ITAL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK CAPITAL LETTER SIGMA~}." "Phoenix the son of Glaucon." _His_ child. He was the father
of a fair son. His wife, he was sure thereof, had not yet been given to
Democrates.

Overcome by a thousand emotions, he flung himself upon a chest and pressed
the homely toy many times to his lips.

* * * * * * *

After a long interval he recovered himself enough to go down to the
eunuchs, who were misdoubting his long absence.

"Persian," he said to Mardonius, when he was again at the bow-bearer's
tents, "either suffer me to go back to my people right soon or put me to
death. My wife has borne me a son. My place is where I can defend him."

Mardonius frowned, but nodded his head.

"You know I desire it otherwise. But my word is given. And the word of a
prince of the Aryans is not to be recalled. You know what to expect among
your people--perhaps a foul death for a deed of another."

"I know it. I also know that Hellas needs me."

"To fight against us?" asked the bow-bearer, with a sigh. "Yet you shall
go. Eran is not so weak that adding one more to her enemies will halt her
triumph. To-morrow night a boat shall be ready on the strand. Take it. And
after that may your gods guard you, for I can do no more."

All the next day Glaucon sat in the tents and watched the smoke cloud
above the Acropolis and the soldiers in the plain hewing down the sacred
olives, Athena's trees, which no Athenian might injure and thereafter
live. But Glaucon was past cursing now,--endure a little longer and after
that, what vengeance!

The gossiping eunuchs told readily what the king had determined. Xerxes
was at Phaleron reviewing his fleet. The Hellenes' ships confronted him at
Salamis. The Persians had met in council, deliberating one night over
their wine, reconsidering the next morning when sober. Their wisdom each
time had been to force a battle. Let the king destroy the enemy at
Salamis, and he could land troops at ease at the very doors of Sparta,
defying the vain wall across the Isthmus. Was not victory certain? Had he
not two ships to the Hellenes' one? So the Phoenician vassal kings and all
his admirals assured him. Only Artemisia, the martial queen of
Halicarnassus, spoke otherwise, but none would hear her.

"To-morrow the war is ended," a cup-bearer had told a butler in Glaucon's
hearing, and never noticed how the Athenian took a horseshoe in his slim
fingers and straightened i