haughty Phoenicians and Cilicians thrusting back against the land, and the
thousands of footmen running down upon the shore to drag the shattered
triremes up and away from the triumphant Hellenes.

The _Nausicaae's_ people in wondering gaze stood there for a long time as
if transfixed, forgetful how their ship and its prize drifted, forgetful
of weariness, forgetful of wounds. Then as one man they turned to the poop
of the captured Tyrian, and to Themistocles. _He_ had done it--their
admiral. He had saved Hellas under the eyes of the vaunting demigod who
thought to be her destroyer. They called to Themistocles, they worshipped
as if he were the Olympian himself.

CHAPTER XXX

THEMISTOCLES GIVES A PROMISE

After the _Nausicaae_ had returned that night to Salamis, after the old men
and the women had laughed and wept over the living,--they were too proud to
weep over the dead,--after the prudent admirals had set the fleet again in
order, for Xerxes might tempt fate again in the morning with his remaining
ships, Themistocles found himself once more in his cabin. With him was
only Glaucon the Alcmaeonid. The admiral's words were few and pointed.

"Son of Conon, last night you gave me the thought whereby I could save
Hellas. To-day your javelin saved me from death. I owe you much. I will
repay in true coin. To-morrow I can give you back to your wife and all
your friends if you will but suffer me."

The younger man flushed a little, but his eyes did not brighten. He felt
Themistocles's reservation.

"On what terms?"

"You shall be presented to the Athenians as one who, yielding for a moment
to overmastering temptation, has atoned for one error by rendering
infinite service."

"Then I am to be 'Glaucon the Traitor' still, even if 'Glaucon the
Repentant Traitor'?"

"Your words are hard, son of Conon; what may I say? Have you any new
explanation for the letter to Argos?"

"The old one--I did not write it."

"Let us not bandy useless arguments. Do you not see I shall be doing all
that is possible?"

"Let me think a little."

The younger Athenian held down his head, and Themistocles saw his brows
knitting.

"Son of Neocles," said Glaucon, at length, "I thank you. You are a just
man. Whatever of sorrow has or will be mine, you have no part therein, but
I cannot return--not to Hermione and my child--on any terms you name."

"Your purpose, then?"

"T