Buch lesen: «The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great», Seite 26

The swirl of the battle drew Syphax and his companions from their haunts among the great warehouses near the waterside, where they had been drinking. The bloated face of the freebooter grew purple with eagerness as he heard the sounds of conflict and of panic spread through the city.

"Ho, comrades!" he shouted, "to-day we pay ourselves for all we have had to endure from Fortune! The spoil lies ready for us."

"Break open the warehouses and load a ship with ivory and silk," cried one of his followers.

"You are a fool," Syphax replied contemptuously. "We should be sunk before we could get out of the harbor. Take nothing but gold and jewels. We can hide them until the time comes to escape. Look there!"

An old man, a member of the council, came running toward them, glancing back over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. Syphax grasped him by the arm and tore the heavy golden chain of office from his neck. The man made no resistance, but fled away without a word as soon as he was released.

"This is what we want," Syphax cried, holding up the shining links. "Be bold and follow me."

He set off toward a part of the city that the Macedonians seemed not yet to have penetrated. It was a quarter where many wealthy houses stood, and the sailors were fortunate enough to arrive among the first of the marauders. In half an hour, each of them had collected a fortune in gold and precious stones. There was blood upon the hands of Syphax and one of his men had a cut across his forehead when they came out of the last house, carrying their spoil in small, heavy bundles. The city was in its death-throes. From harbor to harbor it had become a vast shambles.

"Let us get back to the warehouses and bury what we have," one of the seamen said.

Syphax looked about him, and his glance fell upon the house where he had seen Ariston enter. In their immediate vicinity there was yet no sign of the enemy. A cruel gleam entered the pirate's bloodshot eyes.

"Now that we are rich," he cried, "it is no more than fair that we should pay our debts. I have one yonder that must be discharged, and to you I resign my share of whatever of value we may find inside."

"Lead on, then, but hasten," the sailors answered.

Syphax found the door bolted, as he had expected. His men battered it in with stones and rushed into the entrance hall. The place seemed deserted. The sailors scattered through the house in search of booty, but Syphax sought only his enemy.

The terrified family had taken refuge in an alcove on the third floor of the house. There one of the sailors found them and summoned his chief with a joyful shout. Ariston and his host stood at the entrance of the recess, with swords in their hands to defend the women, a mother and three daughters, who cowered behind them in the shadow with two slave girls only, the rest of the household having fled. The sailors laughed at the two feeble old men who dared to oppose them.

"Spare our lives and you shall each receive five thousand talents of gold," Ariston cried. "I am Ariston of Athens, and I pledge myself to the payment."

"We know what the pledges of Ariston are worth!" Syphax replied, his face convulsed with hate and rage.

"We are lost, my friend," Ariston said, in a low voice, to his host, recognizing the pirate.

"You bade me once to remember Medon," Syphax bellowed. "I bid thee now to remember him and the silver talent thou wert to give me for what was done in Athens. I have had no luck since; and now thou shalt pay for all!" He rushed upon Ariston, who tried to defend himself; but the pirate easily disarmed him and dragged him out into the room. The master of the house fell beneath a shower of blows.

"Now for the harbor! Our time is short," Syphax shouted, hurrying Ariston with him down the stairs.

The screaming and prayers of the women mingled with sounds of brutal merriment told him that his order was unheeded.

"Do you hear?" he roared. "Come, I tell you, before it is too late!"

This time two of the wretches obeyed him, bursting from the room with loud guffaws. The others straggled after them, but several minutes elapsed before they were all assembled for the sally.

"Why not do it here?" one of the sailors asked, indicating Ariston, whose arm Syphax held in a firm grasp.

"Because I intend to make him remember Medon," the freebooter answered savagely. "You shall see sport when we reach the harbor."

A cold sweat covered Ariston's forehead, but he made no sound. His ear had caught the trampling of feet, and he hoped yet for rescue.

The sailors emerged into the street and turned toward the harbor. Just as they reached the first corner, a company of Thessalians, in pursuit of a few Tyrian fugitives, ran into them. No questions were asked. The swords of the cavalrymen were already out, and they drove them into the bodies of the men who were unfortunate enough to block their way.

Syphax alone had time to drop his booty and draw his sword. He saw that there was no escape.

"Thou hast been my evil genius," he cried to Ariston, "but at any rate thou shalt go with me to the Styx."

He plunged his sword into the old man's side. Before he could withdraw it, a Thessalian blade cleft his skull. Murderer and victim fell together.

The storm had blown over. The sinking sun shone crimson upon the twisted clouds far across the sky. In the quarter where the Israelites dwelt, amid the mourning and rejoicing, Pethuel, the high priest, raised his hands to heaven.

"Give thanks to Jehovah!" he cried. "Our enemies have fallen and they that mocked Him are no more! Blessed be the name of the Lord!"

CHAPTER XLVIII
THAIS GIVES A FEAST

Down in the secret passage the fugitives from the Temple of Moloch could hear no sound of the battle. Leonidas had snatched one of the perfumed censers from the hand of a quaking neophyte, and this shed a glimmer of light as he led the way.

Artemisia came to her senses to find herself clasped in her lover's arms.

"Clearchus!" she murmured, "may the Gods grant that this be not a dream."

"It is no dream, my beloved!" the young man answered. "I have found thee at last."

"Dear heart, I have longed for thee so!" she said, with a little sigh of content, as her arms stole around his neck.

Clearchus bent his head, and their lips met in the darkness. Thais heard the murmur of their voices.

"Oh, I have lost my sandal – and I am cold!" she exclaimed, in a tone of distress. "Chares, I am afraid you will have to carry me."

"You are so heavy," the Theban said, taking her in his arms.

"There, be careful, sir, or I shall make you set me down again," she cried.

Leonidas uttered a sound that was something between a snort and a grunt and signified disdain, whereupon Chares laughed until the narrow passage rang.

Before they reached the palace it was in full possession of the Macedonians. They entered the room where the young men had left Azemilcus the night before, and found a portion of the squadron belonging to Leonidas busily searching there for plunder. The men stood open-mouthed when their captain appeared from behind the hangings. They looked like schoolboys caught in a forbidden frolic.

"Where is the king?" the Spartan demanded sternly.

"He is fighting down there," one of the soldiers replied, pointing from the window.

Leonidas glanced down upon the city and saw the conflict raging in the streets.

"Then what are you doing here?" he asked harshly. "Fall in!"

"I will go with you," Nathan said. "I must seek my people."

"You will find us here when you come back," Chares cried after them. "We will fight no more to-day."

Leonidas overtook Alexander stamping out the last sparks of resistance in the northern part of the city. The young king, still glowing with the ardor of battle, greeted him with a smile.

"Are Clearchus and Chares safe?" he asked.

"They await you in the royal palace with Artemisia and Thais," the Spartan replied.

"Good!" Alexander cried. "This will have to be celebrated. Let us see what has become of Azemilcus."

He led the way to the Temple of Melkarth, which was filled with fugitives and suppliants. The general feeling in the city that the God was on the side of the Macedonians had led many to seek his protection when no other remained. Some of them were even striving to remove the chains with which the image had been bound to the pillars.

Azemilcus and the chancellor came forward, surrounded by the priests of the temple. The two kings, one withered and shrunken and old, his brain cankered by the cynical knowledge of experience, and the other, in the fulness of his vigorous youth and generous enthusiasms, looked into each other's eyes. Alexander's face was grave and stern, but the mocking smile still hovered about the lips of the older man.

"What have you to say?" Alexander said at last.

"I have been a king," Azemilcus replied, "but I am a king no longer. What is your will?"

"You may live," Alexander replied coldly, "but you have never been a king. Where is your son?"

"He is dead," the old king answered, and his eyes wavered.

"I would rather be in his place than in thine," Alexander said shortly. "Follow me."

Azemilcus shrugged his shoulders and gathered his robe more closely around him. To all who had sought refuge in the temple Alexander granted safety, and then, having issued the necessary orders regarding the city, he turned back to the palace.

The streets were encumbered with the dead. The bodies lay in heaps behind the broken barricades or scattered between them, where the fugitives had been stricken as they fled before the fury of the Macedonian charge. A wounded Tyrian raised himself on his elbow while the two kings passed, cursed Azemilcus, and died.

In the council room of the palace Alexander demanded from the chancellor an accounting of the public treasure of Tyre, an enormous sum in gold and silver, and gave it into the custody of his own treasurer. There, too, he received the reports of his captains, and with marvellous quickness despatched the business that they brought before him. The greater part of the army he ordered back to the camp on the mainland.

When nothing more remained to be done, he turned to Leonidas.

"Where are thy friends?" he asked. "They seem to have forgotten me."

"I will fetch them," the Spartan replied.

He ran to the apartment where he had left the lovers, and burst in, to find them nestled among the cushions, telling each other of all they had endured.

"Come," he cried. "The king has asked for you."

"Tell him that we will come presently," Chares said, but Thais promptly boxed his ears and slipped out of the arm that encircled her waist.

"I don't suppose there is a woman in the palace to smooth my hair," she exclaimed.

"Do you think Alexander will look at you?" Chares asked. "He has more important things to think about, indeed."

Nevertheless, Artemisia and Thais made Leonidas wait five minutes while they aided each other to make the best appearance possible under the circumstances, before they followed him to the great council chamber. Artemisia entered shyly, casting down her eyes before the bold glances of so many men; but Thais walked beside Chares with head erect, her red lips parted in a smile, and a gleam of excitement dancing in her eyes.

With the license that Alexander permitted, the captains raised a shout of welcome when Chares and Clearchus appeared. Before Artemisia could catch her breath, she was standing in front of Alexander, and Clearchus was presenting her to him.

"She looks like a rosebud when the dew is on it," Clitus whispered to Hephæstion.

"Don't be sentimental," the favorite answered. "When did you become a poet?"

"Not until this minute," Clitus replied.

Alexander himself was not free from embarrassment when he greeted Artemisia, for he knew nothing of women, not yet having met Roxana; but he took her hand and praised the bravery of Clearchus, at which she blushed and smiled.

Thais looked the young king frankly in the face. "We bid you welcome to Tyre," she said.

There was something in the unconquerable vitality of her gaze that reminded him of his mother, although Olympias' eyes were dark and the eyes of this girl were yellow, if any color could be assigned to them that seemed a blend of all.

"It was worth fighting for," he said, returning her look with unconcealed admiration. "But sometimes I wish I were not Alexander," he added, turning to Chares with a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who is he?" Alexander asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What happened?" he asked briefly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She blushed, and her glance sought Clearchus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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