The Rescue of Ladice.
“... Beyond the Theban plain
Stretches to airy distance, till it seems
Lifted in air,—green cornfields, olive groves
Blue as their heaven, and lakes, and winding rivers.”
James Gates Percival.
Now in the fitful lurid glow of a hundred campfires, now in the gloomy
shadows of tents or trees, Zopyrus crept stealthily toward the tent of
Artabazus. It was approaching midnight, and with the exception of the
occupants of Mardonius’ tent, the Persians slept, many of them for the
last time before their eternal rest. Less than fifteen minutes had
elapsed since Zopyrus had quitted the tent of Mardonius, leaving the
Persian and Theban leaders in a heated discussion pertaining to the
morrow’s battle. He felt assured that affairs of war would detain
Artabazus for at least a half hour and possibly longer. The tent of
Artabazus, though at no great distance from that of Mardonius, was
difficult of access, and Zopyrus realized that his work must be
accomplished not only swiftly, but silently as well.
A guard walking back and forth before the entrance to the women’s tent
was the only living soul visible; his measured tread the only sound
audible. Zopyrus stood like an inanimate object beside a low bush near
the tent. He watched the guard for some time, studying the opportune
moment to spring. Now the fellow’s march brought him so close to the
hidden figure that the latter had but to reach forth his hand—A muffled
cry of bewilderment, a brief struggle, a suppressed groan of agony, and
Zopyrus leaped over the prostrate form and entered the tent of the
women.
The eunuch, a creature of repulsive form and malignant countenance,
stood just within the entrance. The noise of the struggle, brief and
silent though it was, had reached his ears. With the stealth and agility
of a panther he approached and leaped upon his prey as the latter
entered. With dagger raised aloft he would have dealt a fatal blow had
not Phædime with the strength of an Amazon, held his arm as it was about
to descend.
“Wait, Amorges,” she cried, “do not harm this man till we learn his
mission!” Turning to Zopyrus she said, “Speak stranger, what would you
in the harem of Artabazus?”
Zopyrus glanced quickly about him at the silken hangings richly
broidered; at the heavy woven tapestries which adorned the sides of the
tent; at panels composed of the variegated plumage of birds, and
gloriously flashing jewels; the beautifully gowned women who surveyed
him with unabashed curiosity, their shining black eyes flashing their
appreciation of the unusual over the tops of fans of ostrich feathers.
He turned again to Phædime.
“I seek one Ladice by name, a Greek girl brought here against her will.”
“Just a moment, I will bring her.” To the eunuch she whispered aside, “I
will fetch a gag. Do not touch him yet.”
She returned shortly with Ladice whose appearance of unutterable
wretchedness wrung Zopyrus’ heart.
“This officer says he has come to take you away, Ladice,” said Phædime
giving a sidelong glance at the girl to observe her reception of the
news.
The Greek maiden took a step forward, gazing earnestly into Zopyrus’
face. “It is not he, no it is not he! But tell me he is not dead!”
Zopyrus spoke gently, “I must confirm the ill news, fair maiden.
Masistius died heroically on the field of battle and I am to succeed him
in an attempt to rescue you.”
Amorges and Phædime exchanged glances, the former intimating by a nod
that it was time to produce the gag, but Phædime still hesitated, for
the girl, Ladice, flung herself with a sob at Zopyrus’ feet.
“It can’t be true,” she cried, “I loved him and he promised to return,
oh tell me it isn’t true!”
Zopyrus gazed with compassion into the tear-stained face as he replied:
“It is indeed true, but tell me, do you really wish to escape from the
clutches of Artabazus?”
The girl glanced furtively about her in horror as if she expected to see
the odious form conjured before her at the mention of his name.
“Yes, I will do anything to escape from him and if——” but her words were
cut short by a muffled cry of terror.
Phædime had seized the eunuch and forced the gag into his mouth. “Come,
help me bind him!” she called loudly to Zopyrus.
It was the work of a few moments, and when they were finished, poor
Amorges lay in one corner of the tent, prone and helpless.
“You may depend upon me to help you in this project,” Phædime said to
Zopyrus. “It is necessary to lay bare to you the secrets of a woman’s
heart. I love Artabazus, and in his affections I have held first place
till this Greek girl,” (here she cast a scornful glance at Ladice), “was
brought here, and after this battle was fought she would have been his.
You see it is to my interest to get her away and to that end I will lend
you my assistance. Perhaps we had better kill the eunuch to be assured
of our safety. What say you?”
Amorges’ eyes fairly started out of their sockets as the two approached.
Seeing that the threat had proved effectual, Phædime spurned the
defenceless body with her foot and asked: “Will you intimate to
Artabazus upon his return that violence was done you by the soldier who
rescued Ladice, and that I tried to help you?”
The wretched fellow indicated affirmation as well as his bonds permitted
and Phædime turned to Zopyrus and Ladice.
“Now go and may success crown your efforts.”
“Before we go,” said Zopyrus to Ladice, “you must don this garb to
facilitate our escape.”
He held out to her a bundle of dark clothing. The girl withdrew to an
adjoining chamber and soon appeared in the uniform of a Persian
foot-soldier.
“Your disguise is excellent,” exclaimed Zopyrus delightedly, “now let us
hasten,” and with a brief expression of gratitude to Phædime for her
share in the escape, he and Ladice took a hasty departure.
Only the glowing embers of camp-fires remained. The flickering deceptive
shadows that had annoyed Zopyrus in his approach to the harem-tent had
disappeared, and in their stead the encampment lay around the fugitives
in the tranquil light of a full moon, the white tents gleaming like
snow-covered hillocks. Already the Persian felt that this omen presaged
success. They threaded the narrow alleys which separated the tents in
silence so as not to betray their presence, and arrived without mishap
at an intersection of alleys, about thirty yards from the tent of
Mardonius.
“Let us turn to the left here,” whispered Zopyrus, “and thus avoid
passing Mardonius’ tent.”
Scarcely had the words escaped his lips when the sound of footsteps and
low talking broke the silence.
“What is your hurry? Why will you not abide the night with Mardonius
till we decide whether or not it is advisable to attempt to cut off the
Greek reinforcements?” questioned the voice of Asopodorus.
Then to the horror of the fugitives, the voice of Artabazus made answer.
“Tomorrow will be time enough for that. I am weary of consultations of
war, and who knows if I be living tomorrow at this time! I have a fair
Greek captive who will this night help me to forget the dangers of the
morrow, and to her I now go despite my promises to await the close of
battle.”
It was now too late to turn without arousing the suspicion of the
approaching Artabazus. Zopyrus could feel the trembling hand of the girl
upon his arm.
“Have courage,” he whispered, “and say not a word.”
Artabazus’ features expressed surprise at meeting anyone at this time of
the night.
“Well if it isn’t Zopyrus! Have you turned somnambulist?” he asked
jocosely, but with a hint of mistrust in his voice.
“You forget, Artabazus, the task I am this night to perform at the
fountain of Gargaphia. By the time I reach its vicinity the moon will be
low.”
“To be sure I remember now, but whom have you with you?” questioned the
officer curiously.
“Mardonius bade me take a man with me, and this youth wished to go,”
replied Zopyrus with an air of indifference.
Artabazus looked disapprovingly at the slight figure of the
foot-soldier.
“He doesn’t look very capable,” he remarked.
“Nevertheless he is courageous, and though young, I decided to try him
out.”
“What is your name?” asked Artabazus of the silent figure.
The question took Zopyrus completely by surprise, but with joy he
observed that Ladice maintained discreet silence.
“His name is Ladisius,” answered Zopyrus, “and now if you will permit,
we must be on our way, for a great deal depends upon this mission.”
As soon as Artabazus was out of hearing, Zopyrus said to his companion.
“That was indeed a narrow escape and now we must hasten with all
possible speed, for Artabazus will begin pursuit as soon as he learns of
your escape.”
“Halt! Give the password,” demanded the sentry at the edge of the
encampment.
Zopyrus easily made known his identity to the sentinel who was apprised
of his mission to Gargaphia. Once beyond the confines of the camp the
two breathed more freely. The soft breeze which fanned their cheeks was
laden with the vernal odors of field and forest. The meadows through
which they sped, were dotted with field lilies and asphodel, myriads of
them, their white blossoms gleaming from the grass like the stars from
the heavens till it seemed to the fugitives that in their flight earth
and sky had changed places and that they trod the milky-way.
“How far is it to the fountain of Gargaphia?” asked Ladice after they
had gone for some time in silence.
Zopyrus paused a moment, scanning his companion’s face to ascertain
whether or not she had put her question seriously. Assured that she was
in earnest, he continued his pace, talking the while.
“You are not with a Persian soldier as you suppose, my little friend.
Zopyrus, the Persian, ceased to exist when he witnessed the death of his
comrade, Masistius. My father was a Persian, satrap of Sardis, my mother
a Greek whose parents were Athenians. My environment forced me to don
uniform and follow the Persian king, but the natural heritage from my
mother, and her early tutelage, caused my soul to cry out continually
against the actions of my body. For months I was a prey of weakness and
indecision. My every act was accomplished after agonizing periods of
vacillation. My will-power was being destroyed and though cognizant of
the fact, I seemed powerless to retrieve the volition I once possessed.
With the death of Masistius all bonds of honor with the Persians seemed
severed, and I pledged myself to save Athens if it were not already too
late. If I seem a traitor in your eyes, judge me not too harshly. Gold
is not my motive, for I shall be poorer for this choice I have made;
safety is no object, for I intend to make atonement by wielding the
sword in the Greek cause. Have I convinced you, fair maid, that my
incentives are pure, and that I do well to allow this determination to
supercede my former hesitancy?”
He was satisfied with her ready nod of assent. At last they reached the
entrance to Oak Heads pass, by which means they would be enabled to
cross Mt. Cithæron. Their progress was greatly impeded by the dense
tangle of underbrush. The branches of trees met overhead, forming a
canopy of foliage so thick that the moon’s beams could not penetrate.
For hours the crackling of twigs underfoot, and an occasional hoot from
some night-owl were the only sounds that disturbed the tranquility of
the night.
Suddenly Ladice stopped and asked abruptly: “Did you hear that?”
“Yes,” replied her companion, “I heard a slight sound, but I think it is
a prowling beast on some nocturnal journey. Stay close and keep your
hand upon your dagger for you may have to use it.”
Scarcely had he ceased to speak before a command in Greek was given to
halt and give the password. Before Ladice could realize what had
happened, she heard the sounds of struggle. Her eyes, accustomed to the
darkness, could faintly discern the gleam of weapons, but she dared not
strike for she could not distinguish between the antagonists. She soon
realized that they were not fighting near her, and a sudden fear seized
her; they might miss their footing and slip over the edge of the
declivity! She decided to raise her voice in warning, when the
unmistakable sound of breaking twigs and loosened stones rolling down
the precipice, convinced her that her worst fears were an actuality.
Stunned with horror she stood for some time unable to decide what to do.
At last dreading that Artabazus might by now be well on his way in
pursuit of her, she pressed on in an agony of fear. The foliage was now
a little thinner and she could see the first faint glow of dawn in the
sky. Her physical progress was more rapid, but mentally she was
stupified by the horror of her rescuer’s fate, and she did not hear the
sounds of approaching footsteps till they were immediately behind her.
Her first expression was one of relief that her pursuer was not
Artabazus, but she observed with chagrin that he wore a Greek uniform.
Raising her eyes half fearfully to his face she uttered an exclamation
of joy. It was Zopyrus!
“I am glad I did not have to kill the fellow to get this uniform, for I
am a Greek. His neck was broken in the fall and as for me—” he pointed
to his right arm which hung useless by his side, “I’m afraid I shall not
be of much service to Greece!”
Ladice opened her knapsack and tore from her dress a strip with which
she dexterously bandaged the broken member. This done, she discarded the
Persian uniform for the torn dress and together they descended the
southern slope of Mt. Cithæron as the roseate hues of morning gradually
melted away into bright daylight.