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CHAPTER X
CHARES BARTERS HIS SWORD

What was to be the fate of Thebes? The minds of the wretched inhabitants of the city were diverted from their sorrows as they asked each other this question on the morning after the battle. The dead had been removed from the streets. The wounded had been cared for. The enemy had withdrawn outside the walls, after posting guards in sufficient numbers to suppress any rising that the Thebans might be desperate enough to attempt.

All eyes were directed toward the Cadmea, within whose gray walls the punishment that was to be visited upon the city was being discussed. One citizen suggested that a heavy fine would be exacted. Another declared he had heard that the Thebans would be forbidden to bear arms. A dozen similar conjectures were made and canvassed before news came from the Cadmea that Alexander had left the Phocians, the Platæans, and the Bœotians, his allies, to impose the sentence. This announcement was received in gloomy silence; for more than one Theban recalled how his city in her day of pride had blotted out Orchomenus and Platæa and sold their people into bondage.

The anxious watchers in the streets at last saw a stir in the crowd that waited outside the gates of the citadel. The portals opened, and the victorious generals, surrounded by waving standards, came out and began to descend from the rock. The spectators below saw the Thebans scatter before them, tossing their arms above their heads and rending their garments. A hush full of dread fell upon the city.

"Thebes must perish! Her walls must go down!" cried one from above with a despairing gesture.

"We are to be sold for slaves!" shouted another, halting upon a parapet and making a trumpet of his hands.

The tidings were received with incredulity, followed by stupefaction. The blow had fallen, and it was worse than even the least sanguine prophet had predicted. The generals, as they rode toward the gates of the city, were followed by men who fell on their knees and begged for quarter. No heed was paid to their prayers, and the escort of soldiers thrust them back with jeers.

Alexander remained in the Cadmea, where Chares and a handful of the most prominent Thebans, who had been able to establish guest-friendship with the royal house of Macedon, sought him to intercede for the city. They found him alone, sitting with his chin in his hand. They recalled to him the glorious deeds of Thebes, dwelt upon the misery that the sentence would inflict upon the innocent, and warned him that all Hellas would reproach him if he permitted it to be carried into effect. They admitted the fault of the city and asked forgiveness.

The young king heard them through without stirring.

"All that you have said to me," he replied when they had finished, "I have already said to myself. Thebes has been false to her oath. I pardoned her as did Philip, my father. The sentence is not mine, but that of my allies, and what cause they have, you know. Can I ask them to forget?"

Terror ran with the news through all Greece. The Athenians, the Ætolians, and the Elæans, who had encouraged the rebellion with money and promises of further aid, hastily recalled their troops and sent ambassadors to sue for mercy. Demosthenes was chosen to plead for Athens, but when he had advanced on his journey as far as Mount Cithæron, his courage failed him and he turned back. The young king sent a messenger to Athens calling upon the Athenians to deliver eight of their orators who had been foremost in stirring up the people against Macedon, and the name of Demosthenes stood at the head of the list.

In the Assembly that was called to consider this demand Demosthenes won the day by repeating the fable of how once the wolves asked the sheep to deliver to them their watch-dogs and how, when the demand had been granted, they fell upon the defenceless flock. But so great was the fear of Alexander among the people that they might, after all, have sent the orators to Thebes had not the men who were threatened hired Demades with a fee of five talents to offer himself as an intermediary. The offer was accepted and Alexander yielded.

The escape of Demosthenes through the intercession of his inveterate enemy and the mysterious disappearance of Thais were the talk of the city when Chares arrived with his two friends, bringing his family with him. Clearchus received them into his house, where they were to remain during his absence from Athens in search of Artemisia, following the directions of the oracle. Ariston was much disappointed when his nephew refused to exact any rental from his friend. He had taken charge of Clearchus' fortune again, and it grieved him that any possible source of income should be neglected. But Clearchus knew that Chares had need of all his resources; for his mother had drawn up a list of the friends of the family who had been forced to remain in Thebes, telling him that he must purchase them and thus save them from slavery, even if it should take all they possessed in the world. As the list was long, Clearchus deemed it wise not only to place his house at the disposal of Jason's widow, but to make provision for its maintenance out of his own income while he should be away.

He paid no attention to the grumbling of his uncle, who affected to look upon this generosity as little short of madness. He said so much to dissuade the young man from his plan, that Clearchus at last was forced to remonstrate with him.

"One would think that you were on the brink of ruin," he said, "instead of being one of the richest men in Athens, if reports that I have begun to hear lately are true."

"Who says that?" Ariston demanded sharply. "He lies, whoever repeats such things. Whenever you hear it, if you love me, say that it is not true. If such stories should get to be believed, that accursed Demosthenes will be forcing me to fit out a trireme for some of his wild schemes. The times are so troubled that what little I have been able to save by my frugality for the support of my age I am likely to lose."

He was not unwilling to have his nephew believe that he was at least moderately rich, for had Clearchus known the straits his uncle was in, his suspicions might have been aroused. With his mind full of the loss of Artemisia, there was small chance that he would discover anything.

Like vultures upon a deserted field of battle the slave-dealers gathered at the great market of flesh and blood at Thebes. The sale of the population of the city had been delayed so as to insure a good attendance; for Alexander had need of the money that it was expected to yield with which to defray the cost of his expedition against the Great King. Speculators, traffickers by wholesale, and agents from every considerable mart in the world, to say nothing of amateurs, flocked to the city. It was not so much the fact that thirty thousand men and women were to be offered and the consequent probability of low prices that drew them as the quality of the victims. It was easy enough to purchase slaves in almost any number, but there was a vast difference between ignorant barbarians, captured in distant raids, and the population of one of the oldest and most cultured of the Grecian cities. And no comparison was to be made between girls who had been destined to slavery from their cradles and the Theban maidens reared in the shelter of luxury and ease.

It had been expected that it would take several days to dispose of the prisoners, but so numerous were the buyers that the Macedonians decided to attempt it in one day. For greater convenience, the captives were separated into companies of about five hundred and brought out upon the plain before the city, where most of the dealers had pitched their tents. Each division was guarded by a squad of soldiers commanded by an officer, whose duty it was to conduct the auction of the group under his care.

No outcry was permitted among the hapless population. Mothers clasped their children in their arms, weeping softly over them. Some awaited their fate with sullen resignation. Others looked for a prodigy to restore them to freedom and their city. A report had gone abroad that Dionysus would appear in person and forbid the sale. On all sides rose the murmur of his name in tones of entreaty or reproach. With anxious eyes, the believers scanned the sky and the barren hillsides for some sign, they knew not what. None was vouchsafed. Their God had deserted them.

In order that the friends whom he was to ransom might not be lost in the confusion, Chares had obtained consent that they be assembled in one group. They came last out of the city, clad in garments of mourning and moving in heavy-footed procession. Lest he should raise false hopes, Chares had made a secret of his plans. The prisoners fully expected to pass into the possession of strangers. Old men of grave face and dignified bearing, who had spent their lives in the service of the city and whose names were known throughout Greece, led the way. Behind them walked their women, proud of bearing and accustomed to the privileges of rank and wealth. Some of the matrons led daughters who looked with terror upon the strange scenes that met their eyes. Orphaned children clung to each other in fear, while here and there new-made widows, whose husbands had been slain when the strength and vigor of the city were cut off in a day, walked sadly and alone.

When all had been herded within the ring formed by the guard, the Macedonian captain who was to conduct the sale of the group that contained Chares' friends mounted briskly upon a block of stone and announced the terms prescribed for buyers. Payment was to be made in all cases in cash, and the purchaser was to have immediate possession. Chares took a position facing the auctioneer in a knot of dealers who were searching for some fortunate speculation. These men looked upon the unhappy Thebans with professional keenness, exchanging comments among themselves.

"That's a fine old fellow with the white beard," said one. "He looks as though he might have money out at interest somewhere."

"Probably he's only a philosopher," another said scornfully. "For my part, I shall buy that thin one. He has been living on bread and water all his life and he must have a snug sum buried. Trust me to make him dig it up!"

"There seem to be some marketable girls here," observed a third. "I find the Medes will pay a better price for them if they have a pedigree as well as good looks."

Mena, the Egyptian, prying about through the crowd, examined the captives with speculative eyes. Suddenly he caught sight of a figure that caused him to stop and stare. It was that of a young woman, veiled, who seemed to be seeking to conceal herself behind the other prisoners.

"Who is she?" he asked of one of the guard when he had recovered from his astonishment.

"She is down on our list as Maia, daughter of Thales," the man replied.

Mena seemed puzzled. "I must find out more about this," he said to himself, taking his stand at a point of vantage. "Besides, there may be a chance here to turn a profitable investment."

The chatter ceased as the captain opened a roll of papyrus containing the names of the prisoners and announced that the sale was about to begin. The old man with the white beard was the first to be brought forward. He proved to have been one of the Bœotarchs.

"How much am I offered for him?" the captain cried. "He is old, but his wisdom is all the greater for that."

"Five drachmæ!" shouted a countryman in a patched and faded cloak. "He gave a decision against me once in a lawsuit."

Everybody laughed at this reason for making a bid, but the farmer seemed in deadly earnest.

"Five minæ!" Chares said quietly. There was no other bid and the sale was made.

Then came a slender girl with yellow hair and blue eyes that were swollen with weeping. Her chiton of fine linen clung in graceful folds to her slim figure, and she trembled so violently that she could scarcely stand.

"She ought to fill out well if she lives," said one of the merchants, stroking his beard, while he examined her carefully. "But it's always a risk to buy them so young."

"She might be trained to dance," said Mena, who had elbowed his way into the crowd. "It's worth trying if she goes cheap. Fifty drachmæ!"

"Five minæ!" Chares said again.

"That's ten times what she is worth!" Mena exclaimed, turning angrily upon the Theban. "Are you trying to prevent honest men from making a living?"

"Let honest men speak for themselves," Chares retorted.

The laugh that followed filled the Egyptian with rage. He was cunning enough to wait until Chares had made several more purchases, and at prices far above the market value of the captives. Mena guessed that the Theban intended to outbid all who opposed him. He resolved to be revenged by making him pay dearly for his purchases. It happened that the next offering was a man whose name was not on Chares' list. Out of mere good nature he bid two hundred and fifty drachmæ for him.

"Five minæ!" the Egyptian shouted, doubling the bid with the intention of forcing Chares to go higher.

But Chares was silent, and no other bidder appeared. Mena, who did not have the money that he had offered, shifted uneasily, looking at Chares.

"I see you have some sense," he cried at last. "You are afraid to bid against me!"

Chares made no reply.

"He is yours," the auctioneer said, addressing Mena. "Step this way with your money!"

"Wait!" screamed the Egyptian. "I withdraw the bid! The man is lame!"

"Do you mean to accuse me of trying to cheat you?" roared the Macedonian captain.

"Perhaps you didn't notice it," the Egyptian faltered.

"Away with him!" cried the soldier.

While the prisoner was being awarded to Chares, two men led Mena out of the circle, amid the jeers of the spectators. At a safe distance, under pretence of seeing whether he really had the money he had offered, they took from him all that he possessed and divided it between themselves before they let him go.

"I'll make him sorry for this!" Mena said, shaking his fist at Chares. "I know what I know; but why do they call her Maia?"

Burning with rage, the Egyptian slunk away in search of his master, Phradates, whom he found wandering idly among the scattered groups of captives.

"Oh, Phradates, thou hast been insulted!" Mena cried, breathlessly.

"How so, dog?" Phradates demanded, his face darkening as he spoke.

The Phœnician's figure was tall and well knit, although the profusion of jewels and golden chains that he wore, and his garments of rich silk, woven with gold thread, gave him an effeminate look. His face might have been handsome had it not been marred by an expression of haughty insolence which betrayed the weakness upon which Mena intended to play.

He had been sent into Greece by Azemilcus and the Tyrian Council in the guise of a rich young man on his travels, but with the real object of discovering the plans and strength of Alexander. Tyre was nominally tributary to the Great King, but the only sign of her dependence was the payment of a small annual tribute. In all matters of moment she managed her own affairs. It was important, therefore, for her rulers to have exact knowledge of what was going forward in Greece, so that they might shape their course as seemed best for their own advantage.

Mena noted the flush on his master's cheek and foresaw the success of his scheme of revenge.

"It occurred to my poor mind," he explained volubly, "that your Highness would be pleased with a slave from this city of rats, which, nevertheless, contains some charming maidens. I learned that they had assembled all the prisoners of gentle birth in one place together. I went there and examined them for you. Among them I found a girl of rare beauty and when I asked concerning her, they told me she was Maia, daughter of Thales, one of the chief men in the city. Such a form as she has! – with hair like copper and a glance that would – "

"Will you never finish?" Phradates asked angrily.

"I chose her for your Highness and gave command that she be reserved until I could find you to claim her," Mena continued. "But it seems a Theban, whom they call Chares, had resolved to buy her for himself. I told him that I had spoken for the girl in your name. 'Let the Tyrian hound go back to his dye-vats,' he said. 'The girl is mine and he shall not have her while I have an obol left!' He said much more against the people of Tyre and yourself in particular that I will not offend your Highness by repeating. I am sorry that I lost the girl, for there is no other like her among the captives."

"Where is she?" Phradates demanded abruptly.

"If your Highness will deign to follow, I will conduct you to her," Mena replied with alacrity.

"Lead on!" Phradates commanded. "And then fetch quickly the gold we borrowed from the old Athenian."

Chares had purchased all the prisoners on his list excepting the girl called Maia, and the soldiers were leading her forward when Mena and Phradates arrived. The young woman's face and head were muffled in a silken scarf, and her figure was concealed beneath a cloak.

"Give place!" cried Mena, bustling officiously into the crowd. "Make way for the noble Phradates!"

One of the soldiers raised the scarf long enough for the Phœnician to see the young woman's face. Her beauty evidently made a deep impression upon him, for his expression changed and he seemed hardly able to take his eyes from her.

"Where is this Chares?" he inquired, at last, staring about him.

Mena indicated the Theban with a nod, and then, noticing that all eyes were turned upon his master, he bawled out: "Make room for Phradates of the royal blood of Tyre!"

"Do you want to sell him?" asked the auctioneer.

The Phœnician's face became purple and he turned angrily upon Mena, but the alert Egyptian had slipped away to fetch the gold.

"Three talents for the girl!" Phradates cried.

"Five talents!" Chares answered.

The spectators, who had long ago ceased to think of bidding against the Theban, drew a deep breath and looked from one contestant to the other. Maia alone seemed indifferent. A tress of her hair had fallen upon her shoulder. She twisted it back into place. Chares had not seen her face when the soldier lifted her veil and his attention was now centred upon his opponent.

"Seven talents!" Phradates shouted, fixing his eyes defiantly upon Chares.

"Eight!" the Theban answered, without hesitation.

This was more than all the other captives in the group had brought. The crowd began to hum with excitement. Phradates looked over his shoulder and saw Mena leading four slaves who carried bags of gold.

"Ten talents!" he cried.

"All bids must be paid in cash," the auctioneer said warningly.

Every face was turned toward Chares, who had called his steward and was consulting with him. "How much have we left?" the Theban asked. The man made a rapid calculation on his tablets.

"You have ten talents and thirty minæ," he replied. "That is the end."

"I bid ten talents and thirty minæ," Chares said promptly, addressing the auctioneer.

It was evident to all that he could go no further. Would Phradates be able to outbid him? The Phœnician hesitated and turned to Mena.

"He has won," the slave whispered. "You have only ten talents. If you had beaten him, we should have starved to death."

"Then we will starve!" Phradates replied. "I demand that the gold be weighed!"

"You have that right," the auctioneer admitted. "Bring out the scales."

The scales were brought and the gold was poured into the broad pans which hung suspended from their framework of wood. The glittering heaps increased until each pan overflowed with the precious coins and ingots. When all was in readiness for the test, they held a fortune such as few men in all Greece possessed. The spectators devoured it with their eyes, pressing against the soldiers in the hope of getting a better view. The maiden, Maia, who was the object of the rivalry, was forgotten.

The scales oscillated slowly and at last settled deliberately on the side toward Chares. The tale was correct and his last thirty minæ had given him the victory. The crowd broke into a cheer.

"Are you satisfied?" asked the Macedonian captain.

"No!" Phradates shouted. A red spot glowed on his cheeks and his fingers trembled as he stripped off his rings and his chains of gold. He placed the ornaments on his side of the scales. "I bid thirteen talents," he declared.

"Payments are to be made in money," Chares remonstrated. "Who can tell what these trinkets are worth?"

"We may accept them at a true valuation," the captain decided.

He summoned a jeweller of Corinth, who examined the rings with care, and announced his readiness to take them at a sum sufficient to make up the total of the Phœnician's offer.

"Phradates wins!" shouted the spectators, cheering the Tyrian with all the enthusiasm that they had shown to his rival a moment before.

The Theban stood silent. He had nothing more to offer. He raged inwardly at his defeat, for he felt that his honor was involved. While he stood hesitating, nobody seemed to notice a young Macedonian soldier of athletic figure and fresh complexion who had stopped on the outskirts of the crowd and stood listening, with his head slightly inclined to one side.

Suddenly Chares strode forward and threw his sword upon the scales. The weight of the steel caused the balance to sway decisively toward him.

"I bid fifteen talents!" he cried. "Let my sword make up the weight of gold that is lacking."

Phradates laughed mockingly. "Let me have the girl," he said. "It is time to end this child's play. There is no place in the world where a sword is worth three talents."

"Except here," a voice behind him said quietly.

Phradates turned, and his eyes met those of the soldier who had been lingering on the edge of the ring of spectators.

"Here!" the Phœnician exclaimed angrily. "And who is there here to give such a price for it?"

"I will," the soldier replied with a smile.

"You will, indeed!" Phradates echoed. "And who are you?"

"My name is Alexander," the soldier said.

Phradates turned to the crowd, which had fallen back a little and now stood strangely silent.

"Who is this insolent fellow?" he cried. "Why do you allow him to interfere here?" he demanded of the captain.

The captain made no reply, and nobody in the throng ventured to answer. Phradates felt deserted. He stood with Chares and the soldier beside the gold-laden scales, beyond which waited Maia, with her eyes fixed upon the face of the newcomer.

"Is there no fair dealing in this land of thieves?" Phradates cried, losing his temper absolutely. "The girl is mine! Deliver her to me in accordance with your agreement and let me go. You have your price and it is enough!"

He made a step forward as though to seize Maia, but the soldier blocked his path.

"I am Alexander, as I told you," he said, slightly raising his voice. "I will tell you more. You are Phradates of Tyre, sent here by your king and your Council to spy out my strength and learn my plans. You have used the eyes and ears of your slaves. Take what you have learned to King Azemilcus, and with it take also this message: Alexander, King of Macedon, sends word that he is coming with his companions to offer sacrifice to Heracles in his temple, known in the city of Tyre as the temple of Melkarth. Let him prepare the altar."

Phradates read in the faces of the crowd that the youth who spoke so confidently to him was indeed the king. Nevertheless, he could not wholly stifle his rage.

"Has your army wings, Macedonian?" he asked insolently. "The walls of Tyre are both high and strong."

"What is the fate of spies in your country?" Alexander replied. "You are spared to bear my message. Must I choose another?"

There was something in the tone of these words that brought Phradates to his senses like a plunge into cold water.

"We shall meet elsewhere," he said, casting a look of hatred at Chares, who stood smiling at his discomfiture.

"If we do not, I shall never cease to regret it," the Theban replied.

Mena had been hurriedly putting his master's gold into the sacks in which he had brought it. The waiting slaves took it up and followed Phradates back to his tent.

"What was it all about?" Alexander asked, glancing from Chares to Maia.

"I wished to buy her as a present to my mother, as I have bought nearly five hundred of our friends to-day," Chares replied.

Alexander took up the sword from the scales and drew it from its sheath.

"It is a good blade," he said, "and I would not deem its price too high if your arm was to wield it in my cause."

"Was not that included in the purchase?" Chares asked, surprised. "I have made my bargain and I will live up to it."

"No," said Alexander, gently, "I will not have such an arm at a price. I am no Cyrus to attack the power of Persia with hired weapons. The spirit and the hope that goes with us are not to be bought with gold. Come to me at Pella, if you will, with Clearchus and the Spartan, as soon as your affairs will permit. But if you come, let it be of your free will and not in payment of a debt."

"I will come," Chares said simply.

Day was drawing to a close over the plain where the people of Thebes had paid the final penalty for their rebellion. The multitude that had assembled to witness the last scene was melting away. Some of the unfortunates had found friends like Chares to rescue them; but the greater part of the thousands who were sold that day had become the property of strangers. On every side rose the sound of wailing and lamentation. Wives clung sobbing to their husbands until torn from them by their masters. Children wept for mothers they would see no more.

In the gathering twilight camp-fires began to glow. Slave-dealers bargained and chaffered over their purchases. Melancholy processions moved away into the darkness. Men fettered together gazed back silently but with bursting hearts upon the dark mass of the Cadmea, where it rose, black and huge, against the crimson sky. The air reverberated with the crash of falling houses and walls as the soldiers labored by the light of torches to level the city to the earth. A pall of dust and smoke hung suspended above them. Thebes had become a memory.

The captives purchased by Chares had been led away by his attendants as fast as each sale was made. When Alexander and the Macedonian soldiers moved off he was left alone with Maia. He had scarcely glanced at her during his duel with Phradates. She stood before him now with bent head, submissively, and he fancied that she was drooping from weariness.

"Come," he said kindly, extending his hand toward her.

The girl did not move, but as he approached she raised the scarf that hid her face and her eyes met his.

"Thais!" he exclaimed. "How did you get here? Where is Maia?"

There was a tone of displeasure in his voice, and the smile faded from the young woman's lips.

"Maia is safe enough," she returned, raising her head proudly.

"But where is she?" he persisted.

She hesitated and her eyes fell. A warm flush mounted to her cheeks.

"I bought her place," she murmured, "and you have bought me."

The Theban stared a moment in bewilderment, but as her meaning dawned upon him he threw back his head and laughed, a little recklessly. Thais bit her lip and then suddenly burst into tears.