"Halt, stranger, tell your business."

"For Aristeides." The apparition seemed holding out something in his hand.

"That's not the watchword. Give it, or I must arrest you."

"For Aristeides."

"Zeus smite you, fellow, can't you speak Greek? What have you got for our general?"

"For Aristeides."

The stranger was hoarse as a crow. He was pushing aside the spear and forcing a packet into Hippon's hands. The latter, sorely puzzled, whistled through his fingers. A moment more the locharch of the scouting division and three comrades appeared.

"Why the alarm? Where's the enemy?"

"No enemy, but a madman. Find what he wants."

The locharch in earlier days had kept an oil booth in the Athens Agora and knew the local celebrities as well as Phormio.

"Now, friend," he spoke, "your business, and shortly; we've no time for chaffering."

"For Aristeides."

"The fourth time he's said it,—sheep!" cried Hippon, but as he spoke the newcomer fell forward heavily, groaned once, and lay on the roadway silent as the dead. The locharch drew forth the horn lantern he had masked under his chalmys and leaned over the stranger. The light fell on the seal of the packet gripped in the rigid fingers.

"Themistocles's seal," he cried, and hastily turned the fallen man's face upward to the light, when the lantern almost dropped from his own hand.

"Glaucon the Alcmaeonid! Glaucon the Traitor who was dead! He or his shade come back from Tartarus."

The four soldiers stood quaking like aspen, but their leader was of stouter stuff. Never had his native Attic shrewdness guided him to more purpose.

"Ghost, traitor, what not, this man has run himself all but to death. Look on his face. And Themistocles does not send a courier for nothing. This packet is for Aristeides, and to Aristeides take it with speed."

Hippon seized the papyrus. He thought it would fade out of his hands like a spectre. It did not. The sentinel dropped his spear and ran breathless toward Plataea, where he knew was his general.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE COUNCIL OF MARDONIUS

Never since Salamis had Persian hopes been higher than that night. What if the Spartans were in the field at last, and the incessant skirmishing had been partly to Pausanias's advantage? Secure in his fortified camp by the Asopus, Mardonius could confidently wait the turn of the tide. His light Tartar cavalry had cut to pieces the convoys bringing provisions to the Hellenes. Rumour told that Pausanias's army was ill fed, and his captains were at loggerheads. Time was fighting for Mardonius. A joyful letter he had sent to Sardis the preceding morning: "Let the king have patience. In forty days I shall be banqueting even in Sparta."

In the evening the Prince sat at council with his commanders. Xerxes had left behind his own war pavilion, and here the Persians met. Mardonius sat on the high seat of the dais. Gold, purple, a hundred torches, made the scene worthy of the monarch himself. Beside the general stood a young page,—beautiful as Armaiti, fairest of the archangels. All looked on the page, but discreetly kept their thoughts to whispers, though many had guessed the secret of Mardonius's companion.

The debate was long and vehement. Especially Artabazus, general of the rear-guard, was loud in asserting no battle should be risked. He was a crafty man, who, the Prince suspected, was his personal enemy, but his opinion was worth respecting.

"I repeat what I said before. The Hellenes showed how they could fight at Thermopylae. Let us retire to Thebes."

"Bravely said, valiant general," sneered Mardonius, none too civilly.

"It is mine to speak, yours to follow my opinion as you list. I say we can conquer these Hellenes with folded hands. Retreat to Thebes; money is plentiful with us; we can melt our gold cups into coin. Sprinkle bribes among the hostile chiefs. We know their weakness. Not steel but gold will unlock the way to Sparta."

The generalissimo stood up proudly.

"Bribes and stealth? Did Cyrus and Darius win us empire with these? No, by the Fiend-Smiter, it was sharp steel and the song of the bow-string that made Eran to prosper, and prosper to this day. But lest Artabazus think that in putting on the lion I have forgotten the fox, let the strangers now come to us stand forth, that he and every other may know how I have done all things for the glory of my master and the Persian name."

He smote with his commander's mace upon the bronze ewer on the table. Instantly there appeared two soldiers, between them two men, one of slight, one of gigantic, stature, but both in Grecian dress. Artabazus sprang to his feet.

"Who are these men—Thebans?"

"From greater cities than Thebes. You see two new servants of the king, therefore friends of us all. Behold Lycon of Sparta and Democrates, friend of Themistocles."

His speech was Persian, but the newcomers both understood when he named them. The tall Laconian straightened his bull neck, as in defiance. The Athenian flushed. His head seemed sinking betwixt his shoulders. Much wormwood had he drunk of late, but none bitterer than this,—to be welcomed at the councils of the Barbarian. Artabazus salaamed to his superior half mockingly.

"Verily, son of Gobryas, I was wrong. You are guileful as a Greek. There can be no higher praise."

The Prince's nostrils twitched. Perhaps he was not saying all he felt.

"Let your praise await the issue," he rejoined coldly. "Suffice it that these friends were long convinced of the wisdom of aiding his Eternity, and to-night come from the camp of the Hellenes to tell all that has passed and why we should make ready for battle at the dawning." He turned to the Greeks, ordering in their own tongue, "Speak forth, I am interpreter for the council."

An awkward instant followed. Lycon looked on Democrates.

"You are an Athenian, your tongue is readiest," he whispered.

"And you the first to Medize. Finish your handiwork," the retort.

"We are waiting," prompted Mardonius, and Lycon held up his great head and began in short sentences which the general deftly turned into Persian.

"Your cavalry has made our position by the Asopus intolerable. All the springs are exposed. We have to fight every time we try to draw water. To-day was a meeting of the commanders, many opinions, much wrangling, but all said we must retire. The town of Plataea is best. It is strong, with plenty of water. You cannot attack it. To-night our camp has been struck. The troops begin to retire, but in disorder. The contingent of each city marches by itself. The Athenians, thanks to Democrates, delay retreating; the Spartans I have delayed also. I have persuaded Amompharetus, my cousin, who leads the Pitanate mora,(15) and who was not at the council, that it is cowardly for a Spartan to retreat. He is a sheep-skulled fool and has believed me. Consequently, he and his men are holding back. The other Spartans wait for them. At dawn you will find the Athenians and Spartans alone near their old camping ground, their allies straggling in the rear. Attack boldly. When the onset joins, Democrates and I will order our own divisions to retire. The phalanxes will be broken up. With your cavalry you will have them at mercy, for once the spear-hedge is shattered, they are lost. The battle will not cost you twenty men."

Artabazus rose again and showed his teeth.

"A faithful servant of the king, Mardonius,—and so well is all provided, do we brave Aryans need even to string our bows?"

The Prince winced at the sarcasm.

"I am serving the king, not my own pleasure," he retorted stiffly. "The son of Gobryas is too well known to have slurs cast on his courage. And now what questions would my captains ask these Greeks? Promptly—they must be again in their own lines, or they are missed."

An officer here or there threw an interrogation. Lycon answered briefly. Democrates kept sullen silence. He was clearly present more to prove the good faith of his Medizing than for anything he might say. Mardonius smote the ewer again. The soldiers escorted the two Hellenes forth. As the curtains closed behind them, the curious saw that the features of the beautiful page by the general's side were contracted with disgust. Mardonius himself spat violently.

"Dogs, and sons of dogs, let Angra-Mainyu wither them forever. Bear witness, men of Persia, how, for the sake of our Lord the King, I hold converse even with these vilest of the vile!"

Soon the council was broken up. The final commands were given. Every officer knew his task. The cavalry was to be ready to charge across the Asopus at gray dawn. With Lycon and Democrates playing their part the issue was certain, too certain for many a grizzled captain who loved the ring of steel. In his own tent Mardonius held in his arms the beautiful page—Artazostra! Her wonderful face had never shone up at his more brightly than on that night, as he drew back his lips from a long fond kiss.

"To-morrow—the triumph. You will be conqueror of Hellas. Xerxes will make you satrap. I wish we could conquer in fairer fight, but what wrong to vanquish these Hellenes with their own sly weapons? Do you remember what Glaucon said?"

"What thing?"

"That Zeus and Athena were greater than Mazda the Pure and glorious Mithra? To-morrow will prove him wrong. I wonder whether he yet lives,—whether he will ever confess that Persia is irresistible."

"I do not know. From the evening we parted at Phaleron he has faded from our world."

"He was fair as the Amesha-Spentas, was he not? Poor Roxana—she is again in Sardis now. I hope she has ceased to eat her heart out with vain longing for her lover. He was noble minded and spoke the truth. How rare in a Hellene. But what will you do with these two gold-bought traitors, 'friends of the king' indeed?"

Mardonius's face grew stern.

"I have promised them the lordships of Athens and of Sparta. The pledge shall be fulfilled, but after that,"—Artazostra understood his sinister smile,—"there are many ways of removing an unwelcome vassal prince, if I be the satrap of Hellas."

"And you are that in the morning."

"For your sake," was his cry, as again he kissed her, "I would I were not satrap of Hellas only, but lord of all the world, that I might give it to you, O daughter of Darius and Atossa."

"I am mistress of the world," she answered, "for my world is Mardonius. To-morrow the battle, the glory, and then what next—Sicily, Carthage, Italy? For Mazda will give us all things."

* * * * * * *

Otherwise talked Democrates and Lycon as they quitted the Persian pickets and made their way across the black plain, back to the lines of the Hellenes.

"You should be happy to-night," said the Athenian.

"Assuredly. I draw up my net and find it very full of mullets quite to my liking."

"Take care it be not so full that it break."

"Dear Democrates,"—Lycon slapped his paw on the other's shoulder,—"why always imagine evil? Hermes is a very safe guide. I only hope our victory will be so complete Sparta will submit without fighting. It will be awkward to rule a plundered city."

"I shudder at the thought of being amongst even conquered Athenians; I shall see a tyrannicide in every boy in the Agora."

"A stout Persian garrison in your Acropolis is the surest physic against that."

"By the dog, Lycon, you speak like a Scythian. Hellene you surely are not."

"Hellene I am, and show my native wisdom in seeing that Persia must conquer and trimming sail accordingly."

"Persia is not irresistible. With a fair battle—"

"It will not be a fair battle. What can save Pausanias? Nothing—except a miracle sent from Zeus."

"Such as what?"

"As merciful Hiram's relenting and releasing your dear Glaucon." Lycon's chuckle was loud.

"Never, as you hope me to be anything save your mortal enemy, mention that name again."

"As you like it—it's no very pretty tale, I grant, even amongst Medizers. Yet it was most imprudent to let him live."

"You have never heard the Furies, Lycon." Democrates's voice was so grave as to dry up the Spartan's banter. "But I shall never see him again, and I shall possess Hermione."

"A pretty consolation. Eu! here are our outposts. We must pass for officers reconnoitring the enemy. You know your part to-morrow. At the first charge bid your division 'wheel to rear.' Three words, and the thing is done."

Lycon gave the watchword promptly to one of Pausanias's outposts. The man saluted his officers, and said that the Greeks of the lesser states had retreated far to the rear, that Amompharetus still refused to move his division, that the Spartans waited for him, and the Athenians for the Spartans.

"Noble tidings," whispered the giant, as the two stood an instant, before each went to his own men. "Behold how Hermes helps us—a great deity."

"Sometimes I think Nemesis is greater," said Democrates, once again refusing Lycon's proffered hand.

"By noon you'll laugh at Nemesis, philotate, when we both drink Helbon wine in Xerxes's tent!" and away went Lycon into the dark.

Democrates went his own way also. Soon he was in the fallow-field, where under the warm night the Athenians were stretched, each man in armour, his helmet for a pillow. A few torches were moving. From a distance came the hum from a group of officers in excited conversation. As the orator picked his way among the sleeping men, a locharch with a lantern accosted him suddenly.

"You are Democrates the strategus?"

"Certainly."

"Aristeides summons you at once. Come."

There was no reason for refusing. Democrates followed.



CHAPTER XXXIX

THE AVENGING OF LEONIDAS

Morning at last, ruddy and windy. The Persian host had been long prepared. The Tartar cavalry with their bulls-hide targets and long lances, the heavy Persian cuirassiers, the Median and Assyrian archers with their ponderous wicker-shields, stood in rank waiting only the word that should dash them as sling-stones on Pausanias and his ill-starred following. The Magi had sacrificed a stallion, and reported that the holy fire gave every favouring sign. Mardonius went from his tent, all his eunuchs bowing their foreheads to the earth and chorussing, "Victory to our Lord, to Persia, and to the King."

They brought Mardonius his favourite horse, a white steed of the sacred breed of Nisaea. The Prince had bound around his turban the gemmed tiara Xerxes had given him on his wedding-day. Few could wield the Babylonish cimeter that danced in the chieftain's hand. The captains cheered him loudly, as they might have cheered the king.

"Life to the general! To the satrap of Hellas!"

But beside the Nisaean pranced another, lighter and with a lighter mount. The rider was cased in silvered scale-armour, and bore only a steel-tipped reed.

"The general's page," ran the whisper, and other whispers, far softer, followed. None heard the quick words passed back and forth betwixt the two riders.

"You may be riding to death, Artazostra. What place is a battle for women?"

"What place is the camp for the daughter of Darius, when her husband rides to war? We triumph together; we perish together. It shall be as Mazda decrees."

Mardonius answered nothing. Long since he had learned the folly of setting his will against that of the masterful princess at his side. And was not victory certain? Was not Artazostra doing even as Semiramis of Nineveh had done of old?

"The army is ready, Excellency," declared an adjutant, bowing in his saddle.

"Forward, then, but slowly, to await the reconnoitring parties sent toward the Greeks."

In the gray morning the host wound out of the stockaded camp. The women and grooms called fair wishes after them. The far slopes of Cithaeron were reddening. A breeze whistled down the hills. It would disperse the mist. Soon the leader of the scouts came galloping, leaped down and salaamed to the general. "Let my Lord's liver find peace. All is even as our friends declared. The enemy have in part fled far away. The Athenians halt on a foot-hill of the mountain. The Laconians sit in companies on the ground, waiting their division that will not retreat. Let my Lord charge, and glory waits for Eran!"

Mardonius's cimeter swung high.

"Forward, all! Mazda fights for us. Bid our allies the Thebans(16) attack the Athenians. Ours is the nobler prey—even the men of Sparta."

"Victory to the king!" thundered the thousands. Confident of triumph, Mardonius suffered the ranks to be broken, as his myriads rushed onward. Over the Asopus and its shallow fords they swept, and raced across the plain-land. Horse mingled with foot; Persians with Tartars. The howlings in a score of tongues, the bray of cymbals and kettledrums, the clamour of spear-butts beaten on armour—who may tell it? Having unleashed his wild beasts, Mardonius dashed before to guide their ragings as he might. The white Nisaean and its companion led the way across the hard plain. Behind, as when in the springtime flood the watery wall goes crashing down the valley, so spread the thousands. A god looking from heaven would not have forgotten that sight of whirling plumes, plunging steeds, flying steel, in all the aeons.

Five stadia, six, seven, eight,—so Mardonius led. Already before him he could see the glistering crests and long files of the Spartans—the prey he would crush with one stroke as a vulture swoops over the sparrow. Then nigh involuntarily his hand drew rein. What came to greet him? A man on foot—no horseman even. A man of huge stature running at headlong speed.

The risen sun was now dazzling. The general clapped his hand above his eyes. Then a tug on the bridle sent the Nisaean on his haunches.

"Lycon, as Mazda made me!"

The Spartan was beside them soon, he had run so swiftly. He was so dazed he barely heeded Mardonius's call to halt and tell his tale. He was almost naked. His face was black with fear, never more brutish or loathsome.

"All is betrayed. Democrates is seized. Pausanias and Aristeides are warned. They will give you fair battle. I barely escaped."

"Who betrayed you?" cried the Prince.

"Glaucon the Alcmaeonid, he is risen from the dead. Ai! woe! no fault of mine."

Never before had the son of Gobryas smiled so fiercely as when the giant cowered beneath his darting eyes. The general's sword whistled down on the skull of the traitor. The Laconian sprawled in the dust without a groan. Mardonius laughed horribly.

"A fair price then for unlucky villany. Blessed be Mithra, who suffers me to give recompense. Wish me joy,"—as his captains came galloping around him,—"our duty to the king is finished. We shall win Hellas in fair battle."

"Then it were well, Excellency," thrust in Artabazus, "since the plot is foiled, to retire to the camp."

Mardonius's eyes flashed lightnings.

"Woman's counsel that! Are we not here to conquer Hellas? Yes, by Mithra the Glorious, we will fight, though every daeva in hell joins against us. Re-form the ranks. Halt the charge. Let the bowmen crush the Spartans with their arrows. Then we will see if these Greeks are stouter than Babylonian, Lydian, and Egyptian who played their game with Persia to sore cost. And you, Artabazus, to your rear-guard, and do your duty well."

The general bowed stiffly. He knew the son of Gobryas, and that disobedience would have brought Mardonius's cimeter upon his own helmet. By a great effort the charge was stayed,—barely in time,—for to have flung that disorganized horde on the waiting Spartan spears would have been worse than madness. A single stadium sundered the two hosts when Mardonius brought his men to a stand, set his strong divisions of bowmen in array behind their wall of shields, and drew up his cavalry on the flanks of the bowmen. Battle he would give, but it must be cautious battle now, and he did not love the silence which reigned among the motionless lines of the Spartans.

It was bright day at last. The two armies—the whole strength of the Barbarian, the Spartans with only their Tegean allies—stood facing, as athletes measuring strength before the grapple. The Spartan line was thinner than Mardonius's: no cavalry, few bowmen, but shield was set beside shield, and everywhere tossed the black and scarlet plumes of the helmets. Men who remembered Thermopylae gripped their spear-stocks tighter. No long postponing now. On this narrow field, this bit of pebble and greensward, the gods would cast the last dice for the destiny of Hellas. All knew that.

The stolidity of the Spartans was maddening. They stood like bronze statues. In clear view at the front was a tall man in scarlet chlamys, and two more in white,—Pausanias and his seers examining the entrails of doves, seeking a fair omen for the battle. Mardonius drew the turban lower over his eyes.

"An end to this truce. Begin your arrows."

A cloud of bolts answered him. The Persian archers emptied their quivers. They could see men falling among the foe, but still Pausanias stood beside the seers, still he gave no signal to advance. The omens doubtless were unfavourable. His men never shifted a foot as the storm of death flew over them. Their rigidity was more terrifying than any battle-shout. What were these men whose iron discipline bound so fast that they could be pelted to death, and no eyelash seem to quiver? The archers renewed their volley. They shot against a rock. The Barbarians joined in one rending yell,—their answer was silence.

Deliberately, arrows dropping around him as tree-blossoms in the gale, Pausanias raised his hand. The omens were good. The gods permitted battle. Deliberately, while men fell dying, he walked to his post on the right wing. Deliberately, while heaven seemed shaking with the Barbarians' clamour, his hand went up again. Through a lull in the tumult pealed a trumpet. Then the Spartans marched.

Slowly their lines of bristling spear-points and nodding crests moved on like the sea-waves. Shrill above the booming Tartar drums, the blaring Persian war-horns pierced the screams of their pipers. And the Barbarians heard that which had never met their ears before,—the chanting of their foes as the long line crept nearer.

"Ah!—la—la—la—la! Ah!—la—la—la—la!" deep, prolonged, bellowed in chorus from every bronze visor which peered above the serried shields.

"Faster," stormed the Persian captains to their slingers and bowmen, "beat these madmen down." The rain of arrows and sling-stones was like hail, like hail it rattled from the shields and helms. Here, there, a form sank, the inexorable phalanx closed and swept onward.

"Ah!—la—la—la! Ah!—la—la—la!"

The chant never ceased. The pipers screamed more shrilly. Eight deep, unhasting, unresting, Pausanias was bringing his heavy infantry across the two hundred paces betwixt himself and Mardonius. His Spartan spearmen might be unlearned, doltish, but they knew how to do one deed and that surpassingly well,—to march in line though lightnings dashed from heaven, and to thrust home with their lances. And not a pitiful three hundred, but ten thousand bold and strong stood against the Barbarian that morning. Mardonius was facing the finest infantry in the world, and the avenging of Leonidas was nigh.

"Ah!—la—la—la! Ah!—la—la—la!"

Flesh and blood in the Persian host could not wait the death grip longer. "Let us charge, or let us flee," many a stout officer cried to his chief, and he sitting stern-eyed on the white horse gave to a Tartar troop its word, "Go!"

Then like a mountain stream the wild Tartars charged. The clods flew high under the hoofs. The yell of the riders, the shock of spears on shields, the cry of dying men and dying beasts, the stamping, the dust-cloud, took but a moment. The chant of the Spartans ceased—an instant. An instant the long phalanx halted, from end to end bent and swayed. Then the dust-cloud passed, the chanting renewed. Half of the Tartars were spurring back, with shivered lances, bleeding steeds. The rest,—but the phalanx shook now here, now there, as the impenetrable infantry strode over red forms that had been men and horses. And still the Spartans marched, still the pipes and the war-chant.

Then for the first time fear entered the heart of Mardonius, son of Gobryas, and he called to the thousand picked horsemen, who rode beside him,—not Tartars these, but Persians and Medes of lordly stock, men who had gone forth conquering and to conquer.

"Now as your fathers followed Cyrus the Invincible and Darius the Dauntless, follow you me. Since for the honour of Eran and the king I ride this day."

"We ride. For Eran and the king!" shouted the thousand. All the host joined. Mardonius led straight against the Spartan right wing where Pausanias's life-guard marched.

* * * * * * *

Old soldiers of Lacedaemon fighting their battles in the after days, when a warrior of Plataea was as a god to each youth in Hellas, would tell how the Persian cavalrymen rode their phalanx down.

"And say never," they always added, "the Barbarians know not how to fight and how to die. Fools say it, not we of Plataea. For our first line seemed broken in a twinkling. The Pitanate mora was cut to pieces; Athena Promachus and Ares the City-Waster alone turned back that charge when Mardonius led the way."

But turned it was. And the thousand horse, no thousand now, drifted to the cover of their shield wall, raging, undaunted, yet beaten back.

Then at last the phalanx locked with the Persian footmen and their rampart of wicker shields. At short spear length men grinned in each other's faces, while their veins were turned to fire. Many a soldier—Spartan, Aryan—had seen his twenty fights, but never a fight like this. And the Persians—those that knew Greek—heard words flung through their foemen's helmets that made each Hellene fight as ten.

"Remember Leonidas! Remember Thermopylae!"

Orders there were none; the trumpets were drowned in the tumult. Each man fought as he stood, knowing only he must slay the man before him, while slowly, as though by a cord tighter and ever tighter drawn, the Persian shield wall was bending back before the unrelenting thrusting of the Spartans. Then as a cord snaps so broke the barrier. One instant down and the Hellenes were sweeping the light-armed Asiatic footmen before them, as the scythe sweeps down the standing grain. So with the Persian infantry, for their scanty armour and short spears were at terrible disadvantage, but the strength of the Barbarian was not spent. Many times Mardonius led the cavalry in headlong charge, each repulse the prelude to a fiercer shock.

"For Mazda, for Eran, for the king!"

The call of the Prince was a call that turned his wild horsemen into demons, but demons who strove with gods. The phalanx was shaken, halted even, broken never; and foot by foot, fathom by fathom, it brushed the Barbarian horde back across the blood-bathed plain,—and to Mardonius's shout, a more terrible always answered:—

"Remember Leonidas! Remember Thermopylae!"

The Prince seemed to bear a charmed life as he fought. He was in the thickest fray. He sent the white Nisaean against the Laconian spears and beat down a dozen lance-points with his sword. If one man's valour could have turned the tide, his would have wrought the miracle. And always behind, almost in reach of the Grecian sling-stones, rode that other,—the page in the silvered mail,—nor did any harm come to this rider. But after the fight had raged so long that men sank unwounded,—gasping, stricken by the heat and press,—the Prince drew back a little from the fray to a rising in the plain, where close by a rural temple of Demeter he could watch the drifting fight, and he saw the Aryans yielding ground finger by finger, yet yielding, and the phalanx impregnable as ever. Then he sent an aide with an urgent message.

"To Artabazus and the reserve. Bid him take from the camp all the guards, every man, every eunuch that can lift a spear, and come with speed, or the day is lost."

The adjutant's spurs grew red as he pricked away, while Mardonius wheeled the Nisaean and plunged back into the thickest fight.

"For Mazda, for Eran, for the king!"

His battle-call pealed even above the hellish din. The Persian nobles who had never ridden to aught save victory turned again. Their last charge was their fiercest. They bent the phalanx back like an inverted bow. Their footmen, reckless of self, plunged on the Greeks and snapped off the spear-points with their naked hands. Mardonius was never prouder of his host than in that hour. Proud—but the charge was vain. As the tide swept back, as the files of the Spartans locked once more, he knew his men had done their uttermost. They had fought since dawn. Their shield wall was broken. Their quivers were empty. Was not Mazda turning against them? Had not enough been dared for that king who lounged at ease in Sardis?

"For Mazda, for Eran, for the king!"

Mardonius's shout had no answer. Here, there, he saw horsemen and footmen, now singly, now in small companies, drifting backward across the plain to the last refuge of the defeated, the stockaded camp by the Asopus. The Prince called on his cavalry, so few about him now.

"Shall we die as scared dogs? Remember the Aryan glory. Another charge!"

His bravest seemed never to hear him. The onward thrust of the phalanx quickened. It was gaining ground swiftly at last. Then the Spartans were dashing forward like men possessed.

"The Athenians have vanquished the Thebans. They come to join us. On, men of Lacedaemon, ours alone must be this victory!"

The shout of Pausanias was echoed by his captains. To the left and not far off charged a second phalanx,—five thousand nodding crests and gleaming points,—Aristeides bringing his whole array to his allies' succour. But his help was not needed. The sight of his coming dashed out the last courage of the Barbarians. Before the redoubled shock of the Spartans the Asiatics crumbled like sand. Even whilst these broke once more, the adjutant drew rein beside Mardonius.

"Lord, Artabazus is coward or traitor. Believing the battle lost, he has fled. There is no help to bring."

The Prince bowed his head an instant, while the flight surged round him. The Nisaean was covered with blood, but his rider spurred him across the path of a squadron of flying Medians.

"Turn! Are you grown women!" Mardonius smote the nearest with his sword. "If we cannot as Aryans conquer, let us at least as Aryans die!"

"Ai! ai! Mithra deserts us. Artabazus is fled. Save who can!"

They swept past him. He flung himself before a band of Tartars. He had better pleaded with the north wind to stay its course. Horse, foot, Babylonians, Ethiopians, Persians, Medes, were huddled in fleeing rout. "To the camp," their cry, but Mardonius, looking on the onrushing phalanxes knew there was no refuge there....

And now sing it, O mountains and rivers of Hellas. Sing it, Asopus, to Spartan Eurotas, and you to hill-girt Alphaeus. And let the maidens, white-robed and poppy-crowned, sweep in thanksgiving up to the welcoming temples,—honouring Zeus of the Thunders, Poseidon the Earth-Shaker, Athena the Mighty in War. The Barbarian is vanquished. The ordeal is ended. Thermopylae was not in vain, nor Salamis. Hellas is saved, and with her saved the world.

* * * * * * *

Again on the knoll by the temple, apart from the rushing fugitives, Mardonius reined. His companion was once more beside him. He leaned that she might hear him through the tumult.

"The battle is lost. The camp is defenceless. What shall we do?"

Artazostra flung back the gold-laced cap and let the sun play over her face and hair.

"We are Aryans," was all her answer.

He understood, but even whilst he was reaching out to catch her bridle that their horses might run together, he saw her lithe form bend. The arrow from a Laconian helot had smitten through the silvered mail. He saw the red spring out over her breast. With a quick grasp he swung her before him on the white horse. She smiled up in his face, never lovelier.

"Glaucon was right," she said,—their lips were very close,—"Zeus and Athena are greater than Mazda and Mithra. The future belongs to Hellas. But we have naught for shame. We have fought as Aryans, as the children of conquerors and kings. We shall be glad together in Garonmana the Blessed, and what is left to dread?"

A quiver passed through her. The Spartan spear-line was close. Mardonius looked once across the field. His men were fleeing like sheep. And so it passed,—the dream of a satrapy of Hellas, of wider conquests, of an empire of the world. He kissed the face of Artazostra and pressed her still form against his breast.

"For Mazda, for Eran, for the king!" he shouted, and threw away his sword. Then he turned the head of his wounded steed and rode on the Spartan lances.



CHAPTER XL

THE SONG OF THE FURIES

Themistocles had started from Oropus with Simonides, a small guard of mariners, and a fettered prisoner, as soon as the Nausicaae's people were a little rested. Half the night they themselves were plodding on wearily. At Tanagra the following afternoon a runner with a palm branch met them.

"Mardonius is slain. Artabazus with the rear-guard has fled northward. The Athenians aided by the Spartans stormed the camp. Glory to Athena, who gives us victory!"

"And the traitors?" Themistocles showed surprisingly little joy.

"Lycon's body was found drifting in the Asopus. Democrates lies fettered by Aristeides's tents."

Then the other Athenians broke forth into paeans, but Themistocles bowed his head and was still, though the messenger told how Pausanias and his allies had taken countless treasure, and now were making ready to attack disloyal Thebes. So the admiral and his escort went at leisure across Boeotia, till they reached the Hellenic host still camped near the battle-field. There Themistocles was long in conference with Aristeides and Pausanias. After midnight he left Aristeides's tent.

"Where is the prisoner?" he asked of the sentinel before the headquarters.

"Your Excellency means the traitor?"

"I do."

"I will guide you." The soldier took a torch and led the way. The two went down dark avenues of tents, and halted at one where five hoplites stood guard with their spears ready, five more slept before the entrance.

"We watch him closely, kyrie," explained the decarch, saluting. "Naturally we fear suicide as well as escape. Two more are within the tent."

"Withdraw them. Do you all stand at distance. For what happens I will be responsible."

The two guards inside emerged yawning. Themistocles took the torch and entered the squalid hair-cloth pavilion. The sentries noticed he had a casket under his cloak.

"The prisoner sleeps," said a hoplite, "in spite of his fetters."

Themistocles set down the casket and carefully drew the tent-flap. With silent tread he approached the slumberer. The face was upturned; white it was, but it showed the same winsome features that had won the clappings a hundred times in the Pnyx. The sleep seemed heavy, dreamless.

Themistocles's own lips tightened as he stood in contemplation, then he bent to touch the other's shoulder.

"Democrates,"—no answer. "Democrates,"—still silence. "Democrates,"—a stirring, a clanking of metal. The eyes opened,—for one instant a smile.

"Ei, Themistocles, it is you?" to be succeeded by a flash of unspeakable horror. "O Zeus, the gyves! That I should come to this!"

The prisoner rose to a sitting posture upon his truss of straw. His fettered hands seized his head.

"Peace," ordered the admiral, gently. "Do not rave. I have sent the sentries away. No one will hear us."

Democrates grew calmer. "You are merciful. You do not know how I was tempted. You will save me."

"I will do all I can." Themistocles's voice was solemn as an aeolian harp, but the prisoner caught at everything eagerly.

"Ah, you can do so much. Pausanias fought the battle, but they call you the true saviour of Hellas. They will do anything you say."

"I am glad." Themistocles's face was impenetrable as the sphinx's. Democrates seized the admiral's red chlamys with his fettered hands.

"You will save me! I will fly to Sicily, Carthage, the Tin Isles, as you wish. Have you forgotten our old-time friendship?"

"I loved you," spoke the admiral, tremulously.

"Ah, recall that love to-night!"

"I do."

"O piteous Zeus, why then is your face so awful? If you will aid me to escape—"

"I will aid you."

"Blessings, blessings, but quick! I fear to be stoned to death by the soldiers in the morning. They threaten to crucify—"

"They shall not."

"Blessings, blessings,—can I escape to-night?"

"Yes," but Themistocles's tone made the prisoner's blood run chill. He cowered helplessly. The admiral stood, his own fine face covered with a mingling of pity, contempt, pain.

"Democrates, hearken,"—his voice was hard as flint. "We have seized your camp chest, found the key to your ciphers, and know all your correspondence with Lycon. We have discovered your fearful power of forgery. Hermes the Trickster gave it you for your own destruction. We have brought Hiram hither from the ship. This night he has ridden the 'Little Horse.'(17) He has howled out everything. We have seized Bias and heard his story. There is nothing to conceal. From the beginning of your peculation of the public money, till the moment when, the prisoners say, you were in Mardonius's camp, all is known to us. You need not confess. There is nothing worth confessing."

"I am glad,"—great beads were on the prisoner's brow,—"but you do not realize the temptation. Have you never yourself been betwixt Scylla and Charybdis? Have I not vowed every false step should be the last? I fought against Lycon. I fought against Mardonius. They were too strong. Athena knoweth I did not crave the tyranny of Athens! It was not that which drove me to betray Hellas."

"I believe you. But why did you not trust me at the first?"

"I hardly understand."

"When first your need of money drove you to crime, why did you not come to me? You knew I loved you. You knew I looked on you as my political son and heir in the great work of making Athens the light of Hellas. I would have given you the gold,—yes, fifty talents."

"Ai, ai, if I had only dared! I thought of it. I was afraid."

"Right." Themistocles's lip was curling. "You are more coward than knave or traitor. Phobos, Black Fear, has been your leading god, not Hermes. And now—"

"But you have promised I shall escape."

"You shall."

"To-night? What is that you have?" Themistocles was opening the casket.

"The papers seized in your chest. They implicate many noble Hellenes in Corinth, Sicyon, Sparta. Behold—" Themistocles held one papyrus after another in the torch-flame,—"here is crumbling to ashes the evidence that would destroy them all as Medizers. Mardonius is dead. Let the war die with him. Hellas is safe."

"Blessings, blessings! Help me to escape. You have a sword. Pry off these gyves. How easy for you to let me fly!"

"Wait!" The admiral's peremptory voice silenced the prisoner. Themistocles finished his task. Suddenly, however, Democrates howled with animal fear.

"What are you taking now—a goblet?"

"Wait." Themistocles was indeed holding a silver cup and flask. "Have I not said you should escape this captivity—to-night?"

"Be quick, then, the night wanes fast."

The admiral strode over beside the creature who plucked at his hem.

"Give ear again, Democrates. Your crimes against Athens and Hellas were wrought under sore temptation. The money you stole from the public chest, if not returned already, I will myself make good. So much is forgiven."

"You are a true friend, Themistocles." The prisoner's voice was husky, but the admiral's eyes flashed like flint-stones struck by the steel.

"Friend!" he echoed. "Yes, by Zeus Orcios, guardian of oaths and friendship, you had a friend. Where is he now?"

Democrates lay on the turf floor of the tent, not even groaning.

"You had a friend,"—the admiral's intensity was awful. "You blasted his good name, you sought his life, you sought his wife, you broke every bond, human or divine, to destroy him. At last, to silence conscience' sting, you thought you did a deed of mercy in sending him in captivity to a death in life. Fool! Nemesis is not mocked. Glaucon has lain at death's door. He has saved Hellas, but at a price. The surgeons say he will live, but that his foot is crippled. Glaucon can never run again. You have brought him misery. You have brought anguish to Hermione, the noblest woman in Hellas, whom you—ah! mockery—professed to hold in love! You have done worse than murder. Yet I have promised you shall escape this night. Rise up."

Democrates staggered to his feet clumsily, only half knowing what he did. Themistocles was extending the silver cup. "Escape. Drink!"

"What is this cup?" The prisoner had turned gray.

"Hemlock, coward! Did you not bid Glaucon to take his life that night in Colonus? The death you proffered him in his innocency I proffer you now in your guilt. Drink!"

"You have called me friend. You have said you loved me. I dare not die. A little time! Pity! Mercy! What god can I invoke?"

"None. Cerberus himself would not hearken to such as you. Drink."

"Pity, by our old-time friendship!"

The admiral's tall form straightened.

"Themistocles the Friend is dead; Themistocles the Just is here,—drink."

"But you promised escape?" The prisoner's whisper was just audible.

"Ay, truly, from the court-martial before the roaring camp in the morning, the unmasking of all your accomplices, the deeper shame of every one-time friend, the blazoning of your infamy in public evidence through Hellas, the soldiers howling for your blood, the stoning, perchance the plucking in pieces. By the gods Olympian, by the gods Infernal, do your past lovers one last service—drink!"

That was not all Themistocles said, that was all Democrates heard. In his ears sounded, even once again, the song of the Furies,—never so clearly as now.

"With scourge and with ban We prostrate the man Who with smooth-woven wile And a fair-faced smile Hath planted a snare for his friend! Though fleet, we shall find him, Though strong, we shall bind him, Who planted a snare for his friend!"

Nemesis—Nemesis, the implacable goddess, had come for her own at last.

Democrates took the cup.



CHAPTER XLI

THE BRIGHTNESS OF HELIOS

The day that disloyal Thebes surrendered came the tidings of the crowning of the Hellenes' victories. At Mycale by Samos the Greek fleets had disembarked their crews and defeated the Persians almost at the doors of the Great King in Sardis. Artabazus had escaped through Thrace to Asia in caitiff flight. The war—at least the perilous part thereof—was at end. There might be more battles with the Barbarian, but no second Salamis or Plataea.

The Spartans had found the body of Mardonius pierced with five lances—all in front. Pausanias had honoured the brave dead,—the Persian had been carried from the battle-ground on a shield, and covered by the red cloak of a Laconian general. But the body mysteriously disappeared. Its fate was never known. Perhaps the curious would have gladly heard what Glaucon on his sick-bed told Themistocles, and what Sicinnus did afterward. Certain it is that the shrewd Asiatic later displayed a costly ring which the satrap Zariaspes, Mardonius's cousin, sent him "for a great service to the house of Gobryas."

* * * * * * *

On the same day that Thebes capitulated the household of Hermippus left Troezene to return to Athens. When they had told Hermione all that had befallen,—the great good, the little ill,—she had not fainted, though Cleopis had been sure thereof. The colour had risen to her cheeks, the love-light to her eyes. She went to the cradle where Phoenix cooed and tossed his baby feet.

"Little one, little one," she said, while he beamed up at her, "you have not to avenge your father now. You have a better, greater task, to be as fair in body and still more in mind as he."

Then came the rush of tears, the sobbing, the laughter, and Lysistra and Cleopis, who feared the shock of too much joy, were glad.

The Nausicaae bore them to Peiraeus. The harbour towns were in black ruins, for Mardonius had wasted everything before retiring to Boeotia for his last battle. In Athens, as they entered it, the houses were roofless, the streets scattered with rubbish. But Hermione did not think of these things. The Agora at last,—the porticos were only shattered, fire-scarred pillars,—and everywhere were tents and booths and bustle,—the brisk Athenians wasting no time in lamentation, but busy rebuilding and making good the loss. Above Hermione's head rose a few blackened columns,—all that was left of the holy house of Athena,—but the crystalline air and the red Rock of the Acropolis no Persian had been able to take away.

And even as Hermione crossed the Agora she heard a shouting, a word running from lip to lip as a wave leaps over the sea.

In the centre of the buzzing mart she stopped. All the blood sprang to her face, then left it. She passed her fingers over her hair, and waited with twitching, upturned face. Through the hucksters' booths, amid the clamouring buyers and sellers, went a runner, striking left and right with his staff, for the people were packing close, and he had much ado to clear the way. Horsemen next, prancing chargers, the prizes from the Barbarian, and after them a litter. Noble youths bore it, sons of the Eupatrid houses of Athens. At sight of the litter the buzz of the Agora became a roar.

"The beautiful! The fortunate! The deliverer! Io! Io, paean!"

Hermione stood; only her eyes followed the litter. Its curtains were flung back; she saw some one within, lying on purple cushions. She saw the features, beautiful as Pentelic marble and as pale. She cared not for the people. She cared not that Phoenix, frighted by the shouting, had begun to wail. The statue in the litter moved, rose on one elbow.

"Ah, dearest and best,"—his voice had the old-time ring, his head the old-time poise,—"you need not fear to call me husband now!"

"Glaucon," she cried. "I am not fit to be your wife. I am not fit to kiss your feet."

* * * * * * *

They set the litter down. Even little Simonides, though a king among the curious, found the Acropolis peculiarly worthy of his study. Enough that Hermione's hands were pressing her husband, and these two cared not whether a thousand watched or only Helios on high. Penelope was greeting the returning Odysseus:—

"Welcome even as to shipmen On the swelling, raging sea; When Poseidon flings the whirlwind, When a thousand blasts roam free, Then at last the land appeareth;— E'en so welcome in her sight Was her lord, her arms long clasped him, And her eyes shone pure and bright."

After a long time Glaucon commanded, "Bring me our child," and Cleopis gladly obeyed. Phoenix ceased weeping and thrust his red fists in his father's face.

"Ei, pretty snail," said Glaucon, pressing him fast by one hand, whilst he held his mother by the other, "if I say you are a merry wight, the nurse will not marvel any more."

But Hermione had already heard from Niobe of the adventure in the market-place at Troezene.

The young men were just taking up the litter, when the Agora again broke into cheers. Themistocles, saviour of Hellas, had crossed to Glaucon. The admiral—never more worshipped than now, when every plan he wove seemed perfect as a god's—took Glaucon and Hermione, one by each hand.

"Ah, philotatoi," he said, "to all of us is given by the sisters above so much bliss and so much sorrow. Some drink the bitter first, some the sweet. And you have drained the bitter to the lees. Therefore look up at the Sun-King boldly. He will not darken for you again."

"Where now?" asked Hermione, in all things looking to her husband.

"To the Acropolis," ordered Glaucon. "If the temple is desolate, the Rock is still holy. Let us give thanks to Athena."

He even would have left the litter, had not Themistocles firmly forbidden. In time the Alcmaeonid's strength would return, though never the speed that had left the stadia behind whilst he raced to save Hellas.

They mounted the Rock. From above, in the old-time brightness, the noonday light, the sunlight of Athens, sprang down to them. Hermione, looking on Glaucon's face, saw him gaze eagerly upon her, his child, the sacred Rock, and the glory from Helios. Then his face wore a strange smile she could not understand. She did not know that he was saying in his heart:—

"And I thought for the rose vales of Bactria to forfeit—this!"

They were on the summit. The litter was set down on the projecting spur by the southwest corner. The area of the Acropolis was desolation, ashes, drums of overturned pillars, a few lone and scarred columns. The works of man were in ruin, but the works of the god, of yesterday, to-day, and forever were yet the same. They turned their backs on the ruin. Westward they looked—across land and sea, beautiful always, most beautiful now, for had they not been redeemed with blood and tears? The Barbarian was vanquished; the impossible accomplished. Hellas and Athens were their own, with none to take away.

They saw the blue bay of Phaleron. They saw the craggy height of Munychia, Salamis with its strait of the victory, farther yet the brown dome of Acro-Corinthus and the wide breast of the clear Saronian sea. To the left was Hymettus the Shaggy, to right the long crest of Daphni, behind them rose Pentelicus, home of the marble that should take the shape of the gods. With one voice they fell to praising Athens and Hellas, wisely or foolishly, according to their wit. Only Hermione and Glaucon kept silence, hand within hand, and speaking fast,—not with their lips,—but with their eyes.

Then at the end Themistocles spoke, and as always spoke the best.

"We have flung back the Barbarian. We have set our might against the God-King and have conquered. Athens lies in ruins. We shall rebuild her. We shall make her more truly than before the 'Beautiful,' the 'Violet-Crowned City,' worthy of the guardian Athena. The conquering of the Persian was hard. The making of Athens immortal by the beauty of our lives, and words, and deeds is harder. Yet in this also we shall conquer. Yea, verily, for the day shall come that wherever the eye is charmed by the beautiful, the heart is thrilled by the noble, or the soul yearns after the perfect,—there in the spirit shall stand Athens."

* * * * * * *

After they had prayed to the goddess, they went down from the Rock and its vision of beauty. Below a mule car met them. They set Glaucon and Hermione with the babe therein, and these three were driven over the Sacred Way toward the purple-bosomed hills, through the olive groves and the pine trees, across the slope of Daphni, to rest and peace in Eleusis-by-the-Sea.



STANDARD MACMILLAN FICTION

———————

By WILLIAM STEARNS DAVIS

A Friend of Caesar

A TALE OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC

"As a story ... there can be no question of its success.... While the beautiful love of Cornelia and Drusus lies at the sound sweet heart of the story, to say so is to give a most meagre idea of the large sustained interest of the whole.... There are many incidents so vivid, so brilliant, that they fix themselves in the memory."—The Bookman.

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

"God Wills It"

A TALE OF THE FIRST CRUSADE

"Not since Sir Walter Scott cast his spell over us with 'Ivanhoe,' 'Count Robert of Paris,' and 'Quentin Durward' have we been so completely captivated by a story as by 'God Wills It,' by William Stearns Davis. It grips the attention of the reader in the first chapter and holds it till the last.... It is a story of strenuous life, the spirit of which might well be applied in some of our modern Crusades. While true to life in its local coloring, it is sweet and pure, and leaves no after-taste of bitterness. The author's first book, 'A Friend of Caesar,' revealed his power, and 'God Wills It' confirms and deepens the impression made."—Christian Endeavor World.

With Illustrations by Louis Betts

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

Falaise of the Blessed Voice

A TALE OF THE YOUTH OF ST. LOUIS, KING OF FRANCE

The story of how his enemies plotted to separate him from his fair Queen Margaret, and even from his throne itself; of how he grew from a pale lad to a most manly king, and of the part played in his life by the blind singer of Pontoise, the maid called "Falaise of the Blessed Voice."

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

The Saint of the Dragon's Dale

(In the series of "LITTLE NOVELS BY FAVORITE AUTHORS")

Cloth, decorated cover, 16mo, 50 cents



RECENT MACMILLAN NOVELS

———————

Each, cloth, $1.50

The Long Road

By JOHN OXENHAM

"... It is a thrilling and an absorbing story. Through all the tragedy of life ... there is a rarely sweet accompaniment of tender tones, of love and heroism and intermittent, never quite lost hope. It is a touching and beautiful story."—Buffalo Evening News.

Coniston

By WINSTON CHURCHILL

"Coniston has a lighter, gayer spirit, and a deeper, tenderer touch than Mr. Churchill has ever achieved before.... It is one of the finest and truest transcripts of modern American life thus far achieved in our fiction."—Chicago Record-Herald.

Cloth, illustrated, $1.50

Lady Baltimore

By OWEN WISTER

"That the author of 'The Virginian' could deal deliciously with such a rich field ... might be assumed. But with what charm and delicacy, fine humor and insight, the work has been done, only a direct acquaintance with the finished volume can justly show. The Southerner will certainly find enchanting home touches in it, and every reader will feel the spell of the quiet old southern town and all the tender, dainty, and humorous southern life and atmosphere that hang about it."—St. Louis Globe Democrat.

Cloth, $1.50

The Garden, You and I

By MABEL OSGOOD WRIGHT

"Few books published in this country recently have been of a kind to make an author so proud. Hers are immensely fine and sweet."—St. Louis Democrat.

The new book by the author of "The Garden of a Commuter's Wife" and "People of the Whirlpool," is a story of new friends as charming in their own way as "Barbara" herself. Their highly original vacation is described from more than one point of view, each more deliciously funny than the next.

Cloth, $1.50

A Lady of Rome

By F. MARION CRAWFORD

"His skill in making his portraits live before the reader's eyes is unsurpassed; and in the production of story-value and prolonged suspense, Mr. Crawford has no peer."—Boston Herald.

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

White Fang

By JACK LONDON

"Jack London is the apostle of strength and courage. In 'White Fang' he has full play ... in his chosen field. He has done this work so well that he makes the interest as intense as if he were telling the story of a man."—Globe Democrat.

Illustrated in colors, cloth, $1.50

When Love Speaks

By WILL PAYNE

"One of the most interesting novels ever written on the conflict between law and honesty on one side and the alliance of low politics and high finance on the other. Stirring love story woven in with the fight against an unscrupulous whiskey trust. A fine, clean American story, of interest alike to men and women."—Chicago Record-Herald.

$1.50

If Youth But Knew

By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE

"They should be the most delightful of comrades, for their writing is so apt, so responsive, so saturated with the promptings and the glamour of spring. It is because 'If Youth But Knew' has all these adorable qualities that it is so fascinating."—Cleveland Leader.

Cloth, $1.50

Disenchanted

By PIERRE LOTI

"Our romantic son of Hercules wields in defence of Liberty a slender, aromatic sorcerer's wand. And his magic has lost nothing of its might. We dare not begin quoting a book of which every page is a picture."—The London Times.

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

The Sin of George Warrener

By Miss VAN VORST

"For acute comprehension of human nature both masculine and feminine, and a keen apprehension of a phase of our social conditions, the book is a piece of rare artistry."—Phila. Evening Tel.

$1.50

Her Majesty's Rebels

By SIDNEY R. LYSAGHT

"A story of Irish people that is neither prejudiced nor patronizing.... A rare and charming novel ... racy and convincing."—World.

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

Listener's Lure

By E. V. LUCAS

"A Kensington Comedy" which proves that the delightful fellow-wanderer in Holland and in London has a keen sense of humor and a gift for semi-satirical portrait sketching.

Cloth, 12mo, $1.50

The Amulet

By CHARLES E. CRADDOCK

"... A little old-fashioned, perhaps, according to modern sensational standards, but written with force and feeling, full of local color and character, wholesome and interesting from cover to cover, and so far as one can judge, a truthful picture of a most picturesque phase of pioneer history that has not been exploited to the point of tiresomeness."—The New York Times.

Cloth, $1.50

The Romance of John Bainbridge

By HENRY GEORGE, Jr.

"Belongs to the large class of present-day novels in which a young man of high ideals goes into politics in order to do battle with the dragons of bribery and corruption. The particular demon in this case is a perpetual street railway franchise. The love story betrays the apprentice hand, but the description of the fight in the aldermanic council is a capital piece of work."—The Congregationalist.

$1.50

The Way of the Gods

By JOHN LUTHER LONG

As the readers of "Madam Butterfly" know, there is no one, since the death of Lafcadio Hearn, who can make Japanese life so charming as does Mr. Long. This story of the little samurai, hardly big enough to be a soldier, and of how the fair eta Hoshiko met his obligations for him, is very real and appealing.

Cloth, $1.50

The Vine of Sibmah

By Dr. ANDREW MACPHAIL

"The book is taut with action and breathless climaxes. Its principal character, a soldier, has for his friend a most engaging pirate. This combination alone makes interesting reading."—Chicago Evening Post.

Cloth, $1.50



FOOTNOTES

1 A word conveying at once "welcome!" and "farewell!"

2 The chief magistrate of an Attic commune.

3 Attic law allowed a husband to will his wife to a friend.

4 A kind of grasshopper peculiar to Greece.

5 A kind of beetle common in Greece.

6 "Give herself airs."

7 The police magistrates of Athens.

8 A number, of course, grossly exaggerated.

9 A pottage peculiar to Sparta, made of lumps of meat, salt, and much vinegar.

10 Equivalent to crying "Hound!" in English.

11 The serfs of the Spartans.

12 The Phoenician Hercules.

13 Nearly two hundred miles.

14 Approximately September.

15 A division in the Spartan army.

16 Who in full force had joined the Persians.

17 The rack.



TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE

The author's footnotes have been moved to the end of the volume.

Blackletter has been marked with asterisks.

The following typographical errors were corrected:

page 6, "gridle" changed to "girdle" page 8, "seashore" changed to "sea-shore" page 23, "earthern" changed to "earthen" page 24, "Thacian" changed to "Thasian" page 29, "good humoredly" changed to "good-humouredly" page 31, "Mantineia" changed to "Mantinea" page 32, "honor" changed to "honour" page 63, "waterpots" changed to "water-pots" page 65, "humorous" changed to "humourous" page 90, "Nausicaea" changed to "Nausicaae" page 92, "pentaconters" changed to "penteconters" page 93, missing quote added before "We can say" page 95, "he" changed to "be" page 101, comma changed to period after "house was out" page 107, "fish-monger" changed to "fishmonger" page 117, added italics to "Ai!" page 133, "Baylonish" changed to "Babylonish" page 145, "Neverthless" changed to "Nevertheless" page 146, "haircloth" changed to "hair-cloth" page 157, "sailcloth" changed to "sail-cloth" page 173, semicolon added after "beautiful" page 176, single quote changed to double quote after "kings reign forever!" page 196, "intrust" changed to "entrust" page 229, "torchlight" changed to "torch-light" page 230, "goatskin" changed to "goat-skin" page 238, comma removed after "Themistocles" page 280, "Ameinas" changed to "Ameinias" page 283, "Ameinas's" changed to "Ameinias's" page 288, "renegadoes" changed to "renegades" page 301, "Phelgon's" changed to "Phlegon's" page 324, removed italics from "Artemisia" page 325, "maelstrom" changed to "maelstrom" page 327, "Psytalleia" changed to "Psyttaleia" page 368, "fagots" changed to "faggots" page 377, "warships" changed to "war-ships" page 396, "lieutenant" changed to "lieutenants" page 404, missing period added after "are great gods" page 419, "bowstring" changed to "bow-string" page 424, single quote removed after "Such as what?" page 432, "Pinatate" changed to "Pitanate" page 445, comma added after "Zariaspes", "Gobyras" changed to "Gobryas" page 451, "Caesar" changed to "Caesar"

Some variants in spelling, capitalization or hyphenation which cannot be regarded as simple typographical errors have been retained.

THE END