“Here where the Persian clarion rung,

And where the Spartan sword flashed high,

And where the Pæan strains were sung,

From year to year swelled on by liberty!”

Felicia Hemans.

The market-place of Platæa was the scene of rejoicing over the victory of the Spartans. Pausanias, the Spartan leader, nephew of the brave Leonidas, conducted solemn sacrificial services.

Their victory had seemed almost a miracle, for the Athenians and Spartans had begun a retreat to an island formed by two forks of the river Oeroe. The Persians, when they saw that the Greeks were retreating, pursued them. The Athenians were ahead, and the Spartans being behind were overtaken by the disorderly Persian horde. The Athenians learning of the encounter, decided to return to the assistance of their allies, but were attacked by the Thebans before they could act upon their decision. From behind the breastwork of shields the Persians shot their arrows bravely, and for awhile the outcome was doubtful but Pausanias and his brave Spartans succeeded in killing Mardonius. With their leader dead, the Persians lost their fervor and fled in disorder.
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In the meanwhile the encounter between the Athenians and Thebans became more serious. When the battle had reached its crisis, both the Athenians and the Thebans observed a tall figure in the garb of a Greek soldier fighting amid the Thebans like a fiend, and what amazed the Greeks most was that he fought with his left arm only, the other being supported by a bandage which hung from his shoulder. He seemed to bear a charmed life. Before his sword the Thebans fell, and the Athenians pressing around him were able to work havoc in his wake.

Suddenly a Theban sprang in front of the one-armed fighting warrior and cried as he crossed swords with him, “I swear you are the Persian with whom I dined and exchanged confidences at the feast of Attaginus. You shall pay for your treason with your life.”

The other smiled grimly but said not a word as he entered into the encounter, and before long this antagonist like the others, lay with the point of the Athenian’s sword at his throat.

“Now Thersander,” cried the victorious one, “do you surrender to Zopyrus the Athenian, or do you meet death at his sword?”

The Theban surrendered as had many another of his countrymen on that day, and history tells us that among the captives was Attaginus, the only one of the number who succeeded later in making his escape. The wicked Artabazus instead of coming to the aid of the Persians after Mardonius fell, fled with his troops through Phocis to Thessaly, Macedonia and the Hellespont, and the fair Parysatis accompanied him.
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So it was no wonder that Platæa was the scene of much rejoicing upon this occasion. Pausanias, though enthusiastically lauded by both Spartans and Athenians, did not accept the great honor bestowed upon him alone. He said that if he were the hero of the Spartans over the Persians, so likewise was the stranger who fought with but one arm, the hero of the Athenians over the Thebans. When asked who he was, Zopyrus merely stated that he was a loyal Athenian who had been away from Athens for a number of years, which statement he could make without distorting the truth.

Pausanias stood surrounded by the booty acquired in the victory over Mardonius. The vast cables of papyrus which had composed the bridge of Xerxes when he first crossed the Hellespont, were here displayed; likewise the silver-footed throne and the cimeter of Mardonius and the sword and breastplate of Masistius.

Many beautiful women who had been in the harems of the Persian leaders were either sold or given to those who had displayed exceptional bravery. Of these Zopyrus was offered first choice, but to Pausanias’ surprise he politely declined. Stepping over to the pile where were stacked the swords, breastplates, shields, helmets and smaller articles of pillage, Zopyrus drew forth the sword of Masistius and made the statement that this would be a most acceptable portion of the spoils to him. The Greeks wondered at his choice, but no one made so bold as to question him concerning it.
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As Zopyrus was about to leave the market-place someone placed a detaining hand upon his shoulder. Turning, the former looked into the face of a young man of about his own height and physique but a few years his senior, who smilingly offered his hand.

“I wish to commend you for your bravery in the recent battle and to welcome you back to Athens, as I understand you have not been there for some years past. I am Cimon, and this,” he indicated a slender man by his side, “is Polygnotus, an artist of no mean reputation. We are both residing in Athens and shall be glad to have you meet others of our friends in the city.”