A Victor of Salamis Part 57

But a violent screech came from Lampaxo, who had just comprehended the fate awaiting.

"_Ai! ai!_ save me, fellow-h.e.l.lenes!" she bawled toward the penteconter, "a citizeness of Athens, the most patriotic woman in the city, slaughtered by Barbarians-"

"Silence the squealing sow!" roared Hasdrubal. "They'll hear her on the war-s.h.i.+p. Aft with her and overboard at once."

But as they dragged Lampaxo on the p.o.o.p, her outcry rose to a tempest till Lars the Etruscan clapped his hand upon her mouth. Her screaming stilled, but his own outcry more than replaced it. In a twinkling the virago's hard teeth closed over his fingers. Two ran from the oars to him. But the woman, conscious that she fought for life or death, held fast. Curses, blows, even a dagger pried betwixt her lips-all bootless. She seemed as a thing possessed. And all the time the Etruscan howled in mortal agony.

The thin dagger, bent too hard, snapped betwixt her teeth. Lars's clamour could surely be heard on the penteconter. Again the breeze was falling.

They seized the fury's throat, and pressed it till she turned black, but the grip of her jaw only tightened.

"_Attatai! attatai!_" groaned the victim, "forbear. Don't throttle her.

Her teeth are iron. They are biting through the bone. If you strangle her, they will never relax. _Attatai! attatai!_"

"Nip him tight, little wife," called Phormio, for once regarding his spouse with supreme satisfaction. "It's a dainty morsel you have in your mouth. Chew it well!"

Lampaxo's attackers paused an instant, uncertain how to release the Etruscan. To their threats of torture the woman was deaf as the mainmast, and still the Etruscan screamed.

Glaucon had stood perfectly pa.s.sive during all this grim by-play. Once Phormio saw his fellow-captive's face twist into a smile, but in the excitement of the moment the fishmonger as well as the Carthaginians almost forgot the Isthmionices, and Hib relaxed his grip and guard. Lars's finger was streaming red, when Hasdrubal threw away the steering-paddle in a rage.

"Silence her forever! The axe, Hib. Split her skull open!"

The axe lay at the Libyan's feet. One instant, only one, betook his hands from the athlete's wrists to seize the weapon, but in that instant the yell from all the crew drowned even the howls of Lars. Had any watched, they might have seen all the muscles in the Alcmaeonid's glorious body contract, might have seen the fire spring from his eyes as he put forth a G.o.dlike might. Heracles and Athena Polias had been with him when he threw his strength upon the bands that held his arms. The crus.h.i.+ng of Lycon down had been no feat like this. In a twinkling the cords about his wrists were snapped. He swung his free hands in the air.

"Athens!" he shouted, whilst the crew stood spellbound. "Hermione! Glaucon is still Glaucon!"

Hib had grasped the axe, but he never knew what smote him once behind the ear and sent him rolling lifeless against the bulwark. In an instant his bright weapon was swinging high above the athlete's head. Glaucon stood terrible as Achilles before the cowering Trojans.

"Woe! woe! he is Melkarth. We are lost men!" groaned the crew.

"At him, fools!" bawled Hasdrubal, first to recover wits, "his feet are still shackled."

But whilst the master called to them, the axe dashed down upon the fetters, and one great stroke smote the coupling-link in twain. The Athenian stood a moment looking right and left, the axe dancing as a toy in his grasp, and a smile on his face inviting, "Prove me."

A javelin singing from the hand of Adherbal flew at him. An imperceptible bending of the body, a red streak on Glaucon's naked side, and it dug into the deck. Yet whilst it quivered, was out again and hurled through the Carthaginian's breast and shoulders. He fell in a heap beside the Libyan.

Another howl from the sailors.

"Not Melkarth, but Baal the Dragon-Slayer. We are lost. Who can contend with him?"

"Cowards!" thundered Hasdrubal, whipping the sword from his thigh, "do you not know these three sniff our true business? If they live when the penteconter comes, it's not prison but Sheol that's waiting. Their lives or ours. One rush and we have this madman down!"

But their terrible adversary gave the master no time to gather his myrmidons. One stroke of the axe had already released Phormio, who clutched the arms of his wife.

"The cabin!" the ready-witted fishmonger commanded, and Lampaxo, scarce knowing what she did, released her ungentle hold on Lars and suffered her husband to drag her down the ladder. Glaucon went last; no man loving death enough to come within reach of the axe. Hasdrubal saw his victims escaping under his eyes and groaned.

"There is only one hatchway. We must force it. Darts, belaying-pins, ballast stones-fling anything down. It's for life or death!"

"The penteconter is four furlongs away!" shrieked a sailor, growing gray under his dark skin.

"And Democrates's despatches are hid in the cabin," added Hiram, chattering. "If they do not go overboard, our deaths will be terrible."

"Hear, King Moloch!" called Hasdrubal, lifting his swarthy arms to heaven, then striking them with his sword till the blood gushed down, "suffer us to escape this calamity and I vow thee even my daughter Tibat,-a child in her tenth year,-she shall die in thy holy furnace a sacrifice."

"Hear, Baal! Hear, Moloch!" chorussed the crew; and gathering courage from necessity seized boat-hooks, oars, dirks, and all other handy weapons for their attack.

But below the released prisoners had not been idle. Never-Glaucon knew it-had his brain been clearer, his invention more fertile than now, and Phormio was not too old to cease to be a valiant helper. The cabin was small. A few spears and swords stood in the rack about the mast. The athlete bolted the sliding hatch-cover, and tore down the weapons.

"Release your wife," he ordered Phormio; "yonder sea chest is strong. Drag it over to bar the hatch-ladder. Work as t.i.tans if you hope for another sun."

"_Ai, ai, ai!_" screeched Lampaxo, who had released Lars's fingers only to resume her din, "we all perish. They are hewing the hatch-cover with their axes. Hera preserve us! The wood splinters. We die."

"We have no time to die," called the athlete, "but only to save h.e.l.las."

A dozen blows beat the frail hatch-cover to splinters. A dark face with grinning teeth showed itself. A heavy ballast stone grazed the athlete's shoulder, but the intruder fell back with a gurgling in his throat, his hands clutching the empty air. Glaucon had sent a heavy spear clean through him.

More ballast stones, but the t.i.tanic Alcmaeonid had torn a mattress from a bunk, and held it as effective s.h.i.+eld. By main force the others dragged the chest across to the hatchway, making the entrance doubly narrow.

Vainly Hasdrubal stormed at his men to rush down boldly. They barely dared to fling stones and darts, so fast their adversary sped them back, and to the mark.

"A G.o.d! a G.o.d! We fight against Heaven!" bleated the seamen.

Their groans were answered by the screechings of Lampaxo through the port-hole and the taunts of Phormio.

"Sing, sing, pretty Pisinoe, sweetest of the sirens," tossed the fishmonger, playing his part at Glaucon's side; "lure that dear penteconter a little nearer. And you, brave, gentle sirs, don't try 'to flay a skinned dog' by thrusting down here. Your hands are just itching for the nails, I warrant!"

Hasdrubal redoubled his vows to Moloch. In place of his daughter he subst.i.tuted his son, though the lad was fourteen years old and the darling of his parents. But the G.o.d was not tempted even now. The attack on the cabin had called the sailors from the oars. The penteconter consequently had gained fast upon them. The trireme behind was manning her other banks and drawing down apace. Hiram cast a hopeless glance toward her.

"I know those 'eyes'-those red hawse-holes-the _Nausicaa_. Come what may, Themistocles must not read the packet in the cabin. There is one chance."

He approached the splintered hatchway and outstretched his hands-weaponless.

"Ah, good and gracious Master Glaucon, and your honest friends, your G.o.ds of h.e.l.las are very great and have delivered us, your poor slaves, into your hands. Your friends approach. We will resist no longer. Come on deck; and when the s.h.i.+p is taken, entreat the navarch to be merciful and generous."

"Bah!" spat Phormio, "you write your promises in water, or better in oil, black-scaled viper. We know what time of day it is with us, and what for you."

Hiram saw Glaucon's hand rise with a javelin, and shrank s.h.i.+vering.

"They won't hearken. All's lost," he whimpered, his smile becoming ghastly.

"Another rush, men!" pleaded Hasdrubal.

"Lead the charge yourself, master!" retorted the seamen, sullenly.

The captain, swinging a cutla.s.s, leaped down the bloodstained hatch. One moment the desperate fury of his attack carried Glaucon backward. The two fought-sword against axe-in doubtful combat.

"Follow! follow!" called Hasdrubal, das.h.i.+ng Phormio aside with the flat of his blade. "I have him at last!" But just as Hiram was leading down a dozen more, the athlete's axe swept past the sword, and fell like a millstone on the master's skull. He never screamed as he crashed upon the planks.

This was enough. The seamen were at the end of their valour. If they must die, they must die. What use resisting destiny?