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

"And I thank the Gods that thou art indeed Alexander," the Theban replied, drawing Thais closer to him.

The young king seemed to fall into a momentary revery, but it passed quickly.

"You four shall be my guests to-night," he exclaimed. "Azemilcus will provide the feast."

"Do not trust him," Chares said, in a low voice. "He tried to poison us."

"If that be so, we will eat elsewhere," Alexander answered, frowning and looking askance at the Tyrian.

"If you will permit me to manage it," Thais said, "Phradates shall furnish the feast."

"Who is he?" Alexander asked.

"He was our captor here," Thais replied, "and he is a man of some good qualities, though he has others also."

"He is the messenger whom you sent from Thebes to carry word to King Azemilcus of your coming," Clearchus explained.

"I remember," Alexander said. "I would like to see him again and ask him whether he delivered the message. So be it, then."

Bidding the Companions follow, Alexander suffered Thais to lead him to the house of Phradates. It was still closed and silent, but Chares and Clearchus beat upon the door with their sword-hilts and demanded admittance in the name of Alexander. Mena, recognizing the king through the wicket, thought it best to open, since he knew that resistance would be in vain. The door swung back, and he prostrated himself at Alexander's feet.

"Welcome, O son of Philip," he said. "The house of my master and all that was his belong to the Conqueror of the Earth."

"Where is he that he does not himself receive me?" Alexander demanded.

"Alas, he is dead!" the Egyptian answered. "He received a fatal wound while fighting on the walls, and they brought him home. He died in my arms."

Mena affected to wipe tears from his eyes as he told of his master's end.

"It is a lie!" the old nurse screamed, from among the slaves clustered in the back of the hall. They tried to stifle her voice, but Alexander commanded her to come forward.

"What happened?" he asked briefly.

The old woman sank upon her knees and raised her hands in supplication.

"I was his nurse," she said, in her cracked and broken voice. "They brought him wounded to this door, and Mena – this man here – would not permit him to enter. He was not always kind to me, but I loved him; for how often when he was little have I held him in my arms! So I stole away and brought him in by another door, thinking to save him, for he was so weak from his wound. And then Mena stabbed him, and he died. Vengeance, O king; thou art strong!"

"Thou shalt have it," Alexander said sternly. "Is this true, dog?"

Mena tried to deny, but he could not speak. His face turned ashen.

"I promised this man that he should be crucified," Thais said softly.

"Then let it be done now," Alexander said.

He motioned to his guard, who seized the Egyptian and held him fast. "Were others concerned in this?" he demanded of the nurse.

"No others, my lord," the woman replied.

"Then let them have no fear," he said. "They shall be unharmed. I give them and this house to Thais."

"Mercy! Mercy!" cried Mena, finding his voice at last. "It is all a lie!"

"Take him away," Alexander said. "I see you know how to punish," he added, turning to Thais.

"I thank the king, both for that and for his gift to me," she replied demurely. "I was sold at Thebes."

By her order the slaves conducted Alexander to the bath and waited upon the Companions who began to arrive. She caused the body of Phradates to be carried to his own chamber, where it was left in the care of the old nurse. With the aid of Artemisia, she superintended the preparations for the feast, giving especial care to the selection of the wines and to the decoration of the hall in which the tables were spread.

Masses of oak leaves from the gardens of Melkarth's temple hid the columns, and from among them shone hundreds of lamps and torches, shedding their light upon the platters of gold and trenchers of silver, interspersed with flagons of colored glass of the finest workmanship, that weighed down the tables. The couches were covered with silks of many hues and piled with yielding cushions.

Pyramids of flowers from the roofs of the houses were disposed upon the tables, and for each guest a wreath was prepared. The warm, perfume-laden air throbbed with the music of flutes breathed upon by invisible musicians.

Thais had caused soldiers to be sent to the Temple of Astoreth, where the priestesses, with many lamentations, supplied them with pheasants from the sacred flock, and these, with abundance of fish from the harbors, pastries, and sweetmeats, disguised the poverty of the larder. Alexander was accustomed afterward to drive his cooks and stewards to despair by commanding them to provide a banquet like the one that Thais had given; for, try as hard as they might, he never could be brought to give his approval, but persisted in declaring that the feast of Thais remained unequalled.

The secret was that there never after came a time when the young king was so well satisfied with himself and his fortune, when his friends were so inspired, and when the future held so much promise. The battle of Issus had been won, and the strongest fortress in the world had been taken. The shores of the sea, from the Hellespont to the Nile, had been conquered and held. Alexander knew then that no power on earth could stand against him. He foresaw the overthrow of Darius and the spread of his own dominion to the confines of the world. Great thoughts and limitless projects were stirring in his mind. He felt himself half a God, and he wondered at his own power. There was yet no bitterness of anxiety to contaminate the pleasure of anticipation, which always in ambitious hearts so much exceeds that of realization.

The feelings that animated the young leader were shared in greater or less degree by his followers. Even Hephæstion forgot to sulk because his place on the right of the king had been given to Artemisia. Thais sat on his left, and beyond her reclined the lazy bulk of Chares. Each man looked his neighbor frankly in the face, sure of his sympathy, and all felt toward Alexander an affection and generous admiration in which there was no selfish thought.

What wonder that, in after years, when suspicion and insidious pride had poisoned the mind of the young king, and when the free-hearted soldiers there gathered together had fallen away from each other, each hoping evil to his comrade that he himself might profit thereby, – what wonder that Alexander remembered the feast of Thais as the happiest of his life? But of the sorrows that were to come none then knew or even guessed, unless it was old Aristander, to whom all paid honor because his prophecy of the fall of Tyre, that the king himself had deemed impossible, had been fulfilled. And even Aristander was cheerful that night beyond his custom, forgetting the future in the present.

So the young men rejoiced in their strength, in their hopes, and in the honest affection that warmed their hearts toward each other. The hall was filled with laughter, and their jesting left no scars. The wine expanded and stimulated their minds instead of their passions, and when Callisthenes, at Alexander's request, recited the immortal description of the fall of Troy, the majestic periods of the epic drew tears of emotion to their eyes, and every man of them became a hero.

"If I were to bid thee crave a gift at my hands, what would it be?" Alexander asked of Artemisia.

She blushed, and her glance sought Clearchus.

"It would be one of thy soldiers, O king," she replied softly.

"That is much to ask of a general," Alexander said, affecting hesitation. "I would rather you had demanded his weight in gold; but which one?"

"Here he is," said Artemisia, blushing still more deeply and laying her hand in that of the Athenian.

"I suppose I must give him to thee," the young king said. "Let the chief priest of Melkarth be summoned."

"I will fetch him myself," Clearchus cried, leaping from his couch, and he hurriedly left the hall amid the approving laughter of the company.

The priest was found, the marriage contract drawn and signed, and while Alexander joined their hands, the words were spoken that made Clearchus and Artemisia one. The captains rose to their feet, each with a brimming goblet, and they drank the health of the bride with a cheer such as they had not given since they charged the squadrons of Darius. With heart-felt freedom they showered good wishes upon their comrade, and loud were their protests when Alexander broke up the feast to return to the royal palace.

Leonidas remained, with a few men of his troop, to guard the house, and he and Chares sat for hours with a flagon of wine between them, talking of all that had passed since the day when they rode at dawn into Athens in search of Clearchus.

In the lofty chamber where Artemisia and Thais had spent so many weary days waiting for the coming of deliverance, Artemisia stood with Clearchus at the window that looked toward the Macedonian camp. The cloud-wrack had vanished, and the sky was thickly sown with great stars that seemed to look down upon them with friendly gaze. The young man's arm clasped his bride warm and close, and her dear head rested against his breast. He kissed the soft coils of her hair; but she lifted her lips to his, and he saw that her blue eyes were swimming with tears of happiness.

Leonidas, who had gone about his duties long before his friends were stirring next morning, returned at midday and placed in Artemisia's hands a mysterious package.

"This is Moloch's gift," he said.

When Artemisia opened it, out poured a magnificent double necklace of rubies, so large and pure that she could not help kissing him, at which the Spartan blushed like a boy.

"I found them under the idol," he said. "For once, the chancellor told the truth."

CHAPTER LXIX

CHARES FINDS REST

Again Alexander and Darius stood face to face, this time upon the plain of Nineveh at Gaugamela, the Camel's House, beyond the swift Tigris. Chares and Leonidas felt the chill of autumn in the air as they strolled out upon the earthen ramparts that sheltered the Macedonian camp. The wide plain below them, where they knew the Persian host was assembled, was shrouded in mist.

Both were silent, and both were thinking of Clearchus, whom they had left behind in Egypt, in the new city that Alexander had founded at the mouth of the Nile, giving it his own name. There he was building the house that was to shelter him and Artemisia amid its gardens, within sight and sound of the sea; for when he learned of the wreck of his fortune, he had no desire to return to Athens.

"We shall soon know who is master," the Spartan said, gazing toward the mist-wrapped plain.

Chares followed his look indifferently, yawned, and stretched his arms.

"I believe I would rather go back to sleep than fight," he said. "I don't know what has come over me."

Leonidas shot him a quick glance, and it seemed to him that the Theban's face had aged and grown grave over night.

"I wonder what Clearchus and Artemisia and little Chares are doing," Chares went on. "I would like to see them again. May the Gods give them happiness!"

"Yes, and I shall be happy too when you have built your palace beside them," Leonidas replied. "It will have to be a palace, for Thais will be satisfied with nothing less."

Chares smiled a little sadly and shook his head.

"That is not for me," he said. "I shall never have a home and children of my own."

"Nonsense!" the Spartan replied decisively. "What is to become of Thais, then?"

"I know not," Chares said reflectively. "Watch over her, Leonidas, if I am not there to do it. She loves me."

"You talk like a sick man," Leonidas exclaimed, "yet you were never better. What is the matter with you?"

"Who can speak of to-morrow?" Chares replied. "You know, Leonidas, that I am not afraid, and yet somehow I care not. You and Clearchus I must leave sometime, and whenever that time comes, it will be a regret to me; and Thais, of course, will grieve; but she will recover. She is not like Artemisia. I think something is lacking in me. I have taken pleasure in life, but I am tired of everything. My city exists no more. Perhaps I am being punished for taking service under the man who destroyed it. I do not know – or care. Let be what will be."

"When you hear the trumpet, you will forget all this folly," Leonidas said impatiently. "You are young and you have everything to live for. That palace will be built yet; and when our heads are gray, we shall be sitting there, telling each other of this battle. See, they are waiting for us. They have been there all night."

The mist was lifting in undulating billows and twisted scarfs of vapor, floating away into the upper air. Before them was mustered the might of the greatest empire the world had ever seen. Away to the left and right spread the army of the Great King, a wilderness of bright plumes and glittering helmets. The spear-points, emerging from the mist, caught the rays of the sun like diamonds. Rank on rank they stood, so deep that the young men could not distinguish where the files ceased. Far on their right was the Bactrian cavalry and the Persian horse under the cruel viceroy Bessus, who had unwittingly saved Chares and Clearchus from the Babylonian mob. They could make out the banners of the Susians, the Albanians, the Hyrcanians, the fierce Parthians, the Syrians, the Arachotians, the Cadusians, the Babylonian levies, the haughty Medes, the dusky squadrons from beyond the Indus, the warriors from the shores of the Red Sea, the Mesopotamians, the Armenians, the Cappadocians, and the mongrel tribes of mixed blood. From the flaunting banners they could read the muster-roll of the nations that bowed to the will of Darius.

In advance of the first rank stood a line of huge, swaying brown bulks. They were the royal elephants, stationed there to drive a pathway through the Macedonian army for the Great King. Leonidas wondered at their number and size. On both sides of them stretched rows of chariots, with axles and neaps that terminated in long, curved scythe-blades. Behind the elephants was the royal squadron of ten thousand picked riders, and in its rear Darius had stationed himself, surrounded by his kinsmen, and protected on either side by bodies of Greek mercenaries. All the plain in front of the vast array had been made as level as a floor, so that the chariots might find no obstacle in their advance.

"This will be the last battle," Chares said indifferently. "If we win here, the empire is ours."

"We shall win!" Leonidas exclaimed.

"I'm not so sure of that," Chares said, measuring the host of the enemy with his eye. "There are more of them than there were at Issus, and here they have room to move."

A trumpet sent its bold notes from the Macedonian camp. The call was taken up by others, rose, and died away. Presently the first squadron of the phalanx wheeled out upon the plain, and began marching slowly and in silence down the gentle slope toward the Persian van.

"We must get into our armor," Chares said, and the two friends hastened down from the rampart.

The camp was swarming like a great beehive. Rough shouts of greeting, jests, and salutations were heard on every side as the soldiers hurried to join their commands. The army was in high spirits at the prospect of a decisive grapple, but the heaviness that oppressed Chares' mind refused to yield to the general enthusiasm. He made his way through the crowds to the purple pavilion set apart for Sisygambis, the mother of Darius, and his children. The beautiful Statira was no longer there. She had died in her captivity.

"I wish to speak with Thais," Chares said to the eunuch who guarded the door.

He was admitted to an anteroom of the tent while a slave carried his message. Thais answered the summons quickly. A proud smile parted her lips when she saw the powerful form of the Theban, clad in resplendent armor; but it vanished when she looked into his face.

He took her hands and bent down to kiss her, while the plumes of his helmet fell about their heads.

"I have but a moment," he said. "Farewell, Thais; you have loved me better than I deserved."

"Chares!" she exclaimed, with a sinking of the heart that caused her voice to flutter. "Why do you speak to me like this? I have loved you and I do love you with all my heart – with all my heart! Never have I loved another, and I never shall. Without you I should die!"

She stood on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. "You are all I have!" she cried, with a sob.

"Thais," he said, holding her close, "if I come not back to you, promise me that you will accept what the Gods send. They are wiser than we."

To Thais it seemed as though the world was slipping away from her. He had gone to battle before, and she well knew its chances; but he was so brave and strong that she had never really feared for him and for herself. What would become of her without him? She remembered what she had been before she knew him. The future would be worse than a void. The thought of it stabbed her heart like a knife.

"If you come not back!" she cried, clinging to him with all her strength. "But you will come back, Chares – tell me that you will! Tell me that you will come back for my sake. I cannot let you go!"

"I will come back if the Gods permit it," he said, kissing her once more, "but promise me, my love, for the time is short."

A trumpet sounded, and Thais understood that he must leave her.

"I promise," she said hastily, "but, O my heart, guard thyself in the battle; for it is thy life and mine thou bearest!"

She felt his arms press her closely and tenderly, and then he was gone. She turned slowly back to the inner rooms of the pavilion, where the queen mother sat with her little grandson in her lap. Sisygambis had taken a fancy to her, especially since the death of her daughter-in-law, whom Thais had tended in her illness. She turned her face toward her, stamped with traces of sorrow.

"What is happening?" she asked.

"They are marching out to battle," Thais replied.

"My son is there!" the queen said. "May Astoreth have him in her care. But whichever way the battle goes, either I or thou must weep. Our hearts are their playthings!"

As the Companions emerged from the camp, they passed through the ranks of the Thracian infantry, left behind to protect it, and saw the phalanx forming on the plain. They swung into the battle line on its right, behind the archers and the javelin men. The Persians overlapped them on both flanks by half a mile.

Never had Chares seen Alexander so confidently at ease as when he rode along the line in his bright armor, his white plumes nodding as he looked to see that all was in readiness. His eye was clear and his brow was untroubled in the face of those tremendous odds, although he knew that his fate depended upon the issue of that day. He took his place beside Clitus on the extreme right wing of the army, with the squadrons of Glaucias behind him.

There was a stir in the Persian host, and the terrible scythed chariots, drawn by horses that were lashed to madness, bounded forward across the interval that separated the two armies. At the same time the elephants began to move, and the Persian centre advanced to the attack.

Chares had hardly time to note this movement before the Bactrian and Scythian cavalry under Bessus swept down upon the Companions. Alexander ordered Mœnidas and the Greek mercenary cavalry to meet the charge. The Greeks galloped bravely to oppose the onset, but the rush of the Bactrians scattered them like chaff. The Pœonian cavalry under Aristo was then sent forward with better success. The wild troops of Bessus were curbed and forced back for a space, and Chares could see the bull-necked viceroy raging among them in a frantic endeavor to make them stand. Finding all his efforts in vain, he ordered the main body of the Bactrian cavalry, fourteen thousand in all, to charge. They left their place in the left of the Persian line and thundered down upon the Pœonians like an avalanche.

Not until then did Alexander turn his face to the impatient Companions. He raised his hand as a signal to make ready. Each man gathered his bridle reins more firmly, and tightened his grasp on his spear. A page scurried back to Aretes, who had been posted in the rear of the main line as a protection to the flank, telling him to charge with his splendid lancers. Then the Companions rushed forward, with Alexander at their head, and with their plumes fluttering like foam on the crest of a wave.

Squadron by squadron, they tore into the enemy's lines, while Scyth and Bactrian went down before them. Swift and deadly as a falcon, Aretes swooped upon Bessus' flank, throwing it into confusion. But the viceroy refused to yield, and the stubborn righting continued.

Meantime the dreaded scythe-bearing chariots had neared the phalanx, which it was their task to break. The soldiers clashed their spear butts against their shields with a clangor that frightened many of the horses beyond control. The light-footed skirmishers in advance of the line shot their arrows into the sides of the animals, or risked their lives to sever the traces of their harness. Some of the horses wheeled and galloped back into the Persian horde. Others were killed upon the sarissas that pierced their necks. A few of the chariots reached the line, that opened hastily to let them through, and both horses and charioteers were slain at leisure in the rear.

The elephants, from which the Great King had hoped so much, proved as useless as the chariots. Bewildered in the clamor raised by the phalanx, and maddened by the wounds inflicted upon them by the archers, they rushed about the field, trumpeting wildly, and trampling the Persians in their search for escape. Darius saw them, and his brow clouded.

With the first stride of his horse when the Companions charged, Chares felt his heart leap and the glow of joy in battle warm his veins. Misgiving and foreboding fell from him. He struck with mighty blows, spurring his horse forward into the Bactrian ranks until he could go no further. When his squadron fell back to give place to another, he refused to follow it, but remained there, fighting until the fresh troop in its charge surrounded him and bore him forward. Even when the Bactrians began to give way, and Alexander, leaving them to Aretes, directed the trumpeters to draw off the Companions, the Theban would not go. The young king, who happened to be near, spoke to him sharply.

"Obey orders!" he said. "You shall have your fill of fighting."

Chares reluctantly complied. His eyes were bloodshot and his face flushed like that of a drunken man. To ease the throbbing of his temples, he loosed his helmet and threw it upon the ground.

Alexander's eye, keen as a hawk's, glanced along the front of the Persian line, and his heart leaped as he saw a wide break in the ranks just at the left of the centre, where Darius stood in his chariot. The Susians had shifted slightly toward Bessus, in order to give him their support, and a gap had opened between them and the Greek mercenaries who guarded the Great King on that side. The Macedonians had been ordered to fight in silence, so that the trumpets might be heard, and now their varied notes rang across the field. At the first signal, the hypaspists under Nicanor detached themselves from the line and came forward at a run. Another call, another, and another, brought the veterans of the phalanx swinging in behind them. Rank on rank, the tough fighting men of Cœnas, Perdiccas, Meleager, and Polyspherchon fell in with the rapid precision of cool discipline, forming a solid column that fronted toward the gap.

Alexander gave the word to the Companions to place themselves at the head of this enormous wedge, and then, with a shout that rolled far across the plain, it hurled itself against the Persian line. Into the gap rode the Companions, and after them pressed the heavy infantry. The matchless horsemen struck at the heart of the Persian host; the resistless charge of the men who followed them tore wide the wound.

Close to the snowy plumes that floated from Alexander's helmet in the front rank of the Companions streamed the yellow hair of Chares. The Theban fought with the strength of fury. His sword rose and fell, and every blow carried a death wound. A strange sense of unreality possessed him. He seemed to be fighting in a dream. Suddenly, through the dust and confusion of the trampled field, he caught sight of the figure of Darius, and every sense became acute. The Great King, wearing the royal robe of purple over his armor, stood erect in his chariot, shooting arrows into the Macedonian column. Between him and the Companions stood ten thousand Greek mercenaries.