We soon came to a tent along the shore deep within the lines of the enemy.  It was a sharp affair formed of marine canvas, square and stiffly supported by several long poles and taut lines radiating to all sides.  Guards surrounded it, their short javelins planted firmly in the earth, their demeanor crisply professional.  I was led to the entrance, where Cyrus bade me sit. 

 

"We will wait here," he said, "for the arrival of your fellow Greek, Demartus, the Spartan.  I feel sure he will be delighted to see you."

 

We sat in silence for a while, Cyrus gazing off into the swiftly falling darkness of the ocean.

 

"Do your people like the sea, Athenian?" he murmured finally.

 

"I am a marine," I answered.  "But yes, we are a seagoing folk."

 

"And your gods, do you fear them?"

 

I hesitated, feeling for a moment a surge of homesickness, remembering both the excitement of the Panathenaic procession in the city and the humble prayers offered to Hestia around the hearth of our home.  I gulped.

 

"Some we fear, others we love," I replied.  "But we carry all in our hearts.  I know Athena will protect me, as she looks after all of us."

 

"Well," he said, "if there are more of your like, I will be hard-pressed to get back to my home before year's end."

 

"There are more like me," I replied simply.

 

He merely grinned.  "So be it."