k who looked like
Ares fresh from the wars of the Immortals.

They spoke among themselves in quiet voices. Scouts came and went, and
once or twice one of the men, taller than the rest, asked Atta a
question. The Lemnian sat in the heart of the group, sniffing the
smell of cooking, and looking at the rents in his cloak and the long
scratches on his legs. Something was pressing on his breast, and he
found that it was Apollo's gift. He had forgotten all about it.
Delphi seemed beyond the moon, and his errand a child's dream.

Then the King, for so he thought of the tall man, spoke--

"You have done us a service, Islander. The Persian is at our back and
front, and there will be no escape for those who stay. Our allies are
going home, for they do not share our vows. We of Lacedaemon wait in
the pass. If you go with the men of Corinth you will find a place of
safety before noon. No doubt in the Euripus there is some boat to take
you to your own land."

He spoke courteously, not in the rude Athenian way; and somehow the
quietness of his voice and his glittering eyes roused wild longings in
Atta's heart. His island pride was face to face with a greater-greater
than he had ever dreamed of.

"Bid yon cooks give me some broth," he said gruffly. "I am faint.
After I have eaten I will speak with you."

He was given food, and as he ate he thought. He was on trial before
these men of Lacedaemon. More, the old faith of the islands, the pride
of the first masters, was at stake in his hands. He had boasted that
he and his kind were the last of the men; now these Hellenes of
Lacedaemon were preparing a great deed, and they deemed him unworthy to
share in it. They offered him safety. Could he brook the insult? He
had forgotten that the cause of the Persian was his; that the Hellenes
were the foes of his race. He saw only that the last test of manhood
was preparing and the manhood in him rose to greet the trial. An odd
wild ecstasy surged in his veins. It was not the lust of battle, for
he had no love of slaying, or hate for the Persian, for he was his
friend. It was the sheer joy of proving that the Lemnian stock had a
starker pride than these men of Lacedamon. They would die for their
fatherland, and their vows; but he, for a whim, a scruple, a delicacy
of honour. His mind was so clear that no other course occurred to him.
There was only one way for a man. He, too, would be dying for his
fatherland, for thro