Persephone of Eleusis
A Romance of Ancient Greece
9781465640055
102 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
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. 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. “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.”
