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

Guided by the old man, the two friends ascended the wide marble staircase that led to the great stone platform at the southeast corner of the lower terrace, where ceremonial processions were accustomed to form before entering the sacred enclosure. Passing through the gate, they advanced between treasure-houses upon which the most famous sculptors of the world had lavished their skill. Among these and the dwellings of the priests and the chief men of the place were set scores of columns and statues, the offerings of centuries from kings and princes. Across the lower terrace the way led them to the next higher, with a sharp turn to the right at the great stone sphinx which guarded the passage through the second wall. They continued up the slope to the final platform, on which the temple stood resplendent with color.

Entering between the great columns, Eresthenes and Leonidas left Clearchus to the care of the priests – grave men of advanced age who were under the direction of Agias. They led the Athenian to the apartment of the chief priest, a venerable minister whose age had passed one hundred years. He sat in his marble arm-chair, propped by cushions. His white beard flowed over his breast, and his thin hands lay crossed in his lap. He raised his dim eyes and fixed them upon the face of his visitor.

"What wilt thou, Thrasybulus, who comest back to me from beyond the tomb?" he asked in a quavering voice.

The attendant priests glanced at each other in surprise, but none of them dared to reply.

"Speak, Thrasybulus; I am an old man," the chief priest said.

"Thrasybulus has been dead these fifty years, Father," Agias said. "This is Clearchus, an Athenian, who comes as a suppliant to the oracle."

"He is like Thrasybulus!" the old man muttered, bowing his head. "It seems but yesterday that he stood before me." He paused for a moment and then continued with an effort: "Art thou pure of heart? Art thou free from the sins of the flesh?"

"I am," Clearchus replied firmly.

"Then pass into the presence of the God who knoweth all and who doth not forget!" said the patriarch, closing his eyes wearily.

Clearchus bowed and was about to turn away, when the old man roused himself once more.

"Come hither, boy, and let me look at thee!" he said. "My sight is growing dim."

Clearchus knelt at his feet, and the aged priest placed his hand on his head, stroking his hair and peering into his face.

"So like Thrasybulus! It was only yesterday!" he said to himself. "The storm comes and the world is changing. Thou shalt see thrones made empty and nations perish; but the God will remain until a greater cometh. Clearchus art thou called? It may be so; but to me thou art Thrasybulus. Go thy ways. The God will be kind to thee."

Although the other priests were evidently struck by this unusual scene, they made no comment, but led Clearchus into the dim interior of the temple. On every hand, between the columns and against the walls, gleamed statues and vessels of precious metals, exquisite in design and workmanship, that the Phocians had not dared to remove from the house itself of the God. Before them stood a group of young women in snowy robes with fillets in their hair. They were chanting a hymn of slow and solemn measure.

They ceased their chant as the priests entered with Clearchus, and two of them advanced, leading between them one of the three priestesses of the temple. The Pythia was a woman of middle age, slender of figure, with large gray eyes that seemed to look at Clearchus without seeing him. Her thin cheeks still retained the fresh color of youth, and her lips, of a deep red, moved gently as though she were whispering to herself.

Looking about him with eyes grown accustomed to the semidarkness, Clearchus saw a slightly raised platform of white marble toward the rear of the temple. Three shallow steps led to a broad slab, in the middle of which was a cleft. Through this orifice curled a pale, fleeting vapor, which rose like transparent smoke for the height of a man above the platform before it vanished. It came from the stone in puffs and spirals which swayed, now this way, now that, with a peculiarly irregular and capricious impulse like the balancing of a coiled serpent.

Over the cleft was set a low tripod, the legs of which were formed of intertwined snakes wrought in gold so cunningly that every scale seemed reproduced in the bright metal. The jewelled eyes of the reptiles twinkled through the vapor which alternately hid and revealed them.

Slowly and solemnly the priestesses led the Pythia to the foot of the platform, where they gave her hands to two of the most venerable of the priests, whose office it was to conduct her to the tripod. Her lips formed themselves into a smile as she mounted the steps and the women resumed their chanting.

As she took her place upon the tripod and the priests descended, leaving her alone, a sudden thunderstorm burst above the towering crags which overhung the shrine. The wind roared down between the Phædriades with mighty strength, and a crash of thunder, leaping and reverberating from rock to cliff, shook the temple to its foundations.

"Zeus is speaking to the son of Latona!" murmured Agias, and all bowed their heads in reverence.

Filled as he was with awe, Clearchus felt reassured by the calm demeanor of the priests. He fixed his eyes on the Pythia, who remained seated on the tripod with her hands loosely folded in her lap, oblivious alike to the storm and to her surroundings. The chill vapor seemed to grow more dense. At times it hid her entirely, wrapping her in its cold embrace. The color deepened in her cheeks and the smile left her parted lips. With dilated pupils she gazed over the heads of the little group before her. Gradually her face assumed a troubled expression and her tongue began to frame broken words and fragmentary sentences the purport of which Clearchus could not understand. Suddenly she half raised her hands as though she would cover her eyes and her face contracted as with a spasm of pain.

"Evohe! Phœbus!" she cried in a wailing voice.

"Ask thy question – the God is here!" Agias whispered, pushing Clearchus toward the platform.

The young man found himself standing alone in the dread Presence, gazing upon the Pythia, who was no longer a woman, but an instrument in the hands of the God. The vapor curled about her and encircled her in swiftly changing, fantastic forms. Her gray eyes looked out into his, fixed and steadfast, and the tension of the influence which possessed her convulsed her features. Dead silence reigned throughout the vast and shadowy interior of the temple.

Clearchus tried to frame the question that he had prepared but the words refused to come. The awe of his surroundings paralyzed his speech.

Suddenly the dear, wistful face of his love seemed to appear to him amid the folds of the rolling mist, filled with sorrow and yearning. His fear left him. All else, even life itself, was as nothing before the fierce desire of his heart.

"Where shall I find Artemisia?" he cried, stretching out his arms before the whirling cloud which hid the priestess in its embrace.

There was a moment of suspense, in which he could hear the dull rushing of the torrent that filled the sluices, overflowing with the rain, on either side of the temple. The priests leaned forward attentively to catch the reply, each holding a tablet of wax and a stylus with which to record any words that the Pythia might utter. Clearchus stood motionless, his arms still outstretched, gazing with straining eyes upon the lips of the priestess. She writhed upon the tripod as though in agony. Her eyes were set and glassy and a slight foam showed itself upon her mouth. Then came her voice, strained and strange, through the eddies of the vapor: – "Seek in the track of the Whirlwind – there shalt thou find thy Beloved!"

Her eyes closed, and a shuddering sigh issued from her bosom. The two priests who had placed her upon the tripod hastened forward and bore her from the platform. She had lost consciousness completely. Her head drooped upon her shoulder and her face was as pale as death. The old men gave her in charge of the women, who ran forward to receive her and quickly carried her into their own apartments.

A great joy filled Clearchus. "She is safe! She is safe! And I shall find her!" he said to himself, following the silent priests out of the temple. As they passed out into the portico he looked back over his shoulder at the platform where the God had manifested himself. The swift storm had swept over and the sun was shining again. A gleam of his light fell upon the curling mist and Clearchus saw it tinged with the prismatic colors of the rainbow.

CHAPTER VIII

THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS

Leonidas and Eresthenes stood in the portico of the temple awaiting the return of Clearchus.

"All is well!" the young man cried, throwing his arms around Leonidas in the excess of his joy.

"Shall we find her?" the Spartan asked anxiously.

"Yes; the God has promised it," Clearchus replied.

"Where is she?" Leonidas asked quickly.

Clearchus hesitated and his face fell. The oracle had not told him where she was.

"What did the God mean when he spoke of the Whirlwind's track?" he asked, turning to the priests.

"We know no more than thou," Agias replied. "The answer given to thee is more definite than any we have had in these later times. That is a good omen. Be content and doubtless the God will choose his own way to make all clear to thee."

Clearchus was troubled, but he thanked the priests and arranged for the bestowal of an offering of ten talents of gold. He was about to take his leave when a man with mud-stained garments came running up the steep incline to the temple. He was one of the agents or messengers that the priests maintained in every large city of Greece to keep them informed of events. The knowledge which they brought, added to that which came with visitors to the oracle from all parts of the world, made Delphi the centre of intelligence and enabled the servants of the God, if need there was, to supplement his answers from their own understanding.

The man halted breathless before the white-clad group that stood in the sunlight between the columns awaiting him.

"It is Cimon," Agias said. "What news dost thou bring – speak!"

"Alexander is before the walls of Thebes with his army!" the messenger panted.

"Whence came he?" Agias demanded.

"Out of the mountains of Thessaly – like a whirlwind!" Cimon replied. "Before men had time to learn of his approach, he was there."

"Like a whirlwind, you say?" Agias repeated, glancing at Clearchus.

"Like a whirlwind, indeed," the messenger replied, "and panic holds the city!"

"Thy question is answered, my son," said Agias, quietly.

Clearchus was amazed. He had believed that the words of the Pythia were to be taken in their literal sense, and he had resolved to consult Aristotle in the matter on his return to Athens. But when Agias called his attention to the reply of the messenger, who could have had no knowledge of the prophecy, he could not doubt that a metaphor had been intended. The plans of the young Macedonian monarch at once acquired a new and intense interest in his mind and he listened eagerly to Cimon's story.

"The Thebans are divided," said the messenger. "They know not whether to surrender their city and earn their pardon, or to give defiance to the young king. The last they had heard of him was that he had been slain in battle at Pelium by the blow of a club. You know already that the citizens rose when Phœnix and Prothytes came back from Athens and that they besieged the Macedonian garrison in the Cadmea. Athens sent money and promised an army. The Bœotarchs ordered the walls to be made strong and a barricade to be built inside so that even if the walls should fall, they would still be able to defend themselves. Fugitives from Onchestris brought the first news that Alexander and his army were there. Even then the city would not believe it was the Hegemon himself, but maintained that it must be Antipater or the Lyncestian namesake of the king. For how, they asked, could the dead come to life?"

"Nothing is beyond the power of the Gods," Agias said sententiously.

"We expected a swift attack," Cimon continued, "but it was not until the next day that the army came within sight of the city and encamped north of the walls. The Thebans sent their cavalry and light troops to meet them. This was only a skirmish, but the soldiers brought word that Alexander, indeed, was there. Some of them who knew him had seen him directing the Macedonian troops.

"We found this to be true when the Macedonians moved their camp around to the main gate. The soldiers of the garrison in the Cadmea recognized their king and cried out to us that Alexander had come to avenge them. Still he did not attack, but sent a herald to say that he would forgive all that had been done if the city would yield itself and send him Phœnix and Prothytes to be punished."

"And what was the answer?" Agias asked.

"There were many who favored accepting the terms," Cimon replied, "especially since aid from Athens had been cut off; but the exiles who had returned to raise the revolt declared that the king was afraid. Should he have the boldness to attack the walls, they promised that he would be beaten and that Thebes would send a garrison to Pella instead of having one in the Cadmea."

"They are desperate men," the old priest said.

"But they won the people," Cimon replied, "and it was resolved to fight. So matters stood when I slipped out of the northern gate last night to bring you word."

"You have done well, Cimon," Agias said. "Dost thou think the city will escape?"

"That I cannot tell," the messenger answered. "It has corn enough for a siege; but Alexander's army contains thirty thousand footmen and a troop of horse, besides ballistæ and battering-rams which they were setting up when I left."

"The walls are strong," Agias said, reflecting. "Well, go to thy rest. Thou hast need of it."

Clearchus and his friends had enough to talk about as they walked down from the temple.

"One thing is certain," said the young Athenian. "We must go at once to Thebes."

"That we must do if only to see the fighting," Leonidas replied.

"What if the Dragon's Teeth should win?" Eresthenes suggested.

"They cannot," Leonidas said. "The man who could make the march that Alexander made is a general as well as a king. There is no Epaminondas in Thebes now."

"What will become of Chares' mother and his family if the city falls?" Clearchus exclaimed, stopping short.

"Have I not heard him say that his father formed a guest-friendship with Philip when the Macedonian was left in Thebes as a hostage?" Leonidas replied.

"Yes," Clearchus admitted, "but that may be forgotten by his son if all they say concerning Philip's death be true."

"Then we must remind him," Leonidas said, "and that is another reason why we must go to Thebes."

Eresthenes gave the young men a cordial good-speed when they left him in the morning to set out for the beleaguered city. They descended from the mountains and entered the fertile plains of Bœotia, through which they rode all day without finding a sign of war. The farmers went about their work and the shepherds were pasturing their flocks as peacefully as though there were no such things as armies and slaughter. More than once they stopped to ask news of the siege, but the people of the plain could tell them nothing. Many of them had not heard that Alexander was before the city; others had indeed heard the rumor, but convinced that they themselves were safe, they took no interest in it.

Evening was drawing on and they had approached to within a few miles of the city when they met a rider whose horse was dripping with sweat.

"Ho, there; what news of Thebes?" Leonidas shouted as he passed.

The man looked at them, but made no answer. He bent low on the neck of his horse and his cloak flew out behind him like the wings of a huge bird.

"There has been a battle," Leonidas said. "Was he Theban or Macedonian?"

Burning with impatience, they urged their horses to the crest of a low hill, where they came suddenly upon half a dozen cavalrymen, who had halted in a small grove to bind up a wound which one of their number had received in the shoulder.

"What has happened?" Leonidas asked, drawing rein beside them.

"Know you not that the city has fallen?" one of the soldiers replied. "The accursed Macedonians forced us in through the gates and came in with us. Not a soul is left alive in Thebes, and my wife and children were there!"

"And that is where you should be," the Spartan replied contemptuously.

The poor fellow burst into tears at this reproach as he thought of the fate of his little family. Clearchus, touched by his grief, drew out his purse and gave it to him.

"If they are still living, this may aid you to ransom them," he said.

As the two friends proceeded they now began to meet other bands of fugitives straggling along the road. Most of them fled silently, often looking back over their shoulders as if in dread of pursuit.

"Cowards!" said Leonidas, scornfully.

"Life is sweet to all of us," Clearchus remonstrated, thinking of Artemisia.

"To such as these it should be bitter!" the Spartan replied.

They were rounding a turn in the road as he spoke, and before the words were well out of his mouth they found themselves entangled in a rabble of horsemen, who were retreating before a fierce attack.

"In here, quickly!" Leonidas cried, urging his horse back among the trees beside the road.

They had barely time to gain this shelter before the rush of plunging horses and shouting men went past them. The Thebans were evidently making a desperate attempt to rally, and just beyond the spot where the two were concealed they halted, wheeled, and stood at bay.

But before they had accomplished this manœuvre the foremost of the pursuers, headed by a young man riding a powerful chestnut horse, swept into sight. The leader, in his excitement, had distanced his troop. Clearchus and Leonidas, who, from their position in the elbow of the road, were able to see in both directions, realized that he was galloping straight into an ambush. Leonidas started forward to warn him, but it was too late. The Thebans had regained their order, and with a wild shout they charged back around the curve.

Either the unexpectedness of the onset caused the chestnut to swerve, or his rider tried to pull him up too suddenly, for he stumbled and went to his knees. The young man was pitched headforemost into the underbrush and fell almost at the feet of Leonidas.

Some of the Theban troopers saw the accident and rushed upon him with cries of triumph. They were confronted by Leonidas and Clearchus, who stood over the prostrate figure with drawn swords. Surprise caused the Thebans to hesitate, and this saved the lives of all three; for the Macedonian riders, thundering down upon the Thebans at full speed, struck them and tore them to pieces. Horse and man went down before that fierce charge, which left nothing behind excepting the dead and a handful of wounded, whose cries for mercy were cut short by a sword-thrust. The survivors fled without looking behind them.

"Where is Ptolemy?" shouted one of the Macedonians, a bearded man who seemed to be second in command. "Who has seen the captain?"

"He rode in advance," one of the troopers replied.

"If we do not bring him back, we shall have to answer for it to the king, and you know what that means," the first man said.

"He is here!" Clearchus called from the thicket.

The bearded lieutenant and several others hastily dismounted and carried their captain out into the road. He was still unconscious.

"Who are you?" the lieutenant demanded gruffly, looking at the two young men with suspicion.

"I am Clearchus of Athens, and this is Leonidas of Sparta," Clearchus replied.

"Of Athens!" the man said sneeringly. "Go back to your city and tell the cowards who live there that we are coming!"

"As you came once before – with Xerxes!" the young Athenian answered quickly.

The lieutenant's face grew livid and he whipped out his sword.

"Cut their throats! Kill them!" the troopers cried angrily, pressing closer.

Like a flash, Leonidas bestrode the form of the captain, sword in hand.

"I am of Sparta!" he cried boastfully. "My country never saw the face of Philip, nor shall it look upon that of his son, who calls himself the Hegemon of all Hellas. Put away your swords, or here is one whose funeral you will celebrate to-morrow!"

He placed the point of his blade at the captain's throat as he spoke. The men of Macedon dared not move.

"Listen to reason!" Clearchus said hastily. "We are without armor, as you see. We saved the life of your captain, and we are on our way to Thebes to see Alexander on matters of importance. Take us with you and let your king deal with us. This is no time nor place for brawling."

"You are right," the lieutenant said sullenly. "Let it be as you say."

He sheathed his sword, and the others followed his example, though with an ill grace. The captain had begun to recover his senses. His skull must have been tough to have resisted the shock of his fall without cracking.

"Why are you letting me lie here?" he demanded. "Where is the enemy?"

"Scattered and gone, excepting these that you see," the lieutenant replied, pointing to the bodies.

"Then get me on a horse and back to camp," the captain ordered.

As they rode the lieutenant explained the presence of Clearchus and Leonidas. The captain frankly gave them thanks when he learned that they had protected him while he lay helpless.

"I am Ptolemy," he said, "and since you desire to see Alexander, I will take you to him. I owe you much and the day may come when I shall be able to repay you."

CHAPTER IX

THE DOOM OF THEBES

The plain where once the sons of Niobe lay weltering had borne its last harvest of slaughter. On every side Leonidas and Clearchus noted the ghastly evidences of battle. Darkness fell before Ptolemy's troop reached the shattered gates of Thebes. Men with torches in their hands wandered through the streets strewn with corpses, seeking plunder among the dead or searching for the bodies of friends. Neither sex nor age had been spared when Perdiccas hewed his way into the city. The very altars of the Gods were crimsoned with the vengeance taken by the Phocians, the Platæans, and the Bœotians for the centuries of cruel oppression that they had suffered from the rapacious brood of the Dragon.

Mothers lay dabbled in blood, with their infants beside them, struck down in flight. The market-place was heaped with bodies, showing how desperate had been the final stand of the Theban soldiers. The streets were littered with household gear that had been dragged in wantonness from despoiled homes.

The plundering was not yet finished. Bands of soldiers were still searching for booty in the remoter quarters of the city, where their progress could be traced by the sound of their drunken laughter, mingled with the screams of their victims.

Macedonian guards paced the walls and cut off all hope of escape. The wretched inhabitants, driven into the highways, sought concealment in dark angles and narrow lanes, cowering in silence.

Here and there a woman, rendered desperate by her anguish, walked with dishevelled hair, heedless of insult, seeking her children among the slain in the hope that she might find them still alive.

Clearchus felt his heart grow faint at the thought that Artemisia might be exposed to the frightful chances of such a sack. Phœbus himself, he thought, might be unable to protect her, since here the temples of the Gods had been profaned. An old man in priestly robes stood out before them with trembling hands upraised.

"Vengeance, O Zeus!" he cried aloud. "Vengeance upon those who have violated the sanctuary of Dionysus, thy son! May they – " "Silence, Graybeard!" growled a soldier, striking him across the mouth with his fist.

The old man reeled from the blow and shrank away into the shadow.

"You'll choke if you ever try to drink wine again, Glaucis!" a comrade cried, laughing.

"Dionysus will forgive me soon enough for a sacrifice," Glaucis returned. "Never fear!"