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

Clearchus looked troubled, and even Chares shook his head.

"Wait," Joel went on eagerly, noticing their concern. "I have told you the interpretation of the Chaldeans. Our wise men have also considered the dream, and they read it differently. They say that the army on fire means that the Macedonians shall win great glory, and that the appearance of Alexander as a lord of the household, in the same dress that Darius wore before he became king, signifies that he will gain victories, as Darius did. This is the interpretation of the priests of our race, to whom are revealed the things that are to be."

"I know not which is right," Clearchus said, "but I wish Aristander was here."

"Nathan bade me tell you to have no fear," Joel said confidently. "He also wished me to tell you that Phradates the Tyrian has come to court."

"Phradates here!" Chares exclaimed. "Why did you not say so before? There will be trouble for us."

"Nathan talked with the Phœnician and learned much," Joel continued. "Halicarnassus has fallen and Memnon is dead. Phradates is seeking command of the fleet for Azemilcus, the Tyrian king."

"Did Nathan say nothing of Artemisia and Thais?" Clearchus inquired, in a trembling voice.

"Oh, yes," said Joel, "I had forgotten. He told me to say that Phradates had carried them by force to Tyre in his galley after the fall of Halicarnassus and that he is in love with Thais. This he learned from one of our people who was with the Tyrian; and he learned further that as yet no harm has befallen the young women."

"We must go!" Clearchus exclaimed. "Tell Nathan so at once. Tell him that if he cannot release us, we will release ourselves. We must be on our way to Tyre to-morrow."

"Quietly," Chares said, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Not so loud. You forget!"

"Did you not hear what he said?" Clearchus demanded impatiently. "Artemisia is in Tyre and in the power of Phradates!"

"So is Thais, and she is in the greater danger," Chares said, "if what Joel tells us is true; but we shall never see either of them again unless we are discreet."

There was a stir in the great hall of the building as the inmates gathered from the various smaller apartments. "The king has sent a summons!" Joel said, hastening away.

"Do not forget my message," Clearchus insisted.

"I will deliver it," Joel responded over his shoulder.

Chares and Clearchus joined the main body of prisoners, who were assembled in the hall. They found there Boupares himself, with scribes bearing the register of the inmates of the place. The governor scrutinized the lists with care, selecting from among them the names of prisoners, who were called by a crier. Each man, as he heard his name, stepped forward to await the directions of Boupares.

"Amyntas of Macedon!" shouted the crier, and a small, thin man with a sallow face stood out from the rest.

"Charidemus of Corinth!" the crier called.

"They are asking only for the Greeks," remarked a tall Assyrian.

"Maybe our turn has come," Clearchus said.

"Clearchus of Athens!" the crier shouted. "Chares of Thebes!"

The two young men advanced and joined the waiting group.

"That is all," Boupares said, handing the lists to the scribes. "Follow me to the audience chamber."

Through the long, pillared courts and vast halls of the palace he conducted the prisoners. On every side were evidences of the expenditure of limitless wealth and measureless labor. Row after row of polished columns sprang a hundred feet to the echoing roof. Great sculptures adorned the walls. The floors were inlaid with mosaics of variegated pattern. Thousands of attendants came and went among the crowds of courtiers.

At last they arrived at the audience chamber and were admitted. Here the talk and laughter ceased and voices sank to a whisper. They were in the presence of the Great King, the most powerful and absolute of all monarchs. The walls of the lofty apartment were covered with plates of gold for half their height, and above these were paintings in which the king was depicted slaying lions in hand-to-hand combat, or driving his enemies before him in his war chariot. Between the pillars hung rich curtains of crimson, green, and violet, and the floor was hidden beneath silken carpets.

At the end of the room, under a purple canopy, stood a throne of gold and ivory, inlaid with precious stones. The perfume of myrrh and frankincense filled the air.

Standing before the throne, from which he had just arisen, the Greeks beheld Darius, the last of the Archæmenian kings. His tall, well-built figure was clad in a long Medean robe of rich silk, purple, embroidered with gold, and confined at the waist by a broad girdle of gold, from which hung his dagger in its sheath of lapis lazuli. His feet were shod in yellow shoes with long points. On his head he wore the citaris, which he alone might wear, with the royal diadem of blue and white. Jewels flashed in his ears, and about his neck hung a heavy collar of great rubies and pearls.

Never, Clearchus thought, had he seen a face more handsome and haughty than that of Darius, as he stood before his throne, with his blue eyes and light brown beard, carefully trimmed. He looked like what he was – the master of the world. His expression, although full of dignity, was slightly weary as he listened to the petition of a man who knelt before him, with bowed head, in the attitude of a suppliant.

With a scarcely perceptible movement of his hand, the king dismissed the petitioner, who rose to his feet and walked backward, with his head still bowed, to a group of officials who stood at one side of the apartment. Chares gripped Clearchus by the arm.

"It is Phradates!" he said.

It was indeed the Phœnician, who had doubtless been pressing the suit of Azemilcus for command of the Ægean fleet. His proud face was humbled, and drops of perspiration stood on his forehead. The king turned his eyes slowly to the Greeks and made a sign to Boupares to advance. The nobles who were ranged on either side of the throne, the king's fan and cup bearers, his generals and the master of his household, remained with stolid faces.

Boupares prostrated himself before the throne, kissing the floor.

"Are these the Greeks for whom I sent thee?" the king asked indifferently.

"They are, my lord," Boupares replied.

"Let them come near," Darius said.

Some of the prisoners prostrated themselves before the king as they had seen Boupares do. Others remained standing, and among these were Clearchus and Chares. Darius looked at them, and a slight frown appeared upon his brow.

"Who are they?" he asked, turning to Boupares.

The governor designated each of the captives by name, adding a few particulars by way of identification.

"Clearchus, an Athenian, and Chares, a Theban," he said. "They have served in the army of the Macedonian, and they were sent to the king from Halicarnassus by Memnon."

"Why have they been permitted to live?" Darius demanded, his face darkening at the name of the lost city.

"Because Memnon believed they could give the king information," Boupares answered humbly, "and when captured they had left the army of Alexander."

"What manner of man is this Alexander?" Darius asked, turning his face to the Greeks.

"He is a king," Chares answered quietly.

"How can he hope to meet me, with his handful of men?" Darius asked again.

"He remembers Cyrus, thy ancestor," Chares replied boldly.

These answers made an evident impression on Darius, whose face lost its listless expression. Many questions he put to the Greeks, who made no attempt to conceal anything from him, knowing that others could give him the information that he desired if they refused, and that refusal would mean immediate death. Finally the king could think of nothing more to ask.

"I am about to march against thy Alexander," he said. "Who will win the victory?"

"Victory is the gift of the Gods, O king," Clearchus said quickly. "Dost thou wish flattery, or a frank reply, without concealment?"

"Speak freely," Darius said, raising his head in pride.

"Then, unless thou canst make thy army equal to his in discipline and spirit, thy numbers will not avail," the Athenian said.

Darius' face flushed, and a murmur of protest rose from the watchful courtiers.

"Is that thy opinion, too?" the king asked, turning to Chares.

"The ocean himself must break upon the rock," the Theban said.

"And thine?" the king continued, addressing Charidemus, the Corinthian.

"It is, O king," Charidemus replied.

Phradates had been watching the face of Darius. He had recognized his enemies as soon as they entered the audience chamber and had resolved to deal them a blow if the chance presented itself. When he saw the frown on the brow of the king and caught the gleam of anger in his eye, he believed he might safely act. He stepped forward and again prostrated himself at the steps of the throne.

"Speak!" said Darius, looking down upon him.

"My lord, I know these men for spies," he said. "I was in Halicarnassus when they were captured just before I received the wound that so nearly cost me my life. Memnon, for reasons that I do not presume to guess, wished to save them. They mock at thee and seek to create doubt of the promise that the Gods have given thee by spreading fear of the result among thy men. Every Greek well knows that Alexander cannot stand against thee and that he will never dare to meet thee in battle."

Phradates had cunningly formed his speech so as to assign a motive to the adverse predictions of the Greeks which would save the pride of the king, and yet, if he accepted it, would leave only one course open to him. Darius did not hesitate.

"They are spies!" he said angrily to Boupares. "Why did you bring them to me? Take them away and let them be questioned under the torture. Perhaps then they will tell the truth."

Darius turned, and Phradates shot a look of triumph at the two friends. Chares shook off the hand of the guard and was about to speak when Clearchus checked him.

"Silence," he whispered earnestly, "or we shall both be killed at once!"

Chares controlled himself with an effort, and the guards, under the direction of the crestfallen Boupares, led them away. Instead of conducting them to their former quarters, Boupares ordered that they be confined in the dungeons that lay beyond. These were built in a structure of massive masonry and consisted of cells with heavily barred doors at which sentries were stationed. Into one of the darkest of the cells they were thrust, and the grating was bolted behind them.

CHAPTER XXVII

NATHAN KEEPS HIS WORD

Clearchus and Chares shivered in the chill of the dungeon. By the glimmer of light that entered through a narrow opening above their heads, they saw that the place was quite bare. There was nothing but the stone floor under their feet and the four stone walls that shut them in.

"What think you, Chares?" Clearchus said, with the shadow of a smile. "Nathan will never be able to rescue us from here."

"It does not look hopeful," the Theban replied, "but let us see."

He made a careful examination of the walls, finding everywhere the solid stone unbroken. The only openings in the cell were the tiny window and the door. The window was out of reach and so narrow that not even a cat could have squeezed through. Chares halted at the door and examined the bars. They were of hammered iron, as thick as the shaft of a lance, and rendered stronger by two cross-bars, welded from side to side. The Theban tested them gently with his hands and shook his head.

"The blacksmith who forged them was a good workman," he said.

At that moment they heard the step of the sentry outside in the passageway. The man carried at his girdle a bunch of great keys that rattled as he walked. He was armed with a short spear with a long, keen blade. He halted at the door of the cell.

"What are you doing there?" he said gruffly to Chares. "Get back!"

"No need to be angry, my friend," Chares returned good-naturedly, falling back from the door. "What are you going to do to us?"

The jailer's brutish face assumed an expression of pleasure that was evidently unfeigned.

"You know you are to be tortured to-morrow," he said, "and we do those things thoroughly here. I shall help. They could not get along without me."

"I suppose you are used to it," Chares ventured.

"My father taught me," the man replied proudly. "There is none in the empire better with the rack than I. And he showed me how to draw the band about a man's forehead until his eyes stick out of his head and his skull cracks like an egg, and all without killing him. Very few know the secret."

"And when you are through with the torture, what then?" asked Chares.

"Why, then you will die by the boat," the jailer replied.

"Do you mean we shall be drowned?" Chares inquired.

The jailer laughed harshly. "That would be too easy," he said. "Death by the boat has nothing to do with the water, as you will find. They will place you in the shallop with your head, arms, and feet outside. Then they will cover you with honey and place another boat upside down over you. This will leave your head and hands free through the holes. The ants and the flies are fond of honey. I have known men to live a week in their snug wooden jackets; but they usually go crazy after a few days, when the ants begin to eat them."

"That is very interesting," Chares remarked. "When will they begin the torture?"

"To-morrow morning," the man replied, "and I advise you to get a sound sleep; you will be able to stand the pain better."

He passed on down the corridor, humming to himself as though his mind were filled with pleasant thoughts.

"That is a nice prospect," Chares said, turning away from the grating. "I wonder what Nathan intends to do?"

"We can only wait," Clearchus replied. "I think we had better pretend that we are asleep, so that your friend the sentinel will at least let us alone."

They stretched themselves upon the stone floor and waited, talking in whispers. With nightfall, the prison grew utterly dark, excepting in the corridor, where the surly guard lighted oil lamps, set at intervals in niches in the wall. These made brief spaces of light in the gloomy passageway, through which the man went and came with monotonous tread. There was silence in that part of the prison where they were, indicating that the other condemned cells were vacant. For a time the sound of voices reached them faintly through the slit in the wall, but these gradually ceased as the night advanced.

One of the lamps had been set directly opposite their cell, but its feeble glimmer hardly extended to the bars of their cage, although it rendered objects in the corridor dimly distinct.

Hour followed hour, and each seemed like a week to the young Athenian. Chares, overcome by drowsiness, had fallen asleep at his side. Clearchus wondered at the careless nature of his friend that permitted him to close his eyes in the face of so horrible a death. He had no doubt that Nathan would seek to rescue them, but he knew not when nor how. Perhaps he would attempt intercession with Darius. Perhaps he would defer the trial until the morning. What if he should fail? Clearchus was far from being a coward, but his nerves shrank from the thought of the torture and the lingering agony that would follow before death came to set them free. The very idea of death, since now he knew that Artemisia was living and in need of him, filled his heart with anguish.

As he lay gazing into the corridor, with his head upon his hand, he recalled her face as it had appeared to him in the happy garden in Academe, with the sunlight on her hair and the color of the wild rose in her cheeks. He remembered how her blue eyes had looked into his with sweet wistfulness and how the tears dimmed them when she told him of the fears that had beset her. The tears rose to his own eyes at the remembrance, and he ground his teeth as he thought of his helplessness. Why had he not trusted the prevision of her finer perceptions, half ethereal as they were? Why had he not remained to defend her and to prevent the train of misfortunes which had followed?

The sentinel paused at the door of the cell for a moment in passing. He noted the deep breathing of Chares and resumed his march with a yawn. Clearchus listened, mechanically counting his steps until he should reach the spot where they were to turn. Suddenly a sound came to his ears that caused him to sit up and listen intently. There were other footfalls in the corridor. They were advancing in the track of the sentinel from the direction of the entrance.

The Athenian's pulses bounded. Help had come. He stretched out his hand to rouse Chares, but in an instant he reflected that there was evidently no effort at concealment on the part of the newcomer. The steps were careless and deliberate. Probably they were made by another guard, who had come to relieve the bloodthirsty wretch outside. His hope sank as suddenly as it had arisen and he let his hand fall.

"Why should I awaken him?" he thought. "Let him sleep."

Slowly the steps advanced. Clearchus crept to the door of the cell and peered out through the grating. A man's figure was approaching along the passage. It was Nathan. Clearchus rose quickly to his feet and shook Chares by the shoulder.

"Silence!" he whispered.

The Theban rubbed his eyes and stretched his great limbs.

"Where am I?" he muttered. "Oh, yes, I remember. What has happened?"

"Nathan is here," Clearchus said.

Chares was on his feet with a bound, and both stood listening breathlessly.

Nathan had reached the dim circle of light before their cell. His keen black eyes were glancing to the right and left at the dark gratings.

"We are here!" Clearchus whispered through the bars.

The Israelite turned his face toward them and smiled, trying to distinguish them in the darkness. In his hand he carried a roll of papyrus.

"Be ready!" he said, in a scarcely audible tone.

"Who are you?" the sentinel demanded, catching sight of Nathan for the first time.

Nathan halted close to the bars of the cell and awaited his approach without reply.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked gruffly as he approached.

"I have an order for you," Nathan replied coolly, unrolling the papyrus as he spoke. "Read it."

The man took the papyrus in his hand and looked at it. Then he glanced cunningly at Nathan.

"What does it mean?" he growled, handing it back. "I cannot read."

This was evidently a contingency that had not entered into Nathan's calculations.

"It is signed by Boupares – here, do you see!" he said, holding the writing under the jailer's nose.

"Well, what then?" the man asked suspiciously.

"It is an order," Nathan continued. "You are to deliver the Greek prisoners to me immediately."

"What are you going to do with them?" the jailer asked.

"Boupares desires to talk with them before they are examined," Nathan explained.

"I shall not give them up," the jailer replied, with the air of a man who has made up his mind. "If Boupares wishes to see them, let him come here. They were sent to me under the seal of the king himself, and this order of yours has no seal. Do you think I want to be boiled alive as my comrade was last month? I can hear his yells yet, for I helped to do it. You can tell Boupares what I have said, and now be off."

Like most ignorant men when they think, or pretend to think, that they are being imposed upon, the jailer raised his voice to a bullying shout. Nathan looked apprehensively over his shoulder toward the entrance of the prison. The harsh tone echoed between the narrow walls and might be easily heard at the gate, where several men were stationed.

"Give me your keys," he said quietly. "You know the penalty for disobeying an order."

The jailer stepped to the door of the cell and stood defiantly, with his back against the bars.

"I will not give them!" he said.

From within the cell the man's figure was outlined against the light of the lamp. Chares moved forward in the darkness behind him with noiseless tread, and his fingers closed suddenly around the jailer's throat. The wretch gasped once and threw up his chin, struggling convulsively to free himself from the iron clutch that encircled his neck. His struggles were in vain. The Theban drew him silently back against the bars. His feet scuffled on the stone floor, and his short spear clattered from his hand.

"Take the keys," Clearchus whispered.

Nathan quickly detached the keys from the jailer's belt and unlocked the door of the cell. Clearchus slipped through the open door, picking up the jailer's spear as he went. Chares relaxed his hold, and the man's body slipped in a huddled heap to the floor.

"Come," said the Israelite. "We have no time to lose."

What he said was true. From the direction of the entrance came the sound of voices and the flickering of a torch danced upon the walls.

"Neshak! Ho, Neshak, where are you?" called a voice.

"They are seeking the jailer," Nathan whispered. "Come!"

He darted down the corridor into the darkness, with the two Greeks at his heels. At the end of a dozen yards they turned quickly to the left, up a flight of stairs, and then through other passageways, until they reached a second short stairway and emerged upon the roof.

They stood panting and listening beside the head of the stair. Above them the wide arch of the sky was sown with stars. From the black opening at their feet came a confused sound of cries and shouting.

"They have found the jailer's body," Nathan said. "I fear we are lost. It shall be as Jehovah wills!"

He drew a short sword from its sheath at his side.

"Is there no other way to the roof?" Clearchus asked.

"No other way," Nathan replied; "but how can we hope to hold this against them?"

The Athenian looked about him. The roof was built of huge slabs of stone, fitted together without mortar, and there was nothing that might serve as even a temporary barricade.

"If we could only raise one of these," he said, stooping over one of the slabs.

"Not ten men could do it," Nathan replied, shaking his head.

"Let us see," said Chares.

He thrust his fingers under the stone and set his feet wide apart. The muscles of his back and arms rose in ridges. The veins of his neck swelled like knotted cords. The great stone stirred in its bed.

Clearchus and Nathan dropped their weapons and bent eagerly to assist him. The ponderous mass heaved slowly upward, tilting toward the opening that led to the stairway. From the sound of the voices within they knew that their pursuers were close at hand.

"Life or death!" groaned Chares, the sweat streaming from his body like rain. "Now!"

The mighty stone rose inch by inch upon its edge, standing higher than the heads of the three men, who were now behind and beneath it. Their pursuers had evidently halted on the stairs, expecting the opening to the roof to be defended. Puzzled by the silence, they seemed to be concerting a plan of attack. Suddenly they sprang upward with a shout, thrusting forward their spears and crowding for the aperture.

The great slab stood upright, balancing on its lower end. While a man might draw breath, it hung motionless, and then it toppled over upon the opening from the stairs.

The foremost of the pursuers saw it and with inarticulate cries sought to retreat. They were too late. The heavy mass crashed down upon their heads and covered the opening. Nathan and Clearchus fell forward with it and lay gasping. Chares swayed upon his feet and his head reeled. The blood dripped from the ends of his fingers, where it had burst from beneath his nails. Faintly from under the stone issued cries of agony, as though some of the guard had been caught there and held fast by mangled limbs.

Nathan staggered to his feet and groped for his sword. "Now for the wall," he cried. "We may yet escape!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

BETWEEN EARTH AND SKY

As Clearchus lay upon the broad slab, the voices of his friends seemed to him faint and far away. He tried to rise, but a strange languor weighed him down. Chares seized him and dragged him to his feet.

"Wake up!" cried the Theban. "We still have a chance. You tremble like a girl."