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

"Farewell, Chares, my lover!" she was saying to herself. "Upon thy funeral pyre my heart, too, is turning to ashes!"

"Thais," Ptolemy whispered, moved by her emotion without knowing its cause, "do not forget that I love thee!"

"I do not forget," she replied, "nor have I forgotten another promise that I made; for I think the Gods have sent thee to me. To-morrow I will be thy wife; and when this war has reached its end, thou shalt reign in Alexandria over Egypt with me at thy side."

"Thais!" Ptolemy exclaimed, clasping her at last in his arms.

So Thais, the Athenian dancing girl, kept her pledge; but through the length and breadth of the land ran the news that the home of the Great Kings had been laid in ashes, and men knew that, though Darius still lived, his power indeed was gone forever.

CHAPTER LI
AMID FRAGMENTS OF EMPIRE

Clearchus and Artemisia were walking in the garden of their home in Alexandria. Between the trunks of the trees, at a distance, they could see the roofs and towers of the populous city, and across the blue water, which began where the slopes of verdure ended, they could watch the white sails of ships bringing trade from all parts of the world. Ten years had passed since the palaces of Persepolis had crumbled into ashes. Alexander had been dead three years, and his body lay in the royal tomb at the mouth of the Nile, whither Ptolemy had brought it from Babylon, when the empire was divided among the Macedonian generals and he came to rule over Egypt in place of the rapacious Cleomenes.

Artemisia's figure had lost some of its girlish grace, but her blue eyes retained their clearness and her cheeks the delicate flush of her youth. Clearchus, too, was heavier than he had been when he fought among the Companions under Alexander, whom men were beginning to call "the Great."

At a turn in the path Artemisia placed her hand upon his arm and checked him. The silvery voices of children came from a sunlit glade among the shrubbery. They saw a boy of eleven years, clad in a short white tunic that left his arms and legs free, shooting with blunt arrows at a target that hung against a tree. Two little girls stood watching him, and after each shot they ran with eager laughter to find the arrow and fetch it back to him. Their fair hair gleamed in the sun. Artemisia's eyes sought those of her husband, and a smile of mother love transfigured her face.

"I am almost afraid to be so happy," she murmured.

Clearchus laughed. "You need not fear, my heart," he replied. "Do not the Gods owe us something? They are generous."

They heard a step on the gravel behind them, and Leonidas advanced with a smile and hands outstretched. He had changed little, excepting that a few gray hairs appeared at his temples and the lines of his face had deepened.

"Welcome, comrade!" Clearchus cried, running forward to meet him. "Whence come you? What news?"

"I come from the council in Syria," Leonidas answered, "and as for news, there has been another division of the world."

"And Ptolemy?" Clearchus asked anxiously.

"He retains Egypt," the Spartan said. "Antipater is regent, with Macedonia and all Greece; Seleucus gets the satrapy of Babylon; and Antigonus, Susiana, besides what he had."

"I hope we shall have peace at last," Artemisia said, glancing toward the children.

"We shall have peace here, at all events," Leonidas said grimly. "None of the generals is desirous of sharing the fate of Perdiccas."

They sat down beneath a vine-grown trellis while Leonidas told them of the events that had led to the new distribution of the empire, describing the jealousies of the leaders and the ferment of revolt that was working in Greece.

"When will they stop killing each other?" Artemisia said sadly. "Has not each of them more than enough without trying to rob the others? Leave them to their quarrels, Leonidas; there is room enough for another house here beside us, and we will find you a mistress for it."

Leonidas shook his head and sipped the wine that a slave had brought for his refreshment. He knew that she referred to the site that they had reserved for Chares and Thais.

"It is too late," he replied, half regretfully. "As we have lived, so we must die."

Artemisia slipped her hand within that of Clearchus, while the Spartan followed with his eyes the glancing sails of a vessel whose prow was turned toward the north and the rugged hillsides of his native land. Their reflections were interrupted by the children, who had tired of their play and were seeking new diversion.

"Ho! Uncle Leonidas," shouted the boy, swooping down upon the Spartan. "Where did you come from? Tell me about the death of King Darius!"

He sat down beside Leonidas and composed himself to listen. The little girls took Artemisia prisoner and led her away to see a nest they had found, in which, they assured her, were funny little birds with no feathers on their wings. Leonidas, his eyes still on the receding ship, began the story that he had often told before. He related how the army came to Ecbatana, the gem of cities, with its seven walls each of a different color from the others, and each rising higher than the one outside it, and how they found that the Great King had fled up into the snow-capped mountains that overlook the Caspian Sea. He had with him Bessus, the treacherous; Oxathres, his own brother; Artabazus, the first nobleman of Persia, who commanded the Greek mercenaries; and a score more of the generals and viceroys who still remained constant to his fortune. He told how Darius wished to stand and fight among the rugged passes, but the others would not allow it; how Artabazus, suspecting their perfidy, besought him to trust himself to his Greeks, to which the Great King consented for the morrow; and how that night Bessus fettered him with golden chains and made him a prisoner in his litter.

The boy listened with sparkling eyes intent upon the Spartan's face, while Leonidas described how Alexander, finding the Persians ever fleeing before him, had left the foot-soldiers behind and struck out with the Companions across the desert to intercept them. The lad held his breath as he followed the desperate ride over the burning sands, where one by one the horses stumbled and fell, gasping, until only seventy riders remained. His cheeks flushed when he heard how a soldier had brought water to Alexander in his helmet, and how the young king, thirsty as he was, refused to moisten his lips because there was not enough for all.

Then came the charge of the seventy weary Macedonians in the gray of the morning upon the camp of the sleeping Persians and the panic-stricken flight of the cowardly army before them, too frightened even to look back. And there they found the Great King lying in his litter, stabbed through and through by the order of Bessus, who had hoped thus to win the favor of Alexander.

"And that was the end of Darius," the Spartan concluded. "Alexander was sorry for his death, and he spread his own cloak over him as he lay there; but I think it was better for him to die then than to live subject to another, remembering his former power. He was unfortunate in this, that he was not killed in battle, as all brave men should wish to be. He had an opportunity for that at Gaugamela, but he threw it away."

A picture rose before the Spartan's memory of Chares, lying with his broad shoulders against the side of his horse amid the dead, with a smile upon his lips, and he sighed.

"You have never yet told me what became of Bessus," the boy said coaxingly. "Is he still alive?"

"No," Leonidas replied, his face darkening. "He was betrayed in his turn, and Alexander ordered him to be killed in the manner of the Scyths when they punish traitors."

"What is that?" the boy asked.

"I shall not tell you," Leonidas said grimly, "but it was too good for him!"

"There is Thais," Clearchus exclaimed. "Run and fetch your mother," he added to his son.

They rose and went to meet Thais, who was advancing slowly down an avenue of trees. Two enormous black eunuchs held a broad parasol above her head, and other slaves followed her, both men and maids, forming a train of escort. When she saw Clearchus and Leonidas, she spoke a word to her attendants, who halted, and she came forward alone. The sunlight, sifting through the branches that formed a green arch over her head, touched the burnished coils of her hair, flashing from hidden jewels and glancing upon the shimmering silk of her robes.

"She is more beautiful than ever," Leonidas said, gazing at her with admiration.

"Yes, and she rules Ptolemy in everything," Clearchus replied.

"My friends!" Thais exclaimed, giving them her hands. "It makes my heart glad to see you; but where is Artemisia?"

"I have sent for her," Clearchus replied.

"Before she comes," Thais said, seating herself beneath the trellis and lowering her voice, "I must tell you something. The proofs for which I sent to Athens have arrived, and there can no longer be any doubt that we are sisters."

"She will be overjoyed," Clearchus said.

"I shall not tell her," Thais replied.

"Why not?" Leonidas asked bluntly. "You are a queen now, or will be one soon, and nobody thinks of – of the past."

"It is precisely because I intend to be a queen that I shall not tell her," Thais continued. "She could not love me more if she knew, and I will not be the means of bringing danger upon her or her children. We know the fate that awaits the kinsmen of princes. Did not Olympias cause Cleopatra to be slain with her babe in her arms? Has not Roxana murdered Statira, and is not Roxana herself, with the young Alexander, held in captivity? Nevertheless, I will tell her if you desire, and it shall be proclaimed throughout Egypt."

"May the Gods forbid!" Clearchus exclaimed. "You are right, Thais. It must not be told."

"Then I will destroy the proofs," she said, "and remain, as I have been, the first of my race."

All three were silent, thinking of the future, and Thais smiled faintly, as though at that moment she were conscious of the wonderful power that was to descend through her daughters, until it attained its perfection in the irresistible charm of that Cleopatra who was to see the conquerors of the world at her feet. Yet she sighed as her eyes met those of Clearchus.

"If only Chares were here!" she murmured.

"We know," the Athenian answered gravely, "and we do not blame you, since all of us must bow to the will of the Gods."

"I thank you," she said simply. "You have both been kind to me."

Artemisia joined them, holding one of her girls by either hand, while young Chares followed with his bow, concerning which he wished to consult Leonidas. There, in the vine-grown arbor, they sat talking until the shadows began to lengthen, and the afternoon drew to its close. Thais rose, lithe and graceful as an animal of the desert, and the slaves, who had been watching her, in a bright-colored group, from beneath the trees, scrambled to their feet.

"Come, Leonidas, the cares of state await us," she said. "Remember that you are a general now, and I am almost a queen, while these two have nothing to do but waste their time in being happy."

"You will come again to-morrow?" Artemisia said, embracing her.

"Perhaps," replied Thais, and she moved away down the avenue with the Spartan, toward the retinue of slaves who stood waiting to surround her.

Clearchus and Artemisia watched them until the foliage hid them from sight, and then turned toward the house. Artemisia noticed that a rose bush, weighted with flowers, had swayed across the path, and she stooped to put it back into place. Clearchus slipped his arm about her waist and kissed her.

"Silly!" she said, blushing, "everybody will see you."

"That cannot be helped," he retorted. "You looked then just as you looked in the garden in Academe that morning when I found you among your roses – and I think I love you more now than I did then."

"We love each other more," Artemisia said softly, "because we did not know then what it would be to lose each other."