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

"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.

CHAPTER XXXII

THE WORLD AT STAKE

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.

CHAPTER XXXIII

THE CHESTNUT MARE

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.