“Maid of Athens, ere we part,

Give, O, give me back my heart!

Or since it has left my breast,

Keep it now, and take the rest!”

Lord Byron.

A small barge shot out from the shadows of a cliff through the light spray which spumed about its prow as it cut the billows. Its occupants, in addition to the two oarsmen, were a youth and maiden of comely features. The former was clad in a long, deep bordered chiton covered with a chlamys or cape of semi-military style. His feet were protected by leather sandals, bound with straps about the calves of his legs. In indolent ease he stretched his too graceful form and gazed from beneath half closed eye-lids at the beautiful young woman who reclined upon a cushioned dais at the boat’s prow. The woman, if she were conscious of the other’s gaze, did not make it manifest. Her eyes sought the tranquil water with a dreamy, faraway expression. For some time the two sat thus. At length the man’s attitude of indolence changed abruptly. He leaned forward, drawing his companion’s gaze to his.
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“Why this coolness to me, Persephone? You have been a changed girl ever since I found you wandering alone on the shore near Eleusis. Have the horrors of recent events affected your reason, that you do not smile upon me as was your wont?”

“It must be the war, Ephialtes, that makes my spirit so downcast. If only the entire Persian army had retreated across the Hellespont with Xerxes! Hordes of them still remain in Thessaly, rallying, I presume, to attack us again.”

“We are safe here at Salamis for the time being, and if I thought what you have said was the true cause of your listlessness, I should not worry, but I have feared lately that you consider seriously the attentions of Icetes, may Pluto take him!”

Persephone colored to her temples at these words. “Icetes is a sincere and lovable friend. He is no more to me than an elder brother and I will not hear his name so defiled.”

A sneer curled the handsome lips of the Greek but his expression changed quickly to one of passionate adoration. “I have loved you ever since I first saw you, Persephone, and I will not allow another to come between you, the rare object of my affections and me. Your father has consented to a betrothal, has he not?”

The maiden looked away quickly. “Father does not wholly approve of you, Ephialtes, if the truth must be known. You know father has strict ideas and I am his only daughter!”
42

“Of course you are,” the young man responded irritably, “but he must expect you to wed sometime, and where will he find a better suitor for your hand outside of royalty? I have wealth,” here Ephialtes touched the rich border of his costly garment and the jewel in his dark hair, “good looks, and prospects of political favor.”

Persephone hesitated to state that the doubtful source of Ephialtes’ wealth was one of her father’s objections to him as a prospective son-in-law. Also the fact that he spent his money lavishly upon personal comforts and luxuries, but had failed to donate toward the sum being raised for the rebuilding of Athens, was against him.

“Do not press me for an answer now, Ephialtes. The Persians have not yet been expelled from Greece, and you may have to don helmet and cuirass once again before our beloved country is safe from the oriental invader.”

“When the Athenians return to rebuild Athens will you give me your answer?” persisted Ephialtes.

“I will consider seriously at that time,” replied the girl smiling demurely into the handsome face now close to her own.

Persephone was a true Greek in that she believed that physical beauty was the index of the rarer qualities of mind and heart. The youth who sat opposite possessed physical beauty to an unusual degree. The soft breezes from across the water stirred his dark thick locks, and the dazzling reflection of the late afternoon sun on the dancing waves was reflected a second time from his dark eyes whose light fluctuated even as that upon the oscillating surface of the water.

“Tell me again of your heroism at Thermopylæ,” whispered the maiden.
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“No, I would not seem to brag of my gift of valor. It is enough, is it not, that I have told you of my attempt to save the life of Leonidas?”

Persephone smiled at him in approval, then her features became serious as she asked: “Has the traitor of Thermopylæ yet been discovered? But for him, our city would not now be in ashes and thousands of lives would have been spared including that of my dear brother, Phales.”

She raised tear-dimmed eyes to her companion: “Ephialtes, seek the traitor and deliver him to us, that through the agency of man, God may avenge that foul act of treason. Could you do this, Greece would honor your name as it did that of Miltiades.”

The man turned his face away, his mood quickly altered by the girl’s words.

“Humanity is fickle,” he replied with a peculiar air of detachment. “Miltiades did not enjoy public favor for long, you remember. Just because he went on a little trip to avenge a personal wrong, immediately the populace forgot his heroism at Marathon and convicted him for that minor offence.”

“But,” replied the girl, “Miltiades became arrogant and forgot public interests for his own. Zeus always punishes insolence by having Justice recompense in due season.”
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Ephialtes was obstinately silent, unmoved by Persephone’s words. He dared say no more for fear of betraying himself. Persephone, he loved to as great an extent as it is possible for one of such selfish instincts to love. She did not possess great wealth, and conscious of his own mercenary nature, he wondered that he could so love where money was no object. He had great respect for her mental superiority, while at the same time he feared it, but it was her physical loveliness which appealed to him most. He longed to possess her, body and soul, and the usual patience with which he could await the attainment of his desires, was becoming depleted. He had always prided himself on his ability to bridle his impulses if he felt that they interfered in any way with the ultimate attainment of a desired goal. Where self-restraint is lacking, there is no order, and no one knew this any better than Ephialtes.

It was that magical hour between daylight and dusk that is of such short duration in the countries of the south. Away to the west stretched the hills of Salamis, the setting sun shedding a flood of glory upon the picturesque undulations. Then one by one the stars began to appear and soon the canopy of the heavens was studded with myriads of twinkling lights.

“Let us hasten back to the island,” said Persephone shivering slightly. “The air is chill and I brought no wrap with me.”

The young man removed his cape and placed it around the shoulders of his companion. Persephone seemed despondent. Even the beauty of the evening on the water beneath the stars did not cheer her. The barge was now, at the request of the maiden, turning its prow toward the promontories of her temporary home.

“Persephone,” pleaded the youth once more, “will you not give me an answer now, and if in the affirmative, I shall be the happiest man in all Greece.”

Persephone smiled a little, but was still troubled.
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“Dear Ephialtes,” she said, “you have it in you to be so brave as you proved at Thermopylæ, but before I consent to a marriage between us, I want one more accomplishment that will bring glory to your name. Discover for our country Thermopylæ’s traitor.”

Ephialtes’ brow clouded. “That is a very difficult task. Will not proof of heroic valor in the next conflict with the Persians suffice to bring you to my arms, a willing bride?”

The barge now glided into a cove near the city, and Ephialtes rose to assist his fair companion in alighting from her seat at the prow. As she yielded her arm to his, she raised to his face a countenance, though outwardly serene, yet strangely determined.

“On the day that you deliver to Greece the traitor of Thermopylæ I will become your wife.”