when he applied to Eurybiades, the commander of our fleet, so he united with the Spartans under king Leonidas, and as you know, not one of the three-hundred soldiers escaped death.”

Zopyrus was too overcome with emotion to trust himself to speak. Like a flash the association of her lovely face as she lay passive in his arms, with that other face, so strangely similar, was made clear. His had been the hand that had laid low that youth just on the threshold of manhood, and caused sorrow to the brave father and the devoted sister! In his mind he lived over again that period of mental anguish preceding the battle of Thermopylæ. Then once again as in the heat of battle he saw before him the handsome face of the Greek lad as he lay at his feet in the peace of death. Oh, it was unbearable! He passed his hand across his eyes as if to shut out the haunting vision and lo! as he drew his hand away the same face was before him still, only now it appeared in the fresh vigor of life! As they followed the course of the little by-path, she noticed his sudden silence and wondered if it were possible that he felt any sorrow that a Greek soldier, though her brother, had met death in the pass of Thermopylæ.

No more words passed between them until they stood side by side on a small promontory, the bay, reflecting the glory of an afternoon sun at their feet. Persephone stood shading her eyes and looking eagerly toward the Greek triremes as if she hoped even at that distance to be able to discern a familiar figure on board. It was with new emotions that Zopyrus watched the slender form of the girl silhouetted against a horizon of water and sky like a sylph limned on gauze. She was clad in the flowing white, sleeveless chiton of the women of higher caste, with a plaited kolpos, giving a puff effect at the waist. Her hair, gold where the sun shone upon it but brown in the shadows, was parted so that it fell in loose waves around her temples. At the back, low in her neck, it was gathered in a soft Psyche knot. Her nose was typically Greek, straight and thin, and the perfect contour of cheek and chin was the same that Zopyrus had observed in the slain lad at Thermopylæ.

“Just so have the opposing fleets lain for days,” she cried. “That is the position in which they were when news was received at Athens that Aristides had arrived from Aegina whither he had been banished.”

“Do you think the Greek fleet would do well to strike first? Why not wait for the Persians to take the initiative?” Zopyrus asked.

“Do you think I will tell you, a Persian, what I think?” she cried angrily.

He thought she was going to leave him, but in that he was mistaken. She walked a few paces away still gazing with shaded eyes toward the triremes. Her features now showed the tragic expression of despair. Themistocles had told the Athenians that the Peloponnesians might withdraw their ships, and this, Persephone knew would mean victory to the Persians, and Asiatic rule in Greece. Why, oh why did the Greek ships hold back! It was in an agony of despair that the girl sank to her knees and would have fallen had Zopyrus not run to her assistance.

“The prayer, oh, I had nearly forgotten the prayer for my people! I said I would pray at the shore and so I shall, for the salvation of Greece and the expulsion of the enemy!” The tears were coursing down her rounded cheeks and her frame shook with sobs. Reverently she raised her eyes to heaven and prayed with greater fervor than she had on the Acropolis. Then a few lives had been at stake, now the future of a nation and possibly races of mankind were involved!

The sun apparently crept a few feet nearer its goal and still the girl remained in her attitude of supplication. All at once she stood erect and turned amazed in the direction of Eleusis and the Sacred Way. Borne on the breeze that was wafted across the picturesque bay of Eleusis came the sound of myriads of voices raised in a mighty pæan of joy. The chant rose and fell in awful grandeur striking fear and adoring wonder to the hearts of Persians and Greeks.

“It is the Hymn to Dionysus!” cried Persephone. “That is the way it sounds at festival times, only this is a thousand times grander. There are none left in Greece to sing that hymn! Do you not see it is a miracle sent by the Deity in answer to my prayer? Listen!”

The volume of sound grew louder and more distinct until it seemed to surround them and they stood dumb with astonishment. Out over the waters of Salamis drifted the pæan of solemn, dignified joy, and into the heart of every Greek it sent its message. Never to hear again in reality the Hymn to Dionysus! Never to walk in joyous procession with the celebrants from Athens to Eleusis, bearing the statue of Iocchos! Never to celebrate the national festivals so dear to the heart of every Greek! Was Greece to be overrun and conquered by Orientals? The pæan died away gradually and was followed by an ominous, death-like silence. Then a very different sound pierced the ears of the two listeners. It was the battle-cry of the Greeks as they sent forth their ships to meet the enemy. All fear had fled. Only one motive actuated the entire fleet and that was to save Greece at any cost.

“Do you see the ship that leads the assault?” cried Persephone excitedly. “That is commanded by Lycomedes, a brave captain well deserving of the honors he has won in previous conflicts, but the ship behind is a close second.”

The leading Greek ship pursued a Persian vessel which was seemingly but a few feet in advance of the Greek boat.

“The Persian vessel is making for that narrow space yonder but I doubt if it will have room to turn about and face its antagonist. It is like sailing between Scylla and Charybdis,” said Zopyrus. “Look it is about to turn, but the space will not permit. There—!”

As he spoke the boat commanded by Lycomedes struck that of the Persian broadside, nearly cutting it in twain with the sharp, strong beak. Instantly the greatest confusion reigned on board the damaged vessel. Soldiers leapt into the water, preferring drowning to death or captivity at the hands of the enemy. Persephone turned away with a shudder. Zopyrus observed her narrowly.

“It pains you to witness the victory of this Lycomedes?” he asked with a touch of sarcasm.

“No, no,” she replied in distressed tones, “I should have been glad to hear of it, but I can not enjoy being an eye-witness to such a terrible scene!”

His feeling of bitterness left and he said more kindly, “Will you not go and rest under the shade of some tree well out of sight and somewhat out of sound of this battle?”

Her reply rather surprised him. “If you can watch so serenely the annihilation of your countrymen, I can endure witnessing the victory of mine. Oh,” here she unconsciously clutched Zopyrus’ arm, unaware of the thrill of contact to the Persian, “the second ship is commanded by my brave uncle, Ameinias. Look, he is pursuing a Persian ship which has so far eluded his beak!”

The battle was now raging in earnest, Persephone and Zopyrus stood with tense interest while at their feet was enacted one of the world’s great tragic dramas. The narrow space in which they were engaged hindered the Persians and rendered their superior number a disadvantage. Becoming panic-stricken, they collided with each other. Oars were broken, and unable to steer, they could not direct their blows with the prows, by which means they sought to sink an enemy ship. The bay was a moving mass of driving beaks and heaving wreckage.

“Whose is the vessel that my uncle still pursues?” asked the girl presently.

“That is the ship of Artemisia, queen of Halicarnassus,” he replied.

No sooner had the words fallen from his lips than the Karian queen’s boat collided with that of one of her countrymen, and Ameinias abandoned the pursuit. But Artemisia’s boat was not damaged and retreated quickly to the Persian side.

“I believe the collision was deliberate,” said Zopyrus more to himself than to his companion. “By apparently becoming a deserter and sinking one of her own ships, she escaped with her life.”

“Who is this Artemisia, that she commands a ship and displays such keen intelligence in naval warfare?” asked Persephone with growing interest.

“She is a companion of Xerxes, and had proven a wise counsellor. Her advice when followed has always been adept, and when unheeded, disaster has resulted. This naval engagement with the Greeks was undertaken entirely against her wishes and this is the result!”

Persephone smiled. “I am glad I do not have to serve in the capacity of king’s counsellor. My talents evidently lie in a different direction. I can not cause battles to be fought or not, at will.”

“No, little maid of Greece, but it seems that by your prayers you can determine the results of the battles that are fought. Your power is far greater than that of Artemisia!”

Her eyes were filled with tears of happiness. “The One God who is powerful above all others does hear and answer the prayers of earnest suppliants.”

It was difficult to say whether the sweet loveliness in the lines of Persephone’s face, or her majesty of character gave her the greater fascination, but as the youth gazed upon her features illuminated with triumph and joy, he became convinced that she was the most attractive woman he had ever known.

“When the battle is over, where will you go?” he asked.

“Wherever my father or uncle wish,—and you?”

For a moment he hesitated. Should he tell her of his Greek mother and of the conflicting emotions which had been his ever since the beginning of the campaign? She observed his indecision and said softly even seductively: “You have seen much to rouse your sympathy for my people, have you not? Surely the atrocities wrought by the Persians have not met with the approval of one who could rescue a maiden in dire distress, though she were of the enemy!”

Zopyrus was soldier before he was lover. He had come over with the Persian host to aid in subduing Greece, and here he was nearly allowing himself to be swayed by the charms of a Greek maid. For the moment he forgot that his Greek mother had been the strongest influence, barring his vows as an officer, that had as yet actuated him in this campaign. He felt momentarily the sting of the defeat of Salamis.

“I go to the Persians at Phalerum, after I have seen you safe with your people,” he replied coldly.

“There is no danger now,” she answered, and there was a twinkle in her eye. “With the defeat of the Persians, I am secure in my own country.”

He looked at her speechlessly as she stood in an attitude of superb defiance, then moved by a sudden impulse, he strode toward her and gathered her roughly in his arms, crushing her against him till she cried out with pain.

“You see your danger is not over, is it?” he asked fiercely.

She ceased to struggle, and when he looked at her pale face and into her eyes, which are ever truer messengers of the soul than the spoken words of the mouth, he read a truth which bewildered him. Passionately he kissed her lips, once, twice, thrice, then rudely put her from him and strode away in the direction of Phalerum.

CHAPTER V.
The Traitor of Thermopylæ.

“Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, O, give me back my heart!

Or since it has left my breast,

Keep it now, and take the rest!”

Lord Byron.

A small barge shot out from the shadows of a cliff through the light spray which spumed about its prow as it cut the billows. Its occupants, in addition to the two oarsmen, were a youth and maiden of comely features. The former was clad in a long, deep bordered chiton covered with a chlamys or cape of semi-military style. His feet were protected by leather sandals, bound with straps about the calves of his legs. In indolent ease he stretched his too graceful form and gazed from beneath half closed eye-lids at the beautiful young woman who reclined upon a cushioned dais at the boat’s prow. The woman, if she were conscious of the other’s gaze, did not make it manifest. Her eyes sought the tranquil water with a dreamy, faraway expression. For some time the two sat thus. At length the man’s attitude of indolence changed abruptly. He leaned forward, drawing his companion’s gaze to his.

“Why this coolness to me, Persephone? You have been a changed girl ever since I found you wandering alone on the shore near Eleusis. Have the horrors of recent events affected your reason, that you do not smile upon me as was your wont?”

“It must be the war, Ephialtes, that makes my spirit so downcast. If only the entire Persian army had retreated across the Hellespont with Xerxes! Hordes of them still remain in Thessaly, rallying, I presume, to attack us again.”

“We are safe here at Salamis for the time being, and if I thought what you have said was the true cause of your listlessness, I should not worry, but I have feared lately that you consider seriously the attentions of Icetes, may Pluto take him!”

Persephone colored to her temples at these words. “Icetes is a sincere and lovable friend. He is no more to me than an elder brother and I will not hear his name so defiled.”

A sneer curled the handsome lips of the Greek but his expression changed quickly to one of passionate adoration. “I have loved you ever since I first saw you, Persephone, and I will not allow another to come between you, the rare object of my affections and me. Your father has consented to a betrothal, has he not?”

The maiden looked away quickly. “Father does not wholly approve of you, Ephialtes, if the truth must be known. You know father has strict ideas and I am his only daughter!”

“Of course you are,” the young man responded irritably, “but he must expect you to wed sometime, and where will he find a better suitor for your hand outside of royalty? I have wealth,” here Ephialtes touched the rich border of his costly garment and the jewel in his dark hair, “good looks, and prospects of political favor.”

Persephone hesitated to state that the doubtful source of Ephialtes’ wealth was one of her father’s objections to him as a prospective son-in-law. Also the fact that he spent his money lavishly upon personal comforts and luxuries, but had failed to donate toward the sum being raised for the rebuilding of Athens, was against him.

“Do not press me for an answer now, Ephialtes. The Persians have not yet been expelled from Greece, and you may have to don helmet and cuirass once again before our beloved country is safe from the oriental invader.”

“When the Athenians return to rebuild Athens will you give me your answer?” persisted Ephialtes.

“I will consider seriously at that time,” replied the girl smiling demurely into the handsome face now close to her own.

Persephone was a true Greek in that she believed that physical beauty was the index of the rarer qualities of mind and heart. The youth who sat opposite possessed physical beauty to an unusual degree. The soft breezes from across the water stirred his dark thick locks, and the dazzling reflection of the late afternoon sun on the dancing waves was reflected a second time from his dark eyes whose light fluctuated even as that upon the oscillating surface of the water.

“Tell me again of your heroism at Thermopylæ,” whispered the maiden.

“No, I would not seem to brag of my gift of valor. It is enough, is it not, that I have told you of my attempt to save the life of Leonidas?”

Persephone smiled at him in approval, then her features became serious as she asked: “Has the traitor of Thermopylæ yet been discovered? But for him, our city would not now be in ashes and thousands of lives would have been spared including that of my dear brother, Phales.”

She raised tear-dimmed eyes to her companion: “Ephialtes, seek the traitor and deliver him to us, that through the agency of man, God may avenge that foul act of treason. Could you do this, Greece would honor your name as it did that of Miltiades.”

The man turned his face away, his mood quickly altered by the girl’s words.

“Humanity is fickle,” he replied with a peculiar air of detachment. “Miltiades did not enjoy public favor for long, you remember. Just because he went on a little trip to avenge a personal wrong, immediately the populace forgot his heroism at Marathon and convicted him for that minor offence.”

“But,” replied the girl, “Miltiades became arrogant and forgot public interests for his own. Zeus always punishes insolence by having Justice recompense in due season.”

Ephialtes was obstinately silent, unmoved by Persephone’s words. He dared say no more for fear of betraying himself. Persephone, he loved to as great an extent as it is possible for one of such selfish instincts to love. She did not possess great wealth, and conscious of his own mercenary nature, he wondered that he could so love where money was no object. He had great respect for her mental superiority, while at the same time he feared it, but it was her physical loveliness which appealed to him most. He longed to possess her, body and soul, and the usual patience with which he could await the attainment of his desires, was becoming depleted. He had always prided himself on his ability to bridle his impulses if he felt that they interfered in any way with the ultimate attainment of a desired goal. Where self-restraint is lacking, there is no order, and no one knew this any better than Ephialtes.

It was that magical hour between daylight and dusk that is of such short duration in the countries of the south. Away to the west stretched the hills of Salamis, the setting sun shedding a flood of glory upon the picturesque undulations. Then one by one the stars began to appear and soon the canopy of the heavens was studded with myriads of twinkling lights.

“Let us hasten back to the island,” said Persephone shivering slightly. “The air is chill and I brought no wrap with me.”

The young man removed his cape and placed it around the shoulders of his companion. Persephone seemed despondent. Even the beauty of the evening on the water beneath the stars did not cheer her. The barge was now, at the request of the maiden, turning its prow toward the promontories of her temporary home.

“Persephone,” pleaded the youth once more, “will you not give me an answer now, and if in the affirmative, I shall be the happiest man in all Greece.”

Persephone smiled a little, but was still troubled.

“Dear Ephialtes,” she said, “you have it in you to be so brave as you proved at Thermopylæ, but before I consent to a marriage between us, I want one more accomplishment that will bring glory to your name. Discover for our country Thermopylæ’s traitor.”

Ephialtes’ brow clouded. “That is a very difficult task. Will not proof of heroic valor in the next conflict with the Persians suffice to bring you to my arms, a willing bride?”

The barge now glided into a cove near the city, and Ephialtes rose to assist his fair companion in alighting from her seat at the prow. As she yielded her arm to his, she raised to his face a countenance, though outwardly serene, yet strangely determined.

“On the day that you deliver to Greece the traitor of Thermopylæ I will become your wife.”

CHAPTER VI.
Athena Speaks Through the Olive Branch.

“We climb the ancient steep, which chief and sage

Mounted before, through many a changeful age;

Where Cimon blessed the gods that Greece was free,

And Thrasybulus shouted ‘Victory.’”

Nicholas Michell.

At the top of the long rugged path by which one mounted the Acropolis, stood a young man of martial bearing. Upon his features contempt and yearning curiously mingled. At his feet lay a city now silent and deserted, which had once teemed with active humanity. Whether he looked to north or south, to east or west, there crowded upon his memory in rapid succession, incidents that brought to him the convincing reality that this city was associated with all that was dear to him.

The fleeting memories that crowded in and out of his mind came from a diversity of experiences. Now there came to him thoughts as he looked toward the Agora[2] that brought a wistful smile to his lips. He was once more a mischievous boy running through the busy market to escape the wrath of the pursuing vender whom he had angered by the theft of a tempting bit of fruit. Then—and his brow clouded while a blush of shame flushed his cheek—he was a wild youth arrogant and proud, and steeped in sin, how deep, he did not realize till later! Then had followed the excitement of war—his father as commander of the Greeks had won a great victory over the Persians at Marathon! His father the great Miltiades, whose name was on every tongue and whose praise was sung throughout Greece, returned, the idol of the hour, and Cimon, though too young to have participated at Marathon, commemorated his parent’s triumph with a sumptuous feast, the like of which had never before nor since been celebrated in Athens. And then—here Cimon’s head sank upon his breast—had followed the disgrace and death of that father whose bravery had been extoled throughout the land. His courageous father who had stood firm before the darts of Datis and Artaphernes, yielded to a desire to avenge a petty, personal wrong, and fell with an arrow in his heart. But after all, Cimon considered, had not the father’s disgrace brought the son to his senses? His former friends shunned him in a way that he knew was due not alone to the paternal disgrace, but to the former arrogance with which he had flaunted his pride of social standing in the faces of his associates.

The blush of shame which mantled his brow gave evidence of the remorse which the young Cimon had suffered. Suddenly he stood erect and held his head high, a triumphant gleam in his blue eyes. Yes he had made a real man of himself after all and had won the respect and confidence of his fellows, not through his poor father’s achievements, but through virtues of his own. He would do what he could yet to bring this beloved city back to her former splendor. The Persians though defeated at Salamis, would he knew, rally for another attack, for they had not left northern Greece, and he, Cimon, would exert himself to the utmost to save the land which his father had so bravely defended ten years before.

His eyes glowed with enthusiasm while visions of the future held him in absorption. What Miltiades had been to Greece, he would be, and more. His father had been all soldier, but in him, Cimon, were there not mingled some of the qualities necessary to the making of a statesman as well? He turned and viewed with grief the ponderous slabs that had once composed the temple to Athena. Would not Athens soon need another such edifice, grander and of more beautiful proportions than the one which had recently occupied this site? Some leader would arise after this war, why not he? Of course Themistocles, here his brow puckered to a frown, was a great man and had been the savior of Greece at Salamis, but Themistocles would soon be past his prime, whereas he was young. He drew himself to his full height, unconsciously placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword and gazed beyond the north horizon in which direction he knew the Persians rallied for another attack upon the stronghold of Attica.

His mind returned again to the statesman, Themistocles. He had been the last person to see Ladice alive, and it was known for certain that she was among those who ascended the Acropolis with Kyrsilus. Although it was first reported that all of that brave little band had been slaughtered, rumor had been rife that some of the younger women had been spared—but only to meet a worse fate; that of captivity in the harems of the Persians. If that had been Ladice’s fate, far better that she had met death with the others on the Acropolis! But Ladice did not love him. Oh, the sting of that realization! Ladice knew of the wild life that he had led and of the drunken orgies in which he had participated. Perhaps it was presumptuous for him to think with love upon a girl of such stainless character as Ladice, but had he not vowed by all the gods that he would live an upright life and had he not kept that vow for nearly four years?

Slowly he advanced among the ruins which lay about him, mute evidences of a destructive power as yet unconquered.

“She probably offered a last prayer to Athena here,” he surmised as he sadly surveyed what had once been the sanctuary of that goddess. Vainly he strove to suppress the violent agitation of his soul. At last with a despairing cry he sank to his knees, and with uplifted hands prayed to the goddess: “Oh Athena, thou who knowest what took place at thy sanctuary, even though thou wert unable to defend it against the hordes of Xerxes, did Ladice die among the followers of Kyrsilus or was she taken captive by Persian soldiers? If she is now a prisoner among them, is there a chance for her rescue? Is there a chance for this city that is named for thee O Athena? Give me a sign, O Goddess, that is all I ask, a sign that I may set forth with renewed hope and vigor to aid in expelling the dreaded foes from our boundaries!”

Cimon staggered to his feet, his eyes resting wearily on the debris that was piled about him. Presently among the fragments of a demolished pillar he saw something that caused him to doubt the truthfulness of his sight. Here on the top of the Acropolis where destruction through the agency of fire and sword had been followed by chaos, was a bit of living green vegetation! Cimon approached in awe and bewilderment, then he uttered an exclamation of joy, for the sacred olive tree which had been planted in honor of the patron goddess years before, had sent forth a new green shoot a cubit in length. The young man knew as he gazed upon this miracle of life sprung from the ashes of death, that Athena spoke by the olive-branch the promise that Athens should arise from her despair and ruin. With a lighter heart than he had felt for many a weary day, Cimon descended the path, and in his heart not only hope, but a grim determination to help in the restoration of his beloved city, found lodgment.

CHAPTER VII.
The Banquet of Attaginus.

“How oft when men are at the point of death

Have they been merry!”

Shakespeare.

After the defeat of the Persians at Salamis, Xerxes retreated across the Hellespont to Asia, but Mardonius was not so easily disheartened. With three hundred thousand men he wintered in Thessaly making thorough preparations for a second attack upon Athens the following summer. What was his utter amazement upon re-entering the city to find it completely deserted, its citizens having remained at Salamis, Troezen and Aegina. Thereupon he retreated to Thebes in Bœotia there to await the Greek offensive which was to be strengthened by aid from the Spartans.

On a certain evening in spring, ten months after the destruction of Athens, Zopyrus and his friend Masistius, sat outside the entrance of the latter’s tent in the Persian encampment near Thebes. The night was cool for that time of the year, but the chill was warded off to some extent by a brightly blazing fire.

“What think you of this sumptuous feast to be given by the Theban Attaginus, on the morrow?” asked Zopyrus.

“I expect I shall enjoy the feast, but I do not admire the Bœotians,” replied Masistius. “They are unfaithful to their country’s cause, and above all things I loathe a traitor. Of course our outward appearances must be those of friendship, for they are of inestimable service to the Persian cause, but how different from the traitorous Thebans was that little band of Athenians who tried to defend their Acropolis!”

Zopyrus’ brow clouded at memory of that tragic scene. “By the way Masistius, what became of the girl whom Xerxes gave to Artabazus when the latter was forced to surrender the maiden to whom I laid claim?”

Masistius gazed silently into the bright flames and tossed a twig into the fire, watching it a moment before he spoke.

“Her young life will be consumed just as that twig. She was taken away by Artabazus and is now a captive in his harem.”

Masistius paused a moment impressively, then he asked without even glancing in Zopyrus’ direction: “And the other maiden, what of her? But that is a rude question,” he added, laying an affectionate hand upon the other’s shoulder. “I presume by now she is safe with her people.”

Zopyrus turned quickly and sought his companion’s gaze. “Friend Masistius,” he said, “I have kept locked within my breast these ten months, a secret, so precious that I hesitate to share it, and I would not do so were it not approaching the eve of battle, but to you who throughout this entire campaign, have been the only friend whose ideas of life coincide with mine, I will disclose that which I had not thought to reveal to mortal man. Although my acquaintance with the maiden of whom you speak was of short duration, it was, nevertheless, long enough to convince me that I want her for my wife.”

The Persian cavalryman expressed no little surprise at his friend’s disclosure.

“Was the infatuation mutual?” he asked.

“If I possess any ability in interpreting a maiden’s thoughts through her eyes, my love is reciprocated,” said Zopyrus, the color mounting to his temples.

“If that be the case,” spoke Masistius heartily, “may Ahura-Mazdâo bring you together after we have conquered Greece!”

“And if we cannot succeed in subduing the Greeks?”

“Then Zeus may perform the act of reuniting you,” replied Masistius somewhat bitterly.

The fire had by this time died down till only a few glowing embers remained. Zopyrus rose to take his leave.

“Farewell, Masistius, till the feast. Forget the confidences of the past hour. This love of mine can avail nothing.”

“Of that I am not so sure, Zopyrus. The vision of a certain beautiful young woman has kept up my courage that might otherwise have failed me.”

With a friendly hand-clasp, the two parted.

* * * * * * * *

The hall appropriated to the feast was part of the private home of the Theban leader, Attaginus. Through a wide entrance at one side of the hall, the guests glimpsed a court, the floor of which was of variegated mosaic tiles forming intricate designs and patterns. In the center a marble fountain tossed up its silvery cooling spray. Among the potted palms and ferns, birds of bright-colored plumage flitted about adding their sweet notes to that of cithera and flute. Rarest flowers of every hue glowed from sculptured vases among the green foliage of the plants, and sweet spices burned in guilded tripods.

Within the hall the cedar-wood tables[3] groaned under the weight of gold and silver dishes filled with tasty viands. There were thrushes browned to a turn, fish, lentils, olive-oil, cheese, fruit, cakes baked in the shape of Persian and Greek soldiers, and many desserts and dainties to induce thirst for the wine which was to come later.

The astute Attaginus had arranged his guests in such a manner that a Bœotian and a Persian occupied the same couch. In this way he hoped to stimulate the fraternal spirit between Persian and Greek. Thus Artabazus found himself occupying a couch with a Theban cavalryman by the name of Timegenidas, Masistius discovered his companion to be a certain Theban, Asopodorus, while Mardonius and Attaginus were partners.

Zopyrus being an inferior officer to those mentioned, sat among others of equal rank with himself at an end of the hall. In spite of the revel and festivity about him, he labored in vain to throw off a sense of depression. To one of his nature it was impossible to forget the probable tragedies of the morrow in the carousal and merry-making of today. These men about him were trying to veil sorrow with levity; a thing that men have done for countless ages and probably always will; a last expiring effort to enjoy life while it is still in their possession; a desire to crowd out of consciousness the possibility of oblivion by a present rapturous delight in the reality of existence.

The Greek who sat with Zopyrus observed his nonchalance and endeavored to encourage conversation. He plied Zopyrus with questions as to his native city, the details of the campaign from Sardis to Thessaly, until the Persian was forced to make similar inquiries in regard to the Bœotian, who he learned was a citizen of Orchomenus, by the name of Thersander.

At the close of the above mentioned courses servants entered and moved noiselessly about, putting wreaths on the heads and around the necks of the guests and pouring upon them sweet-scented ointments. At this point in the feast Attaginus arose and all eyes were turned in his direction.

“We will appoint a symposiarch[4] by lot,” he explained, “so that Greek and Persian will be treated fairly.”

“I believe my companion here would make an excellent symposiarch,” said Timegenidas, laughingly indicating Artabazus. “I think he would be sparing in the use of water. Am I right, my friend?”

“Where wine, revelry and women, though the latter are sadly wanting here, are concerned,” said Artabazus in a loud voice, “there I am willing to take a prominent part.”

“I am sure you would prove an excellent symposiarch,” courteously replied the host, “but we will tonight follow the usual custom and cast lots for that service.”

The lot fell to Masistius before whom the servants placed a large ornate mixing bowl upon a handsome golden salver. In accordance with his practice of moderation in all things, Masistius used three parts of water to two of wine, much to the disgust of Artabazus and a few others present.

“Masistius,” called Artabazus, “this may be the last wine we drink here on earth, so beware of mixing frog’s wine. Make it strong enough for us to forget in it the threatening dangers of tomorrow. Add some more of that which our host says comes from Lesbos!”

The symposiarch ignored the latter’s remarks. His large, well-built frame, as he performed his task, attracted the attention of all the banqueters.

“If he attains such superb physique with three parts of water and two of wine, we can do no better than to follow his example,” said one.

“It is said there is none braver among the men of the cavalry,” remarked another.

To all this conversation, Zopyrus was a silent listener. His eyes rested with fond approval upon the manly form of his friend Masistius. He watched closely the frank, open countenance and was well pleased with the jovial, but at the same time, dignified demeanor. How would it fare with Masistius on the morrow? Of himself he did not think. He was presently aware that Artabazus was addressing the banqueters generally.

“You Greeks actually do not seem to miss the presence of women at your banquets! Now to me, for my tastes are so refined, the presence of feminine beauty adds a charm for which no amount of flowers, birds or music can substitute.”