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

Before them rose the towers and cupolas of the Temple of Melkarth, and near it the wide Eurychorus, or market-place. Farther south was the huge dome of the Temple of Baal, and there, too, was the royal palace, with its many terraces crowned by a lofty citadel. Agenor's Temple was on the north, overlooking the Sidonian Harbor. Near the western wall was an oasis of verdure which marked the gardens attached to the voluptuous Temple of Astarte, where, through the foliage of palm and rhododendron, shone the marble columns of her habitation.

Phradates had caused a striped awning to be erected upon the roof. Beneath this was spread a gay Babylonian carpet, with couches and silken cushions. Shrubs and flowering plants stood in great vases of stone, screening the enclosure from the eyes of the curious. All the other housetops of the quarter were occupied in a similar manner, thus enabling the population to escape the heat of the lower levels, from which the breeze was excluded by the height of the walls. The space inside the city was so crowded that the houses rose many stories, and, excepting those belonging to wealthy persons, each sheltered scores of families.

"It is a proud city," Thais said musingly.

"Yes," Artemisia replied. "Proud, and cruel, and heartless!"

She shivered as she spoke. Thais beckoned to one of the women, who stood at a respectful distance, talking in low tones with a slender, dark-skinned man, whose cunning eyes gleamed like those of a rat. He was Mena the Egyptian.

"Fetch a wrap," Thais said to the slave girl who answered her summons.

The girl brought a shawl of cashmere and laid it around Artemisia's shoulders.

"Something tells me that our captivity will soon be over," Thais said. "Things cannot last much longer as they are."

There was a meaning in her words that Artemisia did not grasp. Since the flight from Halicarnassus, they had been confined in the house of Phradates, whose passion for Thais had increased until it burned like fever in his veins. The end must have come long ago had it not been for the frequent absences that had been forced upon the young man by the needs of the city and the commands of the Great King. As matters stood, even Thais' resources had been taxed to hold him in check. Hitherto she had fed him with hopes, playing upon his weaknesses and keeping him in a state of subjection from which she knew surrender would set him free. She made a gesture of impatience and began walking up and down between rows of young orange trees.

"I don't know what has come over me," she said. "I am as restless as one of the sea-gulls yonder."

She listened a moment to the cries and commotion in the streets.

"Mena!" she cried. "Come here!"

The Egyptian advanced slowly, with an indefinable insolence in his bearing.

"Find out what is causing all this excitement in the city and bring me word," Thais said.

"Why should my lady be interested?" Mena replied coolly, with a smile that showed his white teeth.

Thais wheeled as though she had been stung. She looked at the Egyptian with head erect, and there was something in her eyes that caused his to fall before them.

"Mena," she said softly, "do not think that, because you are set to watch me, you are my master. Go, or I swear by Astoreth that you shall be flayed alive from the crown of your head to the soles of your feet."

Mena gasped, and moistened his dry lips with his tongue.

"Pardon," he stammered. "I did not mean. – "

"I know well what you meant," Thais returned. "Go!"

He turned and went. Thais grasped a branch of the shrubbery and tore it away, crumpling the leaves in her hands and scattering them in a bruised shower at her feet.

"How long must I put up with the insolence of this slave and his master?" she exclaimed. The opalescent animal light gleamed in her eyes as she turned them northward, and she paced backward and forward with impatient strides like a captive lioness. "I hate them!" she cried. "How many times have I been tempted to end it!"

She thrust her hand into her bosom and drew out her tiny dagger, whose hilt was studded with rubies that sparkled like drops of blood.

"Hush, Thais, some one is coming!" Artemisia said.

Thais quickly hid the dagger and turned to greet Phradates. He came forward with a smile, and the smile with which she met him had no trace in it of the anger that had so shaken her but a moment before.

"Great news!" the young man cried. "Alexander is coming!"

Artemisia caught her breath, and for an instant her head swam.

"Tell us," Thais said. "We are dying to hear all about it. You know we have had no news since the battle of Issus, where the Great King, as you call him, was beaten by one who seems to be greater."

There was a spice of malice in her voice that evidently annoyed the Phœnician.

"Yes, through the treachery of the Greeks," he replied, frowning. "Darius will depend upon his own people next time, and you will see then what will happen."

"But what has Alexander been doing since the battle?" Thais asked.

"He might have advanced upon Babylon with nobody to oppose him," Phradates said. "Of course, he would not have been able to capture the city, but at least he will never have a better chance to try it. He was afraid to make the attempt. He has been marching down the coast instead, and there has been no more fighting, because all the northern cities have surrendered to him."

"Well?" Thais said, listening with parted lips.

"In the absence of King Azemilcus," the Phœnician continued, "the council deemed it best to offer terms for the present. They sent an embassy, accompanied by the prince, to tell Alexander that he had nothing to fear from Tyre so long as he did not interfere with us."

"What was his reply?" Thais demanded quickly.

"What do you suppose?" Phradates said. "He had the impudence to announce that Melkarth was the same as your Heracles, and that as Heracles was of his family, he proposed to offer sacrifice in the temple here. The embassy told him flatly that Tyre had never admitted the Persians, and that we should not admit him. Everybody knows that if we should let him in here, he would do what he did in Ephesus when he took possession of the city under pretence of offering sacrifice to Artemis."

"But where is Darius?" Thais asked.

"He is in Babylon," said Phradates. "He sent a letter to Alexander after the battle of Issus, asking freedom for his wife and family. He wrote as one king to another, proposing peace and alliance; but your Alexander, to his sorrow, refused the terms. He pretends that he has already conquered all Asia, and he had the boldness to tell the Great King that he would liberate Statira and her children if Darius would come as a suppliant to ask it."

"The Gods fight with him," Thais said, after a pause. "It would be better for Tyre to open her gates."

The young Phœnician laughed scornfully.

"The walls of Tyre will crumble and fall into the sea before he offers his sacrifice," he exclaimed. "I will wager anything I possess against your looking-glass that he will weary of his task before a stone has been loosened."

"You do not know Alexander," Thais replied.

"Thais," the young man said earnestly, "I will wager what is more precious to me than gold. Thou knowest that I love thee."

"You have told me so," she replied demurely.

"You have been for months in my power," he went on, "and I have not sought to force your inclination. Let us now abide by the result of the siege that Alexander is threatening. On the day that he gives over his attempt to enter Tyre, thou shalt be mine. Until that day comes I shall ask nothing of thee. Is it a bargain?"

"You will not keep your promise," Thais said doubtfully. Her reluctance made the young man more eager.

"Mena!" he called, "bring wine and two doves at once."

When the Egyptian returned, Phradates said to Thais, "See, I am ready to bind myself by oath if thou wilt do likewise."

"I am ready," Thais replied.

The sacrifice was made and the mutual bond was completed. As the blood of the doves trickled upon the stones, Phradates called Astarte to witness his covenant. Thais drew a breath of relief, for she knew that no Phœnician, even the most depraved, would dare to disregard such an oath.

The sun went down in crimson splendor, and lamps began to twinkle in the city. Still the council prolonged its deliberations, and still the anxious merchants waited outside the doors of the palace to learn its decision.

CHAPTER XXXVI

TYRE ACCEPTS THE CHALLENGE

The entire population of Tyre was at work before dawn on the day following the return of the ambassadors. The council had decided to accept Alexander's challenge. As the first measure of preparation, it ordered the abandonment of the Old City on the mainland and the removal of its residents to the New City. In order to make room for them, a fleet was to be sent to Carthage, carrying women and children. This fleet was to return with such aid as the strong colony of the West might be willing to give.

Huge flatboats and a multitude of smaller craft plied backward and forward between the harbors and the mainland. The brilliant stuffs that had been hanging in the sun were gathered into bales. Here was a boat laden with the contents of a glass factory: huge amphoræ, delicate vases, cylinders, scarabs, beads, and amulets of a hundred iridescent hues. Beside it came another vessel, carrying a freight of iron, bronze, and copper, wrought into armor and household furnishings. Other ships brought Syrian cotton and embroideries; white wool and wine of Helbon; corn, honey, balm, and oil from Israel; ivory, ebony, spices, and perfumes from Arabia; lead and tin from the mines of Spain; cedar chests filled with Babylonian embroideries; elephant, lion, leopard, and deer skins from Africa. These precious commodities were stored in the warehouses.

All the public granaries were filled to overflowing, and what grain could not be brought away was destroyed. At the close of the second day, the ancient parent city, from which had sprung such a brood of flourishing daughters, and which more than once had defied the might of the great empire beyond the mountain, lay deserted. Silence and foreboding pervaded the New City as the Tyrians looked across the strait at the empty houses in which many of them had been cradled.

There was little time for despondency. The labor of preparation had been only begun, and the task of making ready the vessels destined for Carthage went forward briskly.

A swift galley was sent to King Azemilcus, who immediately deserted the Persian fleet with all his ships and returned to take charge of the defence of the city. His arrival was the signal for great rejoicing, for his warships would insure command of the sea to Tyre, since Alexander had none with which to oppose them.

At last the departure of the fleet destined for Carthage could be delayed no longer. The scouting ships brought word that the Macedonian army had left Sidon and taken up its march southward. Thousands of women and children, accompanied by the aged and infirm, crowded aboard the merchant vessels that had been pressed into service. Husbands said farewell to their wives, and fathers took their children in their arms for perhaps the last time. One by one the ships were towed out of the harbor and spread their sails for their long flight to the West. The streets were filled with weeping.

Not all the women and children were sent away, even of the better class; for, in spite of the precautions taken by the council, no Tyrian believed that the city was really in danger. Its possession of the sea would prevent famine, and even if Alexander should succeed in reaching its walls, he would never be able to break through them.

While the slanting sails of the departing fleet still glimmered on the horizon, the watchers on the walls of Tyre saw the sun glinting from the armor of the Macedonian array. Presently bands of horsemen dashed up to the walls of the Old City, circled around them, and rode boldly through the open gates. They seemed astonished to find the place deserted. The Phœnicians hurled shouts of derision at them from the walls across the water, scornfully inviting them to try the strait.

Thais' lip curled as she watched this demonstration. She stood motionless among the whispering leaves which hedged the roof of Phradates' house, gazing intently at the advancing army.

"Will they ever be able to cross to us?" Artemisia said.

"There come the Companion cavalry!" Thais exclaimed, shading her eyes.

The troop made a brave showing as it advanced toward the Old City with flying pennants, the manes of the horses tossing free.

"And there is the phalanx!" Artemisia cried, clasping her hands.

The lines emerged, rank after rank, from the dust-clouds. Behind them came more cavalry and then the light-armed troops, followed by wagons and a long train of pack animals. The streets of the Old City became animated again, though not with Phœnicians. The soldiers swarmed through the houses, choosing their quarters and freeing themselves from their burdens. Smoke began to curl up from the chimneys.

A group of men came down to the water front and made a long survey of the walls of the New City. Thais fixed her eyes upon them, leaning over the parapet. Suddenly she caught Artemisia's arm.

"I see him!" she cried. "There he is."

"Who is it? Where?" Artemisia asked, bewildered.

"Chares!" Thais replied. "Do you see that crimson cloak and his yellow hair? O my hero!"

Artemisia trembled and her cheek grew pale.

"If that is Chares, then Clearchus must be there too," she faltered. "Oh, Thais, are you sure?"

She strove to look, but the tears that dimmed her eyes prevented her from seeing anything clearly.

"I am certain," Thais replied. "Who else could it be? There is no other in the army so strong and handsome as he. Look! he is signalling to us."

The figure in crimson stood forward from the rest, his cloak, inflated by the wind, swelling back from his shoulders. He waved his hand toward the city. Thais tore off her saffron shawl and waved it in return, forgetting that, while he stood alone, to him she was one of thousands who were moving on the walls and the house-tops.

"I suppose you would bring them over if you could!" sneered a voice behind her. It was Phradates, who had approached unnoticed.

"Can you blame me if I want to win my wager?" Thais replied, smiling.

"I am half sorry I made it," the Phœnician said sullenly.

Thais saw that he was angry and she leaned toward him until he felt her warm breath upon his cheek.

"If I lose, I will pay!" she whispered, in a tone that only he could hear.

A dark flush mounted to his cheek.

"It will not be long," he returned confidently.

"I would not be too sure of that," she replied, with a blush, giving him a sidelong glance under her lashes.

Phradates could not understand why he had not long ago given free rein to his passion. More than once he had called himself a fool for his forbearance and resolved in his own mind to end it; but when the time came for putting his plans into execution, he found them halted by an indefinable barrier that he could not break. It surprised him that this could have happened. All his life it had never occurred to him to restrain himself. He was master of one of the greatest fortunes in Tyre, and with him to wish was to have. Moreover, he had learned Thais' history, so far as it was generally known, and it seemed to him ridiculous that an Athenian dancing girl should succeed so long in holding him at arm's length. But now he must keep his oath.

Next day, and for many days thereafter, Tyre sat and watched the slow development of the scheme that had been laid for her destruction. She saw the Macedonian army tear down the walls of the Old City and convey them, block by block, to the water front, where they were cast into the sea. Soon the beginning of a broad causeway began to jut out from the shore, pointing like a huge finger at the angle of the city wall, midway between the two harbors, which was nearest to the mainland. Detachments of soldiers brought in squads of men from the surrounding country, who were set at work with the army upon the mole. Piles of cedar were driven into the sand. Earth was brought in baskets and poured over the stones. When the waves washed it away, trees were dragged from the mountain side and thrown in with their leaves and branches to hold it in place. Acres of rushes were cut and laid upon the soil to bind it. Foot by foot the causeway lengthened. On the shore could be seen men building towers and battering rams, catapults, and ballistæ.

Alexander's figure became so familiar to the Tyrians that even the children could point him out. He was seen everywhere, overlooking and superintending the work in all its details. One day he was missed, and the next, smoke was observed drifting up from the rocky fastnesses of Lebanon, which the Tyrians knew had been held for centuries by untamed robber bands, who had exacted toll from their caravans and even from the convoys of the Great King. Their spies on shore brought them word that the robbers had attacked Alexander's scouting parties and he had gone to punish them. Tyre laughed at the idea that he could take the impregnable strongholds among the crags, but the columns of smoke continued to rise farther and farther back among the mountains; and when Alexander reappeared on the mole, at the end of a week, the news came that the robbers had been harried and hunted out of their caves until not a vestige of them remained. Tyre wondered, and a vague uneasiness crept into the city.

The mole had advanced almost within bow-shot of the wall when the city woke from its lethargy of contempt and began to bestir itself. Towers were erected on the wall opposite the causeway, and the wall itself was raised. The engineers and their workmen, whose skill was famed throughout the world, fashioned new machines for repelling the expected attack.

When the Macedonians had covered more than half the distance between the shore and the wall, the Phœnicians began to resist their advance. The catapults were brought into play. These were great bows of tough wood, set in a solid framework. The strings of twisted gut were drawn back by a windlass, and huge arrows, made of iron and weighing two or three hundred pounds, were fitted to the groove prepared for them. The string was released by drawing a trigger as in a cross-bow, and the missile sped to the mark.

The catapults were reënforced by the ballistæ. In a frame of heavy beams an arm was set, with a great spoon at one end, while the other was held firmly in twisted cords. By means of a rope wound about a roller the arm was drawn back, and a stone or a ball of metal was placed in the spoon. Suddenly freed, the arm flew up until it was halted by a cross-beam of the framework, when the missile left it and hurtled through the air toward the mole.

While darts and stones were showered upon the causeway from the walls, vessels attacked it from both harbors, filled with archers and slingers, who drove the workmen back. Tyre was jubilant. Alexander, she thought, must now surely abandon his foolish enterprise.

Work on the causeway was indeed halted for a time, but only long enough to permit the Macedonians to contrive means of defence. Two great towers were built and pushed out to the end of the mole. These were tall enough to dominate the wall. They were provided with catapults and ballistæ, with which to answer and silence those of the Tyrians, and were manned by soldiers, who from their height were able to reach the decks of the triremes that were sent to annoy them. For further protection, palisades of timber and movable breastworks were constructed on the mole, and pushed forward as it advanced.

Work was resumed, and the long causeway crept nearer and nearer to the city. By order of the council, under cover of night, sponge and pearl divers were sent to the mole in small vessels. With cords in their hands they plunged into the water and fastened them to the foundation stones of the mole, which the crews on board the boats pulled away.

But in spite of all these devices, the mole continued to lengthen.

Still the Tyrians remained confident. The council hit upon a plan to destroy the towers, and when all was ready the people flocked to the walls to witness its execution. Artemisia and Thais watched from the roof, where, day after day, for weeks, they had counted the inches of progress made on the mole and calculated how long it would be before the structure could reach the wall.

"See!" cried Artemisia. "They are going to try to burn the towers."

An old transport, that had been used for carrying horses, emerged clumsily from the Sidonian Harbor, towed between two triremes. The wide deck was heaped with dry wood, which had been saturated with bitumen and intermixed with straw. From the yards of the masts caldrons filled with sulphur, naphtha, and oil were suspended by chains. Upon the deck stood rows of naked men, each holding in his hand a blazing torch.

Slowly and laboriously the ship was guided through the choppy sea to a point directly to windward of the end of the mole. A strong northwest breeze sang through her rigging, and her stern had been filled with ballast until her bow stood almost out of the water. Sailors went aloft and set two small sails to give her headway. The triremes cast off, and she swam straight for the northern tower.

The two women had watched the preparations with the most intense excitement. As the fire-ship neared the mole, gathering speed as she went, they saw a volley of huge stones shoot from the towers in her direction.

"They are trying to sink her," Thais said breathlessly.

"Zeus grant that they may succeed!" cried Artemisia.

Some of the stones struck the ship, scattering her load of combustibles; but they failed to check her approach. The best marksmen in the army strove to pick off her crew. The divers raised shields, from which the arrows harmlessly rebounded.

When the ship had come within a few fathoms of the mole, the men on board of her scattered blazing oil into the caldrons swinging from her yards and thrust their torches into the heaps of material that lay upon her deck. Then they plunged into the sea and swam back to the city. The steersman followed, and the next instant the transport, sending before her a roaring banner of flame, ran high upon the mole at the foot of the northern tower.

A mighty shout arose from the walls of Tyre as the spectators saw the flames wrap themselves around the tower, shrivelling up the green skins of cattle that had been hung to protect it. The soldiers swarmed down through the smoke and fire like rats, leaping from the lower stories in their haste. In a moment the lofty structure was sending out red tongues from every loophole and window. A great cloud of black smoke rolled from the end of the mole toward the shore.

Thais and Artemisia saw the Greeks driven back from the towers and from the defences which had protected the work. Presently the fire attacked these and ran across to the second tower. The transport still lay with her nose in the rocks, belching flames that were streaked with green and blue and white as they fed upon the various substances which had been stored in her hull.

Dashing down from the windward side, the Tyrian vessels tore away such of the work as had escaped the conflagration, while the bowmen on their decks sent flights of arrows upon the huddled workmen who had been forced back by the heat and smoke. The towers fell one after the other with a crash into the sea, which hissed into steam as the glowing timbers sank. In an hour nothing was left at the end of the causeway but the blackened ruin and part of the transport, through whose ribs the waves washed.

"The time is at hand," Phradates said to Thais, with a smile full of meaning.

"Not yet," she exclaimed, smiling. "The siege has only begun. I told you you did not know Alexander."

Nevertheless, secretly her heart was full of misgivings, and the slave women who waited upon her that night found her hard to please.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE JEST OF KING AZEMILCUS

Tyre was delirious with joy over the success of the attack on the towers, for the city was convinced that now, at last, the Macedonians would depart. Feasts were given in the great houses, processions wound through the streets, and sacrifices of thanksgiving were offered in all the temples. In order to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy, twenty Macedonian prisoners were put to death upon the walls with lingering tortures, and their mangled bodies were cast into the sea. Hourly the Tyrians expected to see the besieging army evacuate Old Tyre and march away.