“But down on his threshold, down!

Sinks the warrior’s failing breath,

The tale of that mighty field

Is left to be told by Death.”

Letitia Elizabeth Landon.

Platæa lay on the northern slope of beautiful Mt. Cithæron at the foot of which wound the picturesque river Asopus. On this day in midsummer, four hundred and seventy-nine B. C., three hundred thousand Persians and fifty thousand Greek allies were encamped on the north bank of the river while the confederate Greek army which numbered one hundred and ten thousand, waited for the Persian attack on the slopes of Cithæron. Because of unfavorable advice from soothsayers, both sides hesitated to commence the assault.

After several days of suspense, Mardonius summoned his soothsayer to his tent, the same tent occupied by Xerxes before his return to Asia. The general sat before a table gazing steadfastly at a parchment which was spread before him. The soothsayer bowed and approached Mardonius.

“Did you send for me, my lord?” he asked.
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Mardonius lifted a face that was strangely pale and haggard. “Aye, Hegesistratus, I would know the latest signs.”

“It grieves me that the signs are all unfavorable, especially in the case of an initiative on the Persian side,” replied the soothsayer.

Mardonius frowned. “Can you not tell us what it were best to do? If you can not I shall find a man who can.”

“My lord,” replied Hegesistratus, “I have examined closely the entrails of every sacrificial animal, and the signs are the same. Would you know the truth? I am here to tell you, no matter what that truth may be.”

Mardonius leaned forward clutching the table until the knuckles of his hands were white. “Tell me, Hegesistratus, am I in imminent danger?”

The seer turned his face slowly away and made no reply.

“Speak, dog, or your head will be forfeit!” cried the wrathful general.

“Then if you must needs know,” responded the reluctant prophet, “you are in grave danger.”

“Is there no hope?” asked Mardonius turning very pale.

“All men pass through certain periods of danger and such a one is now imminent for you, my lord, but the time of no man’s death is absolutely fated and mayhap this crisis will pass!”

“Depart and send Masistius to me at once,” said the leader in great agitation.
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A few moment later the tent folds parted, admitting the gigantic form of the cavalryman. The sight of the heroic figure seemed to cheer Mardonius, for in place of his customary tones of peremptory command, he spoke informally, even affectionately to the brave Persian.

“Masistius I have decided to delay no longer, for provisions are low. It is my wish that you lead the Persian cavalry in an offensive. We number three times the enemy, therefore why delay longer?”

“All that a true soldier wants to know is that he understands his orders. Your slightest wish is a command, Mardonius. I shall go at once.”

“You are a brave man, Masistius. Ask what you will after this encounter, and it shall be granted you. I will show Hegesistratus what little faith I put in his soothsaying!”

A few hours after this Masistius approached Zopyrus, calling him away from a group of soldiers with whom he was conversing.

“Zopyrus, I go shortly to charge the enemy and if the gods will that I do not return, read this and obey its instructions.” So saying he thrust into his friend’s hand a bit of parchment. A few seconds fraught with emotion and Masistius strode off to obey his superior’s orders.

When the Athenians observed the approach of the Persian cavalry they descended to the plain below. Zopyrus stood, a tense figure, behind the barracks. His bosom swelled with pride as he watched the manly form of Masistius mounted on a black charger, likewise of huge proportions.

“Now if I but knew the secret power of the maiden’s prayer!” thought he.
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Riding rapidly at the head of the Greek cavalry was the Athenian Olympiodorus, a white steed bearing him to the scene of conflict. He was not a man of large frame, but his attitude of calm self-reliance and his military bearing gave promise to Masistius that here was an opponent worthy of the utmost exertion of belligerent mettle. On came the two principal antagonists, the distance between them steadily decreasing. At last they met with a clash of weapons.

The Greek was successful in parrying the stroke of the Persian. With exceptional agility he dodged now this way, now that, bringing to naught the superior strength of his antagonist. At length Olympiodorus began losing ground. His muscles were tiring under the continued strain of warding off his opponent’s thrust. Just when it would seem that Masistius could make the final stab, another horseman rode up to the assistance of Olympiodorus. In this unequal conflict Masistius felt himself a loser. He wondered why his friends did not come to his aid, but was vaguely conscious that they were busily engaged in battle. Still he labored on parrying each thrust till he relaxed in complete exhaustion and a second later fell as the sword of Olympidiorus’ helper pierced his vitals. So perished Masistius, one of the bravest of Mardonius’ soldiers.
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From his position behind the bulwarks, Zopyrus witnessed the death of his dearest friend. He stood for a moment as one in a stupor. His consciousness seemed gradually to weaken, flicker and die out, then a new spirit appeared to take hold of him and slowly gain predominance. After struggling for months with indecision which was gradually destroying his willpower, the right course for him to take became unquestionably apparent. He realized that since the defeat at Salamis, Masistius had been the only bond that held him to the Persian despot whose many acts of atrocity he had viewed with growing aversion. The influence of his Greek mother had at last gained undeniable supremacy. She had taught him while it is manly to love one’s country, it is God-like to love the world.

It was a new Zopyrus who turned and with resolute steps sought the seclusion of his tent. With deferential fingers he touched the note which his departed friend had given him and perused it with eyes moist with unshed tears. It ran as follows:

“To Zopyrus greetings—When you read this, my dear friend, you will know that I am no longer among the living. My one regret is that I can not carry out in the body that which I planned. Would it be asking too much of you, my friend and comrade, to undertake that which death makes impossible of accomplishment? Do you remember the eve of the Theban’s banquet when you confessed to me that you loved a Greek maiden, whom you returned unharmed to her people? I did not then tell you that a somewhat similar experience has been mine. But to make this clear to you, I must go back to that moment upon the Acropolis in Athens when Xerxes gave to yo............