As soon as he was rid of the Egyptian, Joel beckoned to Simon.
"I must go ashore to-night," he said. "The women are in danger, and if anything is to be done to save them, it must be done now."
"The moon is shining; it will be dangerous," Simon said doubtfully.
"That cannot be helped; I must go," the young man declared.
Simon made no further remonstrance. He took up a lamp and led the way down a flight of stone stairs to the cellar, where great amphoræ of wine, covered with dust and cobwebs, stood in the darkness. Picking his way between them, he advanced to the end of the cellar, where he gave the lamp to Joel while he rolled aside one of the jars. Then, with some difficulty, he raised the slab upon which it had stood, revealing a narrow opening in the floor and another flight of steps. Down these they passed to a small chamber hewn in the rock. Around its sides ran a stone platform not more than three feet in width, and the remainder of the floor space was occupied by a pool of water.
When the wall of the city was built, its base had been laid in such a manner as to bridge a natural fissure in the rock below the water line. Why this opening had been left, Simon did not know. Possibly it had been the intention of the architects to make it the outlet of a sewer. If so, the plan had been abandoned, but the opening had been allowed to remain.
Standing on the ledge of stone, Joel stripped off his clothing and removed his sandals. Simon took from a niche a small jar of oil and rubbed him with the contents from head to foot, at the same time instructing him how to proceed.
"When shall you return?" he asked.
"To-night, if I can," Joel replied. "If not, then to-morrow night in the third watch. Farewell!"
"Farewell!" Simon replied, stepping back and raising his lamp so that its light fell upon the pool.
Joel drew in a long breath, clasped his hands, and plunged head-foremost into the water. Simon placed the young man's clothing in the niche, put away the oil jar, and ascended to the first cellar. He did not close the opening in the floor, but arranged the amphoræ so as to conceal it, and returned to the room above.
The impetus of Joel's plunge carried him the length of the pool and into the fissure under the wall. He struck out vigorously, mindful of Simon's instructions, and knowing that if his breath should fail while he was below the masonry, nothing could save him. With the tips of his fingers he could feel the sides of the passage, and presently he became aware of a motion in the water caused by the underwash of the waves outside. His head seemed bursting, and there was a ringing in his ears. He felt that he must suffocate unless he could get air. He began to swim upward through the water, dreading each moment to feel his head strike the stones. What if the passage had been closed? None had passed through it for years, and the defenders of the city were constantly throwing down blocks of stone outside the walls. Something grazed his back. He threw his arms upward, but his hands found no obstruction. He had cleared the entrance.
He lay on the surface of the water filling his lungs again and again, and gazing up at the stars above the gray height of the wall against whose grim base the swell lazily washed. Half an hour later one of the watch on a quinquereme that lay off the mouth of the Egyptian Harbor to prevent the escape of any of the Tyrian vessels heard a voice under the stern and saw the white gleam of Joel's shoulders in the water.
There was no sound in the Macedonian camp save the monotonous cries of the sentinels when the young Israelite stepped from a small boat and climbed the southern slope of the mole. He looked back and saw Tyre, standing in the sea like an island raised upon cliffs of stone and crowned with a circle of light.
He made his way into the Old City, now hardly more than a bare ruin since houses and temples had been tumbled into the strait to lengthen the causeway. He had been provided with the pass-word, and with the assistance of the sentries he had little difficulty in finding the tent that he sought. He lifted the flap and entered. Inside he could hear the breathing of sleeping men, dominated by a tremendous snore that sounded as though it must come from the throat of a giant.
"Peace be unto thee!" Joel cried, stumbling over the legs of one of the sleepers.
"Thieves!" cried a stentorian voice, and the snoring suddenly ceased.
"It is I—Joel," the young man hastily announced.
"Joel!" exclaimed the voice of Nathan in the darkness. "How came you here?"
He slipped out of the tent and returned in a moment, blowing upon a brand from a smouldering camp-fire. With this he lighted an oil lamp that swung from the central pole of the tent. Then he threw his arms around the young man and embraced him heartily.
Joel saw Clearchus and the lazy bulk of Chares, who looked at him sleepily with his head propped on his elbow. There was another man in the tent whom he did not know—a man with firm shoulders and a square jaw, who stood glowering at him with a sword in his hand.
"Put it away, Leonidas," Clearchus said, laughing. "This is no Tyrian, but our little jailer in Babylon. How came you here?"
"I came from Tyre," Joel answered.
"From Tyre!" echoed Nathan and Clearchus. "How did you escape?"
"I swam under the wall," Joel said, "and I bring you bad news."
"Artemisia!" Clearchus cried. "Is she dead?"
"As yet she is unharmed," Joel replied.
"What is it, then? Speak!" Clearchus cried.
Joel repeated what Mena had told him.
"Is it possible to return by the way you came?" Clearchus demanded.
"It is possible for a good swimmer, but it is dangerous," Joel replied.
"I shall return with you at once," Clearchus announced, and began to belt on his sword.
"You are mad, Clearchus," Leonidas said, raising the flap of the tent. "Dawn is breaking. It would be broad daylight before you could reach the walls."
"I am going, nevertheless," Clearchus answered calmly, continuing his preparations.
"Do you think we are going to let you go alone?" Chares roared. "No, by Zeus; I am going, too! I have something I wish to say to Thais."
He proceeded to arm himself, adjusting with care a breastplate inlaid with gold.
"Wait!" cried Nathan. "I have a better plan. When does this sacrifice take place?"
"It was to be on the second day," Joel replied. "That will be to-morrow."
"Then we have another night before us," Nathan said. "Do you think my people in Tyre will surrender their first-born to Moloch? Not while Jehovah reigns will they do that, nor will Jehovah permit the sacrifice. It would be folly to think of entering the city now. We should be discovered, and all would be ruined. We can enter at nightfall, if need be, and my people will join us to save their own. Let us consult Alexander. It may be that he will order the attack and that Jehovah will give Tyre into his hands to-day. At any rate, if it is a question of dying, we can die to-morrow as well as now."
Leonidas nodded. "You are right," he said.
"Are you satisfied, Clearchus?" Chares asked.
"Let it be as you will," the Athenian responded.
Alexander listened to Joel's story and questioned him closely regarding the disposition of affairs in the city. He learned that supplies were running low and that already the garrison was on half rations. Joel assured him that the feeling of discouragement and despair was universal in the city.
"We will attack to-day," Alexander said to Clearchus, who stood waiting in a fever of anxiety. "If we can break the walls, Baal-Moloch will be cheated of his sacrifice, but Melkarth will have his fill."
The fleet put forth from both sides of the mole, the oars of the rowers flashing in the sun. The great towers on the end of the mole, which now extended to the wall of the city, were filled with men who showered arrows and javelins upon the garrison so as to protect the huge battering rams at work below. These engines consisted of heavy beams, one hundred feet long, ending in great rams' heads of bronze. They were suspended by chains from a framework that permitted them to swing freely. As many men as could grasp the short cords attached to the sides of a beam labored to keep it oscillating with a regular motion. With each downward swing, the bronze head, with its twisted horns, dashed against the wall. The impact ground the stones to powder, but the wall was so thick and so strongly built that its joints remained firm.
Alexander was reluctant to admit that the mole which he had constructed with so much expenditure of time and labor was useless, and he therefore kept the towers in action and the rams at work; but his real hope of taking the city now lay elsewhere. The wall on the seaward side, where no attack had been deemed possible, was less solid than toward the land. Tests made by floating rams had shown that a breach was practicable on the southwest and it was to this spot that the attack was directed.
The Cyprian ships hovered about the northern side of the city. Some threatened the mouth of the Sidonian Harbor, while others sent flights of arrows over the walls. The fortress was encircled by a menacing ring of vessels, which kept the attention of the garrison occupied, while Alexander prepared for the assault, which was to be made at a point where the masonry already showed cracks, and some of the stones had been pushed out of place.
Towed by quinqueremes, the floating forts that the Macedonians had built were brought slowly around to the southern wall. Some carried ballistæ and catapults and stores of darts and stones. Others had rams, scaling ladders, iron hooks, and siege implements of all kinds. All were provided with shields to protect the men from missiles from the walls.
One by one they swung into position and came to anchor. The catapults and ballistæ were placed two hundred yards from the wall, so as to afford space for the flight of their projectiles. The ships of war moved backward and forward, while the archers and slingers swept the towers and ramparts with a hissing hail of lead and steel.
Under cover of this protection, the rams and siege vessels pushed forward. Their crews made them fast to projections in the wall, and soon the regular throbbing crash of the rams was heard, pounding on the masonry. The vessels with the ladders and scaling implements lay waiting, with the bravest men in the army ready to spring to the assault as soon as a breach should be opened.
The July sun lay warm on the heaving sea, and the heat rose in shimmering waves from the wall. Around and within the city the shouting of men, the thudding of the rams, the creaking of the machines, and the crash of stones cast by the ballistæ filled the air.
The garrison brought its engines along the broad parapet within range of the ships, and hurled great blocks of stone at the besieging fleet. Several of the smaller vessels were sunk. Sometimes the stones met in the air and burst into fragments. The attack upon the wall was not relaxed. Finally a block was sufficiently exposed to permit the grappling-irons to be fastened to its inner angles. Strong ropes were attached to it and carried out to a quinquereme. The rowers bent to their work, and the ropes lifted, dripping, from the water. The block held fast for a moment, and then came out of its bed like a cork out of a bottle, rolling with a splash into the sea.
Amid the triumphant shouts of the Macedonians, a flatboat was pushed forward and a hundred men attacked the weakened wall with levers and bars of irons. Some of them were crushed by the rocks toppled down upon them from above, others were pierced by arrows; but when they withdrew, a wide cavity yawned where they had been, exposing the inner courses of masonry.
After them came the largest and heaviest of the rams. Under its tremendous blows the cavity deepened and widened until the wall above it began to tremble. It swayed, crumbled, and at last with a mighty roar it fell, burying the ram and half the men who had been working it under tons of broken stone. The Macedonians, gazing through the gap that was opened, saw the Temple of Baal-Moloch, with its dome and towers, rising gloomily among the cypress trees that surrounded it.
With one impulse, the vessels carrying the shield-bearing guards and the veterans of the Agema rushed in toward the breach. The soldiers leaped ashore. Order was impossible upon such an insecure footing as the tumbled blocks afforded. Every man clung where he could, advancing step by step, and protecting himself by holding his shield above his head.
The Tyrians from the ends of the broken wall and from the top of the slope where the gap had been made sent down flights of darts and arrows. In order to repel the storming party, they even loosened portions of the wall that still held firm and hurled them down upon the enemy.
Still the Macedonians pressed upward in the hope of winning the breach, and holding it until reinforcements could arrive. Ptolemy, son of Lagus, and Black Clitus fought in the foremost ranks. Beside them Leonidas plied his sword, and with him were Clearchus and Chares.
"Ho, comrades! Beware the stone!" the Theban shouted, as a loosened block rushed toward them down the slope.
Leonidas started aside, but his foot slipped and he fell to his knees. Chares caught his arm and dragged him away. The fragment grazed him as it hurtled past.
"Forward, men of Macedon!" Ptolemy cried. "Alexander is watching you."
A breathless cheer from the struggling ranks behind him told him that the soldiers were doing their best. The stones of the fallen wall, slippery with blood, rocked beneath their feet. Some of the men were caught in crevices between the blocks and their lives were crushed out, or they were held there until a javelin put an end to their misery. But those who escaped this peril pressed upward like wolves when the quarry is in sight. The exasperation of all the long months of the siege, the accumulation of countless insults, and the joy of the battle filled their hearts.
Leaping upon a swaying stone that raised him above the heads of his companions, Chares held his shield aloft to deflect the darts and arrows that fell upon it as thickly as the drops of a shower.
"Ohe!" he cried down the slope. "Come on! The victory is ours!"
Clearchus bounded up beside him, his face pale with eagerness, and stared into the city.
"Where is she? Where is she?" he cried, panting.
Chares laughed. "Did you expect she would be waiting for you at the top?" he asked. "You will have to wait until we get inside."
The Athenian gazed at the lofty buildings, whose walls were pierced by hundreds of windows. If he only knew where to look! From the housetops fluttered countless scarfs of yellow, blue, and red. Any one of them might be hers. He was bewildered.
The wall had fallen outward, leaving about twenty feet of its base standing on the side toward the city. Companies of Tyrian soldiers ran toward the breach. They placed ladders against the foot of the broken wall and scrambled up into the gap like a swarm of ants to meet the Macedonians. Ptolemy saw them coming and uttered a joyful cry.
"Here they are," he shouted. "Melkarth, take thy sacrifice of dogs!"
A conflict without quarter began on the crest of the gap. The Tyrians fought with desperation, knowing that if the enemy once gained a lodgement in the city they were lost. But in vain they hurled themselves upon the head of the column, where Ptolemy and Clitus, Chares and Clearchus, and a hundred more received them with the deadly upward thrust of their swords, against which no armor was proof. There was no longer room for the Tyrians in the breach. Those who had ascended last were forced back, leaping or falling in their armor, the weight of which broke their bones. Mingled with the living, the dead began to drop back through the breach. The shouts of the victors carried panic into the streets.
Tyre lay at the mercy of Macedon. Looking down into the city, Ptolemy saw the Tyrians hastily constructing barricades of furniture, casks, litters, and such material as they were able to drag quickly together.
"Do they think that will save them, now that we hold this?" he said to Clitus.
Clearchus leaned against a stone with great joy in his heart. Tyre had been won and Artemisia was saved. The sight of Moloch's dark temple no longer chilled his blood. Baal must look elsewhere for victims. The weary months of longing were at an end.
So desperate had been the struggle in the breach that the Macedonians had forgotten all else. It was not until the pause before the final charge into the city that they began to notice the rolling clouds of black smoke that were drawing together toward the gap along those portions of the wall that remained standing. It rose in dark masses against the sky, blotting out the sun as it spread seaward from the parapet. Under its gloomy canopy men were swarming in long processions upon the top of the wall toward the gap, bearing caldrons of iron and copper suspended from yokes across their shoulders.
"See! They are going to provide us with shade," Clitus said.
Ptolemy looked, and his expression changed to one of alarm.
"Pitch and bitumen!" he exclaimed. "The men will never be able to stand it!"
A caldron rolled down into the gap, followed by another and another, scattering their blazing contents as they came. Wherever the bitumen fell it continued to burn, giving out smoke in stifling volumes. In a few minutes the gap was obscured by suffocating clouds in which the Macedonians groped blindly. Every stone was covered with a coating of the blazing substances. Showers of molten lead and burning oil descended from the walls. The bitumen ate into the flesh of the soldiers. The lead and oil burned out their eyes. Many of them fled like living torches down the slope and plunged into the sea. The gap had become untenable.
Ptolemy saw that it would be impossible for reënforcements to reach him. He shook his sword at the city through the drifting smoke. "Another day!" he shouted, and, turning, plunged down the blazing path.
Clearchus stood dazed as he saw his comrades turn back.
"Come!" Chares shouted. "Do you want to be burned to death?"
"Cowards!" Clearchus cried, "why do you fly? Do you not see that Tyre is yours?"
He made a step toward the edge of the wall and would have leaped down into the city had not Chares caught him with an iron grasp.
"Leonidas!" cried the Theban.
"Here!" the voice of Leonidas replied, and he appeared through the smoke, smothering a patch of blazing pitch that had fallen upon his bare shoulder.
"Clearchus has gone crazy," Chares said. "Help me to carry him down."
"You shall not!" the Athenian cried. "Traitors! Set me free!"
Leonidas calmly twisted the sword out of his hand and threw it aside. They lifted him between them, despite his struggles. Suddenly his muscles relaxed and his head fell backward.
"That's right," Chares said. "He has fainted. We can carry him better so."
He threw the limp form over his shoulder and strode after Leonidas into the black curtain, which had become so dense that it was impossible for sight to penetrate it in any direction. Sulphur and pepper had been mixed in the caldrons, giving the smoke a pungent, choking quality. Stumbling over jagged blocks of stone, and tripping upon the bodies of the dead, Chares, with Clearchus in his arms, followed Leonidas through that vale of death. Blinded and gasping, they staggered to the edge of the water. They were the last to come alive out of the smoke. They were drawn upon one of the siege boats, and lay there until the unwieldy vessel was towed out into the clear sunshine and safety.
Prince Hur, son of Azemilcus, sat in his house, which opened from the courtyard of the palace. In figure he was undersized, like his father, with a delicate face and thin white hands, on one of which glittered a great ruby. Instead of the mocking smile that the king was accustomed to wear, his expression was grave and serious.
With him were Esmun, chief priest of Baal-Moloch, on whose fat countenance, with its pendulous jowls, sloth struggled with greed, and Ariston, the Athenian. Ariston's thin form was thinner and his face more worn than on the day when he watched his nephew, Clearchus, ride out of Athens, leaving him guardian of his fortune. He had made free use of this wealth, as he had planned, to save the remnants of his own; but mischance had continued to follow him in everything he attempted. So heavy were his losses that he rejoiced when he learned that Clearchus had been sent to Babylon a prisoner. The young man's return to the army filled him with despair. Involved as he was, only one hope remained. He would dispose of his great dye-works in Tyre, and the proceeds of the sale would enable him to make a last attempt to save himself. While he was in Tyre, he also would collect the loan that he had been forced to make to Phradates, and that the Phœnician had never repaid. If this plan failed, he would have to choose between death and the punishment that would be visited upon the betrayal of his trust. Therefore he had come to Tyre, and there, by a final stroke of misfortune, he had been imprisoned by the siege.
"I fear there is not much hope for us," Prince Hur said. "Even though we succeed in beating off these attacks, as we did to-day, sooner or later we shall starve."
"Hast thou, too, lost faith in the power of Baal?" Esmun asked, in a tone of reproof.
"I believe in him as much as you do yourself," the prince said.
"I may have deserved that reproach," the priest replied sadly. "To my shame, I confess it; but if I have allowed the name of Baal to be lightly spoken in my presence, it was not because I did not believe. I thought that he was able to defend himself, as indeed he is. I say to you now that I know his power. It has been shown over and over again. If it should please him to save Tyre in her extremity, he will do it. We shall know after the sacrifice."
"There will be no sacrifice," the prince said quietly.
Esmun stared at him open-mouthed, and Ariston started sharply. The Athenian was the first to recover himself.
"What does your Highness mean?" he asked. "Doubtless you speak in jest."
"I sent for you because I am in need of your advice," the prince continued gravely. "You are both men of the world and fitted to aid me with your counsel; but what I am about to tell you must not be repeated, even to yourselves. Do you swear to keep the secret, no matter what my decision may be?"
"We swear it," Ariston replied.
"And you?" the prince said to Esmun.
"By the head of Baal!" the priest declared.
"Azemilcus has resolved to deliver the city," the prince said, bending forward and speaking in a tone scarcely above a whisper.
For an instant both his hearers were silent. Ariston comprehended in a flash that surrender would mean his ruin, since it would involve the loss of his property. Esmun was too astonished to think.
"What will the king receive in return?" the Athenian inquired.
"His life," Hur replied. "He knows well that the city must be destroyed, and that his people will be sold into slavery."
Esmun groaned. He saw himself torn from his life of ease, Baal-Moloch's temple in ruins, and nothing left for him but years of servitude.
"How will the surrender be made?" Ariston asked.
"The king will order the fleets out of both harbors," the prince explained. "They will be destroyed, and care will be taken to leave the harbor entrances unguarded."
"Does Alexander know this?" Esmun demanded.
"Not yet," said the prince. "I am to go to him to-night with the chancellor to make him the offer."
"Then you have consented to it?" the priest said.
"I was not asked to consent," the prince replied bitterly. "You know that the king is not in the habit of consulting me."
"Yet he proposes to take your inheritance from you!" Esmun exclaimed. "If Baal intervenes, the city will be saved and you will be its king."
"Does the council know?" Ariston asked.
"It does not," Hur replied.
"There is only one course open to you," Esmun declared, roused as he had not been since the long struggle that ended in raising him above his rivals and placing him in a position that gave him almost as much power as the king himself. "Go with the chancellor, since to refuse now would arouse suspicion. Get proof of the king's treachery and lay it at once before the council and the generals. Azemilcus will be dealt with according to their will, and you will be made king in his stead. That you may leave to me if you can obtain the proof; but it must be strong."
"There would be no difficulty concerning the proof," the prince said doubtfully. "We are to bring Macedonians back with us to act as a guard for the king. They will be concealed in the palace so that they will be able to insure his safety when the city falls. Their presence will be proof enough."
"Would it not be better to lay the whole affair before the council now?" Ariston suggested.
"No," said Esmun decisively. "The king would deny everything. He would accuse Hur of seeking his throne, and he would be believed. We must have the proof."
"I do not like to raise my hand against my father," Hur said hesitatingly.
"Tyre is in danger," Esmun said solemnly. "It is your duty to save her if you can, and this duty comes before any tie of blood. It is I, chief servant of Baal, who tell you this."
"I shall not shrink," the prince responded, with sudden decision.
The sun was setting before the three completed the details of their plan. When Ariston left the prince, he was so wrapped in thought that he did not recognize the brutal face of Syphax, who passed him with three or four others of his own kind.
"Do you see that man?" the broken freebooter exclaimed, directing the attention of his companions to the retreating form. "I have a settlement to make with him. It was he who scattered my crew and brought me to what I am. I have sought him far, and now the Fates have given him to me. He shall pay the reckoning!"
Although they had been repulsed, the Macedonians returned to their camp, confident that Tyre could not much longer stand against them. Alexander ordered the sacrifice of a black bull to Phœbus. After a careful examination of the entrails, Aristander, the soothsayer, sought the king and spoke to him in private.
"Tyre will fall before the month ends," he said. "Phœbus has promised it."
"But the month will end to-morrow," Alexander replied, in astonishment.
"Nevertheless, there can be no doubt," Aristander declared. "To-morrow thou wilt be in possession of the city."
"Let us see what the army thinks," the king returned.
The news soon spread through the camp. Some of the soldiers rejoiced as though the promise had already been fulfilled, while others refused to believe, declaring that the thing was impossible. In order to save the God from discredit, Alexander issued a proclamation extending the month three days beyond its accustomed term. With this the army was satisfied.
Clearchus gave way to an agony of disappointment when he regained consciousness to find himself on the siege boat with the walls of Tyre receding from him. Chares and Leonidas were obliged at first to prevent him by force from throwing himself into the sea. It was only when the Theban reminded him that it was still possible for them to enter the city that he became calmer. He was for seeking the passage through which Joel had emerged as soon as day ended, but the young Israelite convinced him that such an attempt would surely be frustrated. The breach in the wall was only a short distance from the passage and workmen would be engaged there, to say nothing of the guard that would certainly be established. He consented finally to yield to his friends and await the third watch of the night. This delay would permit them to get a few hours of rest.
The sun went down in flaming glory, casting the long shadow of the Tyrian walls across the Macedonian camp. The thin smoke of a thousand fires rose lazily in the quiet The soldiers ceased to recount their escapes in the dreadful breach and stretched themselves on the ground. Only in Alexander's tent a light continued to glow.
In the middle of the second watch, a small boat crept in from the purple shadows of the sea and grated on the sand. Two men stepped out and turned their faces toward the camp. By their features and dress they were Phœnicians. Of the first sentinel they met, they demanded to be led to Alexander, and the reasons they gave caused the captain of the guard to grant their request.
The captain emerged from the king's tent at the end of half an hour and hurried away in the darkness. He brought back with him Clearchus, Chares, Leonidas, Nathan, and Joel. The Theban was rubbing his eyes and yawning over his interrupted slumbers.
"What is all this about?" he grumbled. "Have we not done enough for one day? I wish this cursed city was in the bottom of the sea!"
"It is by the king's order," the captain reminded him.
They found Alexander stretched upon his couch and the two Phœnicians seated before him. From the expression of the king's eyes as they sought his, Clearchus knew that something of moment was in his mind, and his pale face brightened.
One of the strangers was Prince Hur, son of King Azemilcus. The young man seemed ill at ease, and his fingers played constantly with the golden chain that he wore as a member of the council. His companion was older and more composed. His lips were thin and his eyes were keen and penetrating.
"Comrades," Alexander said, using the term that endeared him to every soldier in his army, "I have a dangerous service to ask of you. King Azemilcus has dreamed that his city is about to fall, and we know that his dream is true. He has sent his son and his chancellor to us to ask his life, and it has been granted to him. But many things may happen when the blood is hot with fighting, and it is necessary that Macedonians be with him when we enter. Therefore I wish you to go to him and guard him when the time arrives. You may conduct him to the Temple of Melkarth, which will be set aside as a sanctuary.
"It has been promised that you shall pass unharmed into the city and remain there in the palace until I come. If this promise is not kept, Azemilcus and all his family are to be crucified upon the walls as a warning to those who may wish to break faith with Alexander."
The young king looked keenly at the Phœnicians. The prince lowered his eyes and moved uneasily.
"There is one thing more," Alexander continued. "If any of you have friends in the city whom you desire to protect, it is made a condition of the safety of Azemilcus that he shall aid you by every means in his power."
He glanced meaningly at Clearchus as he uttered these words, and the young man's heart bounded with renewed hope.
They left the tent in silence. The captain of the guard accompanied them to the boat.
"Azemilcus is betraying his city," Chares whispered.
"We shall save Artemisia and rescue Thais," Clearchus replied, gripping the arm of his friend.
They entered the boat and rowed silently to the Egyptian Harbor. The towering height of the wall swallowed the little craft in its shadow and no sentinel challenged them. They bent their heads as they glided under the great guard-chains that stretched across the entrance of the harbor, and threading their way among the shipping, they reached the landing and disembarked.
Keeping to the left, the chancellor led them toward the palace. More than once they were forced to step aside to avoid the heaps of ruins that told of the work done by the ballistæ. As they advanced, the great bulk of the palace rose before them above the wall, to which it was joined and of which it formed a part. As they advanced, the chancellor was careful to keep in the deepest shadow, and his hand shook as he fitted the key into a small door in the palace wall.
"We are safe!" he said to the prince as the door closed behind them.
"Very well," the young man replied, yawning; "I am going to bed."
He turned abruptly into a lateral passage and disappeared. The chancellor seemed in doubt for a moment whether to call him back, but he decided to let him go.
"Follow me," he said to the Macedonians.
They groped their way upward after him along a winding stair that seemed to be built into the city wall. This slow progress continued for many minutes without a glimmer of light until they reached what appeared to be a windowless chamber. There the chancellor left them, bidding them wait until he had notified the king of their arrival.
He was absent so long that Leonidas began to grow uneasy. He found the chamber destitute of furniture and without doors save that by which they had entered and that by which the chancellor had left them. Both were now secured. This had been accomplished without attracting their attention and it added to their uneasiness.
"We are like owls in a cage," Nathan said. "We can do nothing but wait."
"I do not like it," Leonidas replied.
"Nonsense," Chares remarked. "They brought us here for a purpose and we are of more use to them alive than dead. Do you suppose that Azemilcus is anxious to be crucified?"
"Perhaps not," the Spartan replied, "but it maybe that he has changed his mind. If he does not send for us soon, I think we had better try the door."
Clearchus said nothing, but he paced impatiently back and forth across the narrow room, pausing at every sound. The night was passing and the hour for the sacrifice to Moloch was drawing nearer. Shut up in the palace, they would be powerless to save Artemisia. The moments seemed hours to him. At last he could bear the suspense no longer.
"We should never have permitted the chancellor to leave us!" he said, and, striding to the door, he began to beat upon it with the hilt of his sword until the metal of which it was composed rang like a bell.
There was no response. The others joined him, raising a tumult loud enough to be heard throughout the palace, but even then some time elapsed before the bars were removed and the door swung open. The chancellor had returned alone, his face white and scared in the flickering light of the lamp that he had set upon the stone floor while he worked at the bars.
"Silence, or we are all lost!" he whispered imploringly, taking up the lamp with a hand that trembled so that the oil spilled upon the floor. "Do you want to invite death?"
"Don't talk to us of silence!" bellowed Chares, threatening the old man with his sword. "What do you mean by shutting us up here? You have yet to learn that it is not wise to keep the soldiers of Alexander waiting. Take us to your king."
"Yes, yes!" muttered the chancellor with chattering teeth. "Follow me; but in the name of Baal keep silence! I fear they have heard you already."
"Little I care if they have, whoever they are," the Theban exclaimed, stalking after the chancellor, sword in hand. "If you try any more of your tricks, your head goes off like a chicken's."
They made several turns in the passage, ascended a last short flight of steps, and came to a second door, which their guide pushed open. They followed him into a large room, hung with woven tapestries, carpeted with silken rugs, and strewn with luxurious divans. It was on the southern side of the palace, with windows that looked out across the wall toward the sea. The light of the lamps was already yielding to the gray dawn which silvered the surface of the water.
With his back to the window stood Azemilcus, king of the doomed city. His thin white hair straggled from under a close-fitting cap to the diamond collar which encircled his wrinkled throat. A gorgeous robe of crimson hid his shrunken figure. He looked old and feeble, but his eyes were as bright as jewels set in the head of a mummy.
"Welcome, gentlemen!" he said quietly, stretching forth a wasted hand toward Chares, who was striding toward him with anger in his face. "I must ask your pardon for your detention; but we are prisoners here, like yourselves."
Astonishment halted the Theban, who stood staring at the king as though he had not heard aright. Clearchus stepped forward.
"What do you mean? Who has made you a prisoner?" he asked sharply.
The small king smiled with irony on his lips.
"I fear it can be only the prince, my son," he replied.
"The same one who helped to bring us here and who left us as soon as we entered the palace?" Clearchus demanded.
"Yes," Azemilcus answered, crossing his hands and hiding them in the wide sleeves of his robe. "He is not sharp-witted, my son; and it turns out that he still has hopes of saving Tyre so that he may reign here in my place. You see what they have been doing."
He stepped back and waved his hand toward the window. Beneath them was the breach that had been so desperately attacked and defended. The Tyrians had raised a new wall, nearly as thick and as high as the city wall itself. It formed a half-circle inside the gap, joining the main wall at either end, so that an attacking force, seeking to storm the breach, would be caught as in the bend of a bow. Swarms of men were still at work there by the light of torches.
The Athenian's heart sank. It seemed to him impossible that after the defeat of the preceding day, a second attack could succeed when the breach had been repaired. They were inside the city, it was true, but they were only five against forty thousand.
For a moment there was silence in the room. The bitter smile still rested on the thin lips of the old king. The chancellor stood nervously rubbing his knuckles, first with one hand and then with the other. Leonidas examined the wall and the new work with an eye that took in every detail. He turned to the king.
"You know that if you try to deceive us, we will kill you," he said quietly.
"Well?" the king replied, still with his thin smile.
"You say that it is your son who has shut you up," Leonidas continued. "Why do you think so?"
"Because he alone, besides this man, knew that I had summoned you," the king said.
Leonidas looked at the chancellor, whose ashen face grew a shade paler under his scrutiny.
"You were about to betray your city and your son has betrayed you," the Spartan said.
"That is a harsh way to put it," Azemilcus answered. "The city was lost already."
"Is it lost now?" Leonidas demanded, pointing to the new wall.
"Yes," said the old king. "To-day, to-morrow, next month, it will fall. The Gods have deserted us. The boy told me they would."
"It is not surprising that the Gods have deserted you," the Spartan observed. "But your son, who has conspired against you, knows that we are here."
"Yes," the king admitted.
"And you kept us shut up while you were considering whether there was not some way of getting rid of us so that we might not be found and used as proof of your treachery," Leonidas continued. "You were ready to sacrifice us, who had come to save you, so that you might prove your son a liar and defeat his attempt."
Azemilcus made no reply, but the smile left his lips and he glanced furtively from side to side. Chares muttered some words in his throat that sounded like a curse.
"You are speaking to a king," Azemilcus said at last, drawing himself up with an assumption of dignity and trying to meet the eyes of his questioner.
"I am speaking to a fool!" Leonidas replied contemptuously. "In order to profit by his double perfidy, your son must have proof against you. Who will believe him unless we are found? It will be his first care to produce us, and if he can do this, there will be no hope left for you. Every moment that you kept us behind that door brought you nearer to death."
He paused, and Azemilcus made no reply; but his smile came back and his eyes wandered toward a table where a great flagon of wine had been set.
"There may yet be time to save ourselves and you," Leonidas continued. "If you can get rid of us for the present, you will have nothing to fear. You can deny your son's story and it will be attributed to a clumsy plot to overthrow you. Is there no way out of the palace that is not guarded?"
"None that I know," the king replied.
The chancellor uttered a clucking sound in his throat that seemed involuntary. Leonidas gripped him by the shoulder.
"Do you know a way?" he cried. "Speak quickly."
The chancellor went down on his knees and raised his hands in supplication.
"Mercy!" he wailed. "Mercy! I know—I have heard of a way!"
"Where does it lead?" Leonidas demanded fiercely.
"To the Temple of our Lord, Baal-Moloch," the old man whimpered.
King Azemilcus looked at his chancellor with his keen eyes and sarcastic smile.
"Now I understand many things," he remarked dryly.
"Oh, my master, I took them!" the chancellor cried, with tears rolling down his cheeks. "Esmun made me do it. He said Moloch demanded them."
"My rubies," the king said musingly. "Well, never mind. We will talk of them hereafter."
"What is one piece of treachery, more or less, to you?" Leonidas said roughly. "Remain here. Should you escape your son, we will seek you, if we can, when those come whom you cannot escape. If we do not return, fly to the Temple of Melkarth and embrace his knees that you may be spared. Farewell!"
He dragged the chancellor to his feet. The man was shaking so that he could hardly stand. Below them in the palace they could hear the tramp of ascending footsteps and the sound of voices.
"They are coming; we cannot remain here," Nathan cried.
Leonidas snatched up the flagon of wine and hastily filled a golden cup that he offered to the chancellor.
"Drink this," he said. "It will give you strength."
Instead of taking the cup, the chancellor uttered a choking cry and pushed it from him.
"Not that!" he gasped. "See, I am strong! I will lead you!"
He seemed indeed to have recovered from his weakness, for he stepped briskly toward the door by which they had entered. Leonidas looked at him and then at the wine spilled upon the floor.
"Poisoned!" he exclaimed, and such a blaze of wrath gleamed in his eye that the old king shrank back.
"So this was your plan for getting rid of us!" the Spartan said.
His grasp tightened about the hilt of his sword, and for an instant he hesitated; but the tramp of the soldiers was close at hand and he reflected that a dead king could not betray Tyre. He sheathed his sword and darted into the passage after his companions. Azemilcus made fast the door behind them and let the draperies fall over it. Then he turned with his mocking smile to face his accusers.