"Time!" shouted Euboulus. "Have we not to flee on wings, or be cut off?"

"Fly, then."

"But you and your Spartans?"

"We will stay."

"Stay? A handful against a million? Do I hear aright? What can you do?"

"Die."

"The G.o.ds forbid! Suicide is a fearful end. No man should rush on destruction. What requires you to perish?"

"Honour."

"Honour! Have you not won glory enough by holding Xerxes's whole power at bay two days? Is not your life precious to h.e.l.las? What is the gain?"

"Glory to Sparta."

Then in the red morning half-light, folding his big hands across his mailed chest, Leonidas looked from one to another of the little circle.

His voice was still in unemotional gutturals when he delivered the longest speech of his life.

"We of Sparta were ordered to defend this pa.s.s. The order shall be obeyed.

The rest of you must go away-all save the Thebans, whose loyalty I distrust. Tell Leotychides, my colleague at Sparta, to care for Gorgo my wife and Pleistarchus my young son, and to remember that Themistocles the Athenian loves h.e.l.las and gives sage counsel. Pay Strophius of Epidaurus the three hundred drachmae I owe him for my horse. Likewise-"

A second breathless scout interrupted with the tidings that Hydarnes was on the last stretches of his road. The chief arose, drew the helmet down across his face, and motioned with his spear.

"Go!" he ordered.

The Corinthian would have seized his hand. He shook him off. At Leonidas's elbow was standing the trumpeter for his three hundred from Lacedaemon.

"Blow!" commanded the chief.

The keen blast cut the air. The chief deliberately wrapped the purple mantle around himself and adjusted the gold circlet over his helmet, for on the day of battle a Lacedaemonian was wont to wear his best. And even as he waited there came to him out of the midst of the panic-stricken, dissolving camp, one by one, tall men in armour, who took station beside him-the men of Sparta who had abided steadfast while all others prepared to flee, waiting for the word of the chief.

Presently they stood, a long black line, motionless, silent, whilst the other divisions filed in swift fear past. Only the Thespians-let their names not be forgotten-chose to share the Laconians' glory and their doom and took their stand behind the line of Leonidas. With them stood also the Thebans, but compulsion held them, and they tarried merely to desert and p.a.w.n their honour for their lives.

More couriers. Hydarnes's van was in sight of Alpeni now. The retreat of the Corinthians, Tegeans, and other h.e.l.lenes became a run; only once Euboulus and his fellow-captains turned to the silent warrior that stood leaning on his spear.

"Are you resolved on madness, Leonidas?"

"_Chaire!_ Farewell!" was the only answer he gave them. Euboulus sought no more, but faced another figure, hitherto almost forgotten in the confusion of the retreat.

"Haste, Master Deserter, the Barbarians will give you an overwarm welcome, and you are no Spartan; save yourself!"

Glaucon did not stir.

"Do you not see that it is impossible?" he answered, then strode across to Leonidas. "I must stay."

"Are you also mad? You are young-" The good-hearted Corinthian strove to drag him into the retreating mob.

Glaucon sprang away from him and addressed the silent general.

"Shall not Athens remain by Sparta, if Sparta will accept?"

He could see Leonidas's cold eyes gleam out through the slits in his helmet. The general reached forth his hand.

"Sparta accepts," called he; "they have lied concerning your Medizing! And you, Euboulus, do not filch from him his glory."

"Zeus pity you!" cried Euboulus, running at last. One of the Spartans brought to Glaucon the heavy hoplite's armour and the ponderous spear and shield. He took his place in the line with the others. Leonidas stalked to the right wing of his scant array, the post of honour and of danger. The Thespians closed up behind. Shield was set to shield. Helmets were drawn low. The lance points projected in a bristling hedge in front. All was ready.

The general made no speech to fire his men. There was no wailing, no crying to the G.o.ds, no curses upon the tardy ephors at Lacedaemon who had deferred sending their whole strong levy instead of the pitiful three hundred. Sparta had sent this band to hold the pa.s.s. They had gone, knowing she might require the supreme sacrifice. Leonidas had spoken for all his men. "Sparta demanded it." What more was to be said?

As for Glaucon he could think of nothing save-in the language of his people-"this was a beautiful manner and place in which to die." "Count no man happy until he meets a happy end," so had said Solon, and of all ends what could be more fortunate than this? Euboulus would tell in Athens, in all h.e.l.las, how he had remained with Leonidas and maintained Athenian honour when Corinthian and Tegean turned away. From "Glaucon the Traitor"

he would be raised to "Glaucon the Hero." Hermione, Democrates, and all others he loved would flush with pride and no more with shame when men spoke of him. Could a life of a hundred years add to his glory more than he could win this day?

"Blow!" commanded Leonidas again, and again pealed the trumpet. The line moved beyond the wall toward Xerxes's camp in the open beside the Asopus.

Why wait for Hydarnes's coming? They would meet the king of the Aryans face to face and show him the terrible manner in which the men of Lacedaemon knew how to die.

As they pa.s.sed from the shadow of the mountain, the sun sprang over the hills of Euba, making fire of the bay and bathing earth and heavens with glory. In their rear was already shouting. Hydarnes had reached his goal at Alpeni. All retreat was ended. The thin line swept onward. Before them spread the whole host of the Barbarian as far as the eye could reach,-a tossing sea of golden shields, scarlet surcoats, silver lance-heads,-awaiting with its human billows to engulf them. The Laconians halted just beyond bow shot. The line locked tighter. Instinctively every man pressed closer to his comrade. Then before the eyes of Xerxes's host, which kept silence, marvelling, the handful broke forth with their paean.

They threw their well-loved charging song of Tyrtaeus in the very face of the king.

"Press the charge, O sons of Sparta!

Ye are sons of men born free: Press the charge; 'tis where the shields lock, That your sires would have you be!

Honour's cheaply sold for life, Press the charge, and join the strife: Let the coward cling to breath, Let the base shrink back from death, _Press the charge, let cravens flee!_"

Leonidas's spear pointed to the ivory throne, around which and him that sat thereon in blue and scarlet glittered the Persian grandees.

"Onward!"

Immortal ichor seemed in the veins of every Greek. They burst into one shout.

"The king! The king!"

A roar from countless drums, horns, and atabals answered from the Barbarians, as across the narrow plain-land charged the three hundred-and one.

CHAPTER XXII

MARDONIUS GIVES A PROMISE

"Ugh-the dogs died hard, but they are dead," grunted Xerxes, still shivering on the ivory throne. The battle had raged disagreeably close to him.

"They are dead; even so perish all of your Eternity's enemies," rejoined Mardonius, close by. The bow-bearer himself was covered with blood and dust. A Spartan sword had grazed his forehead. He had exposed himself recklessly, as well he might, for it had taken all the efforts of the Persian captains, as well as the ruthless laying of whips over the backs of their men, to make the king's battalions face the frenzied h.e.l.lenes, until the closing in of Hydarnes from the rear gave the battle its inevitable ending.