of sleeping tents. Soon he was at the
outposts, where strong divisions of Cissian and Babylonian infantrymen
were slumbering under arms, ready for the attack the instant the uproar
from the rear of the pass told how Hydarnes had completed his circuit.
Eos--"Rosy-Fingered Dawn"--was just shimmering above the mist-hung peak of
Mt. Telethrius in Euboea across the bay when Glaucon came to the last
Persian outpost. The pickets saluted with their lances, as he went by
them, taking him for a high officer on a reconnoissance before the onset.
Next he was on the scene of the former battles. He stumbled over riven
shields, shattered spear butts, and many times over ghastlier
objects--objects yielding and still warm--dead men, awaiting the crows of
the morrow. He walked straight on, while the dawn strengthened and the
narrow pass sprang into view, betwixt mountain and morass. Then at last a
challenge, not in Persian, but in round clear Doric.

"Halt! Who passes?"

Glaucon held up his right hand, and advanced cautiously. Two men in heavy
armour approached, and threatened his breast with their lance points.

"Who are you?"

"A friend, a Hellene--my speech tells that. Take me to Leonidas. I've a
story worth telling."

"_Euge!_ Master 'Friend,' our general can't be waked for every deserter.
We'll call our decarch."

A shout brought the subaltern commanding the Greek outposts. He was a
Spartan of less sluggish wits than many of his breed, and presently
believed Glaucon when he declared he had reason in asking for Leonidas.

"But your accent is Athenian?" asked the decarch, with wonderment.

"Ay, Athenian," assented Glaucon.

"Curses on you! I thought no Athenian ever Medized. What business had
_you_ in the Persian camp? Who of your countrymen are there save the sons
of Hippias?"

"Not many," rejoined the fugitive, not anxious to have the questions
pushed home.

"Well, to Leonidas you shall go, sir Athenian, and state your business.
But you are like to get a bearish welcome. Since your pretty Glaucon's
treason, our king has not wasted much love even on repentant traitors."

With a soldier on either side, the deserter was marched within the barrier
wall. Another encampment, vastly smaller and less luxurious than the
Persian, but of martial orderliness, spread out along the pass. The
Hellenes were just waking. Some were breakfasting from helmets full of
cold boiled peas, others buckled on the well-dinted bronze cuirasses and