A Venture At the Eve of Battle.
“There nature moulds as nobly now,
As e’er of old, the human brow;
And copies still the martial form
That braved Platæa’s battle storm.”
William Cullen Bryant.
Artabazus’ steps were directed to the tent of the women. With heavy
tread he strode in the panoply of war. At the corner of the tent his
foot came in rough contact with a soft object and to his amazement he
discovered it to be the body of his guard. A hasty examination assured
him that the body was lifeless. Filled with forebodings, he hastily
parted the flaps and gazed within the tent. His eyes first fell upon the
prostrate form of his eunuch, then with a swift glance he surveyed the
women, and he knew what had taken place during his absence.
White with fury he cried, “Where is the Greek girl?”
His appearance in his wrathful state was so forbidding that not one of
the women ventured to make reply. Upon receiving no response, Artabazus
turned to Phædime, whereupon his favorite, with an assumption of her
usual self assurance, made bold to answer.
“A Persian officer killed the guard, bound Amorges here, and bore Ladice
away with him. Is it not so?” Phædime turned to her fair companions to
confirm her words, confident in her position as favorite.
All readily affirmed the escape as stated by Phædime with the exception
of a small oval-faced beauty with shining black hair and ruddy lips,
that would not refuse to smile at her master even in his state of
demoniac anger.
“What say you, Parysatis?” questioned the officer, noting her refusal to
corroborate Phædime’s words.
“If my master would know the truth,” smiled Parysatis, “Phædime herself
allowed the Greek girl to be taken away.”
An ominous silence of horror pervaded the tent for a moment while all
eyes were turned to Artabazus, who in livid rage seized the hapless
Phædime.
“You are hurting me,” she cried in abject terror. “Can you not know that
what I did was because of love for you? Oh, my Artabazus, if you but
commanded it, I would crawl from here to the Hellespont, where I long to
cross with you back to the land where we meet no Greeks either in
warfare or in love.”
The Persian commander laughed wildly, a laugh that froze the blood in
the veins of his hearers. “You will never cross the Hellespont nor even
leave this tent alive!”
There was a flash of gleaming steel, a hissing sound, and the headless
trunk of the Persian beauty sank before its murderer.
* * * * * * * *
During the time that Zopyrus and Ladice made good their escape from the
Persian encampment and were beginning to pursue their precarious way
across Mt. Cithæron, the Greek encampment lay in the stillness of sleep.
Above the tents rose the gentle, picturesque slope of the mountain,
where beyond the space which had been cleared, the forest stretched in
black silence.
In one of the tents well toward the forest edge of the encampment, three
young men sat around a small table upon which a candle sent forth its
flickering light. Presently one of them arose with an impatient gesture
and strode back and forth with restless energy.
“What ails you, Cimon?” questioned one of the two who were seated. He
was a thin wiry fellow, whose face showed the tan of continued exposure
to the elements. His nose was aquiline, his lips thin and his eye
penetrating, but withal, kindly.
“Nothing new, Icetes, but before tomorrow’s battle I should like to know
if Ladice is confined in the harem of one of the Persian leaders as I
have heard.”
“Wait till the battle is over, and if Zeus grants us the victory, demand
the return of the girl. The harems of the Persians will be ours then,
and to such a brave soldier as you have proved yourself to be, Pausanias
will gladly give first choice of the spoils,” said Icetes, rising from
his chair and placing a friendly hand upon the other’s shoulder.
Cimon smiled wanly. “Perhaps you are right, my friend,” he acquiesced
“but you can not know how I suffer! Has Eros never found you vulnerable
here?” Cimon placed both hands upon his heart and smiled with a
questioning glance at Icetes.
“If Eros has ever found him so, it was not for the love of a maiden who
possesses a heart of stone as does this Ladice whom you adore,” remarked
the third youth who up till the present moment had remained a silent
observing listener.
“Be still, Ephialtes,” said Icetes gruffly. “Cimon suffers enough
without your reproaches.”
“Let him suffer,” said the youth indifferently. “If he wants her badly
enough let him go to the Persian encampment and get her! He does not
know nor do you, Icetes, what the result of tomorrow’s struggle will be.
What if the enemy comes out victorious and the Persian leader carries
the fair Ladice across the Hellespont? No doubt she has already yielded
to his kisses and is beginning to enjoy the luxurious ease of an
oriental harem. Women are—”
With an oath Cimon rushed at Ephialtes, but Icetes interposed himself.
“My friends,” he pled in a hoarse whisper, “your altercation will be
heard by Pausanias himself. Let us sit down quietly again and maybe we
can arrive at a definite conclusion.”
Icetes and Ephialtes seated themselves, but Cimon began to put on his
armor piece by piece till he stood before them fully armed. They watched
him wonderingly but ventured no inquiry. Then he strode toward the
entrance and turning to face them, said, “I am going to find Ladice and
bring her back.”
Ephialtes smiled in a contemptuous manner, but Icetes was on his feet in
an instant.
“By Zeus,” he cried, “you shall not attempt such a rash undertaking.
You, the son of the brave Miltiades, are needed for the morrow’s battle.
Your counsel and advice are indispensable. Next to Pausanias we need
you, just _you_, to show these barbarians that they can no longer abide
within our borders. Think of it, my brave Cimon, Mardonius killed and
the other leaders routed at Platæa! Make it the last battle of the last
war with them! Don’t leave us at this critical period to satisfy a
personal longing. Your father did that, Cimon, but not till he had
fought Marathon!”
The words of Icetes had an enervating effect upon Cimon. He drooped
perceptibly and then slowly he began to disarm. When the last piece of
armor had been cast aside, he dropped into his chair again, and folding
his arms upon the table, buried his face in them. His broad shoulders
heaved, and in the silence that followed, an occasional groan was heard.
Even Ephialtes’ supercilious air left him in the presence of this real
grief of a fellow-man.
Cimon’s agony was too much for the kind-hearted Icetes. Rising and
bending above the bowed form of the son of Miltiades, Icetes said in
earnest tones. “Let me go this night and search for Ladice. I am
acquainted with her father, Mamercus, who as you know perished at
Salamis, probably unknown to his daughter who will now be alone if she
returns to Athens.”
Cimon made a sign of remonstrance before he was able to speak. “No, my
friend,” he said, when he had found voice, “I can not think of
endangering the life of another in the performance of a task which
concerns me so personally. I will give up what you consider a foolish
enterprise, but I fear I have lost the zest for the morrow’s battle.”
“I will go for you Cimon,” Icetes cried eagerly, as he went for his
armor, “My part in tomorrow’s conflict will be indirect, but it will be
a vital part nevertheless. If by putting heart in you through this
service, I thus enable you to fight bravely tomorrow, I shall indeed
feel that I have helped to expel the Persians from Greece.”
Cimon saw that opposition was useless. His eyes met for an instant the
ironical gaze of Ephialtes.
“I imagine that rendering a real service to a fellow-man is quite
foreign to your nature, Ephialtes,” Cimon could not resist saying.
“On the contrary,” replied the young Greek unruffled, “I recently
rendered a very great service to a very illustrious person.”
“And no doubt you were handsomely paid for your efforts, the agreement
having been made before hand,” answered Cimon as he rose to bid farewell
to Icetes who stood ready to take his leave.
The sight of the brave fellow clad in the panoply of war, about to risk
his life for a friend, moved Cimon deeply. Words seemed inadequate to
convey the gratitude he felt. The two parted after a warm embrace.