re, breaking the phalanx and making Mardonius's
victory certain.

"For your part, excellent Tigranes, you must avoid the Hellenic ships at
Delos and come back to Mardonius with your fleet ready to second him at
once after his victory, which will be speedy; then with your aid he can
readily turn the wall at the Isthmus. I send also letters written, as it
were, in the hand of Themistocles. See that they fall into the hands of
the other Greek admirals. They will breed more hurt amongst the Hellenes
than you can accomplish with all your ships. I send, likewise, lists of
such Athenians and Spartans as are friendly to his Majesty, also memoranda
of such secret plans of the Greeks as have come to my knowledge.

"From Troezene, given into the hands of Hiram on the second of
Metageitnion, in the archonship of Xanthippus. _Chaire!_"

Themistocles ceased. No man spoke a word. It was as if a god had flung a
bolt from heaven. What use to cry against it? Then, in an ominously low
voice, Simonides asked a question.

"What are these letters which purport to come from your pen,
Themistocles?"

The admiral unrolled another papyrus, and as he looked thereon his fine
face contracted with loathing.

"Let another read. I am made to pour contempt and ridicule upon my
fellow-captains. I am made to boast 'when the war ends, I will be tyrant
of Athens.' A thousand follies and wickednesses are put in my mouth. Were
this letter true, I were the vilest wretch escaping Orcus. Since forged--"
his hands clinched--"by that man, that man whom I have trusted, loved,
cherished, called 'younger brother,' 'oldest son'--" He spat in rising fury
and was still.

" 'Fain would I grip his liver in my teeth,' " cried the little poet, even
in storm and stress not forgetting his Homer. And the howl from the
man-of-war's men was as the howl of beasts desiring their prey. But the
admiral's burst of anger ended. He stood again an image of calm power. The
voice that had charmed the thousands rang forth in its strength and
sweetness.

"Men of Athens, this is no hour for windy rage. Else I should rage the
most, for who is more wronged than I? One whom we loved is fallen--later
let us weep for him. One whom we trusted is false--later punish him. But
now the work is neither to weep nor to punish, but to save Hellas. A great
battle impends in Boeotia. Except the Zeus of our sires and Athena of the
Pure Eyes be with us, we are men without home, without fatherland.