der; the prow was set more to westward.
Every man--the faintest--struggled back to his oar if he had left it--this
was the last hundred stadia to Oropus, and after that the _Nausicaae_ might
do no more. Once again the _keleustes_ piped, and his note was swift and
feverish. The blades shot faster, faster, as the trireme raced down the
sandy shore of the Attic "Diacria." Once in the strait they saw a
brown-sailed fisherboat, and the helm swerved enough to bring her within
hail. The fishermen stared at the flying trireme and her straining,
wide-eyed men.

"Has there been a battle?" cried Ameinias.

"Not yet. We are from Styra on Euboea; we expect the news daily. The armies
are almost together."

"And where are they?"

"Near to Plataea."

That was all. The war-ship left the fishermen rocking in her wake, but
again Themistocles drew his eyebrows close together, while Glaucon
tightened the buckle on his belt. Plataea,--the name meant that the courier
must traverse the breadth of Boeotia, and with the armies face to face how
long would Zeus hold back the battle? How long indeed, with Democrates and
Lycon intent on bringing battle to pass? The ship was more than ever
silent as she rushed on the last stretch of her course. More men fell at
the oars with blood upon their faces. The supernumeraries tossed them
aside like logs of wood, and leaped upon their benches. Themistocles had
vanished with Simonides in the cabin; all knew their work,--preparing
letters to Aristeides and Pausanias to warn of the bitter truth. Then the
haven at last: the white-stuccoed houses of Oropus clustering down upon
the shore, the little mole, a few doltish peasants by the landing gaping
at the great trireme. No others greeted them, for the terror of
Mardonius's Tartar raiders had driven all but the poorest to some safe
shelter. The oars slipped from numb fingers; the anchor plunged into the
green water; the mainsail rattled down the mast. Men sat on the benches
motionless, gulping down the clear air. They had done their part. The rest
lay in the hands of the gods, and in the speed of him who two days since
they had called "Glaucon the Traitor." The messenger came from the cabin,
half stripped, on his head a felt skullcap, on his feet high hunter's
boots laced up to the knees. He had never shone in more noble beauty. The
crew watched Themistocles place a papyrus roll in Glaucon's belt, and
press his mouth to the messenger's ear in parting admonitio