Buch lesen: «The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great», Seite 8

CHAPTER XIII
THE UNQUENCHABLE FIRE

It was a clear, bright spring day when the three friends rode into Pella. The new sap was beginning to swell the buds, and the fresh green of the grass was gleaming hopefully on sunny slopes. Chares had been singing snatches of love songs since early morning when they set out on the last stage of their journey. Even Clearchus forgot his anxiety in the thought that he was drawing nearer to Artemisia, and the grim Leonidas had smiled more than once at the sallies of the light-hearted Theban.

In the Macedonian capital on every side was the stir of animation and preparation. Recruits were being drilled for the army. Messengers were hastening hither and thither. Ambassadors were coming and going with their trains. They gazed with admiration at the solid buildings, designed with a stately magnificence which, in its own way, was as impressive as the marble embodiments of Athenian genius. Everywhere were the evidences of a young and strong people, buoyant, self-confident, energetic, and fearless. No idlers blocked the streets. Every man had something to do and was doing it. The tide of vigorous life flowed strong through the city as in the veins of a young oak tree.

It was not strange that Pella should have swarmed with activity on that day in spring. Within the boundaries of the rugged little state, half Hellenic and half barbarian, a vast project, supported by a sublime confidence, was taking shape. It had been formed and nursed by the crafty and far-seeing Philip, whether as a possibility or as a stroke of policy to bring Hellas under his control none could say. Now it had suddenly become a reality. The great empire of Persia, which covered the world from the shores of the Euxine to the sources of the Nile, and from the Ægean to limits undefined, beyond the regions of mystery through which the Indus flowed, was to be invaded. It had endured for centuries as an immense and impregnable power. Fierce tribes dwelt in the fastnesses of its snow-clad mountains, numberless caravans crept across its scorching deserts, gigantic cities flourished upon its fertile plains. Nations were lost among the uncounted millions of its population. Its wealth surpassed the power of imagining, and about the throne of the Great King, whose slightest wish was the unchangeable law of all this vast dominion, stood tens of thousands of the bravest warriors in the world, ready at a sign to lay down their lives for him.

What had Persia to fear from the handful of peasants turned soldiers who had made a boy their king? Why should Darius feel any uneasiness concerning the projects of a rash young man who already owed more than he could pay? To be sure, he had made himself the Hegemon of Hellas, with the exception of Sparta, but everybody knew that he had forced the older states to bestow the title upon him against their will and that they were waiting only until his back should be turned to fall upon him. With the slender resources at his command, how could he hope to hold Greece in subjection and at the same time to subdue an empire which had more Hellenic mercenaries alone upon its pay-roll than the sum total of his entire army? Surely, the Great King must be himself despised if he did not look with contempt upon such mad ambition.

Something of the force of this reasoning assailed the mind of Clearchus as he lay down that night on the hard pallet that had been assigned to him by Ptolemy in the barracks of the Companion Cavalry. The immensity of the obstacles to be overcome oppressed him, and he began once more to doubt whether, after all, there could be any hope of success for the young king. He fell asleep, to see in his dreams the pale face of Artemisia framed in her unbound hair.

His mind was still clouded with misgiving when he went next morning with Chares and Leonidas to pay his respects at the palace; but they were dispelled like mists before the morning sun when he stood face to face with Alexander. In the inspiring presence of the young leader no doubts could live. He radiated confidence as a fire radiates warmth. Every glance of his sympathetic eyes, every tone of his voice, revealed a certainty of the future that was beyond peradventure.

The palace was the centre of the activity that was filling the city. Generals and captains, agents, princes, hostages, ambassadors, and messengers swarmed in its halls. Here stood the gray-haired Antipater, who had been appointed by Alexander regent of Macedon and guardian of Greece during his absence, talking with citizens of Corinth who had come to consult him concerning proposed changes in their civil government. There was old Parmenio, fresh from his campaign in Mysia, giving his orders for the disposition of a company of mercenaries who had arrived that morning.

There were travellers from the Far East, who had been summoned to tell what they knew of the cities, rivers, and mountains through which the Macedonian march would lie and of the character of the peoples who were to be encountered. There were contractors for horses and supplies anxious to provide the army with subsistence. There were soothsayers and philosophers, slaves, attendants, and courtiers; and among them all, with banter, jest, and laughter, walked the young nobles of Macedon, bosom friends of the king, who had defied Philip for his sake and were now reaping their reward. There were Hephæstion, son of Amyntas, Philotas, son of Parmenio, Clitus, Crateras, Polysperchon, Demetrius, Ptolemy, and a score of others, in spirits as brave as their attire, as though they were about to start upon a holiday excursion instead of a desperate venture into the unknown.

Alexander recognized the three friends immediately and gave them cordial greeting.

"So you have come to follow the Whirlwind," he said, laughing, as though the simile pleased him. "It will soon be launched now."

"We have come to take any service that you may give us," Chares replied.

"You are enrolled in the Companion Cavalry," Alexander informed them.

They gave him their thanks for this mark of favor, for the Companions contained the flower of the kingdom, young men of distinguished families, who were admitted freely into Alexander's confidence as his friends.

"I have just been giving away the security for my debts," Alexander said, smiling at Chares. "I saw you spend your last obol to purchase the liberty of your friends at Thebes. You trusted to the chance of war to bring your fortune back to you, but I have gone further than you, for I have staked my honor. As you see me, I am worth some thirteen hundred talents less than nothing."

"But what have you left for yourself?" the Theban asked.

"My hopes," Alexander replied.

"They say the Medes have gold in plenty," Leonidas observed reflectively.

"Never fear," Alexander replied, laughing. "What are our debts of to-day in comparison with our riches of to-morrow? The Companions are all following my example. We set out with only our swords and our courage – and our golden hope!"

Again he laughed, and calling Philotas to him he turned to Clearchus.

"The queen, my mother," he said, "has heard the story of Artemisia and of what they told you at Delphi. She desires to see you. Philotas will take you to her."

Philotas led the way through courts and colonnades to the women's wing of the palace, where Olympias held sway. As they went, Clearchus recalled all he had heard of Alexander's mother – how it was averred that a great serpent was her familiar, and the tales of her passionate and revengeful nature that had caused her to order the babe of Cleopatra, who had supplanted her in the affections of her husband, to be torn from the arms of its mother and killed in her sight before she herself was slain. He had heard also of her devotion to religious mysteries and especially of her skill in the secret rites of the Egyptian magicians.

As they neared the queen's apartments, Clearchus was astonished to hear a woman's voice raised in anger, followed by the sound of blows and pitiful cries for mercy. He paused in embarrassment, but Philotas drew him on.

"Do not be disturbed," said his guide; "the queen is probably chastising one of her slaves."

He ushered the young Athenian into a large room furnished with luxurious magnificence. Before them stood Olympias, with a rod of ebony in her grasp, and at her feet upon the silken carpet crouched a weeping girl with bare white shoulders, marked with red where the rod had fallen. The queen turned upon them with blazing anger in her great black eyes and the wrathful color on her cheeks.

"Who enters here unbidden?" she demanded sternly, and then in a milder tone she added: "Is it you, Philotas? These girls will kill me yet with their stupidity. I wish I could drown them all in the sea! Ah!"

She swung up the rod and brought it down upon a great vase of Phœnician glass, which flew into a thousand fragments. She laughed and threw the rod from her.

"There, now I feel better!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "You may go, Chloe. Dry your eyes, child; you shall have your freedom. Who is this whom you have brought me, Philotas?"

"It is Clearchus, the Athenian, whom the king sends," Philotas answered.

"I remember," she said quickly, turning to Clearchus. "You were robbed of your sweetheart. Do you love her very much?"

"I love her better than my life," Clearchus replied simply.

"Will you never grow weary of her and cast her off, as Philip did me?" she persisted.

"If I find her, I will never willingly let her go out of my sight again," the young man declared.

"But did not the Pythia tell you that you would find her if you followed my son?" she inquired.

"The oracle instructed me to follow the Whirlwind," Clearchus said.

"Tell me about it," Olympias commanded, seating herself upon a couch. She made him relate his experience with the oracle in the minutest detail, asking many questions that indicated her lively curiosity. She then inquired of Artemisia's personal appearance, her age, and family.

"Wait here for me," she said finally, and left them alone in the room.

"She seems hardly older than Alexander," Clearchus remarked.

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," Philotas replied dryly, "especially when they are assisted by art."

The queen was absent for more than half an hour. She seemed tired when she returned.

"I have consulted the Gods," she said, "and you will find her if your heart remains true and strong. The priestess of Apollo told the truth."

"I thank you for giving me this consolation," Clearchus said eagerly, hoping that she would tell him more; but she began pacing thoughtfully backward and forward, with bent head, apparently forgetful of his presence.

Suddenly she stopped before him and smiled, rather wistfully he thought. He almost fancied that there were tears under the fringe of her dark lashes. "Farewell," she said. "May the Gods protect you – and Alexander, my son."

She resumed her walk, and the young man left the apartment in silence. Clearchus tried in vain to analyze the strange impression that she had made upon him, but for many days her smile, half sad, and her mysterious dark eyes, with the living spark in their depths, continued to haunt him.

CHAPTER XIV
ACROSS THE HELLESPONT

Upon Bucephalus, whose proud spirit he alone had known how to tame, Alexander led his army out of Pella. The great charger tossed his head and uttered a shrill neigh, which sounded like a trumpet-call of defiance to the whole world, as he issued forth from the gate of the city. Many a Macedonian wife and mother, standing upon the walls, dashed the tears from her eyes that day as her gaze followed the lines of the troops, striving until the last to distinguish the form that perhaps she would see no more.

The young king drew aside, with his captains about him, upon a low hill a short distance from the city. The sunlight flashed upon his gilded armor and upon the double white plume that swept his shoulders. With swelling hearts, the men saluted him as they marched by, horse and foot, squadron and company, thirty thousand in all. The bronzed faces of the veterans of Philip's wars lighted up as they heard his son call one or another of them by name, and the countenances of the younger soldiers flushed with pride and pleasure at his smile of approval. Last came the baggage and provision trains and the great siege engines, lumbering after the army on creaking wheels.

Alexander turned to Antipater and gave him his hand. "I would that thou, too, wert coming with us to share in our victories," he said. "Remember, all our trust is in thee. Be just and firm."

"I will remember," the old general replied, his stern face softening. "Return when and how thou wilt; thou shalt find all as thou hast left it to-day."

Alexander turned to go, but a cry of "The queen!" caused him to halt. A chariot drawn by foaming horses drew up before him. He sprang from his horse and ran forward to receive Olympias in his arms.

"My son! My son!" she cried, looking into his face with streaming eyes.

"Hush!" he said gently. "Do not forget that you are the queen!"

"But I am still a woman and thy mother," she replied. "How can I suffer thee to leave me?"

"I will send for thee from Babylon," he said consolingly.

"Thou goest to victory and to glory," she said. "Of that I have no fear; but thy mother's heart is filled with sorrow! Kiss me yet again!"

Alexander embraced her and led her back to the chariot. He stood looking after her with bared head, until, escorted by Antipater, she disappeared in the city gate. His heart went out to the jealous, fiery woman's spirit, whose great love for him made her ever faultless in his eyes. Something told him, as it had told her, although neither had confessed it, that they would never look upon each other again.

In another moment he was astride of Bucephalus and off after the army. Clearchus, riding with Chares and Leonidas in their company of the Companions, saw him dash past with a smile on his eager face.

Along the northern shore of the Ægean, and always within sight of its blue waters, they marched for twenty days until they crossed the Melas and came to the Hellespont, beyond which they could see the mountains of Phrygia, with the snow-capped summit of Mount Ida towering above the rest. Before them, across the strait, lay the promised land. Wheeling south to Sestos, they met the fleet that had kept them company along the coast. There Alexander left Parmenio to take the army over to Abydos, while he pushed on with the Companions to Elæus.

He himself steered the foremost of the ships that carried them across the strait to Ilium. In mid-channel they offered sacrifice to Poseidon and the Nereids, and as they neared Cape Segeium the king hurled his javelin upon the sand, and leaping into the water in full armor, dashed forward to the Persian beach. From every ship rose cries of emulation as the Companions plunged in after him and strove with each other to see which of them should first follow him to the shore.

Upon the battle-field where the terrible Achilles had raged among the Trojans when the Greeks of olden time sought revenge for Helen's immortal shame, the Companions celebrated with feasting and with games the fame of the Homeric heroes. These exercises, filling their minds with thoughts of wondrous deeds, were a fitting prelude for the mighty task that lay before them.

Through their camp the rumor ran from sources none could trace that beyond the mountains lay the Persian host in countless numbers. Arsites, Phrygia's satrap, and the cruel Spithridates, ruler of Lydia and Ionia, were said to be in command. Memnon of Rhodes, the story went, was at the head of an Hellenic mercenary force more numerous than Alexander's entire army.

No attempt was made to check the spread of these tidings. If the thought of possible defeat crossed the mind of any of the Companions, he was careful not to give it utterance. In their talk around their camp-fires they assumed that the first battle was already won and their plans ran forward into the heart of Persia. What mattered it whether the enemy was many or few? Had not the Ten Thousand, whose exploits Xenophon related, shown to the world that one Greek soldier was better than a hundred barbarians?

But in the intervals of the celebration Alexander talked long with Ptolemy. The truth was, they knew not what preparations had been made to receive them nor what force had been sent against them. The scouts who had gone out weeks in advance had either failed to return or could not tell them what they wished to know.

Clearchus was sitting with Leonidas discussing Xenophon's account of the death of Cyrus when a messenger brought them word that the king desired to see them. They followed at once to Alexander's tent, where they found Chares awaiting them.

"You have heard the rumors of the enemy's advance," Alexander began. "I wish to know how strong he is in both horse and foot, how many Greeks he has with him, where they will fight in the line, and who are the commanders. To win this information will be the first service of danger and difficulty in the campaign. Which of you is willing to undertake it?"

"I am!" cried the three young men with one voice.

"Why not send us all?" Clearchus said. "Then if one of us falls, two will remain, and if two are lost, the third may still be able to reach you."

"Be it so," Alexander replied, smiling. "We shall join the army at once and march along the coast, as you see upon this map, to the Granicus. There I think you should be able to rejoin me and there I shall look for you."

He rolled up the map and handed it to Leonidas. "This may serve for your guidance," he said. "I shall place you under no instructions, for I do not think you need them."

He rose and shook each of them by the hand. "Farewell," he said, "and be not rash, for I shall have need of you hereafter."

Some of the Macedonians cast envious eyes at them as they came out of the pavilion. Young Glycippus, who was in the same company with them, joined them as they passed.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"The king wanted to ask me whether I thought Ajax or Achilles was the better fighter," Chares answered gravely.

"What did you tell him?" Glycippus inquired.

"I told him that Ajax, in my opinion, was the better with the sword," the Theban said. "He did not like it because, you know, he claims descent from the son of Thetis."

"Yes," the young man said eagerly. "And he has taken Achilles' armor from the temple here, leaving his own in its place."

"He had it on while he was talking with us," Chares said. "It fits him well enough. You know he has ordered Ilium to be rebuilt."

"Has he?" cried Glycippus. "That is news," and he hurried off to tell it.

"That, at least, has the merit of being true," Chares said. "Ptolemy told me while I was waiting for you."

"First of all we must choose a leader," Clearchus said when they were alone in their tent. "I vote for Leonidas."

"And so do I," Chares added heartily, clapping the Spartan on the back.

Leonidas protested, but his friends refused to give way, pointing out that to him Alexander had given the map. They persuaded him at last to yield.

"My idea is that we shall go as peltasts and as though we were seeking the Persian camp to take service under Memnon," he said. "Get rid of that gaudy armor of yours, Chares."

"What, must I part with my mail?" the Theban exclaimed, glancing down at the glittering links that covered his broad breast. He was inordinately proud of this display. "What shall I do with it?" he asked dolefully.

"Throw it into the sea," Leonidas suggested in an uncompromising tone.

"Some rascal is sure to steal it if I leave it here," Chares grumbled, as he divested himself of the armor.

At nightfall the three slipped out of the camp in the guise of light-armed footmen, each with a round shield at his back, two javelins in his hand, and a short sword at his side. As soon as they were safe from observation Leonidas struck out briskly for the northern slopes of Mount Ida, and they quickly vanished into the darkness.