Buch lesen: «The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great», Seite 14

CHAPTER XXIV
THE GORDIAN KNOT

Alexander kept the anniversary of his departure from Macedon in the city of Gordium, surrounded by his army, on the wind-swept uplands of Phrygia. He reached the place through the drifted snows that blocked the passes of the Taurus and the rugged hills of Pisidia, subduing on his way the tribes that had held them for ages, to whom the Great King himself had deemed it wise to render tribute in exchange for peace.

Looking backward, the young leader of men saw the Ægean coast and all the territory west of the mountains subject to his rule. To the rich and prosperous Grecian cities by the sea he had restored their ancient rights, and the hostages of the barbarians thronged his camp. He had made a beginning, and his heart had confidence in the end.

Parmenio came from Sardis, bringing the troops that had wintered there, with the siege train and abundance of supplies. Alexander resolved to rest until the roads should be settled so that he might strike another blow. In games and feasting and martial exercises his army passed the breathing space permitted before the onslaught. The camp was filled with jests devised by the detachments that under Alexander had conquered stubborn Salagassus, at the expense of the men who had been idling in Sardis and who were accused of having grown white-faced and soft in their luxury. Parmenio's men, in turn, took their revenge in quips levelled at the young married men, who had been allowed to go to their homes across the Hellespont and who now returned, bringing the latest news and gossip of Pella and squadrons of eager recruits.

Leonidas had risen high in the favor of the young king, who had seen his courage tested in the winter campaign. He had become one of the Table Companions, with command of a squadron of cavalry, and even the proud young Macedonian nobles, jealous of intrusion, had ceased to look down upon him as an outsider and had taken him into their circle. Of all the stories told in the camp, none was more often repeated than that which related how the Spartan had held the light-armed troops when they were taken in ambush by the fierce mountaineers before Salagassus, until Alexander could lead the phalanx to their rescue.

But Leonidas showed no elation. On the contrary, he seemed more grim and taciturn than ever. Gladly would he have given both favor and command if he could have seen Clearchus and Chares ride into camp unharmed. Since they started for Halicarnassus, he had heard nothing of them, and it was the general opinion in the army that they were lost. The Spartan had few friends and none to take the place of these two. His grief for them was the deeper because he would not show it. Though it gnawed at his heart like the stolen fox, he gave no sign. One night, at table, the jest turned upon Amyntas, who had purchased gilded armor.

"You are as vain as Chares the Theban," one of the Thessalian officers said to him, laughing.

Leonidas sought the man out next day. "You have insulted my friend, who is not here. I think you are sorry for it," he said quietly.

The young captain laughed, looking down upon the Spartan from his six feet of stature.

"You think too much," he replied contemptuously.

With a bound, Leonidas caught him by the throat in a grip that was like that of a bulldog's jaws. In vain the Thessalian sought to break his hold. His face grew black and his tongue protruded.

"I think you are sorry," Leonidas repeated coolly.

The other, feeling his senses leaving him, made an affirmative motion, and the hands that gripped his throat relaxed.

"Thou shouldst speak no ill of those who cannot answer," the Spartan said, turning away and leaving the young man to recover his breath.

When this incident reached the ears of Alexander, as everything that happened in the camp was sure to do, the king smiled.

"I suppose you would serve me in the same fashion if I should be unfortunate enough to make such a jest," he said.

"The king does not mock brave men," Leonidas replied.

Alexander laid his hand on the Spartan's shoulder. "I am Alexander," he said, "but I envy Chares and Clearchus. I wish I had such a friend as they have."

"Thou hast many," the Spartan replied. "Wrong them not; but thou hast small need of mortal friends since the Gods are with thee."

"That is true," Alexander said simply. He knew that nine-tenths of the army believed indeed that the Gods had taken him under their protection. He seemed to them, in fact, to be himself almost like one of the immortals in the beauty of his face and form, his perfect courage, and his unerring judgment. While the graybeards at home, the philosophers and statesmen, were predicting failure for him and demonstrating by precedent and logic that his success was impossible, he had succeeded. Already he had wrested from the Great King the colonies of Greece that for centuries had groaned under Persian oppression, and while he had not yet stood face to face with the mighty power that he had attacked, he had confounded the prophets of evil and proved their wisdom to be no better than folly. When his captains looked into his face, ruddy with youth and strength, his smooth brow, unmarked by a line of care, and felt the charm of his glance, remembering what he had done, it was impossible for them to think that he was only a man like themselves.

So when it became known, after the preparations for the southward march in search of the Great King had been completed, that Alexander had determined to attempt the loosening of the knot that King Gordius had bound, there were few of his followers who doubted that he would accomplish it. For ages this knot had defied all attempts to guess its secret. The farmer, Gordius, driving his oxen into the city, found himself suddenly raised to the throne. Tradition told how he had tied the neap of his cart to the porphyry shaft in the midst of the temple and how it had been declared that whoso should unbind it should become lord of all Asia. In the reign of King Midas, his son, friend of the great God Dionysus, whose touch had changed the sands of the Pactolus to gold, many had essayed the task and had failed. In subsequent years a long line of ambitious princes and scheming kings had made the attempt, seeking to propitiate the God with rich gifts, but none had succeeded. More lately, few had tried the knot, for the Great King watched the shrine, and those who were bold enough to tempt Fortune there soon found themselves summoned to his court, where they were taught how unwise it was for the weak to aspire to the dominions of the strong.

It was knowledge of all this that led the soldiers to regard Alexander's trial of the knot as no less important than a great battle. If the knot should yield to him, there would no longer be any doubt of what the Gods intended.

Parmenio, with the caution born of age, shook his head when the king told him of his project.

"What will you gain?" he asked. "The army already has complete confidence in you, and if you fail, some of it will be lost."

"Dost thou believe we shall conquer Darius?" Alexander demanded.

"With the aid of the Gods, I think we shall," Parmenio replied.

"And dost thou not believe in the prophecy regarding the knot?" Alexander asked again.

Parmenio hesitated and looked confused. "It is very old," he said at last, "and we know not whence it came."

"Thy faith is weak," the young leader said severely. "Fear not; the cord shall be loosed."

Before the ancient temple the army was drawn up in long lines, archers and slingers, spearmen and cavalry, find the phalanx in companies and squadrons. Alexander, mounted on Bucephalus, rode slowly along the ranks, splendid in his armor, with the double plume of white brushing his shoulders on either side. He halted before the temple, where the robed priests stood ready to receive him. Every eye was upon him as he leaped to the ground and turned his face to the army.

"I go to test the prophecy, whether it be true or false," he cried, in a clear voice. "Wait thou my return."

Followed by his generals and by Aristander, the soothsayer, he entered the portals of the temple after the priests. They led him to the spot where the cart was fastened to the pillar. Its rude construction indicated its great age. Its wheels were sections of a tree trunk cut across. Its body was carved with strange figures of forgotten Gods and monsters, colored with pigment that time had dimmed. Its long neap was tied at the end to the shaft of stone with strips of cornel bark, brown and stiff with age and intertwined in curious folds that left no ends visible.

Alexander looked to the chief priest. "What is the prophecy?" he demanded.

The old man unrolled a parchment written over with dim characters, and read.

"To that man who shall loose the knot bound by King Gordius under direction of the high Gods," he quavered, "shall be given the realm of Asia from the southern ocean to the seas of the North. Once only may the trial be made. Thus saith the God."

Outside the temple the soldiers stood silent in their ranks awaiting the result. As the aged priest ceased reading and rolled up the parchment, Alexander drew closer to the magic knot and examined it, while the others fell back in a wide circle. Between the priests there passed a covert glance of understanding as though they said to each other, "Here is another who will fail, and more gifts will come!" The young king saw that no man could ever disentangle the convolutions of the fastening without tearing the bark. Avoiding even a pretence of attempting the impossible, he drew his sword. The astonished priests started forward with a cry of protest, but before they could interfere, the flashing blade fell and the neap of the ancient cart clattered to the stone floor.

"The knot is loosed," Alexander said quietly, sheathing his sword.

"The God greets thee, Lord of Asia!" the chief priest declared in a solemn tone, bowing his head.

Rushing out of the temple, the generals repeated Alexander's words to the army.

"The knot is loosed! The knot is loosed! We shall conquer!" ran the joyful cry through all the ranks, and the young king, listening within the temple, knew that the hour for decisive action was at hand.

CHAPTER XXV
BESSUS COMES TO BABYLON

Clearchus and Chares gazed with wonder upon the mighty walls of Babylon, raising their sheer height from the surface of the Euphrates until the soldiers who paced the lofty parapet seemed like pygmies against the sky. The little cavalcade, stained with weeks of travel, entered the city through a long archway tunnelled in the wall and flanked on either side by enormous winged lions carved in granite.

Nathan reported to the captain of the gate, who detailed a lieutenant to escort him to the palace. Chares snorted his disgust as the young man took his place at the head of the troop. His beardless face was touched with paint, and his eyebrows were darkened with pigment. His hands were white and soft. His flowing robe of blue silk swept downward on either side below his feet, which were encased in buskins with long points. He glanced superciliously at the two prisoners.

"See that they do not try to get away here in the city," he lisped to Nathan. "It might be hard to find them – there is such a dirty rabble here since the Great King himself decided to take the field."

"Have no fear," Nathan replied quietly.

"Fear?" the lieutenant laughed. "That word, as you will find, is not known here. Ride behind me and let your men surround these two dogs."

He adjusted his long robe and inhaled a breath of perfume from a flask of scent that he carried in his left hand while he gathered up his reins with the other. Chares could restrain himself no longer.

"So we are dogs, are we?" he roared, so suddenly that the lieutenant almost fell from his horse. "Has no one told you that we Greeks have to be fed? Lead on, or I will make half a meal off thy miserable carcass, though how magpie will agree with me, I know not."

"Seize him! Seize him! He talks treason!" screamed the lieutenant, scarce knowing what he said. He looked at Nathan's men, who made no move to obey, but the gleam of their white teeth as they smiled at his agitation brought him to his senses. With an air of offended dignity, he set his horse in motion, and the little troop clattered away into the city.

Inside the vast circumference of the wall they found streets along which stood magnificent dwellings surrounded by trees and gardens. So ample was the enclosure that ground enough remained unoccupied between the houses to sustain the population, if necessary, upon its harvests. Great temples reared their towers above the roofs. Gay chariots and gilded litters passed or met them. Now and then a curious glance was directed toward them, but beyond this they seemed to attract no attention. Everybody was too intent upon his own business or pleasure to give more than a passing thought to the sun-browned soldiers who rode wearily behind the brightly accoutred lieutenant of the guard.

As they advanced the streets became narrower and the houses stood close together, with no space between them for gardens. Shops and bazaars appeared on either hand, filled with a bustling, chaffering throng. The young Greeks saw a strange medley of nations. Swarthy Egyptians elbowed dusky merchants from beyond the Indus. Phœnicians and Jews drove bargains with large-limbed, blue-eyed men of the North, who wore shaggy skins upon their shoulders and carried long swords at their belts. This part of the city was given over entirely to foreigners, for among the Persians the old belief still prevailed that no man could buy or sell without being dishonest, and falsehood was held in religious abhorrence by the conquerors of the Medes.

Darius was collecting the host which he purposed to lead against Alexander and with which he intended to crush the adventurous invader. Military trappings were to be seen everywhere. The summons of the Great King had brought within the walls an enormous influx of strangers from every corner of the empire.

Chares and Clearchus aroused more curiosity as they rode through the narrower streets of the commercial quarter, where they were forced to proceed more slowly because of the throngs. They were soon recognized as of the race of the enemy.

"See the Greeks!" cried a bare-legged urchin in a shrill voice.

"By Ormazd, that is a big one!" said a soldier in a lounging group, pointing to Chares.

"Granicus! Granicus! Kill the Greeks!" a woman screamed from the top of one of the flat-roofed houses.

Her imprecation caused a stir among the idlers, who pressed forward to learn what was the matter and to obtain a better view. The rumor ran that there was to be fighting, and customers poured out of booth and bazaar to see it. They came good-naturedly, but in such numbers that they quickly blocked the way and brought the troop to a halt. Some mischievous boys began to pelt the horses with pebbles, causing them to rear and plunge. One of the animals kicked a man in the crowd, who struck at the rider with his staff. The Arab lunged back with the butt of his lance. The crowd drew out of the way, jeering and laughing.

Meanwhile the woman on the roof continued her cry. "Kill the Greeks!" she screamed. "Slay them! Remember the Granicus, where they slew my son!"

Her words were taken up and repeated by other women who leaned from the house-tops on either side of the street. The crowd continued to gather, those behind pushing the foremost against the plunging horses. Several were trampled upon.

"Go away," commanded the lieutenant. "Stand back, you hounds; these are prisoners for the king."

"Prisoners!" howled the mob. "Kill the prisoners! Burn the murderers! They would assassinate the king!"

The crowd showed signs of becoming inflamed. Some of the bolder spirits made a rush for the horsemen, seeking to pull them down and break the circle that the Arabs had formed about the two Greeks. The impact swept the little party into an angle between two houses, from which there was no escape save through the multitude. The women began to shower sticks and tiles upon them from the roofs. It became necessary for them to raise their shields to protect their heads from the missiles.

Nathan turned to the lieutenant, who, with a blanched face, had shrunk back against the wall.

"Do you intend to stay here?" he demanded sternly. "Draw your sword and lead us. We must cut our way out. My prisoners are for Darius and not for these."

"They are too many," the lieutenant whined, with chattering teeth.

"Then give him your sword, since you are afraid to use it," Nathan said, pointing to Chares. The Theban snatched the weapon from the young man's hand.

A javelin hissed through the air, cast by some soldier in the throng, and stood quivering in the beams behind their heads. Clearchus pulled it out and took possession of it.

The mob still held back, agitated by conflicting currents. The idlers who had instigated the attack in a spirit of wantonness had no stomach for fighting, and were struggling backward through the press, seeking a safe distance. Their places were taken by reckless and half-drunken soldiers, who had grown weary of inactivity in the city and were eager for any excitement, even though they obtained it at the risk of their lives. Many of them were little more than savages whose innate ferocity was aroused by the mere sight of blood. Some had received cuts and bruises when the rush was made. The voice of the mob changed from a tone of banter to a menacing cry for revenge.

Nathan saw that the non-combatants had succeeded in extricating themselves, and that the men who now faced them carried weapons in their hands and were preparing to use them. The situation was perilous. His handful of soldiers were outnumbered by more than a hundred to one. The mob was momentarily being reënforced from the wine-shops and the alleys that honeycombed the district. It was plain that there was no escape unless rescue should come quickly.

He raised himself on his horse and anxiously scanned the faces of the crowd that had pressed back out of harm's way and now stood in expectant silence. He knew that through the years that had passed since the Captivity, many thousands of his race had continued to dwell in Babylon and that the trade of the city was chiefly in their hands. He saw their keen dark eyes looking on indifferently from beneath the awnings that shaded the entrances of their shops. To them he determined to appeal.

"Israel! Israel!" he shouted, raising his open palm above his head. "In the name of Jehovah, I call upon thee! To the rescue!"

His cry rang clear in the momentary hush of expectation and reached the ears for which it was intended. Upon the outskirts of the mob men turned to their neighbors. "He is one of us! We must save him!" they said, one to another. "Israel! Israel!" The rallying shout spread through the dense masses of men into streets where Nathan's voice had not penetrated. It ran like a spark in a field of dry corn. Bearded men and dark-skinned youths left their occupations and sprang forward, snatching up such weapons as they found nearest to their hands. There was a second shifting of the crowd as they pushed their way toward the front, pressing in a great circle upon the ring of soldiers who were hemming Nathan in.

This ring was composed mainly of the fiercest and wildest fighting men in all the Persian Empire. It represented the extremes of the Great King's dominions. Yellow-haired Scyths, clad in the skins of animals, stood side by side with gigantic negroes from the mysterious forests of Ethiopia. Their language was unknown to each other, but they had been brought together into a fleeting comradeship by the irresistible and savage desire which, they held in common for excitement and slaughter.

The Jews attacked this formidable band without hesitation, hurling fragments of stone, earthen pots, and even the merchandise that had been displayed in the shops. The unexpected assault caused a momentary diversion. The Scyths and Ethiopians turned and charged into the crowd, striking with their swords and war clubs indiscriminately at friend and foe. Chares tossed the long hair back from his eyes.

"Your friends came just in time," he said to Nathan, "but it would be ungrateful for us to let them fight alone. Forward, Clearchus!"

With the Athenian at his side, he swung his horse into the street and dashed upon the nearest of the Scyths, a giant whose voice had been bellowing encouragement to his companions. The lieutenant's gilded sword fell upon the knotted cords of the man's neck, and he went down like some great tree in his own northern forests. His long blade slipped from his hand, and the Theban, stooping from the back of his horse and holding by the mane, caught it up.

"Ha!" Chares cried, swinging the heavy weapon above his head, "now we can get at them."

The Arabs, headed by Nathan, had followed the Greeks and were fighting beside them in a compact body. The Jews outside the circle had come to close quarters and were hacking and thrusting with daggers and butchers' knives. Their charge had been so sudden that the Scyths were nearly broken, but they recovered themselves almost instantly. A species of madness seemed to possess them. They closed in like a pack of wolves, fighting with each other to get near enough to strike a blow.

News of the outbreak had spread far into the city. From every side, thousands drew toward the scene of the battle, driving in the crowds that were seeking to keep their distance. They pressed upon the Jews and forced them helplessly against the weapons of their enemies. The number of the Scyths was momentarily increased by the arrival of their friends.

Nathan saw that the fight was hopeless. The Israelites, badly armed and undisciplined, were melting away. The only chance of escape lay in regaining the angle in the wall where they had first taken refuge, and from which they might be able to enter one of the houses.

Chares was wielding the great Scythian sword with both hands. Whoever was thrust within its sweep went down. Its tempered edge shore through bone and metal, and no parry availed to turn it aside. Clearchus fought at his shoulder with his javelin, protecting him against attack in the rear.

"Back!" Nathan shouted to them. "We cannot face the odds. We must seek the wall!"

"You are right," Chares answered without turning his head. "We are coming. I wish Alexander were here!"

He cut down a negro who had succeeded in getting within the thrust of Clearchus' lance.

"This is better than Granicus," he panted, as the man rolled upon the ground.

Clearchus made no reply, and Chares saw that his face was drawn and pale. It was clear that he was becoming exhausted. The Theban was filled with sudden alarm.

"To the wall!" he cried, wheeling his horse. "Bear up for a little yet, and we will show these beasts how Greeks can die!"

They recovered their position with difficulty, followed by the howling Scyths and negroes. Half the Arab escort had been killed, and Nathan was bleeding from a wound in the thigh, though he still fought gallantly. Chares alone was both unwearied and unscathed. He seemed endowed with the strength of ten men as he faced the fierce onset. His aspect as he turned at bay with uplifted sword caused the Scyths for an instant to hesitate. Then they charged, clustering around the little band like a swarm of angry bees, pushing each other forward and striking over one another's shoulders. It was clear that the conflict could not last much longer. Nathan knew that, once they were down in that seething and raging mob, they would meet a frightful death. His flesh shuddered at the thought of what was to come.

"Down with them! Down with the Greek dogs! They give way!" yelled the mob.

Clearchus glanced at the sea of distorted faces, white, yellow, and black, and saw thousands of eyes glaring hungrily at them. A strange indifference took possession of him. Why should he strive? What mattered it now whether the God of Nathan was mightier than the Gods of Greece? Not even the Gods could save them. If Artemisia were dead, he would meet her presently in the Elysian Fields. If she were living, sooner or later she would join him in the land of shades beyond Styx. There he would tell her how his heart had suffered. It was easier to die than to live, since now he must die.

"It is finished, Chares; we will go together," he called to the Theban.

"Not until I get this one!" Chares replied grimly, nodding toward a man who crouched before him just beyond the reach of his sword.

The squat figure was bent for a spring. The man wore a leopard skin across his muscular shoulders and his little green eyes were fastened ferociously upon the Theban, watching for an opening. Clearchus thought he had never seen anything more repulsive than the flat, broad face, with its strong, yellow teeth showing like fangs. As he looked he heard Nathan's voice beside him.

"O Lord, my God, save now Thy servant, if such be Thy will; for without Thee, I perish!" cried the Israelite, in an accent of despair.

"Here he comes!" Chares shouted.

The figure of the crouching Scyth bounded forward, and his bright sword, keen as a razor, flashed in the air.

"I have him!" Chares cried exultingly. His long blade hissed downward as he spoke, and the ugly round head rolled in the dirt. The stroke was followed by a roar of rage from the Scyths, among whom the man had evidently been a leader of importance.

"Come on!" the Theban called to them, tauntingly. "Cowards, why do you wait?"

The challenge seemed to goad them to desperation. They came with a rush in which they threw aside all caution. The remnant of the little troop was hurled violently backward. Chares' sword rose and fell without a pause; Nathan and the men who remained to him cut and thrust at the faces of their foes; and even Clearchus, roused by the instinct of self-preservation, plied his javelin. The end had come, and nothing remained but to die bravely.

It seemed to Clearchus that they would be able to hold out for only a moment longer, when without apparent, reason the attack suddenly slackened. The Scyths drew back, leaving a circle of dead and wounded under the wall. The mass of humanity that blocked the street swayed and gave way with a roar of warning and of fear. The mob was all in motion. It seemed to be fleeing before some danger, the nature of which the objects of its attack were unable to guess. It rushed past the angle in the wall where Nathan and his prisoners had taken refuge, carrying the struggling Scyths along with it.

"What is happening?" Clearchus gasped.

Nathan was too nearly exhausted to reply. He shook his head as a sign that he did not know, but the answer was not long delayed.

The beat of trampling hoofs and the thunder of rolling wheels was mingled with the roar of panic, and in an instant the street was filled from side to side with close ranks of wild-looking horsemen.

"Way for Bessus! Make way for the noble viceroy!" they shouted, striking right and left with their rawhide whips.

They rode into the mob with reckless indifference, and all who were unfortunate enough to be unable to get out of their way were trampled under the hoofs of the galloping horses.

"They are the Bactrians," Nathan panted. "We are saved."

From their sheltering angle, the Greeks watched the horsemen go past. Every man seemed an athlete, and the riders sat upon the backs of their horses as though they had grown there. Behind them, after a brief interval, rumbled a heavy war chariot drawn by four black steeds. In this ponderous vehicle, beside the charioteer, stood a corpulent man, with an enormously thick neck and a heavy jaw that gave an aspect of sternness to his dark face. He paid no heed to the lifeless forms over which the wheels of his chariot rolled, and he seemed deaf to the cries of pain uttered by the wretches who had been maimed beneath the hoofs of his guard. Clearchus' eyes for a moment met those of the viceroy and he felt a chill strike through him, as though he had touched some monstrous reptile unawares.

The passage of the Bactrians effectually cleared the street, but Nathan deemed it wise to fall in behind them lest the attack should be renewed. As they were about to start, a thought occurred to Chares.

"Where is the lieutenant?" he asked.

"He is there," Nathan replied, pointing to a heap of the slain.

The body of the young man lay a little apart from the rest, with the paint still on its cheeks and a gaping wound in its chest.

"So his cowardice did not save him," Chares said. "Let us go."

"Come, then," Nathan replied, and behind the chariot of Bessus, they arrived at the gates which gave entrance to the enclosure in which stood the royal palace.