It was after midnight when the council ended and the generals returned to the mercenary camp. Chares and Clearchus had long been slumbering, but Leonidas, feeling his responsibility as leader, had deemed it his duty not to yield to his fatigue until the camp was still.
The story of what had occurred in the council spread quickly through the mercenary army next morning. Memnon had returned in a rage. He had warned the satraps of their folly in expecting an easy victory and had advised them again to fall back, laying waste the country as they went, so that the Macedonians would be forced to give battle on disadvantageous terms and when they had been disheartened by privation.
This suggestion had been treated with scorn by the Persians. They had taunted Memnon with cowardice and the satrap Arsites had flatly refused to permit a single house in his province to be destroyed.
"If the Greeks wish to earn their pay without fighting," he had said, "let them stand idly by and see how brave men can conquer."
Thereupon all the Persian nobles had shouted assent and it had been decided to proceed without delay to crush the invasion by forcing a battle.
This was the news that was told through the camp of the Greeks and discussed with bitter comment by groups of soldiers.
"I wish I was back with my wife and children," said a sturdy Locrian. "These dogs know nothing of war."
"I shall stay here, no matter what they do," remarked an Athenian, with a shrug. "Hemlock does not agree with me."
"Wait until the phalanx strikes them," said a hoplite from Syracuse. "I'll wager that the date-eaters will sing a different song when the sarissa begins to tickle their ribs."
"You would suppose that these fellows would like to see the barbarians beaten," Chares muttered to Clearchus.
"Hush," said Leonidas. "We know all that we came to learn. What we have to do now, is to get out as soon as we can. The army cannot be far away and unless we can reach it before it arrives, the day may be lost. If we give the Persians time, they may yet change their minds. All depends upon an immediate attack, while their forces are divided. We must get away at once. How are we to manage it?"
"Why, walk away, of course," Chares said. "Who is to stop us?"
"That will not do," Leonidas replied. "You know the order that nobody shall straggle from the camp. There is too much danger of getting into a brawl with the Persians."
"If a foraging party is going out, we might join it," Clearchus proposed.
"That is worth trying," the Spartan assented; "wait here until I find our friend, the captain."
It happened that the same foraging party that they had joined the day before was going out again. Leonidas asked permission to join it.
"You have not yet been enrolled," the grizzled captain objected, "but come along if you wish; we may need the big fellow with the stake. I'll leave three of my men behind and you can take their places."
Leonidas breathed more freely when they were out of the camp, with the most dangerous part of the mission accomplished. They were forced to cross the Granicus and to walk five or six miles on the other side before they met with any success in their search for provisions. At last they discovered a flock of sheep, of which they took possession. All was in readiness for the return march when Leonidas, Chares, and Clearchus approached the captain.
"We have decided that we will not join the army," Leonidas announced. "We have seen enough of this war. We are going back to the coast."
"I don't know about that," the captain said, scratching his head.
"We are not enrolled," Leonidas reminded him.
"That is true," said the honest fellow, "but you have been in the camp."
"Well, we are not going back," the Spartan said deliberately. "Are you going to try to force us? There are thirteen of you and only three of us, but if you want a fight, you can have it. We don't intend to risk our lives for such leaders as Arsites. Which shall it be—shall we go, or shall we fight for it?"
"Let them go," interposed one of the soldiers who had drawn near to learn what the controversy was about. "They saved us yesterday. I have half a mind to go with them myself. I would if I had my pay."
"Yes, let them go, if they wish," others chimed in. "They are not enrolled."
"Farewell," Leonidas said, sheathing his sword and extending his hand to the captain. "You can say we were killed in a skirmish with the Persians if you like."
"That's it, I'll say you were killed," the captain exclaimed in a tone of relief, clasping the proffered hand. "Only, you will not come back?" he asked doubtfully.
"Never fear," cried Chares, giving him a slap on the back that almost felled him to the ground. "If we do, we'll swear you told the truth."
So they turned north and passed on, while the remainder of the party drove in the sheep to camp.
It was mid-afternoon when they separated from the mercenary company, and they had no means of knowing how many miles they would have to travel before they fell in with the Macedonian army.
"Now for it," cried Leonidas, swinging his shield over his shoulder. "Come on!"
Before they had gone far, they found themselves descending a long slope toward what seemed to be a wide stretch of marshland extending as far as they could see. It was covered with long, dry rushes, which rustled and bent before the strong breeze. The brown expanse apparently had once been a lake, for in the distance they could catch the gleam of water; but the greater part of the basin had dried, and the reeds had sprung up as the water receded.
"It looks like a swamp," Clearchus said, anxiously scanning the plain. "How are we to pass?"
"It seems dry enough now," Leonidas replied. "We will cross it if we can find no better way; but let us look first for a road."
Facing to the east, they skirted the edge of the rushes for more than a mile without finding an opening or coming within sight of the end.
"I'm afraid we shall have to try to get through," Leonidas said at last, halting on a tongue of land which extended some distance into the marsh. "We can't afford to waste much more time."
The question was decided for them in a manner that left them no choice. As they stood in doubt, shouts came from their rear, and turning, they saw a company of horsemen at the top of the slope, half a mile away, bearing down upon them at a breakneck gallop. Their long lances and flowing garments showed them to be Persians.
"You were right in saying that we had no time to waste, Leonidas," Chares exclaimed. "What are you going to do about this? I am anxious to take orders."
For answer, the Spartan set off at a run for the marsh. It was evident that the Persians had seen them and were aiming to attack them at a distance from the camps, where the affair would remain undiscovered.
With the wind blowing in their faces, the three young men plunged in among the reeds. The dry stalks met above their heads and whistled about their ears.
"Go first!" commanded Leonidas, standing aside for Chares to pass.
The Theban took the lead, tearing like a wild bull through the crackling stems. Clearchus followed at his heels and Leonidas brought up the rear, retaining for himself the post of danger. Although their figures were hidden, they knew their pursuers would have no trouble in following them, for they left a broad trail, and, moreover, the elevation of the backs of their horses would enable the barbarians easily to mark their progress by the waving of the rushes.
For a mile and two miles the race continued without a word being spoken. The Persians had ridden headlong into the marsh after them and were slowly gaining upon them, although the speed of their horses was checked by the rushes, which caused them to stumble, and by the softness of the ground, into which their hoofs sank to the fetlock at every stride.
Clearchus was panting for breath and he heard Leonidas breathing hard behind him. Sweat streamed from the face and neck of Chares, who broke the path. The Athenian knew that the pace could not be maintained much longer.
Still another half mile they struggled on with the endless brown walls of reeds before them and around them. Long ago they had cast away their javelins and their shields, which caught in the reeds and hindered them. Even if they could find a barrier behind which to make a stand, they knew they would have no chance for their lives against the enemy, who outnumbered them six to one and had the advantage of being mounted.
Clearchus thought of Artemisia, and his temples throbbed with anguish as he nerved himself to fresh effort. Was he never to see her again? His bones would bleach in the middle of that vast morass and she would not know. He thought of the high-spirited young king who had sent them to obtain information that might save his army from destruction and the hopes of Greece from ruin. On them alone might depend the result of the battle that was to be fought and the destiny of two nations.
He saw Chares stumble once and again. His own muscles were benumbed by the long strain. The shouting at their backs was growing louder and more near and he could hear the thudding of the hoofs upon the spongy, black soil.
"Stop!" Leonidas gasped behind him, and looking over his shoulder, Clearchus saw that the Spartan had fallen to his knees.
"Back, Chares," he shouted. "The end has come!"
The Theban halted and they both ran back to Leonidas, drawing their swords with a fierce determination to defend themselves to the last.
"Beat down the rushes!" Leonidas cried hoarsely. "Let in the wind!"
They saw that he held his flints in his hands and that a tiny blaze was flickering up from a heap of rushes which he had crushed into a tinder-like mass.
They understood his plan and hope returned to them. Like madmen, they trampled the reeds to the right and left. A puff of wind came through and caught the darting tongue of fire. It leaped upward so suddenly that the Spartan's hair was singed before he had time to draw back. In an instant, it seemed, a sheet of flame flung itself into the air above the reed-tops, casting off a thin swirl of bluish smoke. With incredible swiftness the fire swept from them straight down upon their pursuers, leaving behind it a rapidly widening wake of black.
"Scatter it!" cried Leonidas, seizing the blazing reeds and throwing them in every direction. The others followed his example, spreading the fire as far as they could to the right and left so as to make it impossible for the Persians to evade it by avoiding its path.
As soon as the barbarians saw the first smoke, they halted, hesitated for a moment, and then turned wildly back in the hope of escaping by the way they had come. The Greeks had taken a position on the charred ground, where they themselves were safe from the flames, and were awaiting the result, sword in hand.
The conflagration, as it gathered headway, seemed to become a monster animated by a living spirit. One broad sheet of flame swept high into the air, roaring like a hungry beast, and throwing up clouds of smoke that hid the southern sky. With deadly swiftness it devoured the lake of reeds before it, leaving behind a bare and level plain of ashes from which here and there rose smoky spirals. It seemed to create a scorching gale stronger even than the wind that had fanned it into life. It rushed forward by great leaps and bounds, pausing now and then over some especially tempting thicket of reeds, and then starting up far in advance.
In vain the three young men tried to learn what had become of the pursuers upon whom Leonidas had let loose their terrible ally. Grasping their swords, they stood back to back amid the drifting smoke, striving to look beyond the flaming wall. The wave of fire reached the slope from which they had fled, lingered there for a few moments, and then vanished as quickly almost as it had sprung into existence. The smoke blew away over the uplands in a bellying cloud. Gazing through its rifts, they could see nothing of the Persians. They seemed to have disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed them.
"Where are they?" exclaimed Clearchus in bewilderment.
"They must have escaped," Leonidas replied.
"No, by Zeus, I see them!" Chares cried, pointing to a group of blackened mounds about halfway from where they stood to the edge of the marsh.
One of the mounds stirred as he spoke, and they saw that he was right. It was one of the horses. The animal tried to raise itself on its fore legs, gave a scream of agony, and fell back among the cinders.
Without a word, the three Companions turned away. While the fire had fled rapidly before the wind, it had made little progress in other directions. It was still eating into the rushes behind them and on either side and they were surrounded by it, excepting where it had swept back to the slope. To return in that direction would be to run new risk of capture. They were prisoners.
They looked at each other. Their faces and garments were black with smoke and ashes.
"What would they say if they could see you in the Agora in Athens looking like that?" Chares asked of Clearchus.
"They would ask me the price of charcoal, I suppose," the Athenian replied, laughing.
They moved slowly after the receding fire, choosing their path with caution and halting every few yards to wait until the ground had cooled.
"We shall not get out in time!" Leonidas groaned.
"Don't be too sure," Clearchus cried. "Look at that." He extended his hand, upon which a drop of water had fallen.
"Rain!" cried the Spartan, joyfully. "The Gods be thanked!"
It was rain, indeed. The drops were falling all around them, making little puffs in the hot ashes and hissing on the embers. The wind shifted further to the east and brought a refreshing dampness to their faces, crimsoned by the stifling atmosphere which they had been forced to breathe. There was a muttering of thunder, then a nearer crash overhead, and they saw the storm striding across the plain in a long, sweeping curve. They lifted their faces to it and drew deep breaths, letting the water trickle through their hair and down their bodies. Steam rose from the blackened expanse all about them. Gaps began to appear in the hissing circle of fire. The red tongues flickered and went out.
"There is yet time," Leonidas cried, and in a few moments they were once more among the reeds, heading for the northern margin of the swamp.
Alexander was riding upon Bucephalus, with Parmenio at his side. Behind them rode the light-hearted pages and the grave generals, followed by the Companions and the infantry, winding like an enormous snake along the road that led southward to the Granicus.
The young king seemed preoccupied. He glanced restlessly to the right and left where scouting parties were beating the country to guard against surprise and in the hope of finding some trace of the enemy.
"The Persians cannot be far away now," he said to Parmenio. "Do you think they will wait for us?"
"If they were wise, they would fall back and draw us away from our supplies," the old general replied.
"They must fight," Alexander exclaimed.
"I have no doubt they will," Parmenio answered, with the shadow of a smile upon his lips.
Alexander glanced sharply at him and was silent, riding with bent head as though debating with himself. There was something in the veteran's tone that jarred upon him.
"I wish Leonidas, Chares, and Clearchus were here," he said at last.
"Perhaps they have taken service under Memnon," Parmenio suggested dryly.
"Is there none that you trust?" Alexander said sharply. "They are not deserters; but they may have been killed."
"That is possible," the old man replied.
"I care not so much for the Persians," Alexander continued, "but I would like to know how many men Memnon has and what spirit they are in."
A small party of the scouting horsemen appeared before them in the road.
"It is Amyntas himself," Alexander said, catching sight of them. "What has the Lyncestian found?"
"Either stragglers or prisoners," Parmenio replied, shading his eyes with his palms. "They seem to be negroes."
"We will put them to the torture," Alexander said, with satisfaction. "They may be able to tell something of what we wish to know."
He urged Bucephalus forward to meet the skirmishers, who halted to await his arrival.
"What have you here, Amyntas?" he asked.
"Three men who seemed to be wandering about the Country," Amyntas replied. "They are Greeks, but they refuse to give any account of themselves excepting to Alexander."
One of the three prisoners, short and strong of build, stood forward and saluted. Alexander looked hard at him and then at the other two. His face cleared and he laughed aloud.
"Order a halt," he said. "Let the men rest and eat. Leave the prisoners to me."
He gave his horse to a groom and led the way to a wide-spreading oak tree a short distance from the road.
"I thought you had been either killed or captured," he said to the prisoners. "Leonidas, what have you learned?"
"Everything," the Spartan replied.
"How many soldiers has Memnon?" the young king asked.
"Twenty thousand," was the reply.
"Will they fight?" Alexander inquired.
"No, because the Persians will not let them," Leonidas said. "Memnon advised a retreat, but the satraps laughed in his face and gave him permission to watch them win the battle."
"What think you of that, Parmenio?" Alexander exclaimed. "He gave them the same advice you would have given had you been there. They have refused it. The day is ours!"
With hasty questions he brought out the whole story of the expedition. The plan of battle formed itself in his mind as he listened, walking back and forth before them. His eyes flashed and his cheeks glowed red.
"You have done well," he said to the three friends, when they had finished. "Your horses are waiting for you. Refresh yourselves and put on your armor, for you will need it before the sun goes down."
"I hope nobody has stolen my breastplate," Chares muttered.
Alexander continued to pace backward and forward with his head inclined a little to the left, as was his wont when in thought. Parmenio watched him closely, but did not venture to speak. Amyntas, who had ridden forward after surrendering his prisoners, now returned at a gallop.
"The barbarians await us on the opposite side of the river," he said.
"Your prisoners have already told me," Alexander replied. "Is the stream fordable?"
"Not directly in front of their line," the cavalryman replied. "There is shallow water above and below them, but the stream is swift."
"Call the council," Alexander said quietly, turning to Parmenio.
Heralds bore the order down the road beside which the army lay at rest. The commanders left their stations and came forward, singly and in groups, gathering about their leader. In few words he set the situation before them.
"Shall we attack them now or to-morrow?" he asked.
"Let us fight now!" the captains shouted.
But Parmenio frowned and shook his head. "My advice is to wait," he said boldly. "Already it is late and we must cross the river to reach the enemy. They have chosen their own ground. The men are weary with their march."
"No, no!" the younger men shouted.
"As for the river," Alexander replied, "the Hellespont would blush for shame if we stood waiting on the banks of such a stream as this after having crossed the other. It is true that we have little time, and that is the more reason that we should make the most of it. We will fight now."
His decision was received with a burst of cheers. He waited with a smile until the clamor of approval had ceased.
"Comrades and Macedonians!" he continued, "we are about to face the Mede. If we win here, we win all. I say to you that we shall win. I ask you only to be worthy of yourselves. Fight this day as the heroes fought before the walls of Ilium. Their shades are with us. Your names shall be linked forever with theirs. Here we shall reap the first harvest of our hope."
"Lead us, Alexander! We shall win!" the captains shouted.
They ran back to spread the news among the soldiers, who received it with such enthusiasm that even the anxious face of Parmenio brightened. In another half hour the army was again in motion with Alexander in the van, wearing the helmet with the white plumes that swept his shoulders.
When they reached the river, they saw the Persians drawn up on the opposite bank in a long, deep line. The front of the enemy was gay with banners flaunting in the sun and resplendent with the multi-colored finery of the Persian lords. The Greeks could hear the braying of their trumpets and the shouts of their commanders as the dense masses of their cavalry wheeled into position to meet the attack. At sight of Alexander a high-pitched, long-drawn cry ran from one end of their line to the other, rising and falling in derision.
There was no answer from the Greeks. The young king drew aside to a point of vantage and threw a rapid glance at the barbarian host. He saw that the river before them broadened into a pool, over whose quiet surface the swallows were skimming. Immediately in front of him the water foamed and gurgled over a shallow, and a similar break ended the pool below. The opposite bank rose steeply from the water's edge to the wide declivity upon which the Persians had taken their stand. Behind them Memnon's mercenaries had been posted as a reserve and to be spectators of the punishment which the barbarians were to inflict upon their countrymen.
"Leonidas was right," Alexander exclaimed, pointing to the mercenaries. "See, we shall not have to meet the spears of the Greeks. Form the line, Parmenio."
Squadron and company emerged from the road and wheeled into their positions in silence under the direction of their captains. Clearchus, Chares, and Leonidas were riding with Ptolemy's troop when a page sought them and they saw Alexander beckoning.
"Do not forget that you are to fight with Alexander to-day," he said, as they rode up.
Leonidas flushed with pride and Chares threw a satisfied glance at the gorgeous breastplate which he had recovered safely. They took their places in the cluster of young Macedonians behind the king.
Amyntas, with his light horsemen, was posted on the extreme right, beyond the left of the Persian line. Ptolemy, with the heavy cavalry, stood next, and Alexander, with seven squadrons of the Companions, the best and bravest of his army, supported him on the left. Then came the terrible phalanx, rank on rank, its sarissas standing up to four times the height of a man, like a giant field of corn. Farther down the river, in the left wing, where Parmenio commanded, was the dashing Thessalian horse, with the riders of Thrace and the Greek allies, supported by other squadrons of foot-soldiers.
Quickly and calmly, as though forming for a parade, the line extended itself and stood still. Behind its centre the catapults and ballistæ were posted, with their strings tightened and their great arms drawn back, ready to hurl their bolts or to discharge their missiles.
A sudden hush fell on both sides of the river. The jeers of the Persians died away and their banners stirred lazily in the light air. The Macedonians stood facing them like an army of statues. Alexander touched his horse with the spur and rode slowly down the line alone to see that all was in readiness. As he passed he spoke to the captains, calling them by name.
"Nicanor," he said, "let your men prove themselves men once more to-day! Perdiccas, fight for the honor of Hellas! Cœnus, there are no cowards among your followers; fight now as you never fought before! Remember Macedon!"
So the young king reached the left of the array, where he gave his final instructions to Parmenio, and galloped back to his place on the right with his double white plume streaming behind him.
Gazing across the narrow stream, the veterans of Macedon saw the pride of Persia awaiting their onset. The great struggle for which they had been making ready through years of toil was about to be brought to an issue. There rose before them a vision of the farms and villages among the rugged Macedonian hills where their wives and children awaited them. They set their teeth upon the thought that defeat would leave the road to their homes unguarded. They pictured the shame of returning as hunted fugitives, with the barbarians at their heels—how sullen Sparta would exult and fickle Athens blaze up in revolt. It would be better to die there on the banks of the foreign river than to incur such disgrace.
To all minds came the thought that the fate of the world was hanging in the balance, and all eyes turned to Alexander. The young king, cool and confident, had regained his position at the head of the Agema. He raised his hand and away on the right the army heard the clear notes of a trumpet sounding the charge.
Amyntas, with his gallant lancers, galloped down the slope and dashed into the river, which foamed about the knees of the plunging horses.
Again the trumpet-call quavered in the air, and Ptolemy's squadrons followed Amyntas with a clanking of armor and a jangling of scabbards.
On the opposite shore the Persians raised their fierce, defiant shout and rushed eagerly forward to meet the charge. A flight of arrows rose from the archers posted upon the hillside in their rear and converged in a glittering shower upon the ford.
Then along the dreaded phalanx of the Greeks ran a swelling murmur. The forest of sarissas began to move toward the river. Louder rose the chant until it drowned the clash of arms and the shouts of the barbarian host. It was the solemn pæan from twelve thousand bearded throats, calling upon the Gods of Hellas for their aid. The hearts of the Greeks in the mercenary camp on the heights across the river tightened as the deep-toned chorus rolled up to them and for a time they avoided looking into each other's eyes.
Enormous darts, ponderous balls of lead, and jagged stones were hurled against the Persian line from the death-dealing engines in the rear of the Greek position. Amyntas was struggling hand to hand in the foaming ford. The battle was joined.
Again and yet again Amyntas was thrust back from the other shore, slippery with mud and clay, while deadly gusts of arrows and javelins beat upon him. Jealous of glory, the young Persian nobles crowded with reckless daring to the brink and overwhelmed him by the weight of their numbers. But they could not drive him off. He clung to the attack with the stubborn tenacity that knows not defeat, refusing to abandon the stream, although his lines were broken and his men were falling around him.
Alexander, watching the battle like a hawk, saw the desperate situation into which he had thrown Amyntas. "Enyalius!" he shouted, calling upon the God of War by the name that the Homeric heroes had used before Ilium; "Enyalius! Follow me, Macedonians!"
The Agema swept down the slope behind the waving plumes of white and struck the river into foam. The disordered ranks of Amyntas raised a breathless cheer as it passed, heading straight for the thickest of the fight. There was a splintering of shafts, a crash of steel upon steel, and from the fierce vortex of the battle rose cries of rage and agony.
Clearchus fastened his eyes upon the double white plume which fluttered before them. He heard the cry "Alexander! Alexander!" run from lip to lip through the Persian host and saw its squadrons rushing down to meet the onset.
A lean, swarthy man, wearing a head-dress that glittered with jewels, aimed a blow at him with his curved sword. The Athenian threw himself back upon his horse to avoid the stroke and thrust the man through the side with his lance.
Alexander was fighting in the foremost rank amid a flashing circle of steel. The Persian courtiers threw themselves upon the Macedonian spears in their eagerness to reach the king and win the honors which they knew would be bestowed upon the fortunate man who should slay him. The young leader seemed heedless of his danger. Twice he spurred his horse up the treacherous bank and twice he was hurled back. The river, from shore to shore, was filled with soldiers fending off as best they might the merciless rain of darts and arrows. The moment was critical. Unless the Agema could gain footing on the Persian side, the day was lost.
"We must end this," roared Chares above the turmoil. "Down with them! Alexander!"
He drove his bloody spur deep into the flank of his powerful steed. The tortured animal leaped at the bank and staggered upward against the living wall that barred the way. A score of swords struck at him, and the polished shield that the Theban held above his head rang beneath the blows that were showered upon it. The great roan gained the top of the bank, but a spearman buried a javelin in his broad chest and his knees gave way. As he fell, Chares leaped from his back and stood firm.
"Alexander!" he cried again, in a mighty voice that rose above the din of conflict like the roar of a lion at bay. His long sword, so heavy that a man of ordinary strength could hardly wield it, though he used both hands, swept on this side and on that in whistling circles. Down went horse and rider before it like grain within the compass of a sickle. For a moment a space was cleared, and in the next the double plume of white flaunted before his eyes as Alexander passed him, and the Theban knew that the shore had been won. The Agema, like a wedge, struck far into the Persian ranks and held there, driven home by the weight of troops behind it.
Mithridates, son-in-law of Darius, infuriated by this success, ordered a charge which should sweep the Macedonians back into the river. Followed by Rhoisakes, his brother, and by a throng of nobles he hurled himself upon the stubborn mountaineers, aiming straight for Alexander. Chares, who was in the path of the avalanche, was swept aside. His shield was shattered upon his arm by the blow of a mace which also broke the fastenings of his helmet. A shout of warning rose from the Agema as it wheeled to face the attack. With sword upraised, Mithridates rushed upon Alexander; but the king's tough lance pierced the scales of his armor before he could deliver his stroke. The prince fell from his horse and rolled beneath the flying hoofs. Rhoisakes, thundering behind him, aimed a blow with his keen battle-axe which shore away the king's crest and half the double plume. At the same moment the satrap Spithridates attacked Alexander from behind, but before his arm could fall, dark Clitus, with an upward stroke, severed his wrist so that his hand, still grasping his hilt, leaped into the air. Rhoisakes met his brother's fate upon Alexander's spear. Dismay filled the Persian ranks. The charge was broken. "Enyalius!" Alexander shouted, and the Agema thundered up the slope against the disordered barbarians.
Clearchus and Leonidas fought close behind Alexander. The Athenian was never afterward able to recall the details of that desperate struggle. His remembrance was a confused blur of thrust and parry, of shouting and confusion. Suddenly, out of the shifting throng, the proud, flushed face of Phradates appeared to him as in a dream. The young man's gaze was fixed and he seemed to be striving to extricate his horse from the press that hemmed him in. Struck by the expression of rage and hate that convulsed his features, Clearchus followed the direction of his glance and saw Chares, with bare head and on foot, holding two adversaries in check with his sword. Blood flowed from a wound upon his cheek, reddening his shoulder and dimming the lustre of his armor. He had been left behind by the cavalry, and the space around him was clear except for the two riders, who had thought to find him an easy victim.
Clearchus read the thought in the dark face of the Phœnician. Phradates had recognized his rival and was bent upon taking him at a disadvantage. The Athenian turned to warn Chares of his peril, but Phradates shot out of the crowd in advance of him and spurred down upon his enemy, bending low upon the neck of his fleet Arabian horse.
"Ho, Chares! Guard thyself!" Clearchus shouted, realizing that he would be too late.
The cry reached the ears of the Theban, who turned his head for an instant and saw Phradates rushing upon him. He leaped forward and hewed one of his adversaries from the back of his horse. The other closed in, aiming a blow with his sword that Chares had barely time to catch upon his own blade. The shoulder of the leaping horse hurtled against him, causing him to stagger and drop his point.
"I have thee, dog!" screamed Phradates.
So intent was the Phœnician upon his ignoble revenge that he had not seen Clearchus, spurring desperately to overtake him. The Athenian heard his shout of triumph and his heart failed.
"I cannot reach him in time!" he groaned.
In a few more strides, Chares would be at the mercy of his foe. Phradates raised his arm to strike at the defenceless head. There was one chance of stopping him and one only. Clearchus hurled his sword at the Phœnician. The hilt of the whirling blade struck Phradates on the arm with such force that, with a cry of pain, he let fall the sword from his benumbed fingers.
"Not this time, Phœnician!" Chares shouted, as Phradates swooped past him. "Go back to Tyre and await my coming; for I follow!"
Clearchus leaped down from his horse and recovered his sword with the intention of pursuing Phradates, but he saw at a glance that the attempt would be useless. The Phœnician, unarmed as he was, fled toward the Persian lines too fast to be overtaken.
He looked around for the second of the two horsemen with whom Chares had been engaged when Phradates attacked him, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He turned to his friend and embraced him.
"You were just in time," Chares said.
"Thank the Gods!" Clearchus replied. "This is no place to die. I think the battle is ours."
Phradates, riding at full speed, passed through the Persian lines and galloped up the slope. Here and there a Persian horseman saw him go and followed. Others, and still others, joined the flight until, like a dam that goes down before the swollen current of a river in spring, the barbarian squadrons wavered and broke, streaming up the hill disordered and panic-stricken, with death at their heels. Their only thought was to save themselves.
Slaughter took the place of conflict. Grim and silent the Macedonian cavalry and the Thessalian horse rode among the fugitives with swords that knew no mercy. In that disastrous rout the pride of Persia's chivalry was dragged in the dust, and the courtier deemed himself fortunate who escaped to tell of his own dishonor.
Past the camp of the despised Greek mercenaries who had been bidden to watch the defenders of the Great King conquer or die, ran the barbarian rabble, with the wolves of Macedon tearing at their flanks. Southward they fled, leaving behind a broad track of the wounded and the dying, and scattering as they went until no semblance of the Persian army remained. Sweet in their ears at last was the music of the trumpet notes that withdrew the pursuit and left them free to take breath.
The mercenaries stood before their camp, unmoved amid the panic, awaiting the command to fight or flee. The order never came. Memnon had fought beside the Persian generals and had been swept away with them, leaving his army to its fate. Below them the Greeks saw the Macedonian phalanx re-forming its ranks, with the cavalry, of which they had none, upon its wings.
"Why should we die for these cowards?" they said, one to another. "They have deserted us and we are free."
They stretched out their hands in supplication toward Alexander.
"Grant us our lives, O king!" they cried.
"They surrender," Parmenio said. "They are ready to join us. Why not accept them? It will cost many lives to punish them."
Alexander's brow darkened. "They are traitors to Greece," he said. "I will have none in my army who has raised his hand against his country."
The deep phalanx rolled onward to the chant of the pæan, and the despairing mercenaries knew that they could expect no quarter.
"Let us die like Greeks, since we must die," their captains exhorted. "There is no escape for us."
The phalanx dashed upon them with a rending shock. The long sarissas tore through their ranks; but they stood firm, giving blow for blow, and calling upon each other not to disgrace their name. They even forced the veterans of Macedon to recoil, and the phalanx surged back like a mighty wave that dashes itself against a sounding cliff and returns with renewed strength.
Had only the foot-soldiers, with whom they could fight on equal terms, been arrayed against them, the issue might have remained in doubt; but the cavalry, against which they had no defence, fell upon their rear ranks with terrible effect. Their squares were broken; their captains fell; disordered and without guidance, they went down before lance and sword, fighting to the last.
Alexander's horse was killed under him while he was leading the cavalry charge upon the left, and for the second time that day he narrowly escaped with his life.
"They fought like men," he said sadly to Ptolemy. "I wish they had been with us instead of against us, for they were Greeks."
He gave command to stop the carnage. Where the mercenary line had stood the dead lay in heaps, friend and foe together. A few of the mercenaries who had been cut off from the main body by the cavalry had succeeded in making their escape; but of the twenty thousand whom Memnon had led, eighteen thousand never left that bloody field. At least, they had shown the barbarians how to die.
"It will be harder for Darius to hire Greeks to fight for him after this," Chares remarked, as he reined in his horse beside his two friends and dismounted.
"They were of our race, after all," Clearchus said, regretfully.
"They were not cowards," Chares assented, nodding his head in approval, "and we have lost more men than we could spare. Here is a fellow, now, who might have amounted to something."
He pointed to the body of a young man who lay with his broken sword beside him. His pale face was calm and his wide eyes stared upward at the crimson evening sky. His corselet had been broken, disclosing the end of a thin roll of papyrus. Chares drew it out and broke the seals.
"He may have been a poet," he said, handing the roll to Clearchus. "Read it!"
The Athenian glanced at the writing and uttered a quick exclamation.
"Artemisia is in Halicarnassus!" he cried.
"What do you mean?" Chares demanded.
"This is a letter from Xanthe to me," Clearchus said, and he proceeded to read the lines that his unhappy aunt had written with so much toil.
"Who is this Iphicrates?" Leonidas asked.
"I know not," Clearchus replied eagerly, "but if it be the will of the Gods we shall learn. Let us seek the king at once!"
Mena, the Egyptian, had found a good excuse for remaining in Athens during the fighting, but after the battle of the Granicus Phradates had summoned him to Halicarnassus. He was sitting in a wine-shop, discussing topics of moment with his host. His restless mind, ever on the alert for intelligence that he might turn to account, was gathering information concerning the city.
"Memnon is an able general," he said. "If they had let him lead, the war would have been over by this time."
"I wish they had, then," the host replied, drawing his cup. "That battle on the Granicus came near to ruining me, there were so many of my debtors who did not return."
"You can make up your loss by raising your prices when the siege begins here," the Egyptian observed.
"Do you think there will be a siege?" the other asked anxiously.
"Of course," Mena replied. "Do you expect Alexander to turn back now that the northern provinces are his? But with Memnon here, he will have his trouble for his pains."
"I don't know," the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. "They say these Macedonians are wonderful fighters, and I am not sure, after all, that I want to see them beaten. Blood is thicker than water, and this is a Greek city, when all is said, even though it pays tribute to Darius. I can't see how we should be worse off under Alexander than we are now. The Persians are robbers, and my grandfather was a Bœotian."
"Would you have the city surrender?" Mena demanded, in affected surprise.
"No, of course not," the shopkeeper said hastily, taking his cue from his customer, after the manner of his kind. "No, I would never surrender, for our walls are so strong and high that the Macedonians will never get through them; but we might make terms," he added cautiously.
His embarrassment was relieved by a boy who came to tell him that two strangers who had just entered the shop desired to speak with him. He excused himself to the Egyptian, whose sharp eyes followed him as he went to obey the summons. He could not suppress a start of surprise when he saw who had sent it. The two men had taken their places at a remote table, evidently not wishing to be remarked. They wore the garb of light-armed foot-soldiers and their accoutrement seemed much the worse for rough usage. One of them was of great size and strength, with blue eyes and yellow hair which curled about his temples. The other was smaller and more delicate in appearance. The cunning Egyptian recognized them in an instant. They were Clearchus and Chares.
Mena knew the two young men had set out with the army of Alexander, and that they must have had some purpose in coming to Halicarnassus. Either they had found some clew, he thought, to Artemisia's hiding place, or they had been sent forward from the army as spies. He gradually shifted his position so that he might watch their conversation with the host without danger of being recognized. Their talk lasted long enough for Chares to drain a huge measure of wine, after which the keeper of the shop bowed them out and returned to Mena.
"They were two Athenians," he said. "They wanted to know where Iphicrates lives."
"Who is Iphicrates?" Mena asked innocently.
"He is an old rascal who makes his living out of the necessities of others," the shopkeeper replied. "I dare say they want to borrow money from him. They will have to pay well for it!"
"Did they say they wanted money?" queried Mena.
"No, they did not say why they wished to see him," was the reply.
The wily Mena drew from his companion all that he knew about Iphicrates. He found the house without difficulty and easily learned the details of the accident that had befallen Thais. With this information and with what he already knew of Artemisia's disappearance, he soon found out all the rest.
"Chares and Clearchus will attempt to rescue the two women," he reflected. "If they succeed, Clearchus will return to Athens and Ariston will be stripped of all he has. He will undoubtedly be thrown into prison besides. That must not happen, now, at any rate. Chares will probably go with Clearchus, and my worthy master will lose, not only his revenge, but the girl that he makes himself such a fool over. Of course he would blame me for that. This Iphicrates is a money-lender, therefore he must have money. Let me see."
Mena's further cogitations led him to Phradates, whom he found playing at the dice with a party of mercenary captains, who were robbing him without shame. The Egyptian drew him aside.
"I will deliver Chares into thy hands to-night," he said, "and give thee Thais to-morrow."
"Are you drunk?" Phradates asked bluntly.
"I mean exactly what I say," Mena replied with dignity, and he related all that he had discovered.
"My turn has come sooner than I expected," Phradates cried exultingly. He lost no time in seeking Memnon, with whom he held a long consultation.
Save for the military patrols, the streets of Halicarnassus were deserted that night when Chares and Clearchus approached the dwelling of Iphicrates. They kept the darker side of the way and advanced with caution, halting at every sound. They had laid aside their weapons, which they knew would be useless in case of attack and which might excite suspicion should they be noticed. In front of the house they stopped to listen. Not a sound broke the stillness and nobody was in sight. In one of the upper windows a light was burning.
"She is there!" Clearchus said, pointing to the gleam.
"How shall we make her understand who we are?" Chares asked.
Clearchus picked up a pebble from the street and tossed it at the window. The first trial failed, but at the second the stone entered the opening.
"Back now until we see her!" the Theban said, drawing Clearchus into an angle of the opposite wall.
In a moment a woman's head, with hair unbound, appeared at the window against the light.
"It is Artemisia!" Clearchus cried, unable to control himself in the rush of his joy. He started forward and stood in the full moonlight with his arms outstretched.
"Artemisia!" he called softly.
"Clearchus, my love, is it thou?" she replied, in the same tone.
"Yes, we have come to save thee," he answered. "Canst thou come to us?"
"I will try," she said. "Thais is here with me."
She vanished from the window, and Clearchus advanced eagerly toward the door. Before he had taken three steps a score of men seemed to rise out of the ground around him. The trap set by Phradates had been sprung.
"Seize them!" the Tyrian cried in a shrill voice.
In an instant, Clearchus had been overcome. Chares, who had remained in the angle of shadow, sprang forward with a cry of rage. He reached Phradates before the soldiers could stop him, and dealt the Tyrian a blow that sent him down in an inanimate heap ten yards away; but, as he did so, a dozen men leaped upon him and bore him to the earth.
Clearchus was struggling like a madman with his captors, but to no purpose.
"They have us," the Theban said coolly. "Let us show ourselves men."
With a groan Clearchus submitted; and the guard, having bound their arms behind them, dragged them to their feet.
"At least, that Phœnician coward has his deserts," Chares exclaimed with a laugh, glancing at the senseless form of his enemy. "I hope I have killed him!"
Part of the guard marched them quickly away, while the rest remained behind to care for Phradates. As long as the house could be seen, Clearchus kept his eyes upon the window, hoping for another glimpse of Artemisia, but he saw her not.
It was necessary for the soldiers who had stayed behind with Phradates to summon a physician before he could be brought back to consciousness. His life had been saved by the fact that he threw up his right hand to protect himself from Chares' terrible blow. The bones of his wrist had been broken and splintered so badly that the physician doubted whether he would ever be able to use his hand again.
In the morning Iphicrates received orders to join the citizen levy that had been raised to defend the walls of the city; and Phradates, with a retinue of slaves and attendants, took possession of the house. The money-lender protested bitterly against the service demanded of him, but his entreaties were in vain. He had not even time to make provision for the security of his valuables before he was hurried away, and he was forced to accept the assistance which the sympathetic Mena pressed upon him. He revealed to the Egyptian, with many lamentations, the hiding-places of his hoard, promising to reward him liberally if he would bring it to him. Mena found not only the gold of which Iphicrates had spoken, but much more that had been so cunningly concealed in the walls of the house that Iphicrates had deemed it unnecessary to allude to it. So expeditious was Mena's search that he was able to report to Iphicrates, before nightfall, that the soldiers had anticipated him and had carried everything away.
"I am ruined!" cried the wretched man, turning pale and wiping the drops from his brow. "The savings of a lifetime of toil have been taken from me! Ah, the robbers! Would that I had them here before me!"
"Take hope," Mena replied soothingly. "The fortunes of war may bring thee more than thou hast lost, and it is better, at any rate, that thy gold should have fallen into the hands of thy friends rather than into those of the Macedonians."
"I have no friends," Iphicrates wailed. "I will appeal to Memnon himself!"
"Give yourself no concern about that," the Egyptian replied hastily. "I have already complained to my master, and he has promised to see that the soldiers are punished. He is generous, and he feels that it was partly his fault that this misfortune has come upon thee."
Iphicrates clasped his hand and thanked him with tears. Mena left him to his drill and hastened to make provision for the secret conveyance of the gold to Tyre. Phradates remained in ignorance of the whole transaction, having matters of more importance to occupy his thoughts than the ruin of an old miser.
Artemisia passed the night in an agony of suspense and weeping. Thais did her utmost to comfort her, though her own heart was scarcely less troubled than that of her younger companion. It was by representing that, weak as they were, they might be the only persons in the city who could aid Clearchus and Chares, and that they must not abandon themselves to despair that she finally persuaded Artemisia to sleep. While she talked, her swift mind was busy with plans. She had heard that the Persian officials were venal, and that anything in the empire might be had for a price. She knew that the purchase of a general or a viceroy was beyond her means, but she hoped that the jailers who had the two young men in charge, whoever they were, might be bribed by her jewels to let them escape. It was with a kind of exaltation that she made a mental account of the gems, thinking that the price she had paid for them might not have been in vain. The question that most occupied her mind was what temper Phradates would be in, for she doubted not that he would seek to take advantage of her situation. Finding Artemisia quiet at last, she lay down and resolutely closed her eyes.
As soon as the Tyrian had occupied the house, his slaves brought food and wine in his name to the young women. Thais accepted it.
"Tell thy master that we have no women to dress us," she said.
"How can you receive anything from that man?" Artemisia exclaimed indignantly, when the slaves had gone.
"If I had my wish, I would drive this through his heart," Thais replied, catching up a small dagger that she sometimes carried in her bosom. "My desire to aid Chares and Clearchus is no less strong than thine; but we are women and we must fight as we can, not as we would. So hide thy grief if thou canst, for it will win pity neither for them nor for thee."
Artemisia looked at her splendid beauty, heightened by the smouldering fire in her eyes. "I feel that I am a child," she said, embracing her. "I know nothing of the world and I am afraid. I will trust thee in all things."
Thais returned her caress. "Our lovers are in the net," she said, "but you remember in the story that it was the mouse that freed the lion. If Phradates sends us the women, he is still my slave, though we are in his power, and we may hope. Now, let us eat."
They had scarcely finished when Mena knocked at the door and ushered in two women of Cyprus, with gleaming black eyes and slender, agile forms. "My master, the noble Phradates, sends you these," he said, bowing low before Thais.
"Phradates hath our thanks," she replied gravely. "Tell him that we hope to express our gratitude to him in person."
Mena withdrew, and Thais immediately commanded the women to dress her and Artemisia. To this task she gave her whole attention, directing every step with the minutest care, to the least fold of the saffron chiton. She chose for her adornment a topaz necklace that seemed to sparkle with inward fire. Artemisia she robed simply in white, with a white rose in her soft, brown hair.
There was an unwonted stir in the house. Slaves came and went with messages. The sound of men's voices rose from below. Thais was restless and uneasy. She paced backward and forward, stopping now and then before the polished mirror to examine once more the lustrous coils of her hair, or the arrangement of her silken chiton. She seemed expectant, and at every footfall turned her face toward the door; but the morning wore on, and Phradates did not come. Finally she sent one of the Cyprian women down, on pretence of fetching water, to learn what was going on. The woman returned with the news that the Tyrian was there, but of Chares and Clearchus she could learn nothing.
Thais hesitated for a moment. "Go down again," she said at last, "and tell Phradates that we are ready to receive him."
The woman took the message, but she came back almost immediately, saying that Phradates had left the house.
Thais stamped her foot. "Then we must wait," she said regretfully. "O that I were a man this day!"