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PERSEPHONE OF ELEUSIS
A Romance of Ancient Greece
by
CLARE WINGER HARRIS
[Illustration: STRATFORD PUBLISHERS]
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.