Eëtíon, Dryas, Theria, Nikander heard groan as if the earth, old Gê herself, had spoken. A little bird singing in the laurel bush near by stopped its song and leaped aloft with frightened cries. Then like a wave on the sea-beach the temple platform beneath their feet pitched forward. They saw the wave motion run onward upon the earth, down the glen, and to the farther hillside where the forests received it shivering. The Delphian group on the platform stumbled wildly forward. Old Akeretos fell flat before his altar. The altar itself shook and the Great Temple rocked as if about to begin an elephantine dance. The earth movement was distinct, outward from Parnassos toward the valley. Theria, looking up at Phaidriades, saw the cliffs nodding solemnly to each other as if to say: “Ay—so be it.” Then huge rocks flew hurtling from their summits high overhead and down upon the road, down crashing upon the moving Persian host! There was a great and bitter cry, death, terror, confusion. The Persian army fled this way and that. Forward toward the village—downward into the Forethought Precinct where the avenging rocks of Delphi followed them. Everywhere the mountains sent up clouds and clouds of dust. In the distance upon the distant armies poured down avalanches of earth and rolling stones and dust—more dust! Of the little group on the temple platform Dryas was the first to get upon his feet. “Hail, Paian; Alala, Alala!” He shouted the old Dorian war cry and, waiting not for Eëtíon nor his father, charged down the Sacred Way. His spear was forward-ready; his shield weightless upon his arm. His hair streamed from his helmet upon the wind. He was light-footed as a god. So might Achilles have swept into battle after his days of wrath. Eëtíon and Nikander, with a score of temple guards, leaped after him. The great gates had already been flung open by the earth’s motion. * * * * * “Ai, Ai! look up! Look up. Behold our avenging god!” It was old Akeretos shouting in a frenzy which Theria had to obey. Her upward glance caught the bronze votive chariot of Gelon just as it toppled from its lofty eyrie in the cliffside. Down it came! Chariot, horses, victor and charioteer, banging on jutting rock and crag with grand clangour, a divine and shattering noise. “And there happened to the Persians yet greater portents,” says the historian. “Two men in full armour and of stature more than human followed them slaying and pursuing.” Meanwhile Dryas in the midst of battle knew only that he was struggling amid a sea of men. Persian warriors, who in spite of their terror of the supernatural happenings, fought the pursuing Delphians desperately and tried thus to preserve their fleeing hordes. Dryas dealt blow after blow, stroke after stroke. Better yet, he received wounds uncaring, and with every wound, every stroke, the gods gave him manhood and courage.