"God's curse upon all mountains," he said.He staggered to the edge of the tide and laved his brow.The savour of salt revived him.He turned to find the tall man at his elbow, and noted how worn and ragged he was, and yet how upright."When a pigeon is flushed from the rocks, there is a hawk near," said the voice.
Atta was angry."A hawk!" he cried."Nay, an army of eagles.
There will be some rare flushing of Hellenes before evening.""What frightened you, Islander?" the stranger asked."Did a wolf bark up on the hillside?""Ay, a wolf.The wolf from the East with a multitude of wolflings.There will be fine eating soon in the pass."The man's face grew dark.He put his hand to his mouth and called.Half a dozen sentries ran to join him.He spoke to them in the harsh Lacedaemonian speech which made Atta sick to hear.
They talked with the back of the throat and there was not an "s"in their words.
"There is mischief in the hills," the first man said."This islander has been frightened down over the rocks.The Persian is stealing a march on us."The sentries laughed.One quoted a proverb about island courage.
Atta's wrath flared and he forgot himself.He had no wish to warn the Hellenes, but it irked his pride to be thought a liar.
He began to tell his story hastily, angrily, confusedly; and the men still laughed.
Then he turned eastward and saw the proof before him.The light had grown and the sun was coming up over Pelion.The first beam fell on the eastern ridge of Kallidromos, and there, clear on the sky-line, was the proof.The Persian was making a wide circuit, but moving shoreward.In a little he would be at the coast, and by noon at the Hellenes' rear.
His hearers doubted no more.Atta was hurried forward through the lines of the Greeks to the narrow throat of the pass, where behind a rough rampart of stones lay the Lacedaemonian headquarters.He was still giddy from the heights, and it was in a giddy dream that he traversed the misty shingles of the beach amid ranks of sleeping warriors.It was a grim place, for there were dead and dying in it, and blood on every stone.But in the lee of the wall little fires were burning and slaves were cooking breakfast.The smell of roasting flesh came pleasantly to his nostrils, and he remembered that he had had no meal since he crossed the gulf.
Then he found himself the centre of a group who had the air of kings.They looked as if they had been years in war.Never had he seen faces so worn and so terribly scarred.The hollows in their cheeks gave them the air of smiling, and yet they were grave.Their scarlet vests were torn and muddled, and the armour which lay near was dinted like the scrap-iron before a smithy door.But what caught his attention were the eyes of the men.
They glittered as no eyes he had ever seen before glittered.The sight cleared his bewilderment and took the pride out of his heart.He could not pretend to despise a folk 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 through him the island race would be ennobled in the eyes of gods and men.
Troops were filing fast to the east--Thebans, Corinthians."Time flies, Islander," said the King's voice."The hours of safety are slipping past." Atta looked up carelessly."I will stay,"he said."God's curse on all Hellenes! Little I care for your quarrels.It is nothing to me if your Hellas is under the heels of the East.But I care much for brave men.It shall never be said that a man of Lemnos, a son of the old race, fell back when Death threatened.I stay with you, men of Lacedaemon.
The King's eyes glittered; they seemed to peer into his heart.
"It appears they breed men in the islands," he said."But you err.Death does not threaten.Death awaits us.
