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

"When shall you return?" he asked.

"To-night, if I can," Joel replied. "If not, then to-morrow night in the third watch. Farewell!"

"Farewell!" Simon replied, stepping back and raising his lamp so that its light fell upon the pool.

Joel drew in a long breath, clasped his hands, and plunged head-foremost into the water. Simon placed the young man's clothing in the niche, put away the oil jar, and ascended to the first cellar. He did not close the opening in the floor, but arranged the amphoræ so as to conceal it, and returned to the room above.

The impetus of Joel's plunge carried him the length of the pool and into the fissure under the wall. He struck out vigorously, mindful of Simon's instructions, and knowing that if his breath should fail while he was below the masonry, nothing could save him. With the tips of his fingers he could feel the sides of the passage, and presently he became aware of a motion in the water caused by the underwash of the waves outside. His head seemed bursting, and there was a ringing in his ears. He felt that he must suffocate unless he could get air. He began to swim upward through the water, dreading each moment to feel his head strike the stones. What if the passage had been closed? None had passed through it for years, and the defenders of the city were constantly throwing down blocks of stone outside the walls. Something grazed his back. He threw his arms upward, but his hands found no obstruction. He had cleared the entrance.

He lay on the surface of the water filling his lungs again and again, and gazing up at the stars above the gray height of the wall against whose grim base the swell lazily washed. Half an hour later one of the watch on a quinquereme that lay off the mouth of the Egyptian Harbor to prevent the escape of any of the Tyrian vessels heard a voice under the stern and saw the white gleam of Joel's shoulders in the water.

There was no sound in the Macedonian camp save the monotonous cries of the sentinels when the young Israelite stepped from a small boat and climbed the southern slope of the mole. He looked back and saw Tyre, standing in the sea like an island raised upon cliffs of stone and crowned with a circle of light.

He made his way into the Old City, now hardly more than a bare ruin since houses and temples had been tumbled into the strait to lengthen the causeway. He had been provided with the pass-word, and with the assistance of the sentries he had little difficulty in finding the tent that he sought. He lifted the flap and entered. Inside he could hear the breathing of sleeping men, dominated by a tremendous snore that sounded as though it must come from the throat of a giant.

"Peace be unto thee!" Joel cried, stumbling over the legs of one of the sleepers.

"Thieves!" cried a stentorian voice, and the snoring suddenly ceased.

"It is I – Joel," the young man hastily announced.

"Joel!" exclaimed the voice of Nathan in the darkness. "How came you here?"

He slipped out of the tent and returned in a moment, blowing upon a brand from a smouldering camp-fire. With this he lighted an oil lamp that swung from the central pole of the tent. Then he threw his arms around the young man and embraced him heartily.

Joel saw Clearchus and the lazy bulk of Chares, who looked at him sleepily with his head propped on his elbow. There was another man in the tent whom he did not know – a man with firm shoulders and a square jaw, who stood glowering at him with a sword in his hand.

"Put it away, Leonidas," Clearchus said, laughing. "This is no Tyrian, but our little jailer in Babylon. How came you here?"

"I came from Tyre," Joel answered.

"From Tyre!" echoed Nathan and Clearchus. "How did you escape?"

"I swam under the wall," Joel said, "and I bring you bad news."

"Artemisia!" Clearchus cried. "Is she dead?"

"As yet she is unharmed," Joel replied.

"What is it, then? Speak!" Clearchus cried.

Joel repeated what Mena had told him.

"Is it possible to return by the way you came?" Clearchus demanded.

"It is possible for a good swimmer, but it is dangerous," Joel replied.

"I shall return with you at once," Clearchus announced, and began to belt on his sword.

"You are mad, Clearchus," Leonidas said, raising the flap of the tent. "Dawn is breaking. It would be broad daylight before you could reach the walls."

"I am going, nevertheless," Clearchus answered calmly, continuing his preparations.

"Do you think we are going to let you go alone?" Chares roared. "No, by Zeus; I am going, too! I have something I wish to say to Thais."

He proceeded to arm himself, adjusting with care a breastplate inlaid with gold.

"Wait!" cried Nathan. "I have a better plan. When does this sacrifice take place?"

"It was to be on the second day," Joel replied. "That will be to-morrow."

"Then we have another night before us," Nathan said. "Do you think my people in Tyre will surrender their first-born to Moloch? Not while Jehovah reigns will they do that, nor will Jehovah permit the sacrifice. It would be folly to think of entering the city now. We should be discovered, and all would be ruined. We can enter at nightfall, if need be, and my people will join us to save their own. Let us consult Alexander. It may be that he will order the attack and that Jehovah will give Tyre into his hands to-day. At any rate, if it is a question of dying, we can die to-morrow as well as now."

Leonidas nodded. "You are right," he said.

"Are you satisfied, Clearchus?" Chares asked.

"Let it be as you will," the Athenian responded.

CHAPTER XL

THE GAP OF DEATH

Alexander listened to Joel's story and questioned him closely regarding the disposition of affairs in the city. He learned that supplies were running low and that already the garrison was on half rations. Joel assured him that the feeling of discouragement and despair was universal in the city.

"We will attack to-day," Alexander said to Clearchus, who stood waiting in a fever of anxiety. "If we can break the walls, Baal-Moloch will be cheated of his sacrifice, but Melkarth will have his fill."

The fleet put forth from both sides of the mole, the oars of the rowers flashing in the sun. The great towers on the end of the mole, which now extended to the wall of the city, were filled with men who showered arrows and javelins upon the garrison so as to protect the huge battering rams at work below. These engines consisted of heavy beams, one hundred feet long, ending in great rams' heads of bronze. They were suspended by chains from a framework that permitted them to swing freely. As many men as could grasp the short cords attached to the sides of a beam labored to keep it oscillating with a regular motion. With each downward swing, the bronze head, with its twisted horns, dashed against the wall. The impact ground the stones to powder, but the wall was so thick and so strongly built that its joints remained firm.

Alexander was reluctant to admit that the mole which he had constructed with so much expenditure of time and labor was useless, and he therefore kept the towers in action and the rams at work; but his real hope of taking the city now lay elsewhere. The wall on the seaward side, where no attack had been deemed possible, was less solid than toward the land. Tests made by floating rams had shown that a breach was practicable on the southwest and it was to this spot that the attack was directed.

The Cyprian ships hovered about the northern side of the city. Some threatened the mouth of the Sidonian Harbor, while others sent flights of arrows over the walls. The fortress was encircled by a menacing ring of vessels, which kept the attention of the garrison occupied, while Alexander prepared for the assault, which was to be made at a point where the masonry already showed cracks, and some of the stones had been pushed out of place.

Towed by quinqueremes, the floating forts that the Macedonians had built were brought slowly around to the southern wall. Some carried ballistæ and catapults and stores of darts and stones. Others had rams, scaling ladders, iron hooks, and siege implements of all kinds. All were provided with shields to protect the men from missiles from the walls.

One by one they swung into position and came to anchor. The catapults and ballistæ were placed two hundred yards from the wall, so as to afford space for the flight of their projectiles. The ships of war moved backward and forward, while the archers and slingers swept the towers and ramparts with a hissing hail of lead and steel.

Under cover of this protection, the rams and siege vessels pushed forward. Their crews made them fast to projections in the wall, and soon the regular throbbing crash of the rams was heard, pounding on the masonry. The vessels with the ladders and scaling implements lay waiting, with the bravest men in the army ready to spring to the assault as soon as a breach should be opened.

The July sun lay warm on the heaving sea, and the heat rose in shimmering waves from the wall. Around and within the city the shouting of men, the thudding of the rams, the creaking of the machines, and the crash of stones cast by the ballistæ filled the air.

The garrison brought its engines along the broad parapet within range of the ships, and hurled great blocks of stone at the besieging fleet. Several of the smaller vessels were sunk. Sometimes the stones met in the air and burst into fragments. The attack upon the wall was not relaxed. Finally a block was sufficiently exposed to permit the grappling-irons to be fastened to its inner angles. Strong ropes were attached to it and carried out to a quinquereme. The rowers bent to their work, and the ropes lifted, dripping, from the water. The block held fast for a moment, and then came out of its bed like a cork out of a bottle, rolling with a splash into the sea.

Amid the triumphant shouts of the Macedonians, a flatboat was pushed forward and a hundred men attacked the weakened wall with levers and bars of irons. Some of them were crushed by the rocks toppled down upon them from above, others were pierced by arrows; but when they withdrew, a wide cavity yawned where they had been, exposing the inner courses of masonry.

After them came the largest and heaviest of the rams. Under its tremendous blows the cavity deepened and widened until the wall above it began to tremble. It swayed, crumbled, and at last with a mighty roar it fell, burying the ram and half the men who had been working it under tons of broken stone. The Macedonians, gazing through the gap that was opened, saw the Temple of Baal-Moloch, with its dome and towers, rising gloomily among the cypress trees that surrounded it.

With one impulse, the vessels carrying the shield-bearing guards and the veterans of the Agema rushed in toward the breach. The soldiers leaped ashore. Order was impossible upon such an insecure footing as the tumbled blocks afforded. Every man clung where he could, advancing step by step, and protecting himself by holding his shield above his head.

The Tyrians from the ends of the broken wall and from the top of the slope where the gap had been made sent down flights of darts and arrows. In order to repel the storming party, they even loosened portions of the wall that still held firm and hurled them down upon the enemy.

Still the Macedonians pressed upward in the hope of winning the breach, and holding it until reinforcements could arrive. Ptolemy, son of Lagus, and Black Clitus fought in the foremost ranks. Beside them Leonidas plied his sword, and with him were Clearchus and Chares.

"Ho, comrades! Beware the stone!" the Theban shouted, as a loosened block rushed toward them down the slope.

Leonidas started aside, but his foot slipped and he fell to his knees. Chares caught his arm and dragged him away. The fragment grazed him as it hurtled past.

"Forward, men of Macedon!" Ptolemy cried. "Alexander is watching you."

A breathless cheer from the struggling ranks behind him told him that the soldiers were doing their best. The stones of the fallen wall, slippery with blood, rocked beneath their feet. Some of the men were caught in crevices between the blocks and their lives were crushed out, or they were held there until a javelin put an end to their misery. But those who escaped this peril pressed upward like wolves when the quarry is in sight. The exasperation of all the long months of the siege, the accumulation of countless insults, and the joy of the battle filled their hearts.

Leaping upon a swaying stone that raised him above the heads of his companions, Chares held his shield aloft to deflect the darts and arrows that fell upon it as thickly as the drops of a shower.

"Ohe!" he cried down the slope. "Come on! The victory is ours!"

Clearchus bounded up beside him, his face pale with eagerness, and stared into the city.

"Where is she? Where is she?" he cried, panting.

Chares laughed. "Did you expect she would be waiting for you at the top?" he asked. "You will have to wait until we get inside."

The Athenian gazed at the lofty buildings, whose walls were pierced by hundreds of windows. If he only knew where to look! From the housetops fluttered countless scarfs of yellow, blue, and red. Any one of them might be hers. He was bewildered.

The wall had fallen outward, leaving about twenty feet of its base standing on the side toward the city. Companies of Tyrian soldiers ran toward the breach. They placed ladders against the foot of the broken wall and scrambled up into the gap like a swarm of ants to meet the Macedonians. Ptolemy saw them coming and uttered a joyful cry.

"Here they are," he shouted. "Melkarth, take thy sacrifice of dogs!"

A conflict without quarter began on the crest of the gap. The Tyrians fought with desperation, knowing that if the enemy once gained a lodgement in the city they were lost. But in vain they hurled themselves upon the head of the column, where Ptolemy and Clitus, Chares and Clearchus, and a hundred more received them with the deadly upward thrust of their swords, against which no armor was proof. There was no longer room for the Tyrians in the breach. Those who had ascended last were forced back, leaping or falling in their armor, the weight of which broke their bones. Mingled with the living, the dead began to drop back through the breach. The shouts of the victors carried panic into the streets.

Tyre lay at the mercy of Macedon. Looking down into the city, Ptolemy saw the Tyrians hastily constructing barricades of furniture, casks, litters, and such material as they were able to drag quickly together.

"Do they think that will save them, now that we hold this?" he said to Clitus.

Clearchus leaned against a stone with great joy in his heart. Tyre had been won and Artemisia was saved. The sight of Moloch's dark temple no longer chilled his blood. Baal must look elsewhere for victims. The weary months of longing were at an end.

So desperate had been the struggle in the breach that the Macedonians had forgotten all else. It was not until the pause before the final charge into the city that they began to notice the rolling clouds of black smoke that were drawing together toward the gap along those portions of the wall that remained standing. It rose in dark masses against the sky, blotting out the sun as it spread seaward from the parapet. Under its gloomy canopy men were swarming in long processions upon the top of the wall toward the gap, bearing caldrons of iron and copper suspended from yokes across their shoulders.

"See! They are going to provide us with shade," Clitus said.

Ptolemy looked, and his expression changed to one of alarm.

"Pitch and bitumen!" he exclaimed. "The men will never be able to stand it!"

A caldron rolled down into the gap, followed by another and another, scattering their blazing contents as they came. Wherever the bitumen fell it continued to burn, giving out smoke in stifling volumes. In a few minutes the gap was obscured by suffocating clouds in which the Macedonians groped blindly. Every stone was covered with a coating of the blazing substances. Showers of molten lead and burning oil descended from the walls. The bitumen ate into the flesh of the soldiers. The lead and oil burned out their eyes. Many of them fled like living torches down the slope and plunged into the sea. The gap had become untenable.

Ptolemy saw that it would be impossible for reënforcements to reach him. He shook his sword at the city through the drifting smoke. "Another day!" he shouted, and, turning, plunged down the blazing path.

Clearchus stood dazed as he saw his comrades turn back.

"Come!" Chares shouted. "Do you want to be burned to death?"

"Cowards!" Clearchus cried, "why do you fly? Do you not see that Tyre is yours?"

He made a step toward the edge of the wall and would have leaped down into the city had not Chares caught him with an iron grasp.

"Leonidas!" cried the Theban.

"Here!" the voice of Leonidas replied, and he appeared through the smoke, smothering a patch of blazing pitch that had fallen upon his bare shoulder.

"Clearchus has gone crazy," Chares said. "Help me to carry him down."

"You shall not!" the Athenian cried. "Traitors! Set me free!"

Leonidas calmly twisted the sword out of his hand and threw it aside. They lifted him between them, despite his struggles. Suddenly his muscles relaxed and his head fell backward.

"That's right," Chares said. "He has fainted. We can carry him better so."

He threw the limp form over his shoulder and strode after Leonidas into the black curtain, which had become so dense that it was impossible for sight to penetrate it in any direction. Sulphur and pepper had been mixed in the caldrons, giving the smoke a pungent, choking quality. Stumbling over jagged blocks of stone, and tripping upon the bodies of the dead, Chares, with Clearchus in his arms, followed Leonidas through that vale of death. Blinded and gasping, they staggered to the edge of the water. They were the last to come alive out of the smoke. They were drawn upon one of the siege boats, and lay there until the unwieldy vessel was towed out into the clear sunshine and safety.

CHAPTER XLI

PRINCE HUR'S COUNTERPLOT

Prince Hur, son of Azemilcus, sat in his house, which opened from the courtyard of the palace. In figure he was undersized, like his father, with a delicate face and thin white hands, on one of which glittered a great ruby. Instead of the mocking smile that the king was accustomed to wear, his expression was grave and serious.

With him were Esmun, chief priest of Baal-Moloch, on whose fat countenance, with its pendulous jowls, sloth struggled with greed, and Ariston, the Athenian. Ariston's thin form was thinner and his face more worn than on the day when he watched his nephew, Clearchus, ride out of Athens, leaving him guardian of his fortune. He had made free use of this wealth, as he had planned, to save the remnants of his own; but mischance had continued to follow him in everything he attempted. So heavy were his losses that he rejoiced when he learned that Clearchus had been sent to Babylon a prisoner. The young man's return to the army filled him with despair. Involved as he was, only one hope remained. He would dispose of his great dye-works in Tyre, and the proceeds of the sale would enable him to make a last attempt to save himself. While he was in Tyre, he also would collect the loan that he had been forced to make to Phradates, and that the Phœnician had never repaid. If this plan failed, he would have to choose between death and the punishment that would be visited upon the betrayal of his trust. Therefore he had come to Tyre, and there, by a final stroke of misfortune, he had been imprisoned by the siege.

"I fear there is not much hope for us," Prince Hur said. "Even though we succeed in beating off these attacks, as we did to-day, sooner or later we shall starve."

"Hast thou, too, lost faith in the power of Baal?" Esmun asked, in a tone of reproof.

"I believe in him as much as you do yourself," the prince said.

"I may have deserved that reproach," the priest replied sadly. "To my shame, I confess it; but if I have allowed the name of Baal to be lightly spoken in my presence, it was not because I did not believe. I thought that he was able to defend himself, as indeed he is. I say to you now that I know his power. It has been shown over and over again. If it should please him to save Tyre in her extremity, he will do it. We shall know after the sacrifice."

"There will be no sacrifice," the prince said quietly.

Esmun stared at him open-mouthed, and Ariston started sharply. The Athenian was the first to recover himself.

"What does your Highness mean?" he asked. "Doubtless you speak in jest."

"I sent for you because I am in need of your advice," the prince continued gravely. "You are both men of the world and fitted to aid me with your counsel; but what I am about to tell you must not be repeated, even to yourselves. Do you swear to keep the secret, no matter what my decision may be?"

"We swear it," Ariston replied.

"And you?" the prince said to Esmun.

"By the head of Baal!" the priest declared.

"Azemilcus has resolved to deliver the city," the prince said, bending forward and speaking in a tone scarcely above a whisper.

For an instant both his hearers were silent. Ariston comprehended in a flash that surrender would mean his ruin, since it would involve the loss of his property. Esmun was too astonished to think.

"What will the king receive in return?" the Athenian inquired.

"His life," Hur replied. "He knows well that the city must be destroyed, and that his people will be sold into slavery."

Esmun groaned. He saw himself torn from his life of ease, Baal-Moloch's temple in ruins, and nothing left for him but years of servitude.

"How will the surrender be made?" Ariston asked.

"The king will order the fleets out of both harbors," the prince explained. "They will be destroyed, and care will be taken to leave the harbor entrances unguarded."

"Does Alexander know this?" Esmun demanded.

"Not yet," said the prince. "I am to go to him to-night with the chancellor to make him the offer."

"Then you have consented to it?" the priest said.

"I was not asked to consent," the prince replied bitterly. "You know that the king is not in the habit of consulting me."

"Yet he proposes to take your inheritance from you!" Esmun exclaimed. "If Baal intervenes, the city will be saved and you will be its king."

"Does the council know?" Ariston asked.

"It does not," Hur replied.

"There is only one course open to you," Esmun declared, roused as he had not been since the long struggle that ended in raising him above his rivals and placing him in a position that gave him almost as much power as the king himself. "Go with the chancellor, since to refuse now would arouse suspicion. Get proof of the king's treachery and lay it at once before the council and the generals. Azemilcus will be dealt with according to their will, and you will be made king in his stead. That you may leave to me if you can obtain the proof; but it must be strong."

"There would be no difficulty concerning the proof," the prince said doubtfully. "We are to bring Macedonians back with us to act as a guard for the king. They will be concealed in the palace so that they will be able to insure his safety when the city falls. Their presence will be proof enough."

"Would it not be better to lay the whole affair before the council now?" Ariston suggested.

"No," said Esmun decisively. "The king would deny everything. He would accuse Hur of seeking his throne, and he would be believed. We must have the proof."

"I do not like to raise my hand against my father," Hur said hesitatingly.

"Tyre is in danger," Esmun said solemnly. "It is your duty to save her if you can, and this duty comes before any tie of blood. It is I, chief servant of Baal, who tell you this."

"I shall not shrink," the prince responded, with sudden decision.

The sun was setting before the three completed the details of their plan. When Ariston left the prince, he was so wrapped in thought that he did not recognize the brutal face of Syphax, who passed him with three or four others of his own kind.

"Do you see that man?" the broken freebooter exclaimed, directing the attention of his companions to the retreating form. "I have a settlement to make with him. It was he who scattered my crew and brought me to what I am. I have sought him far, and now the Fates have given him to me. He shall pay the reckoning!"