Down from the Phrygian plateau, through a land that glowed with the touch of autumn, marched the Macedonian host, with Alexander at its head. On a clear October night the army halted at the foot of the rugged and forbidding crags of the Taurus. Leonidas with his cavalry troop followed the young king in the attack upon the Cilician Gates, which scattered the guard stationed there and opened the way into the satrapy of Cilicia.
From one of the captives taken at the pass, Alexander learned that the satrap Arsames had planned to plunder the city of Tarsus and retreat into Syria with his spoil. While the main body of the troops was still filing through the pass, he gathered a chosen body of cavalry and light infantry and swooped like a falcon upon the town. The Spartan rode that day at the head of his squadron for fifty miles; and Arsames, abandoning all thought of plunder, deemed himself fortunate to escape with his garrison.
It was here that Alexander fell ill from bathing in the icy waters of the Cydnus, and the rumor spread through the army that his life was in danger. Grief and anxiety pervaded the camp. The toughest of the veterans, with tears in their eyes, gathered before the house in which he lay, demanding news of his condition. The physicians came and went with grave faces and in silence.
Although his fever ran high, Alexander insisted upon receiving his friends as usual and attending to his affairs. One day came a letter from Parmenio, who had been sent forward with a strong detachment to secure the southern pass into Syria through the Amanic range. The young king read it thoughtfully, and Leonidas noticed that he thrust it under his pillow without discussing its contents as his custom was.
A conference of the physicians was being held to consider the king's malady, for it was evident that some decisive measure must be taken if the fever was to be checked. In this consultation a dispute arose between Philip of Acarnania and the other physicians. Philip maintained that a strong remedy should be given, but when he named the potion that he proposed to administer, his colleagues declared that they would have no part in it, holding the opinion that the drugs would surely kill the patient.
Hearing the voices raised in controversy, Alexander demanded the reason. He called the doctors before him and listened to all they had to say.
"Will this draught of which you speak enable me to ride Bucephalus in three days?" he asked of Philip.
"I will answer for it," the Acarnanian replied.
"Compound it, then, for me," the young king said. "When it is ready, I will take it."
He turned his face away and the physicians left him. During the interval of waiting he talked with Clitus, Philotas, Leonidas, and others of his Companions concerning the Trojan war, but, noting their evident anxiety, he broke off to rally them upon it.
"Do not think," he said, laughing, "that we have come so far and endured so much to stop here. There is many a campaign yet before us."
When Philip came, bringing an earthen bowl containing a liquid which steamed with an odor of spices, he raised himself on his couch and drew Parmenio's letter from under his pillow. As he took the bowl from the physician, he handed him the letter.
"Read it!" he said quietly, setting the potion to his lips.
With his eyes on Philip he slowly drank the medicine. The physician glanced at the letter and grew pale, but he returned Alexander's gaze without flinching.
"Drink and be of good cheer," he said. "I tell thee this after having read this charge against me."
He returned the letter as he spoke.
"I have drunk already," Alexander replied; and then, turning to Clitus, he bade him read what Parmenio had written.
"Beware of Philip, your physician," the letter ran. "I am informed that he hath been bribed by the Great King with the promise of a thousand talents and the hand of his daughter to poison thee. I beg of thee to take nothing that he may offer."
Scowling brows were turned toward the physician, who was busying himself unconcernedly in heaping fresh coverings upon his patient.
"Let no man interfere," Alexander said sternly. "Where I have placed my trust, no other shall doubt."
This warning was sufficient to restrain the Companions, even when they saw their leader lying like a dead man beneath the blankets, with closed lids and a pulse that was scarcely perceptible. But Philip never moved his watchful eyes from the pale face, and when he saw drops of perspiration rolling down the forehead a slight smile of satisfaction appeared upon his lips. His confidence and the faith that the young king had placed in him had been justified; for an hour later Alexander came out of his faintness, and, although weak, the fever had left him. He was able next day to show himself to the soldiers, and a few days later to lead them against the bandits who infested the southern part of the province, routing them from their fastnesses and scattering to the four corners of the earth those who escaped the sword. On his return he received news that Ptolemy and Astander had defeated Orontobates and captured the Salmacis and the Royal Citadel of Halicarnassus. He celebrated this victory and his recovery with sacrifice and games after the ancient manner.
Suddenly across the country like wildfire spread the news that Darius was approaching with an army so great that none might count its numbers. When inquiry was made, no man could tell whence the story had come. Alexander questioned many who were brought before him, but all gave him the same answer.
"The Great King is coming," they said. "Where he is we know not, nor when he will be here. All that we can say is that he is on the way, for the Syrians told us, and they learned it from the travellers and traders of the South."
Then came a shape of man who had once been a Corinthian. His tongue had been cut out and his ears and nose shaved away. He could only nod his head and weep when they asked him of the approach of the Persian monarch.
Alexander sent for Leonidas. The Spartan came with an impassive face, and stood awaiting his orders.
"They say Darius is on the march," he said. "Where he is and of what his army consists, no one can tell me. Choose what men you like and go to Parmenio at the Syrian Gates, where I purpose to join him with the army as soon as the march can be made. Find the Persian and bring me word there of the things that I should know."
"It shall be done," Leonidas replied.
On the evening of the fourth day after the order had been given, Leonidas, with fifteen men of his troop, whose courage had been tested in the campaign against the Pisidians, took leave of Parmenio and rode out upon the rolling plains beyond the Syrian Gates. He had learned that Darius was at Sochi, two days' march away, but when he arrived there, he found only hills and fields from which the harvests had been stripped as if by locusts, and a city where starvation reigned.
Here he learned much of the numbers and character of the host that had left such a track of desolation. From Sochi he bore away toward the left and the mountains, and on the third day overtook the Persian horde, whose camp-fires stretched for miles across the plain.
Although thousands of camp followers and women had been left behind in Damascus in charge of Cophenes, together with the greater part of the luxurious equipage of the courtiers, and of the treasure in gold and silver, which six hundred mules and three hundred camels could scarcely carry, there still remained an enormous train in the rear of the army.
Leonidas soon ascertained everything concerning the army of Darius and its composition that it was necessary for him to know; but he was astonished to find that the Great King had passed beyond the Syrian Gates, near which Alexander had expected to find him, and that he was still marching northward. This march puzzled the Spartan. It carried the Persian army each day farther from its base of supplies at Damascus, and apparently did not give the Great King a better battle ground than the one he had left behind at Sochi. He determined to keep the army in sight, at least until he had reached the Amanic Gates. There was the only other entrance from Syria into Cilicia, and through them Leonidas planned to carry the information that he had gathered to Alexander, who would be awaiting him in the southern pass. As the Persian horde advanced, he found that he was being pressed toward the wooded slopes of the mountain range. At last, as the enemy showed no intention of halting, he resolved to strike for the Amanic Gates, not daring to delay his report longer.
He soon became entangled among the rocky spurs and ravines. At last he believed that he had reached the pass, and advanced far into the mountains before some shepherds told him of his mistake. Following their directions, he crossed a lofty ridge and descended into the true pass on the evening of the second day after his departure from the Persian army. Darkness overtook him, and he was forced to encamp halfway up the precipitous slope of the valley. Before sunrise next day he roused his men and led them down toward the broad road below, which followed a watercourse.
In their descent, Leonidas and his men entered a belt of timber that for a short time hid the road from their view. They burst their way through the undergrowth, to find themselves face to face with a troop of horsemen whom Leonidas recognized at once as belonging to the army of Darius.
"The Persians have entered the pass," was the thought that flashed through his mind before he considered his own danger. That Darius would seek to enter Cilicia instead of accepting battle upon the Syrian plains was a possibility that had never even been discussed in the Macedonian councils. Leonidas realized that if Alexander had carried out his plan of marching to the Syrian Gates, far to the southward, the Persian army was about to place itself between him and the territory that he had conquered, cutting off his line of retreat. The safety of the Macedonians might depend upon his reaching Alexander in time to give him warning.
He gave a rapid glance at the Persians who confronted him. There were thirty or forty of them. Far below he caught a glimpse of the plain, where miles of troops, horse and foot, were crawling like ants toward the pass. The enemy gave him no time to see more. They raised an exultant shout and dashed upon him with lowered lances. Although Leonidas and his men fought with desperation, the Spartan realized that they were not strong enough to hold their ground. The mere weight of their opponents forced them back, inch by inch, until their horses were struggling on the brink of the slope to the bed of the stream.
"Let us die where we stand!" Leonidas shouted. "Remember that we are Greeks! Forward, forward!"
He plunged in among the Persians, thrusting at their faces, and his men were enabled to gain a few feet in the space that he had cleared. The relief was only momentary, for the Persians surrounded them on three sides and the chasm was in their rear.
The captain of the Persian troop had not mingled in the contest. Hovering in the background, he urged on his men, taking care to keep out of danger. Leonidas saw him as he wheeled, raising his arm to give a command. The sun flashed upon the glittering links of his gilded corselet. The Spartan hurled his lance at the mark with all the strength in his body. Straight flew the point of steel and split the brazen links, like a bolt from a catapult. The captain toppled from his horse and lay with his face in the dust. It was a final effort. A few moments more and all would be over.
Suddenly from the glen out of which Leonidas and his men had emerged rode a man upon a powerful black charger. In his hand he carried a lance of unusual length. His yellow hair tossed about his shoulders, and his blue eyes turned eagerly toward the righting.
"Leonidas!" he shouted. "Strike home! We are here!"
Behind him rode two companions. At sight of them the Spartan's brow cleared.
"Chares! Clearchus!" he cried.
Their coming turned the tide of the conflict. The Persians, ignorant of how many more might be following them, turned and fled down the pass before the new arrivals could strike a blow.
Leonidas embraced his friends. Of the Greeks who had fallen, only one, a young man of Caria, who had been stunned by a blow from a mace, was still alive. Clearchus caught his horse, and they lifted him upon its back.
"What brings you here?" Chares asked of Leonidas. "Where is Alexander?"
"That I will tell you later," the Spartan replied. "Look yonder!"
He pointed over the tree-tops on the lower slopes at the innumerable host that was creeping toward the mountain side.
"The Persians are about to cross the pass," he said. "Alexander and the army are in danger of being cut off, and we alone can save them."
"If Darius crosses the pass, it will be in our footsteps," Chares said. "Let us be off."
Of the men who had followed Leonidas down the mountain at daybreak, only four remained.
"Lead on, Leonidas," Clearchus said. "You are in command again."
The Spartan turned his horse's head up the pass and the others fell in behind him. They rode unchallenged, for the defile had not yet been occupied by the Persian force. From every new elevation they could see the endless lines of infantry and cavalry slowly drawing together far below them, until they passed at noon through a narrow way between lofty and beetling cliffs, and saw Cilicia lying before them, with the blue horizon of the sea in the distant southwest.
In the second watch of the night, the Macedonian outposts challenged four men whose horses were flecked with foam. The strangers came from the direction of Issus, along the narrow and rugged road that led southward through the Syrian Gates, between the mountains and the sea. Alexander had led his army that day through the pass, and it was encamped at Myriandrus. In the moonlight the sentinels saw that the strangers were grimy with dust and that their faces were grim and gray with fatigue.
"I am Leonidas, of the Companions," said one of the riders who seemed to be the leader. "Lead me to the general in charge."
They were conducted to Ptolemy, son of Lagus, who immediately recognized Leonidas. He greeted Chares and Clearchus with surprise. The Spartan led him aside.
"Darius is at Issus," he said.
Ptolemy stared at him incredulously.
"The Persians behind us!" he exclaimed. "You must be dreaming!"
"No," Leonidas replied. "All day we have fled before them."
"The king must know at once," Ptolemy said. "Follow me."
He led the way through the sleeping camp to Alexander's tent, in which a lamp was burning. A sentinel stood before it in full armor.
"What is your business?" he demanded.
"I must speak with the king," Ptolemy replied.
"The king left orders that he must not be disturbed. Wait until the morning," the man said calmly.
"I will take the responsibility," Ptolemy retorted angrily. "Stand aside!"
"You cannot pass," the soldier answered, without moving.
"What is this?" Alexander inquired, raising the curtain of the tent. He held in his hand a copy of the Iliad, in which he had been reading. "Is it you, Ptolemy—and Leonidas? Enter."
They followed him into the tent, which contained nothing save his weapons and a couch spread upon the ground.
"Clearchus and Chares back again!" the young king cried in a tone of satisfaction. "You have much to tell me; but first I must hear what Leonidas brings."
"Darius and his army have passed the Amanic Gates and are now at Issus," Leonidas said briefly.
The smile left Alexander's lips.
"How many men has he?" he asked.
"Five hundred thousand, of whom thirty thousand are mercenaries of Greek blood," Leonidas answered.
"They are in our rear," Alexander said, half to himself. He began to pace backward and forward, with his hands behind his back and his head inclined slightly toward his left shoulder. Although the startling news brought to him by the Spartan had taken him wholly by surprise, his decision was swift. Before he had made three turnings, his entire plan of campaign had been changed.
"The Gods have delivered them into our hands!" he said in a tone of conviction. "I dared not expect such good fortune. In the narrow plain of Issus, their army will defeat itself. The victory is ours."
His face was radiant and he spoke joyously, like a man whose mind has been relieved of a great anxiety; but his eyes were fastened upon the face of Ptolemy. Alexander had not failed to note the expression of apprehension that his lieutenant wore. He saw it vanish before the warmth of his own confidence. He felt that he would be able to avert any feeling of panic that might arise in the army at the unexpected turn of events.
"This is good news you bring," he said to Leonidas, "and I am repaid for waiting."
He glanced sharply at the sunken eyes and bloodless lips of the Spartan and spoke to the sentinel.
"Tell them to bring food and wine at once," he commanded.
The young king's eyes fell upon Nathan, apparently for the first time.
"Who is this?" he asked. "Come forward."
The Israelite had been standing in the background, watching Alexander's face with a gaze of peculiar intensity.
"This is Nathan, who led us captive from Halicarnassus," Clearchus replied. "He saved us when we were condemned to death in Babylon, and his aid enabled us to assist Leonidas in escaping from the Persians so as to bring you his news. He wishes to take service under you, and at your leisure to tell you of certain prophecies concerning you that were inspired by the God of Israel."
"It is well," Alexander said. "He will serve with you and Chares in the squadron that Leonidas commands. Ptolemy, send a thousand of your men to hold the pass behind us, until we come."
Alexander insisted that the young men should eat the food that was brought into the tent in obedience to his order. While they were satisfying their hunger, he plied them with questions concerning Darius and his army, the character of his men and their commanders, and the formation and resources of the country about Babylon. It was late when he finally permitted them to retire.
In the morning Alexander called a general council of his leaders to impart to them the information that Leonidas had brought. He gave it without comment, foreseeing that its first effect would be to arouse uncertainty and dismay that must be overcome before the men would be fit for battle.
The council was held in the open air in front of Alexander's tent. There came the captains of the Companions and of the phalanx and the generals of the allies. About them pressed the rank and file of the army, curious to learn the cause of the summons. Parmenio stood beside Alexander, his furrowed face grave with thought.
All eyes were turned upon the countenance of the young king, glowing with confidence and enthusiasm.
"Darius and his army are behind you, at Issus," he announced. "I have called you together to learn your opinions as to what we should do. Let each speak freely."
For a moment the soldiers stood in silence, looking doubtfully at each other. Then a murmur of uneasiness rose among them. They had expected to find the enemy on the Syrian plains, and behold, he was in their rear.
"Parmenio," Alexander said, "what is your mind?"
"We must fight," the old general replied, carefully and slowly. "The Persians are between us and our homes. They can enslave the Greek cities of the coast that we have set free. But they are so many that they cannot wait. Hunger will force them to attack us on our own ground. Let us wait until that time comes and then give them battle."
His words caused a brief stir of approval, but the great mass of men remained silent.
"What is your advice, Ptolemy, son of Lagus?" Alexander demanded.
"It is true that Darius is in our rear," Ptolemy responded, "but it is also true that we are between him and his empire, that we have come to conquer. Let us march upon Babylon and take the city. The road lies open before us."
A shout arose and a clashing of swords upon shields. It was evident that Ptolemy's rashness found more favor than Parmenio's caution.
One after another the generals and captains gave their opinions, some agreeing with the older leader and some with the younger. When all had spoken Alexander seemed to meditate for a moment.
"O men of Hellas!" he cried, raising his head and looking into their eyes, "we came to avenge the ancient wrongs that these barbarians inflicted upon our fathers. Remember Darius, son of Hystaspes; how he brought his ships to your coasts and was defeated at Marathon. Remember Xerxes and the victory of Salamis. Never in the memory of man have we been free from Persian attack; and when they no longer dared to face us, they have sent their gold to corrupt our leaders and turn us one against the other. For these insults and injuries, their empire is forfeit; for the Gods have grown weary of their treachery.
"What has happened when we met them, sword in hand? In the long list of their attacks upon us, they have had nothing but defeat. Did not the Ten Thousand march to the very gates of Babylon?
"I say to you that the Gods have wearied of the barbarian. We were marching to meet Darius upon the plain, where the vast number of his army might have encompassed us. We were willing to allow him to choose his own ground, but the Gods would not have it so. They have blinded his eyes and led him to us almost as a sacrifice. Nothing remains but to strike the blow.
"O men of Macedon, my friends and companions, liberators of Greece, the hour of our triumph is near. At the Granicus we overthrew the army of a viceroy; now we are to meet the army of the Great King himself.
"It is Persia that awaits our onset at Issus. There have the Gods assembled the might and power of the empire and it stands like corn ripe for the reaper. The sheaves of this harvest shall be of gold that the barbarians have gathered for us as bees gather honey.
"Heroes of Hellas! from your iron hands none can wrest victory unless you will it! For yourselves and your children you are about to win fame that shall endure through the ages. I have never led you to defeat, and now I promise you the victory!"
Dead silence reigned while Alexander artfully made his appeal to the immemorial hatred of Persia, pointed out the advantage that Darius had given them, and raised the hope of fame and spoil. As he finished, a cry rent the air that showed he knew his men.
"Alexander! Alexander!" they shouted. "Lead us!"
With swelling hearts, the generals and captains pressed forward to grasp his hand and swear to lay down their lives for him. He greeted them each by name, reminding them of their bravest deeds and making each man feel that the result of the battle might depend upon him alone. The council broke up, spreading its enthusiasm through the camp. On all sides the soldiers fell to polishing their weapons and boasting of what they would do when they faced the army of Darius.
That day was devoted to preparation. Alexander had sent a scouting party of picked men to sail up the coast and learn the disposition of the enemy's force. This expedition returned at nightfall and reported that the wounded and invalid soldiers who had been left in Issus had been cruelly slain by order of Darius and their bodies impaled along the shore. Rage filled the army at this news and hardened the resolve of the men to die rather than forego their victory and revenge.
The trumpets sounded at the first flush of dawn, and by sunrise the army was flowing back through the Syrian Gates to the field where the fate of the world was to be decided.
With the sea on their left and the mountain cliffs on their right, Clearchus and Nathan rode on either side of Chares in the front rank of the squadron of Companion cavalry commanded by Leonidas. The crisp November air and the excitement of the coming battle made their blood tingle and raised their spirits to a pitch of reckless gayety. The Spartan rode in advance, without turning his head or moving a muscle under the fire of jokes that Chares directed at him.
Presently the cliffs ended and the mountain barrier curved away inland, leaving a plain of greensward and shingle, flooded with sunlight.
"There they are!" Clearchus cried eagerly.
Straight before them, perhaps three miles away, they saw a confused mass of gleaming banners and the glint of countless spears. The shallow Pinarus, flowing down from the mountains, rippled across the level, and on its further bank, where the ground was high, the Great King had taken his stand. For a mile and a half, from the hills to the sea, the plain was blocked by a living rampart, gay with the pomp of Oriental splendor.
As the squadrons of Macedonian cavalry emerged from the pass, they wheeled to the right and formed their line close to the lower slopes of the mountain.
"Here come the men of Thessaly," Chares cried.
Their plumes fluttering in the breeze, the Thessalian horse poured out of the pass and ranged themselves behind the Companions.
Then the phalanx appeared, marching rank after rank, with the precision of a machine. The lancers under Protomachus and Aristo's Pæonians, who had been thrown forward in advance of the cavalry, raised a shout as the scarred veterans, each holding his long sarissa erect and bearing his heavy shield across his shoulder, followed the proud Agema.
While the phalanx was forming on the left of the cavalry there was a movement among the Persians.
"They are coming!" Chares shouted.
Clearchus and Nathan saw a large body of horse and foot advance across the river. Although in numbers they exceeded the entire Macedonian army, their departure from the main body of the Persians seemed to make no diminution in its size. They halted as soon as they had crossed the stream and from the host beyond came the bray of trumpets and the hoarse murmur of many voices.
"They are taking their positions," Nathan said. "They will not attack."
His conjecture proved correct, for in half an hour the troops that had advanced fell back again across the river through openings that had been left for them in the wings of the main force, and the glittering front of the Persian army was revealed, drawn up in battle array.
The Macedonians had continued to advance slowly across the plain, forming as they went, so that only half a mile now separated them from the Persians. Nathan's eyes sought the centre of the enemy's line.
"There he is!" he exclaimed, pointing with his finger.
Clearchus followed the direction he indicated and saw a blotch of variegated color, above which fluttered many standards.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Darius," Nathan replied. "You can see his Medean robe of purple—there, just beneath that golden banner."
"What troop is that about him?" inquired Chares.
"They are the princes and the nobles of the court," the Israelite answered. "Oxathres, the Great King's brother commands them."
"I wonder whether Phradates is there!" Clearchus said.
"I hope so!" Chares exclaimed, in a voice that came from his heart.
"There, in front of Darius, are his Greek mercenaries," Nathan continued. "Leonidas told the truth when he said there were thirty thousand of them. Those heavy-armed troops on each side of the centre are the Cardaces. And, look, there is the cavalry, there on the beach. That is the flower of the Persian army. Nabazarnes leads it."
"We met some of those blossoms at the Granicus," Chares remarked. "It did not take them long to wither; but there is a whole garden of them yonder, and our line seems rather slender compared with theirs."
The Persian horse was massed on the smooth, hard beach in an enormous wedge which looked as though it might be able, by weight alone, to scatter the squadrons of Greek cavalry under Parmenio which were opposing it on the left wing of the Macedonian army. Evidently this discrepancy had struck the attention of Alexander, for, while Chares spoke, the Thessalians quietly left their places in the line and trotted around behind the phalanx to reënforce the allies.
"There goes the sickle that will reap the roses of Darius," Chares said, gazing after them longingly. "Phœbus! I wish I were with them!"
"You will find plenty to do here," Clearchus said. "There are a few men over there on the hill who will have to be cared for."
He pointed to the slope on the right, where some twenty thousand of the Cardaces were drawn up, far in advance of the Persian line, near the foot of the mountain.
"They intend to try our flank when we advance," the Theban observed. "I didn't know the Persians had so much sense."
"They are going to get a little exercise first," Clearchus said as the flare of trumpets sounded down the line.
Immediately a body of light-armed foot-soldiers and cavalry detached itself from the right wing and advanced up the hill toward the Cardaces. The eyes of both armies were upon them and a cheer ran along the Macedonian ranks, from the hillside to the sea.
The Cardaces wavered slightly. They had evidently not expected so prompt an attack. The leaders of the Macedonian force could be seen riding or running in advance of the various divisions, and the men followed as steadily as though the charge were merely an exercise drill. They paused to send a flight of arrows and stones among the Cardaces, who, being armed only with lances and swords, had no means of replying. To charge down the hill meant that they would be annihilated by the Macedonian army. To remain where they were was to be slain piecemeal by the darts and arrows. They began to retire slowly upward out of the zone of fire.
Their retreat was greeted from the Macedonian lines by a roar that sounded like the booming of the surf upon the rocks. The peltasts and archers continued to press them until they had been forced into a position where they were no longer a menace to the rear of the army. The light-armed troops were then recalled, leaving two squadrons of Companions, containing about three hundred men, to hold the twenty thousand in check if they should attempt a charge. They performed the task imposed upon them. Nothing more was heard of the isolated Cardaces that day.
As the detachment returned down the hill and resumed its place in the ranks, the commotion in the long, thin line that stretched away to the sea gradually ceased. The soldiers stood motionless behind their captains.
Alexander, riding Bucephalus, gave his final commands to Parmenio on the beach where the Thessalians waited with the allied cavalry to meet the attack of the Persian horse. Then he turned and came slowly up along the line, drawing rein here and there to speak a word of confidence and encouragement. His double white plume floated over his shoulders, and the sunlight flashed upon his coat of mail.
When he reached the right wing he addressed the Companions with his familiar smile.
"Do not forget," he said, "that a part of your accustomed duty is to set an example to the rest. I shall lead the Agema. Keep near me, for I may need you. Whether we win or lose, let it be with glory."
He turned his face toward the Persians and scanned with care the dense masses of troops who stood waiting beyond the Pinarus, in lines so deep that he could not see their rear. His eyes lingered upon the centre, where Darius, his rival for the mastery of the world, was standing. On the left of the Great King, the course of the stream bent backward, and the formation of the Persian army followed its course. The left of the Greek mercenaries, upon whom Darius relied to win the battle, rested in this elbow of the river.
"There is the vital spot," Alexander said. "If we can gain a foothold on that bank, have no fear of what may happen elsewhere. It will be easier than it was at the Granicus."
"The cavalry is coming," said Clitus, pointing toward the beach.
Alexander turned and saw the gayly caparisoned squadrons of the Persian right dashing into the river. The foam splashed about the knees of the horses and a forest of lances waved and tossed in the air.
"There is work for Parmenio," the young king remarked as the head of the column gained the shore.
He glanced once more along the Persian front, but the movement on the beach did not extend to the main force. It was clear that Darius intended to compel him to begin the infantry battle.
Alexander cantered down to the right of the phalanx, where he dismounted and placed himself at the head of the Agema. On the beach the Thessalians met the shock of the tremendous body of cavalry that had been launched against them. The impact bore them back, but even that rushing avalanche of horses and men could not break them. It dashed against their wall of steel, recoiled, and rolled on again, in successive waves, continually strengthened from the rear as fresh squadrons crossed the stream.
The Macedonian line quivered with eagerness. A page darted from Alexander's side along the front of the phalanx and spoke a word to Ptolemy, son of Lagus. Another sped to the Companions.
"Advance," he cried, "and charge when the king leads! This is the order!"
"Here we go!" cried Chares, clapping Nathan on the back with a blow that nearly hurled him from his horse. "Stick to Leonidas! He will find the best of the fighting for us, or we will drown him in the river!"
"The phalanx is moving!" Clearchus cried with shining eyes.
A dull throbbing beat through the air and the heavy centre started slowly forward, each man touching the arm of his neighbor and keeping step in parade order. The cadence of voices began to mingle with the drum beat and the wild music of the trumpets.
As they advanced, Clearchus gazed eagerly at the Persian line, every nerve stretched to the point of physical pain. He saw in the centre the ranks of the Greek mercenaries, ten times as deep as those of the phalanx, standing grim and motionless, in strange contrast with the restless flutter of the heterogeneous masses that surrounded them on three sides. He blushed to think that, when Persia stood at bay, Greeks could be found to range themselves with her against their own country. The thought passed through his mind that Alexander was right after all, and that Demosthenes and those who aided him to fan the flame of hostility to Macedon at home were really acting the part of traitors, not only to Athens, but to all Greece.
He turned his eyes to Alexander, whose plumes shone in the front rank of the Agema. This had now almost reached the Pinarus. Suddenly from the phalanx rose the deep-toned pæan, summoning the Gods of Hellas to protect their own. The mighty chant drowned the throbbing of the drums and the uproar of the battle on the beach. As it rose and swelled, it filled the plain and rolled back in echoes from the mountain sides. There was something in it stern and inflexible, that thrilled Clearchus' heart and lifted him to the plane of self-forgetfulness.
The Agema reached the river. The pæan gave way to a wild shout as the slow advance of the phalanx changed to a rush, and the Macedonian line dashed into the rain of javelins, darts, and arrows that was poured upon it from the Persian side of the stream.
The phalanx swept into the shallow bed of the river. The Greek mercenaries who confronted it on the western bank, nerved by the hope of gaining the immense reward promised by the Great King, and knowing that his eyes were upon them, met its shock with courage. Clearchus heard the fierce shouts with which they closed and saw the line of the phalanx bend and sway as it pressed upward to gain a foothold.
"Hot work," cried Chares, who was galloping beside him. "By Zeus, the king leads!"
Alexander, surrounded by young men whose hearts were as high as his own, struck the left of the stubborn mercenary line where the curve in the river half exposed its flank. The Agema split its way in between the files, tearing asunder everything before it.
"Follow the Whirlwind!" shouted Clearchus; but his voice was lost in the wild cry of the charge.
Clearchus was conscious of being carried swiftly forward without guidance or volition of his own. The water of the Pinarus splashed in his face. A blaze of color spread confusedly before his eyes where the Persians stood awaiting the charge on the terrace above. An arrow struck his breast and rebounded from his armor. Javelins fell all around him.
"Now!" he heard the voice of Chares shouting. "Now for it!" and his horse began scrambling up the bank with the others.
On his right and left the Companions rushed upward like a torrent. He grasped his lance more firmly, but he had no occasion to use it. The Persians gave way, crumpling back upon each other in a disordered mob. Behind them in vain their captains plied the terrible knotted whips with which they sought to hold the men to their work.
Showers of darts and arrows continued to fall from the rear, striking friend and foe without distinction, but the Persian troops who were directly exposed to the Macedonian attack huddled together like sheep. They were prevented from fleeing only by the fact that they were hemmed in by the dense ranks of their own host. Through them the Companions raged at will, clearing a space into which the archers and slingers pressed with shouts of triumph.
Above the turmoil the Macedonian trumpets rang out high and clear, and, in obedience to their command, the Companions swerved to the left, leaving the light-armed troops to hold what they had gained. Clearchus saw that their charge had torn away the support from the left of the Greek mercenary cohorts, leaving them wholly unprotected. He caught sight of the Agema and the other hypaspists, struggling hand to hand with the mercenaries, and beyond them the phalanx, which he was surprised to find had not yet succeeded in gaining a lodgement on the west bank of the river.
"There's something worth fighting," Chares cried to Nathan, waving his lance at the mercenaries. "They are Greeks," he added proudly. "Come on, and we will show you what a real battle is like."
The Companions had partially regained the order which they had lost in the charge. They now faced the mercenary flank at right angles to the front of both armies. Again the trumpet notes launched them forward. Again the wild cheer arose, ending in a grinding shock. The momentum of the charge carried the Companions far into the exposed flank of the mercenaries; but this time no panic and no yielding followed. Although hard pressed in front by the furious and unremitting onslaught of the Agema and the hypaspists, where Clearchus again caught the gleam of Alexander's floating plumes, the hirelings stood their ground until death overcame them. Facing half about, they met as well as they could the attack of the Companions to which the cowardice of their allies had laid them open. But not even their courage could save them, unsupported and without generalship as they were, from the impetuous determination of Alexander.
Into the living wall the Macedonians hewed their way, foot by foot. Alexander raged like a tiger, knowing that here the battle was to be lost or won. The phalanx was all but broken. Away on the beach the Thessalians had been borne back by the impenetrable masses of the Persian cavalry and were holding the enemy in check only by a series of desperate and reckless charges. At that moment Darius was triumphant everywhere excepting at the bloody curve in the river where Alexander led in person.
It seemed to Clearchus that for hours they were locked in that desperate struggle without being able to advance. His lance was broken and the hand in which he held his sword was numb. Beside him he saw the broad shoulders of Chares heave and fall as he delivered his blows. The lust of battle seemed to flame in the Theban's veins like a fever. Again and again the mercenaries leaped upon him to pull him down. His sword was everywhere.
"He is mad!" thought Clearchus, and so indeed he seemed.
Nathan fought beside him, cool and wary, parrying and thrusting with sinews of steel. His eyes glowed with excitement held in check, and a flush tinged the sunburned olive of his cheek.
Little by little, the Companions worked their way toward the hypaspists, until at last the cavalry and the foot fought side by side, with Alexander at their head. So fierce was the conflict that flesh and blood could not long sustain it. The flank attack finally threw the left of the mercenaries into confusion, which gradually extended until the ranks that opposed the phalanx began to waver. A mighty quiver ran through the hireling force. Its resistance weakened and it gave ground.
With a wild shout the phalanx rushed up the river bank. The mercenary lines were hurled backward. The wall was broken.
Among the swirling eddies of men and plunging horses, Clearchus found himself close to Alexander. He saw the young king, sword in hand, his armor dimmed with dust and blood, pause for a moment with heaving breast to note the final charge of the phalanx. As soon as he saw the straightened lines and caught sight of the sarissas rising above the river bank, followed by the grim faces of his veterans, he turned and directed his gaze in the opposite direction, toward Darius.
The Great King had not shifted his ground since the beginning of the battle. He still stood, erect and proud, in the golden chariot with its four white steeds, whose jewelled bridles were held by slaves. His long robe, in folds of lustrous purple, floated from his shoulders. In his hand he held an idle bow, inlaid with pearl. He looked unmoved upon the slaughter that was going on before his eyes, but when the mercenary line gave way, he turned to his brother Oxathres.
"Is that the courage of which these Greeks boast so much?" he asked.
Oxathres shrugged his shoulders.
"They are dogs," he replied. "Wait until the Macedonian has spent his strength upon them, and we will show him what it is to meet Persian steel. Look yonder, O king!"
He waved his hand toward the sea beach, where the Persian cavalry had pushed Parmenio and the Thessalians back from the river's mouth.
"So will we do to them here," he said contemptuously.
A cupbearer brought Darius a goblet, gleaming with precious stones and filled with the wine that only the royal lips might taste. The Great King drank it deliberately and turned again to the battle.
"What is that handful of horsemen there on the left?" he asked.
"They are called the Companion cavalry," Oxathres answered. "They are said to be brave men."
"Who is leading them?" Darius asked again.
"Alexander, who wears the white plumes," his brother replied. "He is mounting. They are about to charge."
"Will he dare to attack us here?" Darius queried anxiously.
"Grant, O Beltis, that he may!" Oxathres said fervently. "Then we shall have him at our mercy."
"What shall I do with him when he has been captured?" Darius asked.
"O king, may you live forever!" Oxathres exclaimed. "Many have fallen this day. Crucify him beside his fellow-robbers on the shore as a warning to all the world."
"Could I so treat a king?" Darius asked doubtfully.
"Thou couldst treat him so, for he is no true king," Oxathres urged. "Thou knowest the stories of his birth."
"So then shall it be," Darius said. "Give the necessary orders."
At that moment the steward of the king's household forced his way through the nobles and prostrated himself, kissing the dust before the chariot.
"Speak," Darius commanded.
"O king of kings!" the man said, "Sisygambis, thy mother, and the Queen Statira sent me to know if thou wert safe, and to ask when thou wilt return to them."
"Tell them to have no fear," Darius said confidently. "Let them make ready to attend the banquet in my pavilion at the going down of the sun."
Darius glanced again at the Companions, who were forming for the charge under cover of the advancing phalanx, and let his eyes sweep slowly over his own forces. Around him stood princes and governors of provinces, satraps, viceroys, and generals. His personal guard of ten thousand horse was drawn up on either side, while in front of him, so disposed as not to obstruct his view of the battle, were ranged the Immortals, ten thousand of the bravest soldiers of his empire.
In an open space behind his chariot stood a group of white-robed priests around a massive altar of silver from which rose the pale blue perfumed smoke of the eternal fire. Mithra, Darius believed, would never forsake his votaries or permit his fire to be extinguished.
"They are coming," the Great King said tranquilly, having completed his inspection. "Look, Oxathres, Baal has stricken them with madness!"
He leaned forward in his chariot, fixing his eyes upon the white plumes that his brother had said distinguished his rival. Between him and the Macedonians stood a solid barrier of men, every one of whom was ready to die if by so doing he could save his master so much as a scratch.
"If they will persist in their folly," Oxathres said, "let them come."
The Companions tore their way through the remnant of the mercenary line. Onward they came, trampling and scattering a squadron of Scyths as if their weapons had been the toys of children. They reached the Immortals. Darius drew a breath of relief. There they must stop at last.
But no! The white plumes still advanced, and behind them came a widening stream of horses and men. It seemed as though nothing could stand against them. The Immortals were scattered like chaff from a threshing-floor.
Oxathres changed color. He turned and spoke to his trumpeter. The brazen note that followed warned the nobles to make ready for a charge. The heart of many a silk-robed courtier who had been boasting all day of the deeds he would do when his chance came grew sick at the sound. The time had come.
Darius hastily dismounted from his heavy chariot, leaving his mantle behind him, and took his place in another chariot, drawn by two horses only and more easily manageable. At a sign from Oxathres, a groom advanced, leading a beautiful chestnut mare, who tossed her head with distended nostrils, neighing for her foal, which had purposely been left behind beyond the Amanic Gates in Syria. The groom took his place in silence beside the chariot.
"Shall I lead the charge?" Darius asked.
"Thy servants beg of thee not to deprive them of the glory that awaits them," Oxathres replied.
Darius waved his hand in assent. Already the nobles in the outer circle of the royal guard were struggling for their lives with the Companions. The charge had been delayed too long and there was no time now to make it. Nothing was left but defence.
Darius saw the white plume tossing like a fleck of foam on the crest of an advancing wave. He fitted an arrow to his bow and drew it to the head. The loosened shaft struck the satrap Arsames and passed through his body.
Princes and nobles fought breast to breast with the sons of Macedonian herdsmen. There was no longer question of rank or power, of birth or riches, but only of who had the braver heart and the stronger arm. The eminence on which the Great King had posted himself to witness the punishment of the invaders at his leisure was clothed in slaughter. His favorites were rolling in the dust under the feet of their maddened horses. For the first time in his life, the monarch looked in the face of peril, and his spirit quailed before the test.
Out of the struggle Oxathres came galloping, breathless and with blood upon his armor.
"Save thyself, brother!" he cried, forgetting the royal titles in his haste. "The battle is lost! Mount and fly while there is yet time!"
Darius sprang from his chariot and threw himself upon the back of the chestnut mare, whose silken flanks trembled with excitement. A bound and she was beside the smoking altar, from which the priests had already fled. In her ears rang the anxious call of her foal, and the brute instinct of her mother-love saved that day the King of Kings, who was leaving his own wife and children and the queen his mother to the mercy of his enemies.
Straight as an arrow, leaping every obstacle that came in her way, the mare darted through the confused squadrons of the reserves toward the Amanic Gates. Behind her thundered prince and satrap, each intent upon saving himself at whatever cost.
"The king flees! The king flees!" The cry rose in a hundred tongues throughout the Persian host. The tens of thousands of troops who had not been called upon to strike a blow because there had been no room for them in the fighting line melted away as if by magic. The plain was filled with men streaming toward the mountains or the sea, seeking some place of refuge. Here a body of Scyths, clad in shuggy skins, retreated sullenly; there a band of dark-skinned Libyans ran like a herd of frightened cattle, casting away their clubs and stone-tipped spears; Arabs, Egyptians, Indians, Assyrians, fled in panic, each man seeking to place his neighbor behind him. Collisions were frequent, and more than one unfortunate was hacked down because he stood in the way of some savage comrade in arms.
The men who were actually engaged in fighting did not at first perceive that they were being left to their fate. As soon as they discovered the desertion of the reserves, many of them threw down their weapons and sued for mercy. A portion of the Greek mercenaries alone maintained a semblance of discipline, though broken into several bodies. They fell back, still facing their enemies, toward the seashore, in search of ships to carry them away.
To the Persian cavalry, that had borne back Parmenio, the news of defeat came last of all. They alone still held an advantage, and it was bitter for them to be forced to abandon it. But without support they were powerless. The phalanx wheeled in upon them, threatening to drive them into the sea. Finally they too relinquished hope and joined the rout.
Then through all the plain and up the mountain slopes rode squadrons of Macedonian horse, cutting down the fugitives. The Thessalians there took merciless revenge for their losses. The earth was encumbered with corpses.
When the trumpets at nightfall recalled the scattered and weary bands of executioners, nothing of the vast army of Darius remained on the plain excepting the spoil and the dead, over whom the jackals snarled and howled. And down the Syrian slope of the pass, bathed in sweat, galloped the fleet-limbed chestnut mare, with Darius upon her back.