Xerxes stared at the darkened pass, exhausted but unable to sleep. Two days. Two days of death and defeat. He had thought for sure the Spartans would be too tired to fight
well today, that his fresh troops would take advantage of that and find victory quickly.
He dared not consider how many of his men were dead tonight because of that misjudgment.
“Master, you will want to hear this.”
He spun to see Mardonius with a stranger dressed in Greek attire. “Will I? Does he have some secret to defeating these cursed Lacedaemonians?”
The man stepped forward with a bow. “I am Ephialtes, master, and I have exactly that. This area is known well to us Malians—there is another way through the mountains,
around the pass. I could show it to your men, and they could sneak up behind the Spartans. It is a more open space, and you could surround them easily.”
Xerxes sat down for the first time in hours and stared at the man. Could he not have offered this two days ago? “Our numbers would have their natural advantage.”
Mardonius smiled. “Exactly. Tomorrow could see a far different battle.”
He surged to his feet again. “Have Hydarnes lead the Immortals where this Malian shows them, tonight.” He spun to Zethar. “Everyone who remains behind must pray. I want
each and every idle person beseeching Ahura Mazda for victory.”
Ephialtes inclined his head. “You ought to plan for the frontal attack to launch tomorrow no later than mid-morning—all will be in position, and you can strike them from
both sides.”
Yes. “You will be well rewarded for this information if it leads to victory.”
“It will.” The Malian bowed. “I will guide your men myself.”
He nodded and dismissed them.
This time tomorrow he would be celebrating. He knew it in his soul.
*
The Greeks fought with nails and teeth after their spears were broken and their swords fallen into the sea. Kasia watched from her hiding place, ignoring the continual
prodding of her servants to return to her tent. She had spent the entire second day of the battle in there, trying to look as though she were not praying.
Now she felt the prayers of her people covering the pass. Peace had settled over her with the first breath of dawn, and she swore she had seen streaks of light brighter than
the sun. Given that all had been commanded to pray, she had taken to her knees in the first hours of the morning. But when the battle began, her feet propelled her outside
again.
From the start, it was different. Today the Spartans came farther down the mountain, into a wider area where the fighting was fiercer than ever before. Her husband’s men
were driven forward with whips, stragglers trampled.
Four times the Greeks managed to push back the Persians, but then the Immortals came in from behind. Surely the Spartans knew they were finished—yet the knowing only
increased their fervor.
A hail of missiles blotted out her vision of the Greeks, but occasionally she caught glimpses of them, fighting even with spears in their chests. And then, hours after the
enemies first stormed together, came the silent knell of death.
A soldier sprinted to Xerxes’ throne. Kasia peeked between the leaves of her hiding spot to see him kneel before her husband. “Victory is ours, my lord.”
“How many of our men died today?”
“We have not counted. But my lord . . . two of your brothers fell. Abrocomes and Hyperanthes.”
Xerxes cursed, and Kasia nearly abandoned her position to go comfort him. But no, she must wait. He would not appreciate his men seeing a woman embrace him in his grief. He
would want them to see him do just what he did—stand up, square his shoulders, and lift his chin.
“They died with honor and will be memorialized as heroes.”
“Yes, master.”
When her husband was distracted, she dashed away from the hill, back to her tent. Perhaps Xerxes was right, that she should not have filled her mind with such terrible
images. So why did she not regret it?
She settled on her prayer rug and focused her gaze on the pattern without seeing it. Had her people fought so bravely when Babylon surrounded them? Probably not. At that
point, they would have been fighting only for their lives, not for their beliefs. But as always, Jehovah had preserved a remnant.
As part of that remnant, she now knew what one should look like when battling the enemy of one’s soul. The Spartans served their law, battled to the death for the right to
live free. Even in loss, they won. Would her husband recognize that? Would he grant them the honorable memory they deserved?
Would he grant her the right to live for Jehovah, or would she spend the rest of her life afraid to kneel in prayer lest her husband rebuke her?