The entire population of Tyre was at work before dawn on the day following the return of the ambassadors. The council had decided to accept Alexander's challenge. As the first measure of preparation, it ordered the abandonment of the Old City on the mainland and the removal of its residents to the New City. In order to make room for them, a fleet was to be sent to Carthage, carrying women and children. This fleet was to return with such aid as the strong colony of the West might be willing to give.
Huge flatboats and a multitude of smaller craft plied backward and forward between the harbors and the mainland. The brilliant stuffs that had been hanging in the sun were gathered into bales. Here was a boat laden with the contents of a glass factory: huge amphoræ, delicate vases, cylinders, scarabs, beads, and amulets of a hundred iridescent hues. Beside it came another vessel, carrying a freight of iron, bronze, and copper, wrought into armor and household furnishings. Other ships brought Syrian cotton and embroideries; white wool and wine of Helbon; corn, honey, balm, and oil from Israel; ivory, ebony, spices, and perfumes from Arabia; lead and tin from the mines of Spain; cedar chests filled with Babylonian embroideries; elephant, lion, leopard, and deer skins from Africa. These precious commodities were stored in the warehouses.
All the public granaries were filled to overflowing, and what grain could not be brought away was destroyed. At the close of the second day, the ancient parent city, from which had sprung such a brood of flourishing daughters, and which more than once had defied the might of the great empire beyond the mountain, lay deserted. Silence and foreboding pervaded the New City as the Tyrians looked across the strait at the empty houses in which many of them had been cradled.
There was little time for despondency. The labor of preparation had been only begun, and the task of making ready the vessels destined for Carthage went forward briskly.
A swift galley was sent to King Azemilcus, who immediately deserted the Persian fleet with all his ships and returned to take charge of the defence of the city. His arrival was the signal for great rejoicing, for his warships would insure command of the sea to Tyre, since Alexander had none with which to oppose them.
At last the departure of the fleet destined for Carthage could be delayed no longer. The scouting ships brought word that the Macedonian army had left Sidon and taken up its march southward. Thousands of women and children, accompanied by the aged and infirm, crowded aboard the merchant vessels that had been pressed into service. Husbands said farewell to their wives, and fathers took their children in their arms for perhaps the last time. One by one the ships were towed out of the harbor and spread their sails for their long flight to the West. The streets were filled with weeping.
Not all the women and children were sent away, even of the better class; for, in spite of the precautions taken by the council, no Tyrian believed that the city was really in danger. Its possession of the sea would prevent famine, and even if Alexander should succeed in reaching its walls, he would never be able to break through them.
While the slanting sails of the departing fleet still glimmered on the horizon, the watchers on the walls of Tyre saw the sun glinting from the armor of the Macedonian array. Presently bands of horsemen dashed up to the walls of the Old City, circled around them, and rode boldly through the open gates. They seemed astonished to find the place deserted. The Phœnicians hurled shouts of derision at them from the walls across the water, scornfully inviting them to try the strait.
Thais' lip curled as she watched this demonstration. She stood motionless among the whispering leaves which hedged the roof of Phradates' house, gazing intently at the advancing army.
"Will they ever be able to cross to us?" Artemisia said.
"There come the Companion cavalry!" Thais exclaimed, shading her eyes.
The troop made a brave showing as it advanced toward the Old City with flying pennants, the manes of the horses tossing free.
"And there is the phalanx!" Artemisia cried, clasping her hands.
The lines emerged, rank after rank, from the dust-clouds. Behind them came more cavalry and then the light-armed troops, followed by wagons and a long train of pack animals. The streets of the Old City became animated again, though not with Phœnicians. The soldiers swarmed through the houses, choosing their quarters and freeing themselves from their burdens. Smoke began to curl up from the chimneys.
A group of men came down to the water front and made a long survey of the walls of the New City. Thais fixed her eyes upon them, leaning over the parapet. Suddenly she caught Artemisia's arm.
"I see him!" she cried. "There he is."
"Who is it? Where?" Artemisia asked, bewildered.
"Chares!" Thais replied. "Do you see that crimson cloak and his yellow hair? O my hero!"
Artemisia trembled and her cheek grew pale.
"If that is Chares, then Clearchus must be there too," she faltered. "Oh, Thais, are you sure?"
She strove to look, but the tears that dimmed her eyes prevented her from seeing anything clearly.
"I am certain," Thais replied. "Who else could it be? There is no other in the army so strong and handsome as he. Look! he is signalling to us."
The figure in crimson stood forward from the rest, his cloak, inflated by the wind, swelling back from his shoulders. He waved his hand toward the city. Thais tore off her saffron shawl and waved it in return, forgetting that, while he stood alone, to him she was one of thousands who were moving on the walls and the house-tops.
"I suppose you would bring them over if you could!" sneered a voice behind her. It was Phradates, who had approached unnoticed.
"Can you blame me if I want to win my wager?" Thais replied, smiling.
"I am half sorry I made it," the Phœnician said sullenly.
Thais saw that he was angry and she leaned toward him until he felt her warm breath upon his cheek.
"If I lose, I will pay!" she whispered, in a tone that only he could hear.
A dark flush mounted to his cheek.
"It will not be long," he returned confidently.
"I would not be too sure of that," she replied, with a blush, giving him a sidelong glance under her lashes.
Phradates could not understand why he had not long ago given free rein to his passion. More than once he had called himself a fool for his forbearance and resolved in his own mind to end it; but when the time came for putting his plans into execution, he found them halted by an indefinable barrier that he could not break. It surprised him that this could have happened. All his life it had never occurred to him to restrain himself. He was master of one of the greatest fortunes in Tyre, and with him to wish was to have. Moreover, he had learned Thais' history, so far as it was generally known, and it seemed to him ridiculous that an Athenian dancing girl should succeed so long in holding him at arm's length. But now he must keep his oath.
Next day, and for many days thereafter, Tyre sat and watched the slow development of the scheme that had been laid for her destruction. She saw the Macedonian army tear down the walls of the Old City and convey them, block by block, to the water front, where they were cast into the sea. Soon the beginning of a broad causeway began to jut out from the shore, pointing like a huge finger at the angle of the city wall, midway between the two harbors, which was nearest to the mainland. Detachments of soldiers brought in squads of men from the surrounding country, who were set at work with the army upon the mole. Piles of cedar were driven into the sand. Earth was brought in baskets and poured over the stones. When the waves washed it away, trees were dragged from the mountain side and thrown in with their leaves and branches to hold it in place. Acres of rushes were cut and laid upon the soil to bind it. Foot by foot the causeway lengthened. On the shore could be seen men building towers and battering rams, catapults, and ballistæ.
Alexander's figure became so familiar to the Tyrians that even the children could point him out. He was seen everywhere, overlooking and superintending the work in all its details. One day he was missed, and the next, smoke was observed drifting up from the rocky fastnesses of Lebanon, which the Tyrians knew had been held for centuries by untamed robber bands, who had exacted toll from their caravans and even from the convoys of the Great King. Their spies on shore brought them word that the robbers had attacked Alexander's scouting parties and he had gone to punish them. Tyre laughed at the idea that he could take the impregnable strongholds among the crags, but the columns of smoke continued to rise farther and farther back among the mountains; and when Alexander reappeared on the mole, at the end of a week, the news came that the robbers had been harried and hunted out of their caves until not a vestige of them remained. Tyre wondered, and a vague uneasiness crept into the city.
The mole had advanced almost within bow-shot of the wall when the city woke from its lethargy of contempt and began to bestir itself. Towers were erected on the wall opposite the causeway, and the wall itself was raised. The engineers and their workmen, whose skill was famed throughout the world, fashioned new machines for repelling the expected attack.
When the Macedonians had covered more than half the distance between the shore and the wall, the Phœnicians began to resist their advance. The catapults were brought into play. These were great bows of tough wood, set in a solid framework. The strings of twisted gut were drawn back by a windlass, and huge arrows, made of iron and weighing two or three hundred pounds, were fitted to the groove prepared for them. The string was released by drawing a trigger as in a cross-bow, and the missile sped to the mark.
The catapults were reënforced by the ballistæ. In a frame of heavy beams an arm was set, with a great spoon at one end, while the other was held firmly in twisted cords. By means of a rope wound about a roller the arm was drawn back, and a stone or a ball of metal was placed in the spoon. Suddenly freed, the arm flew up until it was halted by a cross-beam of the framework, when the missile left it and hurtled through the air toward the mole.
While darts and stones were showered upon the causeway from the walls, vessels attacked it from both harbors, filled with archers and slingers, who drove the workmen back. Tyre was jubilant. Alexander, she thought, must now surely abandon his foolish enterprise.
Work on the causeway was indeed halted for a time, but only long enough to permit the Macedonians to contrive means of defence. Two great towers were built and pushed out to the end of the mole. These were tall enough to dominate the wall. They were provided with catapults and ballistæ, with which to answer and silence those of the Tyrians, and were manned by soldiers, who from their height were able to reach the decks of the triremes that were sent to annoy them. For further protection, palisades of timber and movable breastworks were constructed on the mole, and pushed forward as it advanced.
Work was resumed, and the long causeway crept nearer and nearer to the city. By order of the council, under cover of night, sponge and pearl divers were sent to the mole in small vessels. With cords in their hands they plunged into the water and fastened them to the foundation stones of the mole, which the crews on board the boats pulled away.
But in spite of all these devices, the mole continued to lengthen.
Still the Tyrians remained confident. The council hit upon a plan to destroy the towers, and when all was ready the people flocked to the walls to witness its execution. Artemisia and Thais watched from the roof, where, day after day, for weeks, they had counted the inches of progress made on the mole and calculated how long it would be before the structure could reach the wall.
"See!" cried Artemisia. "They are going to try to burn the towers."
An old transport, that had been used for carrying horses, emerged clumsily from the Sidonian Harbor, towed between two triremes. The wide deck was heaped with dry wood, which had been saturated with bitumen and intermixed with straw. From the yards of the masts caldrons filled with sulphur, naphtha, and oil were suspended by chains. Upon the deck stood rows of naked men, each holding in his hand a blazing torch.
Slowly and laboriously the ship was guided through the choppy sea to a point directly to windward of the end of the mole. A strong northwest breeze sang through her rigging, and her stern had been filled with ballast until her bow stood almost out of the water. Sailors went aloft and set two small sails to give her headway. The triremes cast off, and she swam straight for the northern tower.
The two women had watched the preparations with the most intense excitement. As the fire-ship neared the mole, gathering speed as she went, they saw a volley of huge stones shoot from the towers in her direction.
"They are trying to sink her," Thais said breathlessly.
"Zeus grant that they may succeed!" cried Artemisia.
Some of the stones struck the ship, scattering her load of combustibles; but they failed to check her approach. The best marksmen in the army strove to pick off her crew. The divers raised shields, from which the arrows harmlessly rebounded.
When the ship had come within a few fathoms of the mole, the men on board of her scattered blazing oil into the caldrons swinging from her yards and thrust their torches into the heaps of material that lay upon her deck. Then they plunged into the sea and swam back to the city. The steersman followed, and the next instant the transport, sending before her a roaring banner of flame, ran high upon the mole at the foot of the northern tower.
A mighty shout arose from the walls of Tyre as the spectators saw the flames wrap themselves around the tower, shrivelling up the green skins of cattle that had been hung to protect it. The soldiers swarmed down through the smoke and fire like rats, leaping from the lower stories in their haste. In a moment the lofty structure was sending out red tongues from every loophole and window. A great cloud of black smoke rolled from the end of the mole toward the shore.
Thais and Artemisia saw the Greeks driven back from the towers and from the defences which had protected the work. Presently the fire attacked these and ran across to the second tower. The transport still lay with her nose in the rocks, belching flames that were streaked with green and blue and white as they fed upon the various substances which had been stored in her hull.
Dashing down from the windward side, the Tyrian vessels tore away such of the work as had escaped the conflagration, while the bowmen on their decks sent flights of arrows upon the huddled workmen who had been forced back by the heat and smoke. The towers fell one after the other with a crash into the sea, which hissed into steam as the glowing timbers sank. In an hour nothing was left at the end of the causeway but the blackened ruin and part of the transport, through whose ribs the waves washed.
"The time is at hand," Phradates said to Thais, with a smile full of meaning.
"Not yet," she exclaimed, smiling. "The siege has only begun. I told you you did not know Alexander."
Nevertheless, secretly her heart was full of misgivings, and the slave women who waited upon her that night found her hard to please.
Tyre was delirious with joy over the success of the attack on the towers, for the city was convinced that now, at last, the Macedonians would depart. Feasts were given in the great houses, processions wound through the streets, and sacrifices of thanksgiving were offered in all the temples. In order to strike terror into the hearts of the enemy, twenty Macedonian prisoners were put to death upon the walls with lingering tortures, and their mangled bodies were cast into the sea. Hourly the Tyrians expected to see the besieging army evacuate Old Tyre and march away.
Their rage knew no bounds when a boat bearing two heralds put out from the shore and entered the Sidonian Harbor. The young men whom it contained, Galas and Cleanor, pages of Alexander and members of distinguished Macedonian families, were greeted with jeers by the people. They were escorted by a strong guard to the royal palace, where King Azemilcus and the council awaited them.
They bore themselves calmly and proudly under the insults of the mob and the hostile scrutiny of the council. They met without fear the gaze of the Tyrian king, who sat upon his throne in the chamber of state. The light fell upon the old man's cunning and wrinkled face and touched the heads of the councillors, some silvery white and others showing hardly a trace of gray. Their eyes, in which cruelty lurked like a coiled snake, were fixed upon the heralds. The king opened his thin lips.
"Speak!" he said softly.
"Alexander, lord of Asia, sends his greeting to King Azemilcus and the people of Tyre," Galas began in a clear voice. "He calls upon you to surrender your city into his hands."
A murmur rose like a growl from the council. King Azemilcus stroked his chin gently with his jewelled fingers, as if to hide the smile that played about his mouth.
"If ye do not this," Galas continued, raising his head, "Alexander, lord of Asia, bids me say that for thy walls, they shall become as the walls of Thebes, thy city shall be given to plunder, and the sea-gull shall build his nest in thy harbors. If ye would find mercy for your wives and your children, for yourselves and your possessions, ye must seek it now."
He ceased and stood awaiting their answer. There was dead silence in the chamber. Azemilcus continued to stroke his chin, glancing at the youths and then at his advisers with an amused expression in his eyes.
"You may retire," he said at last, "while we consider what reply we shall send."
The youths were conducted to an anteroom, while the lean king laid before the council the jest that he had been revolving in his mind. It was received with approbation, and the reply to Alexander was written upon parchment in two copies, one for each of the heralds. When all was in readiness the council rose.
"Come with us," Azemilcus said to the heralds. "We desire to show you our city before we send you back to Alexander."
Talking pleasantly, he led the way through the citadel to the top of the wall, pointing out the temples and the various objects of interest as they went. The boys looked down with wonder from the dizzy height upon the sea, crawling and lapping far below them. They examined the engines of war and the piles of ammunition that had been assembled upon the landward side of the defences. Upon the mainland they could see their comrades and the gangs of laborers at work upon the mole.
They scarcely noticed that soldiers and citizens were gathering about them, occupying every point of vantage and pressing forward with nods and winks as if to a spectacle where a humorous surprise was in store.
"And now," Azemilcus said, smiling pleasantly upon the two heralds, "you shall hear our answer to the king."
He beckoned to a scribe, who stepped forward and read from a parchment so that all might hear.
"King Azemilcus and the people of Tyre greet Alexander the Pretender," read the scribe. "If he be lord of Asia, Tyre is his. Let him come and take it."
The two boys looked blankly at the king, and a great shout of laughter went up from the multitude upon the wall. At another sign from Azemilcus, two soldiers roughly seized each of the heralds.
"What does this mean?" Galas demanded indignantly.
"Be not angry," Azemilcus replied, still with his soft smile. "We have wasted so much time in sight-seeing that no doubt Alexander is growing impatient. We will send you back to him more quickly than you came, so that his anger may be turned from us."
Amid shouts of delight from the crowd, the heralds were bound hand and foot with cords. Their knees were drawn up to their chests and lashed there so as to make their bodies as compact as possible. Finally a copy of the reply to Alexander was attached to their right hands.
"King of Tyre!" Galas said, when the soldiers had done their work, "you have broken the faith of nations. For our death, if for nothing else, shall your city fall and become an evil memory among men. Even your Gods shall withdraw from you. Farewell!"
Neither of the lads had uttered a cry as the rawhide thongs, drawn too tightly, cut into their flesh. Galas turned his head as well as he could and spoke to his younger companion.
"Cleanor, we have been friends," he said. "Now we are about to die. Be brave for the honor of Macedon! I go with you."
"Do not fear, Galas; I promise," the other replied, and no more words passed between them.
The soldiers were busily preparing two of the immense ballistæ. Inserting levers in holes in the ends of the rollers, they turned the wooden cylinders backward, slowly winding up the rope that was attached to the casting arm and drawing it back into a horizontal position. The tough rope strained and the framework of beams creaked as the great arms were forced into place.
When the wide spoons of wrought iron were ready, the boys were lifted and placed in them. The spectators, irritated because the victims did not beg for mercy, howled threats and insults at them. This abuse brought no response, and fearful lest the courage of the lads might create a bad impression, Azemilcus ended the sport by ordering the ballistæ to be discharged.
Throwing their weight suddenly upon the cords that drew the triggers, the soldiers released the arms of the machines, which sprang upward and crashed against the cross-beams. The bodies of the heralds, hurled with frightful velocity into the air, shot outward and upward. Galas fell upon the end of the mole. Cleanor was dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks beside him.
A savage outcry rang from the wall across to the Macedonian camp. Soldiers ran forward and took up the two bodies, bearing them tenderly to the shore.
"Alexander has his answer!" Azemilcus said, with a chuckle. "Let us go to dinner."
On the night after the slaughter of the heralds, the galleys sent to Carthage returned with a courteous message that it would be impossible for the colony to send assistance. Ambassadors who had been despatched to other Phœnician towns, demanding aid, were equally unsuccessful. Tyre must stand or fall alone. Her brood turned its back upon her.
This indifference created a disagreeable feeling in the city. The joy over the destruction of the Macedonian works was transformed into uneasiness. Instead of abandoning the siege, the army of Alexander had begun a new mole, twice as wide as the first, and so directed that the wash of the waves, which before had been a serious obstacle, was rendered harmless. It was apparent that the young king intended to keep his word.
Several of the inhabitants of the city reported that in dreams they had seen the great bronze image of Melkarth rise from its seat in his temple and stretch its hands over the walls toward the Macedonian camp, calling upon Alexander to enter. There was a consultation of the priests. The enormous statue was bound with chains to the pillars of the temple and huge spikes were driven through its feet into the floor. Nevertheless, the Tyrians were apprehensive and spoke of Melkarth as "the Alexandrine." The ominous words of the herald, Galas, when he declared that the Gods of Tyre would desert her, were remembered and repeated. The people began to think that perhaps they had gone too far.
Time failed to remove this impression. The new mole continued to advance, and one hazy afternoon the watchmen on the walls caught sight of a fleet of warships approaching from the north. The flag of Sidon fluttered from their masts and the beleaguered city concluded that at last reinforcements had been sent. But instead of entering the Sidonian Harbor, the vessels sheered off and came to anchor in front of the Macedonian camp.
The gloom of the city deepened when Enylus, king of Byblos, and Gerostratus, king of Adradus, added their fleets to that of Sidon. All three were Phœnician cities. Rhodes sent ten ships and Cyprus later added one hundred and twenty, under command of Prytagoras.
For every Tyrian ship, Alexander now had three; and among them were vessels of the largest size, some with four banks of oars and some even with five. They were manned by sailors of Phœnician stock, whose skill upon the water equalled that of the Tyrians themselves. As soon as the fleet had gathered, it sailed in battle order toward the mouth of the Sidonian Harbor, from which the Tyrian navy came out to meet it. But when Azemilcus saw the overwhelming force opposed to him, his heart failed, and he gave the order to retreat into the harbor, the entrance of which he caused to be blocked with huge chains behind which were moored as many Tyrian vessels as would lie in the passage side by side.
Tyre was no longer mistress of the sea. She stood forsaken amid the waters, gray and deserted, like a lioness in her last refuge, encompassed by the hunters. The mole crept ever nearer to the wall, and Macedonian captains, cruising around the city, gazed hungrily at the battlements.
The inhabitants understood that nothing but a miracle could save the city. They turned to their Gods. In ancient times they had never failed in the observance of their worship, but as they waxed strong and gained knowledge of the world, scepticism had found a lodgement in their hearts. The ceremonials had been neglected by many who either did not believe or had grown careless. The offerings diminished. More than once the sacrifice of the first-born to Baal-Moloch had been omitted. The worship of Astoreth, it is true, had been maintained; but it was clear that the Goddess was not powerful enough to rescue them. Baal was angry and must be propitiated.
Phradates became more and more downcast and sullen as misfortune gathered about the city. The cruelty that was a part of his Phœnician heritage rose to the surface. His slaves were lashed for the slightest fault, or even for no fault at all. Some of them he ordered put to death. Terror filled the great house, with its spacious rooms hung with embroideries, beautiful with paintings and statues, its rare glass, and its treasures of gold and of amber.
One evening, when a languid southern breeze stirred the silken curtains, the young Phœnician entered the apartments occupied by Artemisia and Thais. Artemisia sat by the window, gazing at the brilliant stars that seemed so near and yet so immeasurably far away. The two young women had been talking of Chares and Clearchus; but a silence had fallen between them. Thais lay on a couch of cedar, burying her fingers in the thick fur of a Persian cat, which purred with half-shut eyes under her caress.
Phradates threw himself into a chair in an attitude of weariness and dejection. Thais shot a glance at him and went on stroking the cat.
"Do you believe in the Gods?" the young man asked.
"Artemisia does," Thais replied lazily, with a tantalizing smile.
"Why?" Phradates demanded, turning to the younger sister.
Artemisia turned her eyes wonderingly upon his troubled face.
"I cannot tell you," she replied slowly, as though searching for a reason. "I have always believed in them and I have passed through many dangers unharmed. I think Artemis has protected me, for I love her. I have no fear, since I am in her hands."
"We do not worship her," Phradates said. "With us, the moon belongs to Astoreth, who is the same as your Aphrodite, and she has lost her power."
"Are you sure of that?" Thais asked.
The young man looked at her and his expression changed.
"I am sure of nothing," he said thickly.
"Except?" Thais suggested, looking into his eyes and leaning forward on her arm so that the necklace of pearls slid across her bosom, half revealed under the folds of her robe.
"Except that I love you!" he responded.
Thais fell back upon her cushions and began again to stroke the cat.
"You should not insult the Goddess," she said.
"By Melkarth, I think you are she!" Phradates cried.
"Perhaps," she admitted, smiling and nodding her head.
Phradates stared at her for a moment as though he half believed it, and then, rising abruptly, left the room. His brain seemed obscured. He could think of nothing but his love for her. The emotion that possessed him mastered every faculty, and even the approaching ruin of the city seemed trivial in comparison with it. Yet there was his oath!
At the door of his chamber he encountered Mena.
"Master, the council is sitting," the Egyptian said.
"What is that to me?" Phradates replied harshly.
"They have decided to offer sacrifice to Baal-Moloch," Mena continued, following him into the apartment.
"They should have thought of that before," said Phradates. "Where will they find children now fit for an offering? They have all been sent to Carthage. No wonder Moloch is angry."
"This has been considered by the council," Mena continued. "Esmun, the chief priest, has told them that there are still enough of the first-born left among the Jews, who, as you know, refused to send their families away."
"But the Jews will not give them as a willing sacrifice, and without that it will be of no avail," Phradates replied impatiently. "Why do you tell me all this?"
"The council intends to find means of forcing them to make the sacrifice willingly," Mena persisted; "but Esmun declares that this will not be enough to calm the God. Baal demands a virgin of noble birth to be given to him before he will aid the city."
Phradates laughed. "Where do they expect to find her?" he asked scornfully.
"She must be pure and beautiful," Mena continued. "It is announced that he who will bring such an offering will do the city a great service."
"What do you mean? Speak out, dog!" Phradates exclaimed, catching an undertone of significance in the Egyptian's voice.
"Thou hast such a maiden," the slave said hesitatingly.
"Thais!" the young man cried. "Never. The city may perish first! Have you dared to suggest this?"
He drew his dagger and made a step toward Mena, who cowered before him with hand uplifted.
"No, no; not Thais," he hastened to say. "Think, master, how could she meet the conditions? Not Thais!"
Phradates paused with the dagger still in his hand.
"Wait until you have heard me?" the slave continued, in a whining voice. "It was not Thais, but the Athenian maiden, who was in my thoughts."
"No!" Phradates thundered; "does not Thais love her as her own sister?"
"Consider for a moment," Mena urged insinuatingly, watching the young man's face with cunning eyes. "Hast thou not been generous toward these captives?"
"What of that?" the Tyrian asked.
"And they have betrayed thee by entrapping thee into an oath," Mena said. "I would not have thee break it; but what will not the Lady Astoreth grant to him who saves her shrine from pollution and destruction? She will release thee from thy vow."
He paused to note the effect of his words. Phradates remained silent and thoughtful.
"It is not for me, a slave, to tell thee what thou shouldst do," Mena went on, "but it has seemed to me that there has lately been a spell upon thy mind. Thou art not now what thou wast a month ago. What the cause is and what must be the cure, thou knowest; but thou art bound by thy oath."
Again he paused, but as Phradates showed no sign of resentment, he continued.
"Master, thou canst not win thy wager," he said. "Tyre is lost. It may be next week, and it may not be until next year; but the Macedonian is too deeply engaged here to withdraw. There is no hope excepting through the Gods alone, who might send a pestilence upon our enemies if they so willed it. Thou knowest that the battering rams are pounding upon the wall, and that they have already weakened it. On the southern side it cannot stand much longer unless something happens to put an end to the attack. Obtain release from thy vow before it is too late. Our time may be short."
Phradates shuddered and covered his face with his hands.
"I think Thais really loves thee," the Egyptian continued artfully. "It is the presence of the other that restrains her, because she is ashamed to show her love before her. If Artemisia were away, she would grieve, it is true, but she would recover. It is not needful that thou shouldst give her up. The priests take whom they will for sacrifice. Thou mightest even defend her, which would commend thee to Thais and earn her gratitude."
"Get thee gone!" Phradates shouted, suddenly springing to his feet.
Mena fled noiselessly down the stairs and out of the house. Once in the street, he clapped his hands together and laughed.
"I will show them what it is to insult Mena!" he cried.
He made his way through the narrow streets and across the canal to the southern part of the city, beyond the Temple of Baal. The slow and regular beat of the great rams, at work upon the massive wall, throbbed in the air. Mena plunged into a network of lanes, in which the houses had a meaner look than in the quarter he had left behind. He proceeded cautiously, halting from time to time as though he feared that he might be followed. Finally, under the shadow of the wall, he reached a low house within which lights were burning. He pushed open the door and entered. The room in which he found himself was filled with men, young and old, who sat at tables upon which stood flagons of red wine. Some of the company were engaged in earnest discussion across the tables. In one corner a sea captain was relating the strange adventures of a distant voyage. Elsewhere men exchanged jests and laughter over their wine. While the occupants of the room bore a general resemblance in feature to the Phœnicians, a glance was sufficient to show that they were not of Phœnician blood, and the language they spoke was Hebrew.
There was a momentary hush when Mena appeared, but apparently he was known, for the interrupted talk immediately flowed on again. A man of middle age, whose black, crisp beard was streaked with gray, came forward to welcome the Egyptian.
"Which wine will you have to-night?" he asked, conducting him to a table where already a younger man was sitting.
"The wine of Cyprus," Mena cried. "You are as gay here to-night, Simon, as though there were no such place in the world as Macedon."
Simon shrugged his shoulders. "Would our tears mend the walls?" he asked. "What is to be, will be."
He went to fetch the wine, and Mena turned to his companion at the table.
"Where have you been, Joel?" he asked. "I have not seen you for a week. One would say that you had been on shore, if it were possible to get there."
He directed his shrewd glance at the young man. Joel laughed, and his dark eyes rested upon those of the Egyptian. He had an easy distinction of manner, acquired at the court of Darius. After the escape of Nathan, Chares, and Clearchus, his company had marched with the Great King; but it had been detailed to help guard the women and the treasure left behind at Damascus while the army went on to destruction at Issus. After the defeat, he visited Jerusalem and then came to Tyre, where he had relatives.
"What would you give to know where I have been?" he demanded mockingly.
"Perhaps I know already," the cunning Egyptian replied. "Why is it that the Jews are so indifferent to the siege? Why do they expect to escape the sword or the slave-market when the walls fall? Tell me that."
Simon returned with the wine, which he set before Mena. While the Jews knew him to be a slave, they did not disdain to associate with him, because his influence over Phradates was so great that he was a bondman only in name. Besides, he had more than once given them information of value, and they were not accustomed to neglect any means of defence.
Joel paused and seemed to reflect before he answered.
"Perhaps it is because we are under the protection of Jehovah," he replied at last. "If He does not save us, nothing can."
"Bah!" Mena exclaimed. "Perhaps He can save your first-born from Baal-Moloch!"
"What do you mean?" Joel returned quickly.
"I thought you Jews knew everything," the Egyptian said. "Have you not heard what Esmun told the council? He has warned them that nothing but a sacrifice can save the city, and the council has authorized it. Where can they find children excepting here?"
"Is this true?" Joel demanded.
"It is true!" Mena declared.
Joel rose from the table and whispered to Simon, who ran to the chief priest. Messengers were sent to verify the news. They brought confirmation and the additional intelligence that the sacrifice would take place on the second day. Meantime Joel had returned to his place, where Mena, as usual, had begun to grow garrulous with his wine.
"You know those two Greek girls my fool of a master holds in his house?" he asked.
"What are they called—Thais and Artemisia? You told me of them," Joel responded. "What of them?"
"Thais promised to have me flayed alive," Mena remarked.
"Well?" the young Hebrew said.
"So I am going to have Artemisia included in the sacrifice to Moloch," the slave said coolly.
Joel started but instantly restrained himself.
"What has that to do with Thais' promise?" he asked.
"Thais loves her," Mena explained. "No doubt she will be glad to see her in Moloch's arms!"
"How did you manage it?" Joel inquired carelessly.
"Why, I told you of the oath that Thais got from Phradates," Mena said. "Well, I have convinced him that the only way in which he can win Thais and at the same time obtain release from his oath is by having Artemisia burned."
The Egyptian laughed at his own cleverness. Joel sat making rings on the table with the foot of his wine-glass.
"And what do you think?" Mena continued, recovering himself. "The fool threatened to stab me for it. But he'll do it, never fear. There is a long score between him and me. Unless I am mistaken, the time is at hand when we shall have the reckoning. There is one house in Tyre where the Macedonians, when they come, will get little plunder. Come then to Memphis, and you will find Mena, with slaves of his own—and I would not be surprised if Thais was among them. Flayed alive, indeed!"
"Let us have wine!" Joel cried, making an almost imperceptible sign to Simon that meant the substitution of a stronger vintage. The wine was brought, glowing like liquid amber in the flagon. In half an hour Mena was incoherently trying to explain that he knew the Jews were in correspondence with Alexander's camp, although he could not tell how, and begging Joel not to forget him when the city fell. A little longer, and two servants carried him to the house of Phradates.