“In gay hostility and barbarous pride,

With half mankind embattled at his side,

Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain prey,

And starves exhausted regions in his way.”

Samuel Johnson.

The reddening glow of an evening sun was shed upon the little town of Anthela in Locris as Zopyrus, a young Persian officer in the army of Xerxes passed quickly from the shadows of the temple to Demeter into the narrow street. In his general bearing and physique he was truly a Persian; large of frame, broad of shoulders, with a proportionally small but well poised head. But the tight clusters of blond curls, clear blue eyes and sensitiveness of mouth were not distinguishing traits of Persian parentage. There was a seriousness in his expression far in advance of his years which may have numbered four and twenty.
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As he walked with swinging gait toward the Persian encampment, he turned his gaze in the direction of the ridge of Oeta whose northern slope silhouetted against the ruddy glow of an evening sky, approached the Malaic gulf. At any other period in his life the beauty of his surroundings would have called forth his admiration, but the scenes of the past two days which had been here enacted, had completely quelled the natural æsthetic tendencies of his soul. Here he had been a witness to the slaughter of Persian and Greek; he in whose veins flowed the blood of both peoples.

As he neared the encampment another officer clad in the familiar close-fitting leathern tunic of the Persian army hailed him. He was a giant in stature, a man born to command. It was he who had charge of the cavalry. Zopyrus recognized him at once.

“Ho, Masistius! Does this beautiful June evening summon you forth too? Truly a fair land is Hellas. Amid such surroundings as these the annals of Persia had been different!”

By this time darkness had descended and as Masistius surveyed the landscape an exclamation of spontaneous admiration burst from his lips, soldier though he was and unused to the gentler phases of life. Oeta cast its purple shadows across the Malaic gulf, whose waters now reflected countless stars, and in the shrubbery about the two soldiers were heard the mournful notes of the little owls, so common in this strange land. Occasionally the call of birds of prey grated on their ears and brought to their minds the loathsome fact that amidst all this entrancing loveliness of nature, death had come to hundreds of their countrymen and allies.
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“Friend Zopyrus, although I am a soldier through and through, I am not blind to the beauties of this land of Greece, but sterner things brought me out tonight. I came to summon you to the presence of the king who wishes to speak with you. Artabazus and I were in the royal tent talking over the plans of the morrow when Xerxes suddenly commanded a slave to summon you to his presence. The order took both Artabazus and myself quite by surprise, for we have not been blind to the fact that Xerxes has avoided you since the very beginning of this campaign. Why he should do so, I cannot imagine. It has always seemed to me that the king has quite overlooked the physical prowess and ability of his cousin Zopyrus.”

Zopyrus shrugged his shoulders. “True my father was Artaphernes, satrap of Sardis and brother of Darius Hystaspis, but you must remember my mother was only a Greek from Miletus, although her parents were both Athenians of noble blood.”

“But you can subdue the Greek within you, for surely the influence of your royal father is the stronger,” said Masistius.

Zopyrus turned his gaze to the bejeweled vault of the heaven. A lie is an unpardonable sin to a Persian, and to that extent Zopyrus displayed his paternal heritage, but there rose before his eyes the vision of a beautiful woman with classic features whose last words to him before her death had been: “Zopyrus, it is my earnest desire that sometime you go to Greece, to Athens, and there acquire some of the culture of that freedom-loving people in that fair land. Here in Persia you will always be the victim of oriental despotism.” As he grew older Zopyrus realized that his mother’s words and the past influence of her life had been instrumental in causing him to hate not only the vain-glorious idolatry of the Persian court, but the weakness, licentiousness and tyranny of the Persian king. Zopyrus looked again at his companion.
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“I will go at once to Xerxes,” he said, completely ignoring the other’s remark.

The tent of Xerxes was in the center of the encampment to insure its protection in case of an unexpected attack from the enemy. An Ethiopian slave parted the hanging folds as Zopyrus approached and held them as he passed into the interior. Seated upon a throne covered with richly woven tapestry and surrounded by slaves and courtiers sat the monarch of Persia.

Zopyrus never knew in what mood he would find his royal cousin. At times the king was most amicably inclined toward his subjects, upon which occasions he lavished upon them generous gifts; at others, the punitive aspect of his authority was made evident, and his dependents were punished out of all due proportion to their offenses.

Xerxes’ eyes followed the noble figure of his cousin with impatient tolerance as the latter bowed and performed the customary greetings.

“Where were you just previous to your meeting with Masistius?” questioned the king abruptly.

“In the town of Anthela,” was the reply.

“Is there not a temple to that pagan goddess, Demeter, there?”

“I believe so.”

“Well stay away from such temples except for the purpose of destroying them. By the way, Sikinnus,” he called, summoning a slave, “take that rascal, Tyrastiadas, who tried to desert today and give him forty lashes.”
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Xerxes turned again toward the son of Artaphernes whose splendid physique and heroic mein summoned his reluctant admiration. Here he realized were unlimited possibilities for his army, for he sincerely believed Zopyrus to be a braver man than Mardonius or Artabazus, though he was many years their junior; then too he had respect for the independent air of this cousin who did not dog his footsteps with flattering remarks and hints for the promise of favors at the close of the war. So it was with a more deferential air that the politic Xerxes addressed his next remarks to his cousin.

“Zopyrus, you are too big a man to be in command of only one hundred soldiers. At your age your half-brother, Artaphernes, together with Datis, led the expedition which resulted in the battle of Marathon. If at the close of this battle with the Greeks in this pass you prove your valor, you shall be placed in command of one thousand men. Also I will allow you to choose among the fairest maidens of the kingdom for a wife, and for exceptional bravery I will give you a satrapy.” All eyes were turned to Zopyrus who acknowledged his king’s favor with a slight bow.

“I bear in mind,” continued Xerxes, “that your mother was a Greek, though she was a lawful wife of your father. It is this taint of blood that has stood in the way of previous honors, but with courage such as becomes the son of a noble Persian you may be able to make me forget completely the plebeian maternal blood.”
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Anger such as had never before been experienced by Zopyrus surged within him at this insult to his mother’s memory, but he held it in subjection, merely bowing stoically before the ruler.

Xerxes had one dominating motive in attempting to win Zopyrus’ fidelity. At the beginning of the campaign he had secretly wished to cause his cousin’s death because he had feared him, but the latter’s advice when consulted on matters of doubt, forced him to the opinion that Zopyrus might become quite an asset to the Persian army if properly handled. That he, Xerxes, had failed in this he did not know.

At this moment the slave who stood at the entrance to the royal tent approached his master with these words:

“Most noble king, a Greek soldier waits without and would have word with you alone.”

“Bid him enter,” was the monarch’s response.

The courtiers quickly withdrew by a rear exit, Zopyrus passing out last. Moved by a sudden impulse and unnoticed, he quickly and silently re-entered the tent and stood a few feet behind the throne in the shadows. The canvas at the front entrance parted admitting the figure of a Greek soldier. He had removed his helmet and left his shield and javelin without in respect to the Persian monarch. Armed only with his short sword and wearing the characteristic scaled cuirass and leather greaves of Greek military dress he presented an interesting sight to both Persians. His head was uncovered, displaying the artistic hair-dress worn by the young men of Athens and Sparta. Long thick braids were crossed at the back of his shapely head and fastened together with a jeweled pin in front. From beneath the braids his brown hair lay in soft waves around his temples. His face was fair almost a degree of effeminacy and his figure of average height indicated graceful outlines even though concealed by the armour he wore. He addressed the king:
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“O Xerxes, king of the Medes and Persians and would-be conqueror of the world, I come to you with a message of greatest importance! For two days your brave soldiers have met defeat at the hands of the Greeks at the entrance to the pass of Thermopylæ. Now the Greeks are so inferior in number, owing to the celebration of certain religious festivities which are soon due to come to an end, that right now is the time to strike, but not in the method which you have up till the present employed, when only a handful of men from each side could meet and enter into personal combat. The Greeks are well trained and if they are to be vanquished, it must be by the superior forces of the enemy.”

The king with offended dignity clutched the arms of his throne and raised himself, crying out in angry tones: “Am I to have a Greek tell me that my army lacks the military discipline of the Greeks?” Here he rose with an exaggerated attempt at majesty, “Behold, O Greek, Zeus himself in the form of an earthly monarch come to lead the whole race of mankind to the destruction of Greece!”
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To Zopyrus’ amazement as he stood a silent and unobserved figure in the shadows, as well as to the amazement of Xerxes himself, the Greek did not tremble at the king’s words. An amused expression not without disdain passed over his fearless countenance. Xerxes’ face became purple with rage.

“Out of my sight grinning fool of a Greek,” he roared, “before I have your tongue cut out for your insolence!”

Zopyrus stood rooted to the spot in horror, but the graceful unemotional figure of the Greek remained unchanged. To Zopyrus it seemed an eternity before the young man spoke, but in reality it was almost immediately. He drew nearer the throne by a couple of paces, and Zopyrus feared for his life in that proximity to the wrathful monarch.

“Listen, O Xerxes, if you would succeed in overwhelming your foes you must attack them from behind, but this you can not do since you are unacquainted with this wild, impassable country. I am a native Malian and well acquainted with this locality. If you could make it worth my while, I could show you a mountain pass that would lead you to the rear of Leonidas’ army unobserved.”

While the Greek was speaking Xerxes’ expression gradually changed from malice to pleased attention: “And suppose, friend Greek, I do not permit you to leave unless you reveal to me this pass!”

The Greek smiled. “It is impossible simply to tell of this secret way, for it is beset with many dangers, such as almost impenetrable growths of underbrush, impermeable morasses and almost inaccessible cliffs. A native guide is absolutely essential and I am that guide who will receive my pay before the journey commences.”
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The king nodded in affirmation and sank back quite dazed from the effect of the interview. The Greek was still unmoved and continued: “I will lead your army tomorrow night, as it is safest to travel under cover of darkness. We shall probably reach the other side of the pass at a very favorable time of day, when the market-place of the town is filling. I will meet you here tomorrow at sunset in Persian uniform, and except to your most important commanders, I wish to remain unknown. Till then, O Zeus, farewell!”

He passed quickly out of the bewildered kingly presence, and Zopyrus took advantage of this moment to make a hasty and unseen exit at the rear of the royal tent.