"Attend, O queen," he said mechanically, "and be thou propitious to all my prayers."

He knew the words meant nothing. The puff of night air from the port-hole carried the fragrance from the room. The image wore its unchanging, meaningless smile, and Themistocles smiled too, albeit bitterly.

"So this is the end. A losing fight, cowardice, slavery-no, I shall not live to see that last."

He looked from the port-hole. He could see the lights of the Barbarian fleet clearly. He took long breaths of the clear brine.

"So the tragedy ends-worse than Phrynicus's poorest, when they pelted his chorus from the orchestra with date-stones. And yet-and yet-"

He never formulated what came next even in his own mind.

"_Eu!_" he cried, springing back with part of his old lightness, "I have borne a brave front before it all. I have looked the Cyclops in the face, even when he glowered the fiercest. But it all will pa.s.s. I presume Thersytes the caitiff and Agamemnon the king have the same sleep and the same dreams in Orchus. And a few years more or a few less in a man's life make little matter. But it would be sweeter to go out thinking 'I have triumphed' than 'I have failed, and all the things I loved fail with me.'

And Athens-"

Again he stopped. When he resumed his monologue, it was in a different key.

"There are many things I cannot understand. They cannot unlock the riddles at Delphi, no seer can read them in the omens of birds. Why was Glaucon blasted? Was he a traitor? What was the truth concerning his treason?

Since his going I have lost half my faith in mortal men."

Once more his thoughts wandered.

"How they trust me, my followers of Athens! Is it not better to be a leader of one city of freemen than a Xerxes, master of a hundred million slaves? How they greeted me, as if I were Apollo the Saviour, when I returned to Peiraeus! And must it be written by the chroniclers thereafter, 'About this time Themistocles, son of Neocles, aroused the Athenians to hopeless resistance and drew on them utter destruction'? O Father Zeus, must men say _that_? Am I a fool or crazed for wishing to save my land from the fate of Media, Lydia, Babylonia, Egypt, Ionia? Has dark Atropos decreed that the Persians should conquer forever? Then, O Zeus, or whatever be thy name, O Power of Powers, look to thine empire! Xerxes is not a king, but a G.o.d; he will besiege Olympus, even thy throne."

He crossed the cabin with hard strides.

"How can I?" he cried half-aloud, beating his forehead. "How can I make these h.e.l.lenes fight?"

His hand tightened over his sword-hilt.

"This is the only place where we can fight to advantage. Here in the strait betwixt Salamis and Attica we have s.p.a.ce to deploy all our ships, while the Barbarians will be crowded by numbers. And if we once retreat?-Let Adeimantus and the rest prate about-'The wall, the wall across the Isthmus! The king can never storm it.' Nor will he try to, unless his councillors are turned stark mad. Will he not have command of the sea? can he not land his army behind the wall, wherever he wills? Have I not dinned that argument in those doltish Peloponnesians' ears until I have grown hoa.r.s.e? Earth and G.o.ds! suffer me rather to convince a stone statue than a Dorian. The task is less hard. Yet they call themselves reasoning beings."

A knock upon the cabin door. Simonides reentered.

"You do not come on deck, Themistocles? The men ask for you. Ameinias's cook has prepared a n.o.ble supper-anchovies and tunny-will you not join the other officers and drink a cup to Tyche, Lady Fortune, that she prosper us in the morning?"

"I am at odds with Tyche, Simonides. I cannot come with you."

"The case is bad, then?"

"Ay, bad. But keep a brave face before the men. There's no call to p.a.w.n our last chance."

"Has it come to that?" quoth the little poet, in curiosity and concern.

"Leave me!" ordered Themistocles, with a sweep of the hand, and Simonides was wise enough to obey.

Themistocles took a pen from the table, but instead of writing on the outspread sheet of papyrus, thrust the reed between his teeth and bit it fiercely.

"How can I? How can I make these h.e.l.lenes fight? Tell that, King Zeus, tell that!"

Then quickly his eager brain ran from expedient to expedient.

"Another oracle, some lucky prediction that we shall conquer? But I have shaken the oracle books till there is only chaff in them. Or a bribe to Adeimantus and his fellows? But gold can buy only souls, not courage. Or another brave speech and convincing argument? Had I the tongue of Nestor and the wisdom of Thales, would those doltish Dorians listen?"

Again the knock, still again Simonides. The dapper poet's face was a cubit long.

"Oh, grief to report it! Cimon sends a boat from his ship the _Perseus_.

He says the _Dike_, the Sicyonian ship beside him, is not stripping for battle, but rigging sail on her spars as if to flee away."

"Is that all?" asked Themistocles, calmly.

"And there is also a message that Adeimantus and many other admirals who are minded like him have gone again to Eurybiades to urge him not to fight."

"I expected it."

"Will the Spartan yield?" The little poet was whitening.

"Very likely. Eurybiades would be a coward if he were not too much of a fool."

"And you are not going to him instantly, to confound the faint hearts and urge them to quit themselves like h.e.l.lenes?"

"Not yet."

"By the dog of Egypt, man," cried Simonides, seizing his friend's arm, "don't you know that if nothing's done, we'll all walk the asphodel to-morrow?"

"Of course. I am doing all I can."

"All? You stand with folded hands!"

"All-for I am thinking."

"Thinking-oh, make actions of your thoughts!"

"I will."

"When?"

"When the G.o.d opens the way. Just now the way is fast closed."

"_Ai!_ woe-and it is already far into the evening, and h.e.l.las is lost."

Themistocles laughed almost lightly.

"No, my friend. h.e.l.las will not be lost until to-morrow morning, and much can happen in a night. Now go, and let me think yet more."

Simonides lingered. He was not sure Themistocles was master of himself.

But the admiral beckoned peremptorily, the poet's hand was on the cabin door, when a loud knock sounded on the other side. The _proreus_, commander of the fore-deck and Ameinas's chief lieutenant, entered and saluted swiftly.

"Your business?" questioned the admiral, sharply.