The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great

As she stood there, a butterfly danced in upon the sunlight, fluttered about her head, and finally settled upon her hair, slowly opening and shutting its red-brown wings, mottled with darker spots. Like a sudden breeze in a ripened field of grain, a whisper of admiration and superstitious wonder ran through the room. Thais raised her eyes, and the shadow of a smile parted her crimson lips, showing the pearly gleam of her teeth.

Thus for a moment she stood in the sunlight before the gaze of the assemblage that thronged about the Rhodian general. The flower of her womanhood seemed to exhale a nameless, sensuous fascination, like the strange perfume of a rare exotic, the spell of which was longing and desire.

"Bring in the prisoners," Memnon said.

Clearchus and Chares were led into the room before Thais. She turned to them with a swift warning in her glance that stopped the words of protest on the lips of the Theban.

"Leave them to me," her eyes seemed to say.

"Do you know these men?" Memnon asked courteously.

"I know them," she assented, in a voice that sounded singularly sweet and timid. "They are Chares, who was of Thebes, and Clearchus, of Athens."

"Can you tell what brought them here?" Memnon asked.

"They left Athens in search of Artemisia, as all Athens knows," Thais returned.

Her answer had substantiated the story of the prisoners. Memnon turned inquiringly to Orontobates.

"It may be that this is some trick," the Persian said softly, in his own tongue. "Who knows that they have not concerted this story for this occasion?"

"My lord's suspicion is just," Thais returned, smiling upon Orontobates and addressing him in his own language; "but he will observe that I have not seen these men since they left Athens, and, indeed, I did not know they were here."

"Then why did you come here yourself?" Orontobates asked, returning her smile.

"I came because I learned that Artemisia was here, and I, too, wished to find her," Thais replied.

Orontobates shook his head incredulously. "If this young woman, for whom all Athens seems to be seeking, is here in Halicarnassus, doubtless she can be found," he remarked.

"My lord is right," Thais said quietly, "for I have found her."

"Shall we send for her?" Memnon asked, turning to Orontobates, who sat thoughtfully stroking his beard, "or shall we set the prisoners free?"

"Thou knowest that Darius commanded us to send him our captives, so that he might learn for himself concerning the Macedonians," the Persian replied. "We have had few to send, and I think he would like to question these men. By their own confession, they have been in Alexander's army. Dost thou not think it might be well to obey the command relating to them?"

Memnon saw that if he refused he might be charged with disobedience to the Great King, whose lightest word was law, and he could not afford to take the risk.

"Thy words are wise," he said smoothly, hiding the anger that he felt at the Persian's interference. "It shall be as thou hast said. Take away the prisoners," he added to the guard, "and let them be sent to-night to Babylon with the messenger who is to carry my letters to King Darius, my master, – may he live forever!"

"It is well," said Orontobates, with a shade of mockery in his voice.

Clearchus' face grew pale. The thought that Artemisia was so near and that he was about to be separated from her, perhaps forever, without being permitted to see her again, was a blow under which he staggered.

"Why send us both?" Chares demanded, restraining himself with an effort. "I know all that Clearchus knows, and I will tell it freely to the Great King if you will let him go free."

"Two are better than one," Orontobates said. "Thou wilt tell what thou knowest, whether freely or not."

"Take them away," Memnon said harshly, "and see that they speak with nobody before their departure."

Thais followed them with her eyes to the door, where Chares turned his head and smiled at her. She gave him back the smile bravely; but as he passed out of her sight her face changed and became like marble. Her eyes sought those of Orontobates, and she spoke to him in an even voice that vibrated with the intensity of her passion.

"I am a woman, O Persian," she said, "but I say to thee and to thy master that if harm befalls either of these men, the proudest palaces of thy kings shall be their funeral pyre."

A dead hush followed this defiance, and all eyes were turned upon the Persian in expectation of an outbreak; but Orontobates merely smiled upon her as though she were a petulant child and turned again to the study of the maps spread out before him.

CHAPTER XXII

THE VISION OF DANIEL, THE VICEROY

Silent and thoughtful in the midst of the swarthy Arabian guard commanded by Nathan the Israelite, who bore Memnon's letters to the Great King, Clearchus and Chares rode out of the eastern gate of Halicarnassus. Even the Theban's buoyant nature for once was subdued. They were going to what seemed certain death, and they were leaving behind them those they loved most on earth.

To Clearchus this thought was unbearable. He cared not what happened, now that the last hope of rescuing Artemisia was gone. What would become of her? Who could aid her now? He rode with his head sunk on his breast, seeing and hearing nothing of what went on around him. A low fever filled his veins, dulling his senses and leaving him only half conscious of their situation. At times he imagined it was all a dream, from which he would awake, still free to continue the search for his lost love. Then a realization of the truth would return to him, and he groaned aloud in his despair.

The response of the oracle of Delphi, which had supported him, now seemed like a mockery. It had been fulfilled, he thought, when in truth he found Artemisia in the track that Alexander's army was to follow. The Gods had made him their sport, and he fancied them smiling down from the heavens upon his agony. The light of the sun became hateful to him.

So he rode, mile after mile and day after day, in listless and inert abandonment to his fate. Who could resist the will of the Gods? He ate almost nothing, and his strength wasted visibly, while lines of suffering deepened on his face.

In vain Chares sought to rouse him. He returned patient answers to the arguments of the Theban, but his power of effort was gone. In the first stages of their journey Chares watched over him constantly to prevent him from destroying himself in his despair.

Through Lycia, Pisidia, and Cilicia they passed, finding fresh relays of horses at each station along the great highway that had been established by the predecessors of Darius. Through the Amanic Gates they galloped at last, and paused at Thapsacus, on the banks of the mighty Euphrates, where, more than a century and a half before, the Ten Thousand had halted in their desperate dash upon Babylon.

Chares had long ago recovered his cheerful temper. Of what lay before them when they reached the Persian capital he had ceased to think. The condition of Clearchus, and the fact that they had advanced so far toward the heart of the Persian empire, made escape practically impossible. The Theban was regarded rather as a comrade than an enemy by the Arabs of the guard, and his unfailing good nature made the long journey seem less wearisome.

With Nathan he had formed a solid friendship. The young Israelite, browned by the sun and wind, was naturally taciturn and inclined to silence. His form was active and sinewy, and his muscles seemed always on the alert. In his dark eyes burned the mystic intelligence and indomitable earnestness of his race. He rode usually in advance of the little troop, and, although often he seemed wrapped in contemplation, nothing ever escaped him. The contrast between him and the careless, talkative Theban, with his laughing blue eyes and yellow hair, was as complete as possible; and it may have been this very difference in their temperaments that drew them together.

Nathan showed an extraordinary interest in all that related to Alexander, even in his personal appearance and what he had said on this or that occasion. He would listen by the hour while Chares talked of the young Macedonian king, his people, and his court. No suspicion entered the Theban's mind that Nathan was seeking information for the use of his superiors in Babylon. He would have dismissed such a thought as unjust. The Israelite inquired little about Alexander's army, and seemed rather desirous of forming in his own mind a portrait of the young leader. That he reflected deeply upon what Chares told him was shown by the questions that he asked from time to time for the purpose of enabling him to fill out some incomplete detail.

Chares sometimes wondered whether the interest that Nathan displayed in Alexander could have any religious bearing. He had heard from Aristotle of the mysterious and peculiar belief of the Israelites, who worshipped only one God, and who would not suffer an image of Him to be set up in their temple; but his ideas regarding their faith were confused with stories of a hundred other equally insignificant tribes.

His attention was aroused one day by a sudden change in the young Israelite. He became both restless and abstracted. Often he returned no answer to the questions that the Theban put to him, and there seemed to be an unusual luminous depth in his dark eyes. At times his lips moved as though he were conversing with unseen companions. There was a strangeness in his actions and expression that caused even the heedless Theban to feel a vague uneasiness. Toward nightfall, Clearchus, as though drawn by some undefinable bond of sympathy, rode forward and took his place beside Nathan. It was the first time that this had happened since they left Halicarnassus, and Chares watched them with amazement. Neither spoke, but each appeared conscious of the other's presence, and Chares imagined that there was more animation in Clearchus' glance when they halted for the night. At the same time he had a dim sense that something was going on between them that he could not understand.

After the evening meal Nathan sat before the tent that he always occupied with his two prisoners when they spent the night away from human habitation. Clearchus lay beside him, with his head resting on his hand. The Arabs were sleeping in a group beside the tethered horses.

In the measureless depths of the sky the great stars blazed with a steady light. Strange cries of night birds came from the broad river, sweeping silently past them in the darkness. The howl of a jackal sounded faintly in the distance.

Nathan's face was turned toward the south, as though his eyes could see there the walls of the city in whose narrow streets he had played with his companions as a boy. Presently he began to speak.

"He will requite His enemies and those who scorn Him," the Israelite said. "Terrible is His wrath!"

"Is He more powerful than Zeus?" said Clearchus, seeming to comprehend what Nathan meant.

"Yea," Nathan answered solemnly. "Thy Gods are as nothing before Him. Baal He overthrew in Babylon with all his brood."

"I have heard that it was the Persians and not thy people who smote Nebuchadnezzar," Clearchus replied. "Is He the God of the Persians, too?"

"They paid Him honor under the name of Ormazd," the Israelite replied. "While they were faithful to Him, nothing could stand against them; but they have turned their faces from Him, and their time has come. He hath weighed them in His balance, one by one – Chaldean, Egyptian, Assyrian, Phœnician, and Mede. He hath given the victory into their hands; and one by one hath He smitten them until they were humbled in the dust. There is no God but God."

"What hath He done for thee?" the Athenian asked.

"He hath delivered me out of the snares of mine enemies," Nathan replied earnestly, "even when they compassed me about in wrath. Once and again hath He brought my people out of bondage because they worshipped Him alone. He hath made good His promise. He hath never failed us in our hour of need. By the mouths of His holy men hath He given us knowledge of that which is to come; and now once more He will show to the sons of men His wrath and His favor. He shall put down the mighty from their seats."

Chares saw that Nathan's hands were trembling as they lay clasped upon his knees and that drops of moisture glistened upon his forehead.

"His word was given to Daniel, viceroy of the Great King, Belshazzar, in the palace at Susa by the waters of the river Ulai in the time of my fathers' fathers," the Israelite continued. "The mysteries of the future were laid bare to him by Gabriel, Jehovah's servant; and behold, he saw standing before the river, a ram with two horns; and the two horns were high, but one was higher than the other, and the higher came up last. He saw the ram pushing westward and northward and southward, so that no beasts might stand against him. Neither was there any that could deliver out of his hand; but he did according to his will and became great. Lo, these are the words of Daniel, the viceroy.

"And as he stood considering, behold, an he goat came from the West on the face of the whole earth and he touched not the ground. And the he goat had a great horn between his eyes; and that was thy king, who cometh. And while Daniel looked, he saw the he goat come close to the ram and there was no power in the ram to stand before him, but he cast him down to the ground and stamped upon him, and there was none that could deliver the ram from him. These things were seen of Daniel in olden times; and the hour is at hand."

There was silence for a moment, and then Clearchus said slowly: —

"If it is written that Alexander shall overthrow the Great King, why dost thou lead us captives to Babylon?"

"I know not," Nathan replied, "but the command was laid upon me, and it is Jehovah's will that I should obey. Were it not so, He would have told me. How can we know His ways? Who are we that we should question His wisdom? Yet in the end, I have faith that it will be well with thee; for to Him nothing is impossible."

It was long before Clearchus closed his eyes in sleep that night. He lay looking upward at the tranquil and steadfast stars and revolving in his mind the words of the Israelite. Could it be that a Divinity greater than all others existed in the universe, whose will ruled all things? The idea took possession of him, and at the same time hope was renewed in his breast. The Gods whom he had honored had deserted him; perhaps the God of Israel could help him.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE WHIRLWIND'S TRACK

Long before Nathan with his captives reached the Persian capital, the sentinels upon the towers of Halicarnassus gave warning of the approach of Alexander's army. Fresh from the storming of stubborn Miletus, the Macedonians advanced against the lofty walls which sheltered the army of Memnon, nearly as numerous as their own. At the first alarm the braying of trumpets sounded through the city, and soldiers filled the streets, marching quickly towards the Mylasan Gate.

Iphicrates, perched high on the walls with the corps of citizen defenders to which he belonged, watched the regular troops making ready for their sally. He held a spear in his hand and a sword was buckled about his fat sides.

"I wish I was with them," said a youth beside him, little more than a boy, gazing down upon the array.

"It's cooler up here – and safer too," the old money-lender muttered, wiping his brow.

"They will cut the Macedonians to pieces," the boy exclaimed, "and I shall have no part in the victory."

"Patience!" Iphicrates answered. "Thy chance will come, perhaps."

The boy turned and looked outward towards the attacking army. "They have stopped," he cried. "They are afraid!"

Iphicrates shaded his eyes with his hand. The Macedonians indeed had halted amid the clouds of dust that their feet had raised and they seemed to be in some confusion. At that moment the gate was thrown open and the garrison emerged in a wide, glittering column. The walls rang with cheers. The column advanced, wheeled, and deployed in a long, deep line, confronting the enemy. It was evidently Memnon's plan to strike a blow that might prove decisive while the Macedonians were still wearied from their march and before they were able to form. His archers sent a flight of arrows towards the Macedonian ranks and his spearmen prepared to charge.

Then behind the dust-cloud rose a sound that seemed to the watchers upon the walls like the murmur of a mighty river. The advance guard of the Macedonians scattered, and in its place appeared the solid front of the phalanx with its forest of sarissas.

"What are they singing?" asked the boy, gazing wide-eyed upon the changing scene.

"It is the pæan; they are calling upon the Gods," Iphicrates replied, again mopping his face.

"It is like a tragedy in a theatre," the boy said, catching his breath in the intensity of his excitement. "Look! Who is that?"

Across the front of the Macedonians rode a man upon a great black horse that curvetted and tossed the foam from his bit. The rider's armor flashed through the dust and his white plumes nodded from his helmet.

"That must be Alexander himself," Iphicrates replied. "Ah, here they come!"

Louder rose the pæan as the phalanx swept forward. The space that divided the two armies seemed to shrink away until they almost touched. Then, as with one impulse, the sarissas of the foremost Macedonian ranks dropped forward, until their points were level with the breasts of the foe, and were driven home by the impulse of the charge. The lines of the defenders bent, swayed, and broke. Order gave place to confusion. Here and there small parties began to run back toward the gate they had left so bravely half an hour before.

"We are beaten!" sobbed the boy on the wall.

"It is cooler up here," Iphicrates replied mechanically. A chill ran through his bulk as though he already felt the edge of the swords that were rising and falling in the hands of the victors.

The swiftest of the fugitives, throwing away their weapons, had already dashed panting through the gate. Others crowded behind them, and the opening quickly became choked by a mass of men who trampled each other in their eagerness to get inside the walls. The cavalry and light-armed troops of the Macedonians pressed close at their heels, giving them no respite from their terror.

Of the army of Halicarnassus hardly a remnant would have escaped had not the rain of missiles and arrows from the walls checked the Macedonian advance. As soon as the enemy was within range the order was given to the archers and slingers, of whom there were thousands posted upon the ramparts. They showered stones and arrows upon the pursuing force, and the catapults sent huge darts buzzing down among the close-packed squadrons.

The boy beside Iphicrates was twanging away with his bow as fast as he could fit his arrows to the cord.

"I hit one!" he cried, following the course of a shaft with his eyes. "I saw him fall! He went right over backward!"

He began shooting again with renewed ardor.

Meantime a few squadrons of the bravest men in Memnon's forces rallied and made a brief stand before the gate. They succeeded in halting the Macedonians long enough to enable their comrades to swarm through to safety; but soon they were swept off their feet and hurled back toward the battlements. To their dismay, they found the great gate closed against them. They were cut down as they ran hither and thither, seeking in vain for a place of refuge.

Iphicrates watched the butchery with horrible fascination. His face was mottled, and the spear in his hand shook like a blade of corn.

"Cowards!" cried the boy with flashing eyes, "why did they not let them in?"

A shout of warning sounded along the crest of the wall. The Macedonian slingers and archers had turned their weapons against it, and they swept the parapet with a deadly storm that drove the defenders to shelter. The hissing of the arrows and the humming of the balls of lead from the slings filled the air. The boy beside Iphicrates uttered a cry, threw up his arms, and fell with a red mark on his forehead.

"Mother!" he murmured, and lay still.

Iphicrates dropped to his hands and knees and crawled away, shaking with the palsy of fear.

There was little sleep in Halicarnassus that night. Soldier and citizen labored together, and morning found them still toiling upon the walls, preparing for what they knew was to come. The city was in the iron grip of the siege.

By day and by night the great walls crumbled before the unremitting assaults of the enemy. The Macedonians filled in the wide ditch, raised mounds and towers, and burrowed beneath the foundations of the defences like moles. There was no lack of provisions in the city, for Memnon's fleet came and went with nothing to oppose it, bringing corn and supplies as they were needed. It had been the hope of the inhabitants that Alexander would withdraw when he had measured the difficulty of the task before him. They had ground for the belief that disturbances might be fomented in Greece that would cause him to turn his attention to that quarter. But their plans miscarried. Antipater held Greece with a firm hand and the siege continued.

No man was permitted to lay aside his armor, for the Macedonians attacked at every hour. Again and again the city was roused in the dead of night by the crash of falling battlements, and the defenders were obliged to guard some new breach while they repaired the damage as best they might. They made frequent sallies, attacking the formidable engines that had been constructed by the enemy. Several of them were destroyed in this way, but they were replaced by new ones more powerful than their predecessors.

Orontobates sent urgent messages to his master, Darius, telling him of the desperate situation and begging for succor; but none came. What was one city, rich and populous though it might be, to a monarch who counted his cities by the thousand? The brave garrison was left to its fate, fighting obstinately against its doom. The faces of the men grew haggard with watching and anxiety. Custom and order were forgotten. Rich and poor, slave and freeman, labored side by side against the inevitable; and ever, like men swimming against the current, they felt the resistless pressure bearing them down.

Artemisia and Thais, shut up in the house of Iphicrates, awaited the result of the siege. The younger woman was overcome at first when she learned that Clearchus was to be sent to Babylon, but Thais managed to convince her that he was in no danger, and a message that was brought to them before the siege began went far to revive her hope. One of the Cyprian women came back from the market with a basket of grapes. She said that a young man had followed her and asked her whether she did not belong to Thais. She replied that she did.

"Then tell her," the stranger said, "that Nathan the Israelite bids her have no fear."

With that, he vanished in the crowd, and she brought the message.

They learned without much difficulty who Nathan was, and the mysterious message consoled them. Artemisia spoke of it with a childlike faith that touched Thais' heart.

"When they return, they will rejoin the army of Alexander," she said. "If we could only escape to the Macedonians."

"We shall manage it in some way," Thais replied. "Leave it to me."

Phradates, whose broken wrist prevented him from taking part in the fighting, came often to visit them. He had never forgotten his glimpse of the face of Thais as it appeared in the great slave market before the ruined city of Thebes. His defeat that day was rendered more bitter in the recollection by the thought that she had been a witness of it. The face had haunted him until it had become a part of his life. After her return to Athens he had dogged her footsteps until he was called away to join the army of the satraps.

When he saw her again before Memnon's tribunal, the fascination of her beauty took complete possession of him. His anger against Chares was forgotten, and he was even glad when his rival was sent to Babylon instead of being condemned to death. He believed that the Theban would never come back, and the execution of the prisoners in Halicarnassus might have proved an insurmountable barrier between him and Thais.