Clearchus and Leonidas rode out of Attica across the olive-bearing plains, and up the rugged spurs and ridges which flank the mountain of Cithæron, upon whose rocky slopes Antiope wailed as an infant, and the rash Pentheus was torn to pieces by women to the end that the power of Dionysius might be established. They halted for a brief space at the fortress of Phyle, the key that had opened to Thrasybulus his native land and enabled him to give it freedom. Leonidas admired the great walls built of square blocks of stone laid one upon another without mortar and fitted so exactly that the joints would scarcely be seen.
Teleon, captain of the guard which was stationed at this gateway, was a friend of Clearchus. He gave them bread and wine, while the young Athenian told him of his misfortune. After expressing his sympathy, Teleon inquired eagerly for the news of Athens.
"Will the Assembly send troops to the aid of Phœnix and Prothytes, who have raised the revolt in Thebes?" he asked. "You know they now hold the city, and my spies tell me that they are preparing for any attack that may be made upon them."
Clearchus gave him an account of the indecisive meeting of the Assembly on the preceding day.
"All Athens believes the boy king is dead," he said, referring to Alexander. "What is your opinion, Teleon?"
"That, too, is the belief in Thebes," the captain replied. "I know not; but if it proves to be so, Thebes is free."
"And if not?" Clearchus asked.
"If not, there will be fighting," Teleon predicted, "and may Zeus inspire the Macedonian to attack us here!"
From the slope beyond Phyle the young man saw the Bœotian plain spread out before them, and beyond, in the purple distance, the rocky ramparts of Phocis. There, glowing rose-colored in the evening light, shone the snow-clad crest of Parnassus. Clearchus' heart swelled as he looked upon the goal in which his hope was centred.
"We must be there to-morrow," he said eagerly.
"The God will not run away!" Leonidas replied.
They plunged down the mountain slope into the shadows, which deepened under the plane trees as they advanced, until the winding track was almost hidden before them. The moon rose as they emerged upon the plain that had so often drunk the life-blood of Hellas. At Thespiæ their horses could go no further, and they halted for the night.
Although the road from Thebes was better, they had purposely avoided the city, fearing that the disturbances there might delay them. They found Thespiæ full of rumors of the Theban uprising. Some said that the Macedonians in the Cadmea had been put to the sword; others that the peace party had gained the upper hand and was awaiting the arrival of Alexander. Leonidas, who listened eagerly to all that was said, was surprised to find that the report of the young king's death was discredited in the town. There were even men who insisted that he was on his way through Thessaly at the head of his army, ready to strike.
The Spartan sighed and looked wistfully over his shoulder in the direction of Thebes as they took horse at sunrise. At evening, begrimed with dust, they toiled up the last ascent that led to Delphi, the terraced city among the sacred cliffs—the Navel of the World.
As Clearchus gazed upward at the twin columns of the Phædriades rising side by side a thousand feet above the temple in the cool gray twilight, the fever of anxiety in his blood left him and his pulses beat more slowly. The strong masonry of the outer wall, which enclosed and seemed to hold from slipping down the mountain side the buildings clustered about the lofty terrace, on which the temple stood close under the towering cliffs, shut in the shrine that for centuries all Hellas had looked upon as hallowed. Awe came upon him in the presence of the great Mystery. There were scoffers in Athens who laughed at all religion. There were philosophers in the world who taught that the existence of the Gods was a foolish dream. Why had Phœbus permitted the Phocians to seize his treasure and to profane his altar, they asked, if he really existed?
Clearchus put the same question to himself as he looked down upon the Cirrhæan fields that had been consecrated to the God and condemned to lie waste forever in his honor. The Phocians had desecrated them by cultivation. When condemned by the Amphictyons at the instance of their enemies, the Thebans, they had seized the shrine and the treasure-houses. Though they had prospered for a time, in the end Philomelus and Onomarchus had been slain and the Phocians broken and scattered. The sacrilege had been punished, but Philip had been brought into Hellas as the champion of the God and the chief instrument of his wrath. Thebes had been placed beneath his feet.
What was to be the end? Was the fate of the city that had driven the Phocians to their crime to be worse than that of their victims? Clearchus, as he thought of these things, was chilled with an indefinable dread of the Invisible Presence whose home was among the silent and Titanic crags that made the utmost triumphs of human art and skill laid at their feet seem as transitory as the work of children fashioned in sand. He felt that here the mighty purpose of the Unseen was being worked out, deliberate and irresistible, before which the races of men were as nothing.
They did not enter the city that night, but turned aside to the house of Eresthenes, who had been a guest-friend of Clearchus' father. The old man was overjoyed to see them. After the evening meal he sought the priests of the temple and brought back word that the oracle might be consulted next day if the sacrifice proved propitious.
Clearchus slept soundly. In the morning he purified himself, according to the rule, in the clear, cold waters of the Castalian Font hung about with votive offerings in marble and bronze placed there by grateful pilgrims to the shrine. Eresthenes gave him fresh garments, with the garland of olive and the fillet of wool which suppliants were required to put on.
Guided by the old man, the two friends ascended the wide marble staircase that led to the great stone platform at the southeast corner of the lower terrace, where ceremonial processions were accustomed to form before entering the sacred enclosure. Passing through the gate, they advanced between treasure-houses upon which the most famous sculptors of the world had lavished their skill. Among these and the dwellings of the priests and the chief men of the place were set scores of columns and statues, the offerings of centuries from kings and princes. Across the lower terrace the way led them to the next higher, with a sharp turn to the right at the great stone sphinx which guarded the passage through the second wall. They continued up the slope to the final platform, on which the temple stood resplendent with color.
Entering between the great columns, Eresthenes and Leonidas left Clearchus to the care of the priests—grave men of advanced age who were under the direction of Agias. They led the Athenian to the apartment of the chief priest, a venerable minister whose age had passed one hundred years. He sat in his marble arm-chair, propped by cushions. His white beard flowed over his breast, and his thin hands lay crossed in his lap. He raised his dim eyes and fixed them upon the face of his visitor.
"What wilt thou, Thrasybulus, who comest back to me from beyond the tomb?" he asked in a quavering voice.
The attendant priests glanced at each other in surprise, but none of them dared to reply.
"Speak, Thrasybulus; I am an old man," the chief priest said.
"Thrasybulus has been dead these fifty years, Father," Agias said. "This is Clearchus, an Athenian, who comes as a suppliant to the oracle."
"He is like Thrasybulus!" the old man muttered, bowing his head. "It seems but yesterday that he stood before me." He paused for a moment and then continued with an effort: "Art thou pure of heart? Art thou free from the sins of the flesh?"
"I am," Clearchus replied firmly.
"Then pass into the presence of the God who knoweth all and who doth not forget!" said the patriarch, closing his eyes wearily.
Clearchus bowed and was about to turn away, when the old man roused himself once more.
"Come hither, boy, and let me look at thee!" he said. "My sight is growing dim."
Clearchus knelt at his feet, and the aged priest placed his hand on his head, stroking his hair and peering into his face.
"So like Thrasybulus! It was only yesterday!" he said to himself. "The storm comes and the world is changing. Thou shalt see thrones made empty and nations perish; but the God will remain until a greater cometh. Clearchus art thou called? It may be so; but to me thou art Thrasybulus. Go thy ways. The God will be kind to thee."
Although the other priests were evidently struck by this unusual scene, they made no comment, but led Clearchus into the dim interior of the temple. On every hand, between the columns and against the walls, gleamed statues and vessels of precious metals, exquisite in design and workmanship, that the Phocians had not dared to remove from the house itself of the God. Before them stood a group of young women in snowy robes with fillets in their hair. They were chanting a hymn of slow and solemn measure.
They ceased their chant as the priests entered with Clearchus, and two of them advanced, leading between them one of the three priestesses of the temple. The Pythia was a woman of middle age, slender of figure, with large gray eyes that seemed to look at Clearchus without seeing him. Her thin cheeks still retained the fresh color of youth, and her lips, of a deep red, moved gently as though she were whispering to herself.
Looking about him with eyes grown accustomed to the semidarkness, Clearchus saw a slightly raised platform of white marble toward the rear of the temple. Three shallow steps led to a broad slab, in the middle of which was a cleft. Through this orifice curled a pale, fleeting vapor, which rose like transparent smoke for the height of a man above the platform before it vanished. It came from the stone in puffs and spirals which swayed, now this way, now that, with a peculiarly irregular and capricious impulse like the balancing of a coiled serpent.
Over the cleft was set a low tripod, the legs of which were formed of intertwined snakes wrought in gold so cunningly that every scale seemed reproduced in the bright metal. The jewelled eyes of the reptiles twinkled through the vapor which alternately hid and revealed them.
Slowly and solemnly the priestesses led the Pythia to the foot of the platform, where they gave her hands to two of the most venerable of the priests, whose office it was to conduct her to the tripod. Her lips formed themselves into a smile as she mounted the steps and the women resumed their chanting.
As she took her place upon the tripod and the priests descended, leaving her alone, a sudden thunderstorm burst above the towering crags which overhung the shrine. The wind roared down between the Phædriades with mighty strength, and a crash of thunder, leaping and reverberating from rock to cliff, shook the temple to its foundations.
"Zeus is speaking to the son of Latona!" murmured Agias, and all bowed their heads in reverence.
Filled as he was with awe, Clearchus felt reassured by the calm demeanor of the priests. He fixed his eyes on the Pythia, who remained seated on the tripod with her hands loosely folded in her lap, oblivious alike to the storm and to her surroundings. The chill vapor seemed to grow more dense. At times it hid her entirely, wrapping her in its cold embrace. The color deepened in her cheeks and the smile left her parted lips. With dilated pupils she gazed over the heads of the little group before her. Gradually her face assumed a troubled expression and her tongue began to frame broken words and fragmentary sentences the purport of which Clearchus could not understand. Suddenly she half raised her hands as though she would cover her eyes and her face contracted as with a spasm of pain.
"Evohe! Phœbus!" she cried in a wailing voice.
"Ask thy question—the God is here!" Agias whispered, pushing Clearchus toward the platform.
The young man found himself standing alone in the dread Presence, gazing upon the Pythia, who was no longer a woman, but an instrument in the hands of the God. The vapor curled about her and encircled her in swiftly changing, fantastic forms. Her gray eyes looked out into his, fixed and steadfast, and the tension of the influence which possessed her convulsed her features. Dead silence reigned throughout the vast and shadowy interior of the temple.
Clearchus tried to frame the question that he had prepared but the words refused to come. The awe of his surroundings paralyzed his speech.
Suddenly the dear, wistful face of his love seemed to appear to him amid the folds of the rolling mist, filled with sorrow and yearning. His fear left him. All else, even life itself, was as nothing before the fierce desire of his heart.
"Where shall I find Artemisia?" he cried, stretching out his arms before the whirling cloud which hid the priestess in its embrace.
There was a moment of suspense, in which he could hear the dull rushing of the torrent that filled the sluices, overflowing with the rain, on either side of the temple. The priests leaned forward attentively to catch the reply, each holding a tablet of wax and a stylus with which to record any words that the Pythia might utter. Clearchus stood motionless, his arms still outstretched, gazing with straining eyes upon the lips of the priestess. She writhed upon the tripod as though in agony. Her eyes were set and glassy and a slight foam showed itself upon her mouth. Then came her voice, strained and strange, through the eddies of the vapor:—
"Seek in the track of the Whirlwind—there shalt thou find thy Beloved!"
Her eyes closed, and a shuddering sigh issued from her bosom. The two priests who had placed her upon the tripod hastened forward and bore her from the platform. She had lost consciousness completely. Her head drooped upon her shoulder and her face was as pale as death. The old men gave her in charge of the women, who ran forward to receive her and quickly carried her into their own apartments.
A great joy filled Clearchus. "She is safe! She is safe! And I shall find her!" he said to himself, following the silent priests out of the temple. As they passed out into the portico he looked back over his shoulder at the platform where the God had manifested himself. The swift storm had swept over and the sun was shining again. A gleam of his light fell upon the curling mist and Clearchus saw it tinged with the prismatic colors of the rainbow.
Leonidas and Eresthenes stood in the portico of the temple awaiting the return of Clearchus.
"All is well!" the young man cried, throwing his arms around Leonidas in the excess of his joy.
"Shall we find her?" the Spartan asked anxiously.
"Yes; the God has promised it," Clearchus replied.
"Where is she?" Leonidas asked quickly.
Clearchus hesitated and his face fell. The oracle had not told him where she was.
"What did the God mean when he spoke of the Whirlwind's track?" he asked, turning to the priests.
"We know no more than thou," Agias replied. "The answer given to thee is more definite than any we have had in these later times. That is a good omen. Be content and doubtless the God will choose his own way to make all clear to thee."
Clearchus was troubled, but he thanked the priests and arranged for the bestowal of an offering of ten talents of gold. He was about to take his leave when a man with mud-stained garments came running up the steep incline to the temple. He was one of the agents or messengers that the priests maintained in every large city of Greece to keep them informed of events. The knowledge which they brought, added to that which came with visitors to the oracle from all parts of the world, made Delphi the centre of intelligence and enabled the servants of the God, if need there was, to supplement his answers from their own understanding.
The man halted breathless before the white-clad group that stood in the sunlight between the columns awaiting him.
"It is Cimon," Agias said. "What news dost thou bring—speak!"
"Alexander is before the walls of Thebes with his army!" the messenger panted.
"Whence came he?" Agias demanded.
"Out of the mountains of Thessaly—like a whirlwind!" Cimon replied. "Before men had time to learn of his approach, he was there."
"Like a whirlwind, you say?" Agias repeated, glancing at Clearchus.
"Like a whirlwind, indeed," the messenger replied, "and panic holds the city!"
"Thy question is answered, my son," said Agias, quietly.
Clearchus was amazed. He had believed that the words of the Pythia were to be taken in their literal sense, and he had resolved to consult Aristotle in the matter on his return to Athens. But when Agias called his attention to the reply of the messenger, who could have had no knowledge of the prophecy, he could not doubt that a metaphor had been intended. The plans of the young Macedonian monarch at once acquired a new and intense interest in his mind and he listened eagerly to Cimon's story.
"The Thebans are divided," said the messenger. "They know not whether to surrender their city and earn their pardon, or to give defiance to the young king. The last they had heard of him was that he had been slain in battle at Pelium by the blow of a club. You know already that the citizens rose when Phœnix and Prothytes came back from Athens and that they besieged the Macedonian garrison in the Cadmea. Athens sent money and promised an army. The Bœotarchs ordered the walls to be made strong and a barricade to be built inside so that even if the walls should fall, they would still be able to defend themselves. Fugitives from Onchestris brought the first news that Alexander and his army were there. Even then the city would not believe it was the Hegemon himself, but maintained that it must be Antipater or the Lyncestian namesake of the king. For how, they asked, could the dead come to life?"
"Nothing is beyond the power of the Gods," Agias said sententiously.
"We expected a swift attack," Cimon continued, "but it was not until the next day that the army came within sight of the city and encamped north of the walls. The Thebans sent their cavalry and light troops to meet them. This was only a skirmish, but the soldiers brought word that Alexander, indeed, was there. Some of them who knew him had seen him directing the Macedonian troops.
"We found this to be true when the Macedonians moved their camp around to the main gate. The soldiers of the garrison in the Cadmea recognized their king and cried out to us that Alexander had come to avenge them. Still he did not attack, but sent a herald to say that he would forgive all that had been done if the city would yield itself and send him Phœnix and Prothytes to be punished."
"And what was the answer?" Agias asked.
"There were many who favored accepting the terms," Cimon replied, "especially since aid from Athens had been cut off; but the exiles who had returned to raise the revolt declared that the king was afraid. Should he have the boldness to attack the walls, they promised that he would be beaten and that Thebes would send a garrison to Pella instead of having one in the Cadmea."
"They are desperate men," the old priest said.
"But they won the people," Cimon replied, "and it was resolved to fight. So matters stood when I slipped out of the northern gate last night to bring you word."
"You have done well, Cimon," Agias said. "Dost thou think the city will escape?"
"That I cannot tell," the messenger answered. "It has corn enough for a siege; but Alexander's army contains thirty thousand footmen and a troop of horse, besides ballistæ and battering-rams which they were setting up when I left."
"The walls are strong," Agias said, reflecting. "Well, go to thy rest. Thou hast need of it."
Clearchus and his friends had enough to talk about as they walked down from the temple.
"One thing is certain," said the young Athenian. "We must go at once to Thebes."
"That we must do if only to see the fighting," Leonidas replied.
"What if the Dragon's Teeth should win?" Eresthenes suggested.
"They cannot," Leonidas said. "The man who could make the march that Alexander made is a general as well as a king. There is no Epaminondas in Thebes now."
"What will become of Chares' mother and his family if the city falls?" Clearchus exclaimed, stopping short.
"Have I not heard him say that his father formed a guest-friendship with Philip when the Macedonian was left in Thebes as a hostage?" Leonidas replied.
"Yes," Clearchus admitted, "but that may be forgotten by his son if all they say concerning Philip's death be true."
"Then we must remind him," Leonidas said, "and that is another reason why we must go to Thebes."
Eresthenes gave the young men a cordial good-speed when they left him in the morning to set out for the beleaguered city. They descended from the mountains and entered the fertile plains of Bœotia, through which they rode all day without finding a sign of war. The farmers went about their work and the shepherds were pasturing their flocks as peacefully as though there were no such things as armies and slaughter. More than once they stopped to ask news of the siege, but the people of the plain could tell them nothing. Many of them had not heard that Alexander was before the city; others had indeed heard the rumor, but convinced that they themselves were safe, they took no interest in it.
Evening was drawing on and they had approached to within a few miles of the city when they met a rider whose horse was dripping with sweat.
"Ho, there; what news of Thebes?" Leonidas shouted as he passed.
The man looked at them, but made no answer. He bent low on the neck of his horse and his cloak flew out behind him like the wings of a huge bird.
"There has been a battle," Leonidas said. "Was he Theban or Macedonian?"
Burning with impatience, they urged their horses to the crest of a low hill, where they came suddenly upon half a dozen cavalrymen, who had halted in a small grove to bind up a wound which one of their number had received in the shoulder.
"What has happened?" Leonidas asked, drawing rein beside them.
"Know you not that the city has fallen?" one of the soldiers replied. "The accursed Macedonians forced us in through the gates and came in with us. Not a soul is left alive in Thebes, and my wife and children were there!"
"And that is where you should be," the Spartan replied contemptuously.
The poor fellow burst into tears at this reproach as he thought of the fate of his little family. Clearchus, touched by his grief, drew out his purse and gave it to him.
"If they are still living, this may aid you to ransom them," he said.
As the two friends proceeded they now began to meet other bands of fugitives straggling along the road. Most of them fled silently, often looking back over their shoulders as if in dread of pursuit.
"Cowards!" said Leonidas, scornfully.
"Life is sweet to all of us," Clearchus remonstrated, thinking of Artemisia.
"To such as these it should be bitter!" the Spartan replied.
They were rounding a turn in the road as he spoke, and before the words were well out of his mouth they found themselves entangled in a rabble of horsemen, who were retreating before a fierce attack.
"In here, quickly!" Leonidas cried, urging his horse back among the trees beside the road.
They had barely time to gain this shelter before the rush of plunging horses and shouting men went past them. The Thebans were evidently making a desperate attempt to rally, and just beyond the spot where the two were concealed they halted, wheeled, and stood at bay.
But before they had accomplished this manœuvre the foremost of the pursuers, headed by a young man riding a powerful chestnut horse, swept into sight. The leader, in his excitement, had distanced his troop. Clearchus and Leonidas, who, from their position in the elbow of the road, were able to see in both directions, realized that he was galloping straight into an ambush. Leonidas started forward to warn him, but it was too late. The Thebans had regained their order, and with a wild shout they charged back around the curve.
Either the unexpectedness of the onset caused the chestnut to swerve, or his rider tried to pull him up too suddenly, for he stumbled and went to his knees. The young man was pitched headforemost into the underbrush and fell almost at the feet of Leonidas.
Some of the Theban troopers saw the accident and rushed upon him with cries of triumph. They were confronted by Leonidas and Clearchus, who stood over the prostrate figure with drawn swords. Surprise caused the Thebans to hesitate, and this saved the lives of all three; for the Macedonian riders, thundering down upon the Thebans at full speed, struck them and tore them to pieces. Horse and man went down before that fierce charge, which left nothing behind excepting the dead and a handful of wounded, whose cries for mercy were cut short by a sword-thrust. The survivors fled without looking behind them.
"Where is Ptolemy?" shouted one of the Macedonians, a bearded man who seemed to be second in command. "Who has seen the captain?"
"He rode in advance," one of the troopers replied.
"If we do not bring him back, we shall have to answer for it to the king, and you know what that means," the first man said.
"He is here!" Clearchus called from the thicket.
The bearded lieutenant and several others hastily dismounted and carried their captain out into the road. He was still unconscious.
"Who are you?" the lieutenant demanded gruffly, looking at the two young men with suspicion.
"I am Clearchus of Athens, and this is Leonidas of Sparta," Clearchus replied.
"Of Athens!" the man said sneeringly. "Go back to your city and tell the cowards who live there that we are coming!"
"As you came once before—with Xerxes!" the young Athenian answered quickly.
The lieutenant's face grew livid and he whipped out his sword.
"Cut their throats! Kill them!" the troopers cried angrily, pressing closer.
Like a flash, Leonidas bestrode the form of the captain, sword in hand.
"I am of Sparta!" he cried boastfully. "My country never saw the face of Philip, nor shall it look upon that of his son, who calls himself the Hegemon of all Hellas. Put away your swords, or here is one whose funeral you will celebrate to-morrow!"
He placed the point of his blade at the captain's throat as he spoke. The men of Macedon dared not move.
"Listen to reason!" Clearchus said hastily. "We are without armor, as you see. We saved the life of your captain, and we are on our way to Thebes to see Alexander on matters of importance. Take us with you and let your king deal with us. This is no time nor place for brawling."
"You are right," the lieutenant said sullenly. "Let it be as you say."
He sheathed his sword, and the others followed his example, though with an ill grace. The captain had begun to recover his senses. His skull must have been tough to have resisted the shock of his fall without cracking.
"Why are you letting me lie here?" he demanded. "Where is the enemy?"
"Scattered and gone, excepting these that you see," the lieutenant replied, pointing to the bodies.
"Then get me on a horse and back to camp," the captain ordered.
As they rode the lieutenant explained the presence of Clearchus and Leonidas. The captain frankly gave them thanks when he learned that they had protected him while he lay helpless.
"I am Ptolemy," he said, "and since you desire to see Alexander, I will take you to him. I owe you much and the day may come when I shall be able to repay you."
The plain where once the sons of Niobe lay weltering had borne its last harvest of slaughter. On every side Leonidas and Clearchus noted the ghastly evidences of battle. Darkness fell before Ptolemy's troop reached the shattered gates of Thebes. Men with torches in their hands wandered through the streets strewn with corpses, seeking plunder among the dead or searching for the bodies of friends. Neither sex nor age had been spared when Perdiccas hewed his way into the city. The very altars of the Gods were crimsoned with the vengeance taken by the Phocians, the Platæans, and the Bœotians for the centuries of cruel oppression that they had suffered from the rapacious brood of the Dragon.
Mothers lay dabbled in blood, with their infants beside them, struck down in flight. The market-place was heaped with bodies, showing how desperate had been the final stand of the Theban soldiers. The streets were littered with household gear that had been dragged in wantonness from despoiled homes.
The plundering was not yet finished. Bands of soldiers were still searching for booty in the remoter quarters of the city, where their progress could be traced by the sound of their drunken laughter, mingled with the screams of their victims.
Macedonian guards paced the walls and cut off all hope of escape. The wretched inhabitants, driven into the highways, sought concealment in dark angles and narrow lanes, cowering in silence.
Here and there a woman, rendered desperate by her anguish, walked with dishevelled hair, heedless of insult, seeking her children among the slain in the hope that she might find them still alive.
Clearchus felt his heart grow faint at the thought that Artemisia might be exposed to the frightful chances of such a sack. Phœbus himself, he thought, might be unable to protect her, since here the temples of the Gods had been profaned. An old man in priestly robes stood out before them with trembling hands upraised.
"Vengeance, O Zeus!" he cried aloud. "Vengeance upon those who have violated the sanctuary of Dionysus, thy son! May they—"
"Silence, Graybeard!" growled a soldier, striking him across the mouth with his fist.
The old man reeled from the blow and shrank away into the shadow.
"You'll choke if you ever try to drink wine again, Glaucis!" a comrade cried, laughing.
"Dionysus will forgive me soon enough for a sacrifice," Glaucis returned. "Never fear!"
Ptolemy learned that Alexander had gone to the Cadmea and thither he led Clearchus and Leonidas after he had dismissed his men, eager to take their share in the pillage. They found the young king in a large, bare room in the lower part of the citadel. He had not yet laid aside his armor, which was dented and scratched by use.
When they entered, he was giving orders to his captains, who stood grouped about him. Clearchus looked at him with eager interest. He saw a well-proportioned, athletic figure, no taller than his own. The handsome beardless face glowed with the warm blood of youth and a smile parted the full red lips. There was no trace of fatigue in the young king's attitude, despite the labors of the day, and his movements were alert and decisive. He looked even more youthful than his twenty-one years as he stood among his leaders, some of whom were veterans of Philip's campaigns, grizzled with service. But in spite of his youth, there was a confidence in his bearing that left no doubt of who was master.
Clearchus felt himself strangely drawn to the young man whom all Hellas, with the exception of Sparta, acknowledged as its champion, and who was about to assail that great power beyond the Hellespont, whose limits were unknown and before whom Greece had stood in dread since the days of Great Cyrus. The Athenian found the "boy king" very different from the arrogant, mean-spirited upstart that the orators of his city had painted him.
"Stop the plundering," Alexander said to his captains. "Even the Bœotians must be satisfied by this time. Let the men go back to the camp, and see that order is maintained. The Ætolians and the Elæans are on the march and reënforcements are coming from Athens. There may be more work to do to-morrow."
As the officers left him to execute his commands, Alexander turned to Ptolemy with hands outstretched.
"I am glad to see you safe!" he said. "You charged bravely before the gate, and I feared that something might have happened that would deprive me of your aid when we march into Persia."
Ptolemy's bronzed face reddened with pleasure as he heard the praise of the young king.
"I went in pursuit of the enemy's cavalry," he said.
"Is it likely that any of those who escaped will be able to rally?" Alexander asked.
"They are scattered in every direction and think only of flight," Ptolemy replied.
"That is well," Alexander said. "We shall be the better able to deal with the others when they come. Who are these that you have brought to me?"
He turned toward the two young men, who had been standing at a little distance, and looked them frankly in the eyes.
"This is Clearchus, an Athenian, and this, Leonidas of Sparta," Ptolemy replied, presenting them in turn.
Alexander's face clouded at the names of the two most powerful of the states that opposed him in Greece, and Ptolemy hastened to add: "They saved my life when my horse stumbled in the pursuit, and they have a request to make of you."
"You have done me a great service," Alexander said kindly. "What is it that you desire?"
"We ask clemency for the family of Jason, on behalf of Chares, his son, whom we left behind in Athens," Clearchus replied.
"And why is he not in Thebes?" Alexander asked quickly.
"Because he did not know that you were coming," Clearchus said. "Had he been aware of the danger, he would not have been absent. We heard of your arrival while we were in Delphi, and we made all haste to remind you that Jason was a guest-friend of your father, Philip."
"Orders have been given that the guest-friends of Macedon shall be spared, both in their lives and their property," Alexander replied. "What did you in Delphi?"
Clearchus told him briefly how Artemisia had been stolen and of the response of the oracle.
"Love must be a strong passion," the young king said thoughtfully.
"I would give all that I possess to recover Artemisia," Clearchus replied. "Nor would I be willing to exchange my hope of finding her for the wisdom of Aristotle or even for the hopes of Alexander."
"So you know Aristotle," Alexander said. "He is a wonderful man. Were I not Alexander, I would envy him." He looked curiously at Clearchus as he spoke, as though he were considering something that he did not understand. "So that is what they call love," he continued, "and I and my army are the Whirlwind of which the God spoke." He beckoned to an attendant. "Call Aristander!" he said.
He made Clearchus repeat his story to the famous soothsayer. Aristander listened attentively, stroking his chin with the tips of his fingers as his custom was.
"What do you think of it?" Alexander asked, when Clearchus had finished. Everybody knew the confidence that he placed in the words of the prophet and that he never took an important step against his advice.
"Full credit must be given to the oracle," Aristander said, turning his blue eyes upon the young king, "and I think that the priests of the temple were right in their interpretation, since the message brought and the title given could have had no other meaning. As the maid was carried away by sea, she was probably taken to some island or to one of the cities on the coast of Asia. The Whirlwind's track must needs lead thither, and since the maid is to be set free, it is clear that the Whirlwind shall prevail."
"Then the oracle is propitious!" Alexander exclaimed. "What is your plan?" he added to Clearchus.
"I shall obey the oracle and follow in thy track," the Athenian replied. "If thou wilt permit me, I myself will become a part of the Whirlwind."
Alexander looked at him with the unquenchable fire of enthusiasm in his eyes.
"Thou art welcome!" he said. "And you, my friend of stubborn Sparta?" he continued to Leonidas.
"I go with Clearchus," the Spartan responded briefly.
"You shall be of my Companions," Alexander cried, placing his hand upon a shoulder of each. "The world grows old and we have been wasting our strength in foolish quarrels with each other while the tiger has been lying there across the water, waiting to devour us. We shall show him that the spirit of Hellas still lives, although Troy has fallen, and we will do deeds that shall be sung by some new Homer as worthy too of a place beside those of Achilles and Ajax and Agamemnon. Yes, and we will bring back a fleece more precious than that which the Argonauts sought. I promise you that the Whirlwind's track shall be long enough and broad enough to lead you to your heart's desire, whatever it may be. Ptolemy, I count these men among my friends and I give them into your charge."
Clearchus and Leonidas felt their hearts swell at the young king's words and his lofty generosity, but before they could thank him, they were interrupted by a commotion at the door.
"Out of the way! I will see him! I care not how late it is," an angry voice exclaimed.
"It is Chares, son of Jason," Clearchus said. "How comes he here?"
Alexander quietly signed to the guard, and the Theban strode into the room, clad in armor that clashed noisily as he walked. He looked neither to the right nor left, but went straight to Alexander.
"I am come to remind the King of Macedon of the ties of hospitality," he said boldly, in a voice more fitted to a demand than a petition.
Alexander measured his great stature with admiration in his glance, noting that the armor, gold-inlaid, was crusted with mud and grime like his own.
"Thy name might be Hector," he said.
The Theban, ignorant of the young king's train of thought and of what had gone before, imagined that he saw mockery in this remark. His face flushed darkly.
"My name is Chares!" he said haughtily. "Jason, my father, was the friend of Epaminondas, who furnished thy father with the weapons that thou hast used against us this day. I come not to thee on my own behalf, but on that of my mother and sisters, who were shut in here when the attack came."
"You are too late!" the young king said composedly.
Chares staggered and his face blanched. "Too late!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Does Alexander, then, make war upon women?"
"I say you came too late," Alexander replied, "and doubly so; for your friends, here, were more prompt than you, and yet even they were tardy."
"My friends!" Chares cried in bewilderment, seeing Leonidas and Clearchus for the first time.
"Alexander speaks the truth," Clearchus said quickly. "We are all too late, because he had already given orders for the safety of your family."
"I ask your forgiveness; I spoke without understanding," Chares said, turning to the king.
"Thou hast courage," Alexander said with a smile, "but I would not choose thee as my envoy on a delicate mission. Thou wert not here to defend thy home?"
"Because I knew not that there was need," Chares admitted. "I am sorry."
"And I am glad," the young king rejoined, "for hadst thou been inside the walls, I fear I might have lost men whom I cannot spare. Didst thou come from Athens?"
"I left Athens with the army," Chares answered, "but it halted on the frontier when news arrived that Thebes had fallen."
"Then there will be no more fighting!" Alexander exclaimed, turning to Ptolemy. "I am glad of it. Greet thy mother for me, Chares, and tell her to fear nothing. Ptolemy will conduct you."
Escorted by the Macedonian captain, the three friends descended from the citadel. Order had been restored in the city as though by magic. Only the military patrols and the bodies of the dead remained in the streets. The living had been driven into their houses, taking the wounded with them. The plunderers had retired to the camp outside the walls.
Chares strode eagerly in advance, asking many questions regarding the experiences of his friends in Delphi. The house of Jason, a mansion built near the northern end of the city, had been saved by its location from the desperate fighting that had taken place about the southern gate and in the market-place. They found a guard stationed at the door.
"You see that the king is as good as his word," Ptolemy said. "You will find nothing disturbed here."
"How could he have remembered his friends in the heat of the attack?" Chares asked.
"He forgets nothing," the captain replied, "neither friend nor enemy."
Chares urged the Macedonian to enter, but Ptolemy declined on the ground of fatigue and left them. The slave at the gate went wild with joy when he caught sight of his young master. He had been waiting in momentary expectation of being summoned forth to the death that he was convinced awaited everybody in the city.
Chares hastened to the women's court, where he found his mother and sisters robed in white and surrounded by their maids, who were trying to spin, although their fingers trembled so that they could hardly hold the distaff. The widow of Jason, a woman with silvery hair and a face that was still beautiful, sat calmly in the midst of the group, awaiting with quiet courage what might befall. She rose with composure to greet her son and his companions.
"You are safe, mother!" Chares exclaimed, clasping her in his arms. "Alexander has given his word that you shall be unharmed!"
"You have seen him?" she returned. "That is well. You may go to your rest. Nothing shall harm you," she added, dismissing her maidens.