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

He entered his workroom briskly and sat down at the table. Producing a roll of papyrus, he broke the seal, slipped off the wrapping, and spread the document out before him.

"Iphicrates to Ariston," he read. "Greeting: I have obeyed your instructions. Syphax brought me the girl. I dismissed him with promises after she had told me that she had no complaint to make against him. I am convinced that he is a rogue and that he will live to be crucified. For Artemisia, she remains in my household. I have told her that I am awaiting a suitable opportunity to send her back to Athens; but I have put her off from time to time with excuses. She has lost flesh since she came hither, and if she is to be sold, I think it would be best not to delay too long, as her value will be less than if she were offered now. She has written many letters, which I promised to forward for her. One of these I send you with this; the others have been destroyed.

"It is expensive for me to maintain her as you directed. It has cost me already one talent and twenty drachmæ, which leaves me in your debt six talents, eleven drachmæ, and thirty minæ. Please make this correction in our account.

"There is talk here that Alexander, the Macedonian, is preparing to lead an army against this city. Nobody doubts that he will be defeated, since Parmenio could accomplish nothing. Memnon, the Rhodian, has been here, strengthening the fortifications and exercising the soldiers, but of this there is no need; for all the armies of Greece could not take this place, even though they should invest it by land and sea. May the Gods keep you in good health! Farewell."

"He has cheated me out of a talent, at least!" Ariston muttered. "The old skinflint!"

He turned his attention to a second roll of papyrus, which had been enclosed in the first.

"My Beloved," it ran. "Why hast thou not answered the letters I have sent thee, or come thyself to take me home? Clearchus, my Life, I know thou hast not forgotten me, although it seems ages since I last saw thee. Each day I watch and wait for a word from thee, only one little word, but none has come. I try to keep up my courage, thinking that perhaps thou art seeking me elsewhere and that thou hast not received my letters. I do not doubt thee, Clearchus, but I am weary of waiting for thee and my heart is sick. When shall I hear thy voice and see thy face again? I pray each night and morning to Artemis to give thee back to me. My love, my love, may the Gods, who know all things, keep thee safe! While I live, I am thine. Farewell."

A smile played about the corners of Ariston's thin lips as he thrust the papyrus into the flame of the lamp and held it over the brazier until it was consumed. He did the same with the epistle that Iphicrates had sent to him, and then plunged into his accounts.

Xanthe had never been quick-witted, and the monotonous round of her labors had dulled even her natural perceptions. At the bottom of her heart she believed her husband to be the cleverest man in the world. She did not pretend to fathom his schemes. The twistings and windings of his subtle mind confused and bewildered her, and she had no thread by which to trace the labyrinth. While she had long ago ceased to try to follow him, the fact that she did not know all that he was doing tended to make her suspicious, and her distrust, as is usual with women of limited intelligence, took the form of jealousy.

In their forty years of married life Ariston had never given her the slightest cause for such an emotion. Among his few weaknesses there was none for women, whom he despised as mere machines or treated as commodities. But notwithstanding its lack of result, Xanthe, year after year, maintained her vigil, ever seeking what she most dreaded to find.

Of late her husband's cares and advancing age had given her a feeling of security, but the revival of his spirits at the departure of his nephew sent her mind back again to the well-worn track. Could it be that he was deceiving her after all?

This idea laid siege to her thoughts with recurrent insistence. What had she to attract so brilliant a man? Her mirror showed her a wrinkled brow and hollow cheeks. She turned away from it with bitterness in her heart. The wonder was that he had ever loved her; but that was years ago. She could not blame him if he sought a younger and fairer companion for his hours of relaxation. Other men did the same, and men were all alike.

Tormenting herself with these thoughts, the unfortunate woman passed a sleepless night, and rose determined to know the worst. As soon as Ariston had gone out, she entered his workroom. Her search brought her at last to the brazier, where she found the charred fragments of the letters from Halicarnassus. Unluckily one corner of Artemisia's missive to Clearchus had not been wholly burned. She bore it in triumph to her own apartments and set herself to the task of deciphering its contents. The very fact that her husband had sought to burn the letter was enough in her excited frame of mind to convince her that her suspicions were correct. It remained only to establish the proof.

She succeeded in making out a few words, but she could derive no meaning from them. Study them as she would, her skill failed her. The tantalizing thought that knowledge was within her grasp and eluding her filled her with rage. She was still puzzling over the fragment when she was interrupted by a knocking at the door. On the threshold stood the sharp-faced Egyptian whom she had so often seen with her husband.

"Is Ariston here?" he demanded.

She told him that her husband was away from home.

"Then I will wait for him," Mena returned coolly, pushing past her into the house. "He told me to see him without fail and he will soon be here."

There was no help for it now that he was inside the house. Xanthe led him to a bench beside the cistern and gave him fruit and wine. The thought occurred to her that he might be able to read the riddle that had baffled her. There could be no harm in showing him the fragment, she reasoned, since it could tell him nothing, although to her it could reveal so much. The temptation was strong, and after all the opportunity was too good to be lost.

"Can you read this for me?" she asked, placing the blackened papyrus before him.

He took it up and studied it curiously.

"Where did you find it?" he demanded, shifting his beadlike eyes quickly to hers.

"The wind blew it into the court, here," she stammered, taken aback by the question. "I wondered what it might be."

His glance continued to rest upon her face for an instant before it went back to the fragment. It was easy enough for him to read them both, and a malicious smile twitched his mouth as he understood that Ariston had a jealous wife. The idea struck him as distinctly ridiculous. More in idleness than with any direct purpose, excepting that of making mischief, he determined to humor her mood.

"It is difficult to understand," he said, looking carefully at the papyrus, "as it seems to have been burned. But here it says: 'When shall I hear thy voice and see thy face?' and here: 'While I live, I am thine.' It sounds like a poet, but the writing is that of a woman. You seem to have surprised some romantic love affair. You probably have some amorous youth among your neighbors whom a girl is foolish enough to adore."

Xanthe's forebodings had suddenly become realities. Ariston, then, was deceiving her, and she had not been mistaken in him. Of that, she was now certain. He had probably always deceived her and she had been a fool ever to believe him. Her world seemed coming to an end.

"Why do you say that the letter was sent to a young man?" she asked. "Might it not have been an old one?"

"I dare say," the Egyptian replied carelessly. "Old men are often the worst in these matters."

"This girl, whoever she may be, seems very much in love with him," Xanthe remarked.

"No doubt," Mena said, watching her with increasing amusement, "and probably he has a wife of his own. Why else should he burn the letter?"

Xanthe winced at this thrust, although she had no idea that Mena had fathomed what was in her mind. "At any rate, he cannot marry her," she said, as though thinking aloud.

"The old one might die, you know," Mena suggested. "Such things have been known to happen at the right moment."

These words were accompanied by a look so full of meaning that poor Xanthe felt a chill of apprehension. She did not trust herself to say more, but carried away the fragment to her own room, where she concealed it.

Mena's hint had fallen upon fertile ground. She went over the situation again and again in her mind, coming always to the same conclusion. That Ariston was carrying on an intrigue with some girl was now certain; for it never occurred to her that the letter might not have been intended for him. It seemed certain to her also that her husband would seek to rid himself of her so that he might marry her rival. Mena was right. Such things had happened more than once and poison was the easiest way. If she should die, who was there to ask what had caused her death? Nobody. She began to take infinite precautions regarding her food, tasting nothing that she had not herself prepared; yet she felt that she was in hourly danger in spite of all she could do. When nothing happened to her, she concluded that her husband's failure to attempt her life was due solely to the fact that his plans were not yet ripe. When all was ready, he would kill her and flee with Clearchus' fortune to some distant land, where he could meet the abandoned creature upon whom his affections had fallen. She knew only too well that he was capable of anything in the furtherance of his selfish schemes. Thus her folly led her on until at last she came to regard her imaginings as truth confirmed. But if she was to be murdered, she thought, at least she would prevent him from enjoying the fruit of his wickedness. She would write to Clearchus and tell him all.

When she had reached this conclusion, she lost no time in carrying it into execution. But it was long since she had used the stylus and she was forced to confine herself to the barest outline of what she wished to say. After many failures, she finally produced the following: —

"Clearchus: Iphicrates has Artemisia in Halicamassus. My husband is a beast who wants to poison me. If you hear that I am dead, you will know why, and I hope you will see that he is punished. Go to Halicamassus, and when you get her, keep her safe. Iphicrates is a wicked man and he should be killed. If my husband does not poison me, make no accusation against him."

Xanthe sealed this letter and hid it away until a chance should offer to send it to her nephew. She felt much easier, as though the fact that she had written it were in some way surety for her safety. Several weeks passed before she found the opportunity for which she had been looking. At last she learned that Callias, son of a widow of her acquaintance, had joined a mercenary troop that was being raised in Athens. She gave the letter to his mother to be delivered to Clearchus in Pella, but Callias, having received part of his pay in advance, could not tear himself away from his friends in Athens until the gold was spent. Consequently the letter was not delivered until after Macedon and Persia had met at the Granicus.

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNQUENCHABLE FIRE

It was a clear, bright spring day when the three friends rode into Pella. The new sap was beginning to swell the buds, and the fresh green of the grass was gleaming hopefully on sunny slopes. Chares had been singing snatches of love songs since early morning when they set out on the last stage of their journey. Even Clearchus forgot his anxiety in the thought that he was drawing nearer to Artemisia, and the grim Leonidas had smiled more than once at the sallies of the light-hearted Theban.

In the Macedonian capital on every side was the stir of animation and preparation. Recruits were being drilled for the army. Messengers were hastening hither and thither. Ambassadors were coming and going with their trains. They gazed with admiration at the solid buildings, designed with a stately magnificence which, in its own way, was as impressive as the marble embodiments of Athenian genius. Everywhere were the evidences of a young and strong people, buoyant, self-confident, energetic, and fearless. No idlers blocked the streets. Every man had something to do and was doing it. The tide of vigorous life flowed strong through the city as in the veins of a young oak tree.

It was not strange that Pella should have swarmed with activity on that day in spring. Within the boundaries of the rugged little state, half Hellenic and half barbarian, a vast project, supported by a sublime confidence, was taking shape. It had been formed and nursed by the crafty and far-seeing Philip, whether as a possibility or as a stroke of policy to bring Hellas under his control none could say. Now it had suddenly become a reality. The great empire of Persia, which covered the world from the shores of the Euxine to the sources of the Nile, and from the Ægean to limits undefined, beyond the regions of mystery through which the Indus flowed, was to be invaded. It had endured for centuries as an immense and impregnable power. Fierce tribes dwelt in the fastnesses of its snow-clad mountains, numberless caravans crept across its scorching deserts, gigantic cities flourished upon its fertile plains. Nations were lost among the uncounted millions of its population. Its wealth surpassed the power of imagining, and about the throne of the Great King, whose slightest wish was the unchangeable law of all this vast dominion, stood tens of thousands of the bravest warriors in the world, ready at a sign to lay down their lives for him.

What had Persia to fear from the handful of peasants turned soldiers who had made a boy their king? Why should Darius feel any uneasiness concerning the projects of a rash young man who already owed more than he could pay? To be sure, he had made himself the Hegemon of Hellas, with the exception of Sparta, but everybody knew that he had forced the older states to bestow the title upon him against their will and that they were waiting only until his back should be turned to fall upon him. With the slender resources at his command, how could he hope to hold Greece in subjection and at the same time to subdue an empire which had more Hellenic mercenaries alone upon its pay-roll than the sum total of his entire army? Surely, the Great King must be himself despised if he did not look with contempt upon such mad ambition.

Something of the force of this reasoning assailed the mind of Clearchus as he lay down that night on the hard pallet that had been assigned to him by Ptolemy in the barracks of the Companion Cavalry. The immensity of the obstacles to be overcome oppressed him, and he began once more to doubt whether, after all, there could be any hope of success for the young king. He fell asleep, to see in his dreams the pale face of Artemisia framed in her unbound hair.

His mind was still clouded with misgiving when he went next morning with Chares and Leonidas to pay his respects at the palace; but they were dispelled like mists before the morning sun when he stood face to face with Alexander. In the inspiring presence of the young leader no doubts could live. He radiated confidence as a fire radiates warmth. Every glance of his sympathetic eyes, every tone of his voice, revealed a certainty of the future that was beyond peradventure.

The palace was the centre of the activity that was filling the city. Generals and captains, agents, princes, hostages, ambassadors, and messengers swarmed in its halls. Here stood the gray-haired Antipater, who had been appointed by Alexander regent of Macedon and guardian of Greece during his absence, talking with citizens of Corinth who had come to consult him concerning proposed changes in their civil government. There was old Parmenio, fresh from his campaign in Mysia, giving his orders for the disposition of a company of mercenaries who had arrived that morning.

There were travellers from the Far East, who had been summoned to tell what they knew of the cities, rivers, and mountains through which the Macedonian march would lie and of the character of the peoples who were to be encountered. There were contractors for horses and supplies anxious to provide the army with subsistence. There were soothsayers and philosophers, slaves, attendants, and courtiers; and among them all, with banter, jest, and laughter, walked the young nobles of Macedon, bosom friends of the king, who had defied Philip for his sake and were now reaping their reward. There were Hephæstion, son of Amyntas, Philotas, son of Parmenio, Clitus, Crateras, Polysperchon, Demetrius, Ptolemy, and a score of others, in spirits as brave as their attire, as though they were about to start upon a holiday excursion instead of a desperate venture into the unknown.

Alexander recognized the three friends immediately and gave them cordial greeting.

"So you have come to follow the Whirlwind," he said, laughing, as though the simile pleased him. "It will soon be launched now."

"We have come to take any service that you may give us," Chares replied.

"You are enrolled in the Companion Cavalry," Alexander informed them.

They gave him their thanks for this mark of favor, for the Companions contained the flower of the kingdom, young men of distinguished families, who were admitted freely into Alexander's confidence as his friends.

"I have just been giving away the security for my debts," Alexander said, smiling at Chares. "I saw you spend your last obol to purchase the liberty of your friends at Thebes. You trusted to the chance of war to bring your fortune back to you, but I have gone further than you, for I have staked my honor. As you see me, I am worth some thirteen hundred talents less than nothing."

"But what have you left for yourself?" the Theban asked.

"My hopes," Alexander replied.

"They say the Medes have gold in plenty," Leonidas observed reflectively.

"Never fear," Alexander replied, laughing. "What are our debts of to-day in comparison with our riches of to-morrow? The Companions are all following my example. We set out with only our swords and our courage – and our golden hope!"

Again he laughed, and calling Philotas to him he turned to Clearchus.

"The queen, my mother," he said, "has heard the story of Artemisia and of what they told you at Delphi. She desires to see you. Philotas will take you to her."

Philotas led the way through courts and colonnades to the women's wing of the palace, where Olympias held sway. As they went, Clearchus recalled all he had heard of Alexander's mother – how it was averred that a great serpent was her familiar, and the tales of her passionate and revengeful nature that had caused her to order the babe of Cleopatra, who had supplanted her in the affections of her husband, to be torn from the arms of its mother and killed in her sight before she herself was slain. He had heard also of her devotion to religious mysteries and especially of her skill in the secret rites of the Egyptian magicians.

As they neared the queen's apartments, Clearchus was astonished to hear a woman's voice raised in anger, followed by the sound of blows and pitiful cries for mercy. He paused in embarrassment, but Philotas drew him on.

"Do not be disturbed," said his guide; "the queen is probably chastising one of her slaves."

He ushered the young Athenian into a large room furnished with luxurious magnificence. Before them stood Olympias, with a rod of ebony in her grasp, and at her feet upon the silken carpet crouched a weeping girl with bare white shoulders, marked with red where the rod had fallen. The queen turned upon them with blazing anger in her great black eyes and the wrathful color on her cheeks.

"Who enters here unbidden?" she demanded sternly, and then in a milder tone she added: "Is it you, Philotas? These girls will kill me yet with their stupidity. I wish I could drown them all in the sea! Ah!"

She swung up the rod and brought it down upon a great vase of Phœnician glass, which flew into a thousand fragments. She laughed and threw the rod from her.

"There, now I feel better!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "You may go, Chloe. Dry your eyes, child; you shall have your freedom. Who is this whom you have brought me, Philotas?"

"It is Clearchus, the Athenian, whom the king sends," Philotas answered.

"I remember," she said quickly, turning to Clearchus. "You were robbed of your sweetheart. Do you love her very much?"

"I love her better than my life," Clearchus replied simply.

"Will you never grow weary of her and cast her off, as Philip did me?" she persisted.

"If I find her, I will never willingly let her go out of my sight again," the young man declared.

"But did not the Pythia tell you that you would find her if you followed my son?" she inquired.

"The oracle instructed me to follow the Whirlwind," Clearchus said.

"Tell me about it," Olympias commanded, seating herself upon a couch. She made him relate his experience with the oracle in the minutest detail, asking many questions that indicated her lively curiosity. She then inquired of Artemisia's personal appearance, her age, and family.

"Wait here for me," she said finally, and left them alone in the room.

"She seems hardly older than Alexander," Clearchus remarked.

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," Philotas replied dryly, "especially when they are assisted by art."

The queen was absent for more than half an hour. She seemed tired when she returned.

"I have consulted the Gods," she said, "and you will find her if your heart remains true and strong. The priestess of Apollo told the truth."

"I thank you for giving me this consolation," Clearchus said eagerly, hoping that she would tell him more; but she began pacing thoughtfully backward and forward, with bent head, apparently forgetful of his presence.

Suddenly she stopped before him and smiled, rather wistfully he thought. He almost fancied that there were tears under the fringe of her dark lashes. "Farewell," she said. "May the Gods protect you – and Alexander, my son."

She resumed her walk, and the young man left the apartment in silence. Clearchus tried in vain to analyze the strange impression that she had made upon him, but for many days her smile, half sad, and her mysterious dark eyes, with the living spark in their depths, continued to haunt him.

CHAPTER XIV

ACROSS THE HELLESPONT

Upon Bucephalus, whose proud spirit he alone had known how to tame, Alexander led his army out of Pella. The great charger tossed his head and uttered a shrill neigh, which sounded like a trumpet-call of defiance to the whole world, as he issued forth from the gate of the city. Many a Macedonian wife and mother, standing upon the walls, dashed the tears from her eyes that day as her gaze followed the lines of the troops, striving until the last to distinguish the form that perhaps she would see no more.

The young king drew aside, with his captains about him, upon a low hill a short distance from the city. The sunlight flashed upon his gilded armor and upon the double white plume that swept his shoulders. With swelling hearts, the men saluted him as they marched by, horse and foot, squadron and company, thirty thousand in all. The bronzed faces of the veterans of Philip's wars lighted up as they heard his son call one or another of them by name, and the countenances of the younger soldiers flushed with pride and pleasure at his smile of approval. Last came the baggage and provision trains and the great siege engines, lumbering after the army on creaking wheels.

Alexander turned to Antipater and gave him his hand. "I would that thou, too, wert coming with us to share in our victories," he said. "Remember, all our trust is in thee. Be just and firm."

"I will remember," the old general replied, his stern face softening. "Return when and how thou wilt; thou shalt find all as thou hast left it to-day."

Alexander turned to go, but a cry of "The queen!" caused him to halt. A chariot drawn by foaming horses drew up before him. He sprang from his horse and ran forward to receive Olympias in his arms.

"My son! My son!" she cried, looking into his face with streaming eyes.

"Hush!" he said gently. "Do not forget that you are the queen!"