stroke strength and
consciousness had left him in a flash. The moment after he fell, the
soldier beside him had perished by a javelin, and falling above the
Athenian made his body a ghastly shield against the surge and trampling of
the battle. Glaucon lay scathless but senseless through the final
catastrophe. Now consciousness was returning, but he would have died of
suffocation save for Snofru's timely aid.

It was well for the Athenian that Mardonius was a man of ready devices. He
had not seen Glaucon at his familiar post beside the king, but had
presumed the Hellene had remained at the tents with the women, unwilling
to watch the destruction of his people. In the rush and roar of the battle
the messenger Artazostra had sent her husband telling of "Prexaspes's"
flight had never reached him. But Mardonius could divine what had
happened. The swallow must fly south in the autumn. The Athenian had
returned to his own. The bow-bearer's wrath at his protege's desertion was
overmastered by the consuming fear that tidings of Prexaspes's disloyalty
would get to the king. Xerxes's wrath would be boundless. Had he not
proffered his new subject all the good things of his empire? And to be
rewarded thus! Glaucon's recompense would be to be sawn asunder or flung
into a serpent's cage.

Fortunately Mardonius had only his own personal followers around him. He
could count on their discreet loyalty. Vouchsafing no explanations, but
bidding them say not a word of their discovery on their heads, he ordered
Snofru and his companions to make a litter of cloaks and lances, to throw
away Glaucon's tell-tale Spartan armour, and bear him speedily to
Artazostra's tents. The stricken man was groaning feebly, moving his
limbs, muttering incoherently. The sight of Xerxes driving in person to
inspect the battle-field made Mardonius hasten the litter away, while he
remained to parley with the king.

"So only a few are alive?" asked Xerxes, leaning over the silver rail of
the chariot, and peering on the upturned faces of the dead which were
nearly trampled by his horses. "Are any sound enough to set before me?"

"None, your Eternity; even the handful that live are desperately wounded.
We have laid them yonder."

"Let them wait, then; all around here seem dead. Ugly hounds!" muttered
the monarch, still peering down; "even in death they seem to grit their
teeth and defy me. Faugh! The stench is already terrible. It is just as
well they are dead. A