Buch lesen: «The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great», Seite 23

CHAPTER XLII
A TRAITOR IN PURPLE

Although they had been repulsed, the Macedonians returned to their camp, confident that Tyre could not much longer stand against them. Alexander ordered the sacrifice of a black bull to Phœbus. After a careful examination of the entrails, Aristander, the soothsayer, sought the king and spoke to him in private.

"Tyre will fall before the month ends," he said. "Phœbus has promised it."

"But the month will end to-morrow," Alexander replied, in astonishment.

"Nevertheless, there can be no doubt," Aristander declared. "To-morrow thou wilt be in possession of the city."

"Let us see what the army thinks," the king returned.

The news soon spread through the camp. Some of the soldiers rejoiced as though the promise had already been fulfilled, while others refused to believe, declaring that the thing was impossible. In order to save the God from discredit, Alexander issued a proclamation extending the month three days beyond its accustomed term. With this the army was satisfied.

Clearchus gave way to an agony of disappointment when he regained consciousness to find himself on the siege boat with the walls of Tyre receding from him. Chares and Leonidas were obliged at first to prevent him by force from throwing himself into the sea. It was only when the Theban reminded him that it was still possible for them to enter the city that he became calmer. He was for seeking the passage through which Joel had emerged as soon as day ended, but the young Israelite convinced him that such an attempt would surely be frustrated. The breach in the wall was only a short distance from the passage and workmen would be engaged there, to say nothing of the guard that would certainly be established. He consented finally to yield to his friends and await the third watch of the night. This delay would permit them to get a few hours of rest.

The sun went down in flaming glory, casting the long shadow of the Tyrian walls across the Macedonian camp. The thin smoke of a thousand fires rose lazily in the quiet The soldiers ceased to recount their escapes in the dreadful breach and stretched themselves on the ground. Only in Alexander's tent a light continued to glow.

In the middle of the second watch, a small boat crept in from the purple shadows of the sea and grated on the sand. Two men stepped out and turned their faces toward the camp. By their features and dress they were Phœnicians. Of the first sentinel they met, they demanded to be led to Alexander, and the reasons they gave caused the captain of the guard to grant their request.

The captain emerged from the king's tent at the end of half an hour and hurried away in the darkness. He brought back with him Clearchus, Chares, Leonidas, Nathan, and Joel. The Theban was rubbing his eyes and yawning over his interrupted slumbers.

"What is all this about?" he grumbled. "Have we not done enough for one day? I wish this cursed city was in the bottom of the sea!"

"It is by the king's order," the captain reminded him.

They found Alexander stretched upon his couch and the two Phœnicians seated before him. From the expression of the king's eyes as they sought his, Clearchus knew that something of moment was in his mind, and his pale face brightened.

One of the strangers was Prince Hur, son of King Azemilcus. The young man seemed ill at ease, and his fingers played constantly with the golden chain that he wore as a member of the council. His companion was older and more composed. His lips were thin and his eyes were keen and penetrating.

"Comrades," Alexander said, using the term that endeared him to every soldier in his army, "I have a dangerous service to ask of you. King Azemilcus has dreamed that his city is about to fall, and we know that his dream is true. He has sent his son and his chancellor to us to ask his life, and it has been granted to him. But many things may happen when the blood is hot with fighting, and it is necessary that Macedonians be with him when we enter. Therefore I wish you to go to him and guard him when the time arrives. You may conduct him to the Temple of Melkarth, which will be set aside as a sanctuary.

"It has been promised that you shall pass unharmed into the city and remain there in the palace until I come. If this promise is not kept, Azemilcus and all his family are to be crucified upon the walls as a warning to those who may wish to break faith with Alexander."

The young king looked keenly at the Phœnicians. The prince lowered his eyes and moved uneasily.

"There is one thing more," Alexander continued. "If any of you have friends in the city whom you desire to protect, it is made a condition of the safety of Azemilcus that he shall aid you by every means in his power."

He glanced meaningly at Clearchus as he uttered these words, and the young man's heart bounded with renewed hope.

They left the tent in silence. The captain of the guard accompanied them to the boat.

"Azemilcus is betraying his city," Chares whispered.

"We shall save Artemisia and rescue Thais," Clearchus replied, gripping the arm of his friend.

They entered the boat and rowed silently to the Egyptian Harbor. The towering height of the wall swallowed the little craft in its shadow and no sentinel challenged them. They bent their heads as they glided under the great guard-chains that stretched across the entrance of the harbor, and threading their way among the shipping, they reached the landing and disembarked.

Keeping to the left, the chancellor led them toward the palace. More than once they were forced to step aside to avoid the heaps of ruins that told of the work done by the ballistæ. As they advanced, the great bulk of the palace rose before them above the wall, to which it was joined and of which it formed a part. As they advanced, the chancellor was careful to keep in the deepest shadow, and his hand shook as he fitted the key into a small door in the palace wall.

"We are safe!" he said to the prince as the door closed behind them.

"Very well," the young man replied, yawning; "I am going to bed."

He turned abruptly into a lateral passage and disappeared. The chancellor seemed in doubt for a moment whether to call him back, but he decided to let him go.

"Follow me," he said to the Macedonians.

They groped their way upward after him along a winding stair that seemed to be built into the city wall. This slow progress continued for many minutes without a glimmer of light until they reached what appeared to be a windowless chamber. There the chancellor left them, bidding them wait until he had notified the king of their arrival.

He was absent so long that Leonidas began to grow uneasy. He found the chamber destitute of furniture and without doors save that by which they had entered and that by which the chancellor had left them. Both were now secured. This had been accomplished without attracting their attention and it added to their uneasiness.

"We are like owls in a cage," Nathan said. "We can do nothing but wait."

"I do not like it," Leonidas replied.

"Nonsense," Chares remarked. "They brought us here for a purpose and we are of more use to them alive than dead. Do you suppose that Azemilcus is anxious to be crucified?"

"Perhaps not," the Spartan replied, "but it maybe that he has changed his mind. If he does not send for us soon, I think we had better try the door."

Clearchus said nothing, but he paced impatiently back and forth across the narrow room, pausing at every sound. The night was passing and the hour for the sacrifice to Moloch was drawing nearer. Shut up in the palace, they would be powerless to save Artemisia. The moments seemed hours to him. At last he could bear the suspense no longer.

"We should never have permitted the chancellor to leave us!" he said, and, striding to the door, he began to beat upon it with the hilt of his sword until the metal of which it was composed rang like a bell.

There was no response. The others joined him, raising a tumult loud enough to be heard throughout the palace, but even then some time elapsed before the bars were removed and the door swung open. The chancellor had returned alone, his face white and scared in the flickering light of the lamp that he had set upon the stone floor while he worked at the bars.

"Silence, or we are all lost!" he whispered imploringly, taking up the lamp with a hand that trembled so that the oil spilled upon the floor. "Do you want to invite death?"

"Don't talk to us of silence!" bellowed Chares, threatening the old man with his sword. "What do you mean by shutting us up here? You have yet to learn that it is not wise to keep the soldiers of Alexander waiting. Take us to your king."

"Yes, yes!" muttered the chancellor with chattering teeth. "Follow me; but in the name of Baal keep silence! I fear they have heard you already."

"Little I care if they have, whoever they are," the Theban exclaimed, stalking after the chancellor, sword in hand. "If you try any more of your tricks, your head goes off like a chicken's."

They made several turns in the passage, ascended a last short flight of steps, and came to a second door, which their guide pushed open. They followed him into a large room, hung with woven tapestries, carpeted with silken rugs, and strewn with luxurious divans. It was on the southern side of the palace, with windows that looked out across the wall toward the sea. The light of the lamps was already yielding to the gray dawn which silvered the surface of the water.

With his back to the window stood Azemilcus, king of the doomed city. His thin white hair straggled from under a close-fitting cap to the diamond collar which encircled his wrinkled throat. A gorgeous robe of crimson hid his shrunken figure. He looked old and feeble, but his eyes were as bright as jewels set in the head of a mummy.

"Welcome, gentlemen!" he said quietly, stretching forth a wasted hand toward Chares, who was striding toward him with anger in his face. "I must ask your pardon for your detention; but we are prisoners here, like yourselves."

Astonishment halted the Theban, who stood staring at the king as though he had not heard aright. Clearchus stepped forward.

"What do you mean? Who has made you a prisoner?" he asked sharply.

The small king smiled with irony on his lips.

"I fear it can be only the prince, my son," he replied.

"The same one who helped to bring us here and who left us as soon as we entered the palace?" Clearchus demanded.

"Yes," Azemilcus answered, crossing his hands and hiding them in the wide sleeves of his robe. "He is not sharp-witted, my son; and it turns out that he still has hopes of saving Tyre so that he may reign here in my place. You see what they have been doing."

He stepped back and waved his hand toward the window. Beneath them was the breach that had been so desperately attacked and defended. The Tyrians had raised a new wall, nearly as thick and as high as the city wall itself. It formed a half-circle inside the gap, joining the main wall at either end, so that an attacking force, seeking to storm the breach, would be caught as in the bend of a bow. Swarms of men were still at work there by the light of torches.

The Athenian's heart sank. It seemed to him impossible that after the defeat of the preceding day, a second attack could succeed when the breach had been repaired. They were inside the city, it was true, but they were only five against forty thousand.

For a moment there was silence in the room. The bitter smile still rested on the thin lips of the old king. The chancellor stood nervously rubbing his knuckles, first with one hand and then with the other. Leonidas examined the wall and the new work with an eye that took in every detail. He turned to the king.

"You know that if you try to deceive us, we will kill you," he said quietly.

"Well?" the king replied, still with his thin smile.

"You say that it is your son who has shut you up," Leonidas continued. "Why do you think so?"

"Because he alone, besides this man, knew that I had summoned you," the king said.

Leonidas looked at the chancellor, whose ashen face grew a shade paler under his scrutiny.

"You were about to betray your city and your son has betrayed you," the Spartan said.

"That is a harsh way to put it," Azemilcus answered. "The city was lost already."

"Is it lost now?" Leonidas demanded, pointing to the new wall.

"Yes," said the old king. "To-day, to-morrow, next month, it will fall. The Gods have deserted us. The boy told me they would."

"It is not surprising that the Gods have deserted you," the Spartan observed. "But your son, who has conspired against you, knows that we are here."

"Yes," the king admitted.

"And you kept us shut up while you were considering whether there was not some way of getting rid of us so that we might not be found and used as proof of your treachery," Leonidas continued. "You were ready to sacrifice us, who had come to save you, so that you might prove your son a liar and defeat his attempt."

Azemilcus made no reply, but the smile left his lips and he glanced furtively from side to side. Chares muttered some words in his throat that sounded like a curse.

"You are speaking to a king," Azemilcus said at last, drawing himself up with an assumption of dignity and trying to meet the eyes of his questioner.

"I am speaking to a fool!" Leonidas replied contemptuously. "In order to profit by his double perfidy, your son must have proof against you. Who will believe him unless we are found? It will be his first care to produce us, and if he can do this, there will be no hope left for you. Every moment that you kept us behind that door brought you nearer to death."

He paused, and Azemilcus made no reply; but his smile came back and his eyes wandered toward a table where a great flagon of wine had been set.

"There may yet be time to save ourselves and you," Leonidas continued. "If you can get rid of us for the present, you will have nothing to fear. You can deny your son's story and it will be attributed to a clumsy plot to overthrow you. Is there no way out of the palace that is not guarded?"

"None that I know," the king replied.

The chancellor uttered a clucking sound in his throat that seemed involuntary. Leonidas gripped him by the shoulder.

"Do you know a way?" he cried. "Speak quickly."

The chancellor went down on his knees and raised his hands in supplication.

"Mercy!" he wailed. "Mercy! I know – I have heard of a way!"

"Where does it lead?" Leonidas demanded fiercely.

"To the Temple of our Lord, Baal-Moloch," the old man whimpered.

King Azemilcus looked at his chancellor with his keen eyes and sarcastic smile.

"Now I understand many things," he remarked dryly.

"Oh, my master, I took them!" the chancellor cried, with tears rolling down his cheeks. "Esmun made me do it. He said Moloch demanded them."

"My rubies," the king said musingly. "Well, never mind. We will talk of them hereafter."

"What is one piece of treachery, more or less, to you?" Leonidas said roughly. "Remain here. Should you escape your son, we will seek you, if we can, when those come whom you cannot escape. If we do not return, fly to the Temple of Melkarth and embrace his knees that you may be spared. Farewell!"

He dragged the chancellor to his feet. The man was shaking so that he could hardly stand. Below them in the palace they could hear the tramp of ascending footsteps and the sound of voices.

"They are coming; we cannot remain here," Nathan cried.

Leonidas snatched up the flagon of wine and hastily filled a golden cup that he offered to the chancellor.

"Drink this," he said. "It will give you strength."

Instead of taking the cup, the chancellor uttered a choking cry and pushed it from him.

"Not that!" he gasped. "See, I am strong! I will lead you!"

He seemed indeed to have recovered from his weakness, for he stepped briskly toward the door by which they had entered. Leonidas looked at him and then at the wine spilled upon the floor.

"Poisoned!" he exclaimed, and such a blaze of wrath gleamed in his eye that the old king shrank back.

"So this was your plan for getting rid of us!" the Spartan said.

His grasp tightened about the hilt of his sword, and for an instant he hesitated; but the tramp of the soldiers was close at hand and he reflected that a dead king could not betray Tyre. He sheathed his sword and darted into the passage after his companions. Azemilcus made fast the door behind them and let the draperies fall over it. Then he turned with his mocking smile to face his accusers.

CHAPTER XLIII
THE KING TAKES HIS REVENGE

Azemilcus walked to the window and stood there leaning against the frame. Day was breaking, sullen and gray, in a wrack of flying clouds, and the uneasy moaning of the sea sounded in his ears.

There Hur and Esmun, panting from their long climb, found him standing. The prince carried a drawn sword in his hand and he glanced quickly from side to side as he burst into the room. Behind him came Ariston and a guard of twenty or thirty soldiers, headed by one of the generals of the garrison. Hur had expected to find the Greeks. He saw only his father, leaning wearily in the window. He stood abashed, looking at Esmun as if for advice.

The old king remained motionless until all had entered, and then he turned slowly and faced them. The lines of his countenance, deepened by months of anxiety, told of the strain he had passed through, and his shrunken frame seemed aged and feeble in its magnificent robe of state. His eyes met theirs steadily and frankly, yet with a look of sadness as he gave them his greeting.

"Welcome, my son and gentlemen," he said. "You come early to seek your king; but in these times I know that ceremony must be disregarded. What news do you bring?"

The authority in his tone and the dignity of his bearing, which most of the men who stood before him had been accustomed from boyhood to respect, had their effect. The soldiers, who knew nothing of the plot, stared wonderingly about them. Ariston had prudently halted near the door, and he now edged still farther into the background.

"Come, gentlemen!" the king said, finding that none replied to his question. "What is the news that brings you hither at this hour? Do not fear to tell me, since it is the lot of kings to share the dangers and sorrows of their people. Have I not done it for nearly fifty years?"

He smiled somewhat sadly and waved his thin hand with a gesture that seemed to dismiss all that he had done for the city as something for which he required no return of gratitude.

"Do not hesitate," he continued, "because you would spare me. It is true that in all that now threatens us I have more to lose than you. I am ready, as you know, to sacrifice even life itself if that would save the city. Is it concerning the offering to Baal-Moloch that you desire to consult me?"

He addressed himself to Esmun, recognizing in the priest the man from whom he had most to fear. He had scarcely glanced at his son, who stood helpless, raging inwardly to find himself presenting the appearance of a culprit caught in some fault, instead of the avenger that he had expected to be. Esmun looked at the prince and saw that nothing was to be expected from him. He took up the situation boldly, relying upon his sacred office to protect him.

"It is true that I wished to consult you concerning the sacrifice to Baal-Moloch, whom I serve," he said, "but we had still another reason for coming. We have been informed that a plot against your life has been conceived. It was told to us that certain Greeks had been brought into the city by the treachery of your enemies, and we made all haste to summon this guard to protect you in case of need. It is said that the assassins are even now in the palace. If anything should happen to your Highness, then, indeed, the city might despair. In guarding thy safety, we guard the safety of all."

The two men looked into each other's eyes. The king read the threat that lay behind Esmun's words and he took up the challenge.

"Why should they seek to destroy a man whose days are fast nearing their close?" he asked. "The death of one of these soldiers would profit them more, since it would leave one less dauntless heart for them to conquer. It seems to me that the alarm is needless, although I thank you for your care; and yet, I will not conceal from you that there may after all be some basis for the story you have heard. Within the week, the crown rubies have been stolen, and it is clear that I have some unfaithful servants. Perhaps they have brought in the Greeks to prevent detection and the punishment they deserve. Search the palace, and if the assassins are found, we will make an example of them."

Esmun's heavy face quivered when the king spoke of the rubies, for his words were accompanied by a look full of significance. He knew that the Greeks were in the city, but the willingness of the king to have the search made indicated that they were no longer in the palace. He racked his brains to think what had become of them.

Ariston slipped out of the door and stole softly down the stairs. The astute Athenian saw that the counterplot had collapsed.

"You, my son, and you, Esmun, will remain with me while the guard makes the search," the king said coolly, "and let us eat, for there is much to be done to-day."

He engaged the priest in talk regarding the details of the sacrifice to Baal while the soldiers dispersed through the palace and slaves brought food. To Hur he did not speak. The general in charge of the guard at last returned, saying that no trace of the presence of strangers in the palace could be discovered. He knew nothing of the secret passages, and the prince did not venture, in his father's presence, to reveal them. Esmun, with the theft of the rubies in his mind, dared not betray his knowledge of their existence.

"It is as I thought," the king said, dismissing the guard. "I thank you for your zeal."

The slaves had already withdrawn, since it was unlawful for any who had not been initiated to be present while the mysteries of the worship of Baal were being discussed.

"You seem downcast, my son!" the king said when he was left alone with Hur and the priest. He took his seat at the table, upon which the food had been placed, and motioned them to a seat opposite to him. "You will never be a king," he continued, "until you learn how to conquer failure. I have noted a certain nervousness in you of late. You should overcome it. Misfortune is half disarmed when you meet her in a cheerful spirit."

Hur let his eyes fall, but he made no reply. Esmun kept his gaze on the king's face.

"Come!" Azemilcus said in the same bantering tone, "you do not eat. You should leave the welfare of the city to me. You thought you knew, when you did not. You should remember that kings do not always reveal their purposes."

He filled his cup from the great flagon and pushed it toward them.

"Let us drink to the safety of Tyre," he said.

"To that I say amen," Esmun exclaimed, "and may the curse of Baal rest upon all who seek to betray her!"

"So say I – be they high or low!" Hur echoed boldly.

The old king's eyes sparkled and he looked at them with the mocking smile that they knew so well.

"Drink, then!" he said, spilling a few drops from his cup upon the floor as a libation.

The others followed his example, Esmun with a muttered word of invocation, and both drank off what remained. The king was seized by a violent fit of coughing that shook his withered frame and forced him to set his cup down untasted. As he did so Esmun rose to his feet.

The face of the priest was convulsed and purple and his eyes seemed starting from his head. He raised his clenched hands and made a tottering step toward the king as though he would strike him with his fists. He struggled to speak, but no words issued from his throat. He reeled blindly and crashed down across the table like a slain bullock, overturning it in his fall. His eyes rolled up in his head and he lay motionless.

The prince did not rise from his chair, but his fingers gripped convulsively the carved arms of ebony and he writhed in agony.

"Father!" he gasped.

His form stiffened, his head fell back, and a slight foam appeared on his lips.

Azemilcus drew the skirts of his robe around him and stepped carefully across the litter caused by the wreck of the table, with its linen cloth stained in the spilled wine that flowed from the shattered flagon. He walked quietly to the door and vanished between the crimson curtains, leaving the two dead men alone in the room.