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.