Leonidas and Eresthenes stood in the portico of the temple awaiting the return of Clearchus.
"All is well!" the young man cried, throwing his arms around Leonidas in the excess of his joy.
"Shall we find her?" the Spartan asked anxiously.
"Yes; the God has promised it," Clearchus replied.
"Where is she?" Leonidas asked quickly.
Clearchus hesitated and his face fell. The oracle had not told him where she was.
"What did the God mean when he spoke of the Whirlwind's track?" he asked, turning to the priests.
"We know no more than thou," Agias replied. "The answer given to thee is more definite than any we have had in these later times. That is a good omen. Be content and doubtless the God will choose his own way to make all clear to thee."
Clearchus was troubled, but he thanked the priests and arranged for the bestowal of an offering of ten talents of gold. He was about to take his leave when a man with mud-stained garments came running up the steep incline to the temple. He was one of the agents or messengers that the priests maintained in every large city of Greece to keep them informed of events. The knowledge which they brought, added to that which came with visitors to the oracle from all parts of the world, made Delphi the centre of intelligence and enabled the servants of the God, if need there was, to supplement his answers from their own understanding.
The man halted breathless before the white-clad group that stood in the sunlight between the columns awaiting him.
"It is Cimon," Agias said. "What news dost thou bring—speak!"
"Alexander is before the walls of Thebes with his army!" the messenger panted.
"Whence came he?" Agias demanded.
"Out of the mountains of Thessaly—like a whirlwind!" Cimon replied. "Before men had time to learn of his approach, he was there."
"Like a whirlwind, you say?" Agias repeated, glancing at Clearchus.
"Like a whirlwind, indeed," the messenger replied, "and panic holds the city!"
"Thy question is answered, my son," said Agias, quietly.
Clearchus was amazed. He had believed that the words of the Pythia were to be taken in their literal sense, and he had resolved to consult Aristotle in the matter on his return to Athens. But when Agias called his attention to the reply of the messenger, who could have had no knowledge of the prophecy, he could not doubt that a metaphor had been intended. The plans of the young Macedonian monarch at once acquired a new and intense interest in his mind and he listened eagerly to Cimon's story.
"The Thebans are divided," said the messenger. "They know not whether to surrender their city and earn their pardon, or to give defiance to the young king. The last they had heard of him was that he had been slain in battle at Pelium by the blow of a club. You know already that the citizens rose when Phœnix and Prothytes came back from Athens and that they besieged the Macedonian garrison in the Cadmea. Athens sent money and promised an army. The Bœotarchs ordered the walls to be made strong and a barricade to be built inside so that even if the walls should fall, they would still be able to defend themselves. Fugitives from Onchestris brought the first news that Alexander and his army were there. Even then the city would not believe it was the Hegemon himself, but maintained that it must be Antipater or the Lyncestian namesake of the king. For how, they asked, could the dead come to life?"
"Nothing is beyond the power of the Gods," Agias said sententiously.
"We expected a swift attack," Cimon continued, "but it was not until the next day that the army came within sight of the city and encamped north of the walls. The Thebans sent their cavalry and light troops to meet them. This was only a skirmish, but the soldiers brought word that Alexander, indeed, was there. Some of them who knew him had seen him directing the Macedonian troops.
"We found this to be true when the Macedonians moved their camp around to the main gate. The soldiers of the garrison in the Cadmea recognized their king and cried out to us that Alexander had come to avenge them. Still he did not attack, but sent a herald to say that he would forgive all that had been done if the city would yield itself and send him Phœnix and Prothytes to be punished."
"And what was the answer?" Agias asked.
"There were many who favored accepting the terms," Cimon replied, "especially since aid from Athens had been cut off; but the exiles who had returned to raise the revolt declared that the king was afraid. Should he have the boldness to attack the walls, they promised that he would be beaten and that Thebes would send a garrison to Pella instead of having one in the Cadmea."
"They are desperate men," the old priest said.
"But they won the people," Cimon replied, "and it was resolved to fight. So matters stood when I slipped out of the northern gate last night to bring you word."
"You have done well, Cimon," Agias said. "Dost thou think the city will escape?"
"That I cannot tell," the messenger answered. "It has corn enough for a siege; but Alexander's army contains thirty thousand footmen and a troop of horse, besides ballistæ and battering-rams which they were setting up when I left."
"The walls are strong," Agias said, reflecting. "Well, go to thy rest. Thou hast need of it."
Clearchus and his friends had enough to talk about as they walked down from the temple.
"One thing is certain," said the young Athenian. "We must go at once to Thebes."
"That we must do if only to see the fighting," Leonidas replied.
"What if the Dragon's Teeth should win?" Eresthenes suggested.
"They cannot," Leonidas said. "The man who could make the march that Alexander made is a general as well as a king. There is no Epaminondas in Thebes now."
"What will become of Chares' mother and his family if the city falls?" Clearchus exclaimed, stopping short.
"Have I not heard him say that his father formed a guest-friendship with Philip when the Macedonian was left in Thebes as a hostage?" Leonidas replied.
"Yes," Clearchus admitted, "but that may be forgotten by his son if all they say concerning Philip's death be true."
"Then we must remind him," Leonidas said, "and that is another reason why we must go to Thebes."
Eresthenes gave the young men a cordial good-speed when they left him in the morning to set out for the beleaguered city. They descended from the mountains and entered the fertile plains of Bœotia, through which they rode all day without finding a sign of war. The farmers went about their work and the shepherds were pasturing their flocks as peacefully as though there were no such things as armies and slaughter. More than once they stopped to ask news of the siege, but the people of the plain could tell them nothing. Many of them had not heard that Alexander was before the city; others had indeed heard the rumor, but convinced that they themselves were safe, they took no interest in it.
Evening was drawing on and they had approached to within a few miles of the city when they met a rider whose horse was dripping with sweat.
"Ho, there; what news of Thebes?" Leonidas shouted as he passed.
The man looked at them, but made no answer. He bent low on the neck of his horse and his cloak flew out behind him like the wings of a huge bird.
"There has been a battle," Leonidas said. "Was he Theban or Macedonian?"
Burning with impatience, they urged their horses to the crest of a low hill, where they came suddenly upon half a dozen cavalrymen, who had halted in a small grove to bind up a wound which one of their number had received in the shoulder.
"What has happened?" Leonidas asked, drawing rein beside them.
"Know you not that the city has fallen?" one of the soldiers replied. "The accursed Macedonians forced us in through the gates and came in with us. Not a soul is left alive in Thebes, and my wife and children were there!"
"And that is where you should be," the Spartan replied contemptuously.
The poor fellow burst into tears at this reproach as he thought of the fate of his little family. Clearchus, touched by his grief, drew out his purse and gave it to him.
"If they are still living, this may aid you to ransom them," he said.
As the two friends proceeded they now began to meet other bands of fugitives straggling along the road. Most of them fled silently, often looking back over their shoulders as if in dread of pursuit.
"Cowards!" said Leonidas, scornfully.
"Life is sweet to all of us," Clearchus remonstrated, thinking of Artemisia.
"To such as these it should be bitter!" the Spartan replied.
They were rounding a turn in the road as he spoke, and before the words were well out of his mouth they found themselves entangled in a rabble of horsemen, who were retreating before a fierce attack.
"In here, quickly!" Leonidas cried, urging his horse back among the trees beside the road.
They had barely time to gain this shelter before the rush of plunging horses and shouting men went past them. The Thebans were evidently making a desperate attempt to rally, and just beyond the spot where the two were concealed they halted, wheeled, and stood at bay.
But before they had accomplished this manœuvre the foremost of the pursuers, headed by a young man riding a powerful chestnut horse, swept into sight. The leader, in his excitement, had distanced his troop. Clearchus and Leonidas, who, from their position in the elbow of the road, were able to see in both directions, realized that he was galloping straight into an ambush. Leonidas started forward to warn him, but it was too late. The Thebans had regained their order, and with a wild shout they charged back around the curve.
Either the unexpectedness of the onset caused the chestnut to swerve, or his rider tried to pull him up too suddenly, for he stumbled and went to his knees. The young man was pitched headforemost into the underbrush and fell almost at the feet of Leonidas.
Some of the Theban troopers saw the accident and rushed upon him with cries of triumph. They were confronted by Leonidas and Clearchus, who stood over the prostrate figure with drawn swords. Surprise caused the Thebans to hesitate, and this saved the lives of all three; for the Macedonian riders, thundering down upon the Thebans at full speed, struck them and tore them to pieces. Horse and man went down before that fierce charge, which left nothing behind excepting the dead and a handful of wounded, whose cries for mercy were cut short by a sword-thrust. The survivors fled without looking behind them.
"Where is Ptolemy?" shouted one of the Macedonians, a bearded man who seemed to be second in command. "Who has seen the captain?"
"He rode in advance," one of the troopers replied.
"If we do not bring him back, we shall have to answer for it to the king, and you know what that means," the first man said.
"He is here!" Clearchus called from the thicket.
The bearded lieutenant and several others hastily dismounted and carried their captain out into the road. He was still unconscious.
"Who are you?" the lieutenant demanded gruffly, looking at the two young men with suspicion.
"I am Clearchus of Athens, and this is Leonidas of Sparta," Clearchus replied.
"Of Athens!" the man said sneeringly. "Go back to your city and tell the cowards who live there that we are coming!"
"As you came once before—with Xerxes!" the young Athenian answered quickly.
The lieutenant's face grew livid and he whipped out his sword.
"Cut their throats! Kill them!" the troopers cried angrily, pressing closer.
Like a flash, Leonidas bestrode the form of the captain, sword in hand.
"I am of Sparta!" he cried boastfully. "My country never saw the face of Philip, nor shall it look upon that of his son, who calls himself the Hegemon of all Hellas. Put away your swords, or here is one whose funeral you will celebrate to-morrow!"
He placed the point of his blade at the captain's throat as he spoke. The men of Macedon dared not move.
"Listen to reason!" Clearchus said hastily. "We are without armor, as you see. We saved the life of your captain, and we are on our way to Thebes to see Alexander on matters of importance. Take us with you and let your king deal with us. This is no time nor place for brawling."
"You are right," the lieutenant said sullenly. "Let it be as you say."
He sheathed his sword, and the others followed his example, though with an ill grace. The captain had begun to recover his senses. His skull must have been tough to have resisted the shock of his fall without cracking.
"Why are you letting me lie here?" he demanded. "Where is the enemy?"
"Scattered and gone, excepting these that you see," the lieutenant replied, pointing to the bodies.
"Then get me on a horse and back to camp," the captain ordered.
As they rode the lieutenant explained the presence of Clearchus and Leonidas. The captain frankly gave them thanks when he learned that they had protected him while he lay helpless.
"I am Ptolemy," he said, "and since you desire to see Alexander, I will take you to him. I owe you much and the day may come when I shall be able to repay you."
The plain where once the sons of Niobe lay weltering had borne its last harvest of slaughter. On every side Leonidas and Clearchus noted the ghastly evidences of battle. Darkness fell before Ptolemy's troop reached the shattered gates of Thebes. Men with torches in their hands wandered through the streets strewn with corpses, seeking plunder among the dead or searching for the bodies of friends. Neither sex nor age had been spared when Perdiccas hewed his way into the city. The very altars of the Gods were crimsoned with the vengeance taken by the Phocians, the Platæans, and the Bœotians for the centuries of cruel oppression that they had suffered from the rapacious brood of the Dragon.
Mothers lay dabbled in blood, with their infants beside them, struck down in flight. The market-place was heaped with bodies, showing how desperate had been the final stand of the Theban soldiers. The streets were littered with household gear that had been dragged in wantonness from despoiled homes.
The plundering was not yet finished. Bands of soldiers were still searching for booty in the remoter quarters of the city, where their progress could be traced by the sound of their drunken laughter, mingled with the screams of their victims.
Macedonian guards paced the walls and cut off all hope of escape. The wretched inhabitants, driven into the highways, sought concealment in dark angles and narrow lanes, cowering in silence.
Here and there a woman, rendered desperate by her anguish, walked with dishevelled hair, heedless of insult, seeking her children among the slain in the hope that she might find them still alive.
Clearchus felt his heart grow faint at the thought that Artemisia might be exposed to the frightful chances of such a sack. Phœbus himself, he thought, might be unable to protect her, since here the temples of the Gods had been profaned. An old man in priestly robes stood out before them with trembling hands upraised.
"Vengeance, O Zeus!" he cried aloud. "Vengeance upon those who have violated the sanctuary of Dionysus, thy son! May they—"
"Silence, Graybeard!" growled a soldier, striking him across the mouth with his fist.
The old man reeled from the blow and shrank away into the shadow.
"You'll choke if you ever try to drink wine again, Glaucis!" a comrade cried, laughing.
"Dionysus will forgive me soon enough for a sacrifice," Glaucis returned. "Never fear!"
Ptolemy learned that Alexander had gone to the Cadmea and thither he led Clearchus and Leonidas after he had dismissed his men, eager to take their share in the pillage. They found the young king in a large, bare room in the lower part of the citadel. He had not yet laid aside his armor, which was dented and scratched by use.
When they entered, he was giving orders to his captains, who stood grouped about him. Clearchus looked at him with eager interest. He saw a well-proportioned, athletic figure, no taller than his own. The handsome beardless face glowed with the warm blood of youth and a smile parted the full red lips. There was no trace of fatigue in the young king's attitude, despite the labors of the day, and his movements were alert and decisive. He looked even more youthful than his twenty-one years as he stood among his leaders, some of whom were veterans of Philip's campaigns, grizzled with service. But in spite of his youth, there was a confidence in his bearing that left no doubt of who was master.
Clearchus felt himself strangely drawn to the young man whom all Hellas, with the exception of Sparta, acknowledged as its champion, and who was about to assail that great power beyond the Hellespont, whose limits were unknown and before whom Greece had stood in dread since the days of Great Cyrus. The Athenian found the "boy king" very different from the arrogant, mean-spirited upstart that the orators of his city had painted him.
"Stop the plundering," Alexander said to his captains. "Even the Bœotians must be satisfied by this time. Let the men go back to the camp, and see that order is maintained. The Ætolians and the Elæans are on the march and reënforcements are coming from Athens. There may be more work to do to-morrow."
As the officers left him to execute his commands, Alexander turned to Ptolemy with hands outstretched.
"I am glad to see you safe!" he said. "You charged bravely before the gate, and I feared that something might have happened that would deprive me of your aid when we march into Persia."
Ptolemy's bronzed face reddened with pleasure as he heard the praise of the young king.
"I went in pursuit of the enemy's cavalry," he said.
"Is it likely that any of those who escaped will be able to rally?" Alexander asked.
"They are scattered in every direction and think only of flight," Ptolemy replied.
"That is well," Alexander said. "We shall be the better able to deal with the others when they come. Who are these that you have brought to me?"
He turned toward the two young men, who had been standing at a little distance, and looked them frankly in the eyes.
"This is Clearchus, an Athenian, and this, Leonidas of Sparta," Ptolemy replied, presenting them in turn.
Alexander's face clouded at the names of the two most powerful of the states that opposed him in Greece, and Ptolemy hastened to add: "They saved my life when my horse stumbled in the pursuit, and they have a request to make of you."
"You have done me a great service," Alexander said kindly. "What is it that you desire?"
"We ask clemency for the family of Jason, on behalf of Chares, his son, whom we left behind in Athens," Clearchus replied.
"And why is he not in Thebes?" Alexander asked quickly.
"Because he did not know that you were coming," Clearchus said. "Had he been aware of the danger, he would not have been absent. We heard of your arrival while we were in Delphi, and we made all haste to remind you that Jason was a guest-friend of your father, Philip."
"Orders have been given that the guest-friends of Macedon shall be spared, both in their lives and their property," Alexander replied. "What did you in Delphi?"
Clearchus told him briefly how Artemisia had been stolen and of the response of the oracle.
"Love must be a strong passion," the young king said thoughtfully.
"I would give all that I possess to recover Artemisia," Clearchus replied. "Nor would I be willing to exchange my hope of finding her for the wisdom of Aristotle or even for the hopes of Alexander."
"So you know Aristotle," Alexander said. "He is a wonderful man. Were I not Alexander, I would envy him." He looked curiously at Clearchus as he spoke, as though he were considering something that he did not understand. "So that is what they call love," he continued, "and I and my army are the Whirlwind of which the God spoke." He beckoned to an attendant. "Call Aristander!" he said.
He made Clearchus repeat his story to the famous soothsayer. Aristander listened attentively, stroking his chin with the tips of his fingers as his custom was.
"What do you think of it?" Alexander asked, when Clearchus had finished. Everybody knew the confidence that he placed in the words of the prophet and that he never took an important step against his advice.
"Full credit must be given to the oracle," Aristander said, turning his blue eyes upon the young king, "and I think that the priests of the temple were right in their interpretation, since the message brought and the title given could have had no other meaning. As the maid was carried away by sea, she was probably taken to some island or to one of the cities on the coast of Asia. The Whirlwind's track must needs lead thither, and since the maid is to be set free, it is clear that the Whirlwind shall prevail."
"Then the oracle is propitious!" Alexander exclaimed. "What is your plan?" he added to Clearchus.
"I shall obey the oracle and follow in thy track," the Athenian replied. "If thou wilt permit me, I myself will become a part of the Whirlwind."
Alexander looked at him with the unquenchable fire of enthusiasm in his eyes.
"Thou art welcome!" he said. "And you, my friend of stubborn Sparta?" he continued to Leonidas.
"I go with Clearchus," the Spartan responded briefly.
"You shall be of my Companions," Alexander cried, placing his hand upon a shoulder of each. "The world grows old and we have been wasting our strength in foolish quarrels with each other while the tiger has been lying there across the water, waiting to devour us. We shall show him that the spirit of Hellas still lives, although Troy has fallen, and we will do deeds that shall be sung by some new Homer as worthy too of a place beside those of Achilles and Ajax and Agamemnon. Yes, and we will bring back a fleece more precious than that which the Argonauts sought. I promise you that the Whirlwind's track shall be long enough and broad enough to lead you to your heart's desire, whatever it may be. Ptolemy, I count these men among my friends and I give them into your charge."
Clearchus and Leonidas felt their hearts swell at the young king's words and his lofty generosity, but before they could thank him, they were interrupted by a commotion at the door.
"Out of the way! I will see him! I care not how late it is," an angry voice exclaimed.
"It is Chares, son of Jason," Clearchus said. "How comes he here?"
Alexander quietly signed to the guard, and the Theban strode into the room, clad in armor that clashed noisily as he walked. He looked neither to the right nor left, but went straight to Alexander.
"I am come to remind the King of Macedon of the ties of hospitality," he said boldly, in a voice more fitted to a demand than a petition.
Alexander measured his great stature with admiration in his glance, noting that the armor, gold-inlaid, was crusted with mud and grime like his own.
"Thy name might be Hector," he said.
The Theban, ignorant of the young king's train of thought and of what had gone before, imagined that he saw mockery in this remark. His face flushed darkly.
"My name is Chares!" he said haughtily. "Jason, my father, was the friend of Epaminondas, who furnished thy father with the weapons that thou hast used against us this day. I come not to thee on my own behalf, but on that of my mother and sisters, who were shut in here when the attack came."
"You are too late!" the young king said composedly.
Chares staggered and his face blanched. "Too late!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Does Alexander, then, make war upon women?"
"I say you came too late," Alexander replied, "and doubly so; for your friends, here, were more prompt than you, and yet even they were tardy."
"My friends!" Chares cried in bewilderment, seeing Leonidas and Clearchus for the first time.
"Alexander speaks the truth," Clearchus said quickly. "We are all too late, because he had already given orders for the safety of your family."
"I ask your forgiveness; I spoke without understanding," Chares said, turning to the king.
"Thou hast courage," Alexander said with a smile, "but I would not choose thee as my envoy on a delicate mission. Thou wert not here to defend thy home?"
"Because I knew not that there was need," Chares admitted. "I am sorry."
"And I am glad," the young king rejoined, "for hadst thou been inside the walls, I fear I might have lost men whom I cannot spare. Didst thou come from Athens?"
"I left Athens with the army," Chares answered, "but it halted on the frontier when news arrived that Thebes had fallen."
"Then there will be no more fighting!" Alexander exclaimed, turning to Ptolemy. "I am glad of it. Greet thy mother for me, Chares, and tell her to fear nothing. Ptolemy will conduct you."
Escorted by the Macedonian captain, the three friends descended from the citadel. Order had been restored in the city as though by magic. Only the military patrols and the bodies of the dead remained in the streets. The living had been driven into their houses, taking the wounded with them. The plunderers had retired to the camp outside the walls.
Chares strode eagerly in advance, asking many questions regarding the experiences of his friends in Delphi. The house of Jason, a mansion built near the northern end of the city, had been saved by its location from the desperate fighting that had taken place about the southern gate and in the market-place. They found a guard stationed at the door.
"You see that the king is as good as his word," Ptolemy said. "You will find nothing disturbed here."
"How could he have remembered his friends in the heat of the attack?" Chares asked.
"He forgets nothing," the captain replied, "neither friend nor enemy."
Chares urged the Macedonian to enter, but Ptolemy declined on the ground of fatigue and left them. The slave at the gate went wild with joy when he caught sight of his young master. He had been waiting in momentary expectation of being summoned forth to the death that he was convinced awaited everybody in the city.
Chares hastened to the women's court, where he found his mother and sisters robed in white and surrounded by their maids, who were trying to spin, although their fingers trembled so that they could hardly hold the distaff. The widow of Jason, a woman with silvery hair and a face that was still beautiful, sat calmly in the midst of the group, awaiting with quiet courage what might befall. She rose with composure to greet her son and his companions.
"You are safe, mother!" Chares exclaimed, clasping her in his arms. "Alexander has given his word that you shall be unharmed!"
"You have seen him?" she returned. "That is well. You may go to your rest. Nothing shall harm you," she added, dismissing her maidens.
What was to be the fate of Thebes? The minds of the wretched inhabitants of the city were diverted from their sorrows as they asked each other this question on the morning after the battle. The dead had been removed from the streets. The wounded had been cared for. The enemy had withdrawn outside the walls, after posting guards in sufficient numbers to suppress any rising that the Thebans might be desperate enough to attempt.
All eyes were directed toward the Cadmea, within whose gray walls the punishment that was to be visited upon the city was being discussed. One citizen suggested that a heavy fine would be exacted. Another declared he had heard that the Thebans would be forbidden to bear arms. A dozen similar conjectures were made and canvassed before news came from the Cadmea that Alexander had left the Phocians, the Platæans, and the Bœotians, his allies, to impose the sentence. This announcement was received in gloomy silence; for more than one Theban recalled how his city in her day of pride had blotted out Orchomenus and Platæa and sold their people into bondage.
The anxious watchers in the streets at last saw a stir in the crowd that waited outside the gates of the citadel. The portals opened, and the victorious generals, surrounded by waving standards, came out and began to descend from the rock. The spectators below saw the Thebans scatter before them, tossing their arms above their heads and rending their garments. A hush full of dread fell upon the city.
"Thebes must perish! Her walls must go down!" cried one from above with a despairing gesture.
"We are to be sold for slaves!" shouted another, halting upon a parapet and making a trumpet of his hands.
The tidings were received with incredulity, followed by stupefaction. The blow had fallen, and it was worse than even the least sanguine prophet had predicted. The generals, as they rode toward the gates of the city, were followed by men who fell on their knees and begged for quarter. No heed was paid to their prayers, and the escort of soldiers thrust them back with jeers.
Alexander remained in the Cadmea, where Chares and a handful of the most prominent Thebans, who had been able to establish guest-friendship with the royal house of Macedon, sought him to intercede for the city. They found him alone, sitting with his chin in his hand. They recalled to him the glorious deeds of Thebes, dwelt upon the misery that the sentence would inflict upon the innocent, and warned him that all Hellas would reproach him if he permitted it to be carried into effect. They admitted the fault of the city and asked forgiveness.
The young king heard them through without stirring.
"All that you have said to me," he replied when they had finished, "I have already said to myself. Thebes has been false to her oath. I pardoned her as did Philip, my father. The sentence is not mine, but that of my allies, and what cause they have, you know. Can I ask them to forget?"
Terror ran with the news through all Greece. The Athenians, the Ætolians, and the Elæans, who had encouraged the rebellion with money and promises of further aid, hastily recalled their troops and sent ambassadors to sue for mercy. Demosthenes was chosen to plead for Athens, but when he had advanced on his journey as far as Mount Cithæron, his courage failed him and he turned back. The young king sent a messenger to Athens calling upon the Athenians to deliver eight of their orators who had been foremost in stirring up the people against Macedon, and the name of Demosthenes stood at the head of the list.
In the Assembly that was called to consider this demand Demosthenes won the day by repeating the fable of how once the wolves asked the sheep to deliver to them their watch-dogs and how, when the demand had been granted, they fell upon the defenceless flock. But so great was the fear of Alexander among the people that they might, after all, have sent the orators to Thebes had not the men who were threatened hired Demades with a fee of five talents to offer himself as an intermediary. The offer was accepted and Alexander yielded.
The escape of Demosthenes through the intercession of his inveterate enemy and the mysterious disappearance of Thais were the talk of the city when Chares arrived with his two friends, bringing his family with him. Clearchus received them into his house, where they were to remain during his absence from Athens in search of Artemisia, following the directions of the oracle. Ariston was much disappointed when his nephew refused to exact any rental from his friend. He had taken charge of Clearchus' fortune again, and it grieved him that any possible source of income should be neglected. But Clearchus knew that Chares had need of all his resources; for his mother had drawn up a list of the friends of the family who had been forced to remain in Thebes, telling him that he must purchase them and thus save them from slavery, even if it should take all they possessed in the world. As the list was long, Clearchus deemed it wise not only to place his house at the disposal of Jason's widow, but to make provision for its maintenance out of his own income while he should be away.
He paid no attention to the grumbling of his uncle, who affected to look upon this generosity as little short of madness. He said so much to dissuade the young man from his plan, that Clearchus at last was forced to remonstrate with him.
"One would think that you were on the brink of ruin," he said, "instead of being one of the richest men in Athens, if reports that I have begun to hear lately are true."
"Who says that?" Ariston demanded sharply. "He lies, whoever repeats such things. Whenever you hear it, if you love me, say that it is not true. If such stories should get to be believed, that accursed Demosthenes will be forcing me to fit out a trireme for some of his wild schemes. The times are so troubled that what little I have been able to save by my frugality for the support of my age I am likely to lose."
He was not unwilling to have his nephew believe that he was at least moderately rich, for had Clearchus known the straits his uncle was in, his suspicions might have been aroused. With his mind full of the loss of Artemisia, there was small chance that he would discover anything.
Like vultures upon a deserted field of battle the slave-dealers gathered at the great market of flesh and blood at Thebes. The sale of the population of the city had been delayed so as to insure a good attendance; for Alexander had need of the money that it was expected to yield with which to defray the cost of his expedition against the Great King. Speculators, traffickers by wholesale, and agents from every considerable mart in the world, to say nothing of amateurs, flocked to the city. It was not so much the fact that thirty thousand men and women were to be offered and the consequent probability of low prices that drew them as the quality of the victims. It was easy enough to purchase slaves in almost any number, but there was a vast difference between ignorant barbarians, captured in distant raids, and the population of one of the oldest and most cultured of the Grecian cities. And no comparison was to be made between girls who had been destined to slavery from their cradles and the Theban maidens reared in the shelter of luxury and ease.
It had been expected that it would take several days to dispose of the prisoners, but so numerous were the buyers that the Macedonians decided to attempt it in one day. For greater convenience, the captives were separated into companies of about five hundred and brought out upon the plain before the city, where most of the dealers had pitched their tents. Each division was guarded by a squad of soldiers commanded by an officer, whose duty it was to conduct the auction of the group under his care.
No outcry was permitted among the hapless population. Mothers clasped their children in their arms, weeping softly over them. Some awaited their fate with sullen resignation. Others looked for a prodigy to restore them to freedom and their city. A report had gone abroad that Dionysus would appear in person and forbid the sale. On all sides rose the murmur of his name in tones of entreaty or reproach. With anxious eyes, the believers scanned the sky and the barren hillsides for some sign, they knew not what. None was vouchsafed. Their God had deserted them.
In order that the friends whom he was to ransom might not be lost in the confusion, Chares had obtained consent that they be assembled in one group. They came last out of the city, clad in garments of mourning and moving in heavy-footed procession. Lest he should raise false hopes, Chares had made a secret of his plans. The prisoners fully expected to pass into the possession of strangers. Old men of grave face and dignified bearing, who had spent their lives in the service of the city and whose names were known throughout Greece, led the way. Behind them walked their women, proud of bearing and accustomed to the privileges of rank and wealth. Some of the matrons led daughters who looked with terror upon the strange scenes that met their eyes. Orphaned children clung to each other in fear, while here and there new-made widows, whose husbands had been slain when the strength and vigor of the city were cut off in a day, walked sadly and alone.
When all had been herded within the ring formed by the guard, the Macedonian captain who was to conduct the sale of the group that contained Chares' friends mounted briskly upon a block of stone and announced the terms prescribed for buyers. Payment was to be made in all cases in cash, and the purchaser was to have immediate possession. Chares took a position facing the auctioneer in a knot of dealers who were searching for some fortunate speculation. These men looked upon the unhappy Thebans with professional keenness, exchanging comments among themselves.
"That's a fine old fellow with the white beard," said one. "He looks as though he might have money out at interest somewhere."
"Probably he's only a philosopher," another said scornfully. "For my part, I shall buy that thin one. He has been living on bread and water all his life and he must have a snug sum buried. Trust me to make him dig it up!"
"There seem to be some marketable girls here," observed a third. "I find the Medes will pay a better price for them if they have a pedigree as well as good looks."
Mena, the Egyptian, prying about through the crowd, examined the captives with speculative eyes. Suddenly he caught sight of a figure that caused him to stop and stare. It was that of a young woman, veiled, who seemed to be seeking to conceal herself behind the other prisoners.
"Who is she?" he asked of one of the guard when he had recovered from his astonishment.
"She is down on our list as Maia, daughter of Thales," the man replied.
Mena seemed puzzled. "I must find out more about this," he said to himself, taking his stand at a point of vantage. "Besides, there may be a chance here to turn a profitable investment."
The chatter ceased as the captain opened a roll of papyrus containing the names of the prisoners and announced that the sale was about to begin. The old man with the white beard was the first to be brought forward. He proved to have been one of the Bœotarchs.
"How much am I offered for him?" the captain cried. "He is old, but his wisdom is all the greater for that."
"Five drachmæ!" shouted a countryman in a patched and faded cloak. "He gave a decision against me once in a lawsuit."
Everybody laughed at this reason for making a bid, but the farmer seemed in deadly earnest.
"Five minæ!" Chares said quietly. There was no other bid and the sale was made.
Then came a slender girl with yellow hair and blue eyes that were swollen with weeping. Her chiton of fine linen clung in graceful folds to her slim figure, and she trembled so violently that she could scarcely stand.
"She ought to fill out well if she lives," said one of the merchants, stroking his beard, while he examined her carefully. "But it's always a risk to buy them so young."
"She might be trained to dance," said Mena, who had elbowed his way into the crowd. "It's worth trying if she goes cheap. Fifty drachmæ!"
"Five minæ!" Chares said again.
"That's ten times what she is worth!" Mena exclaimed, turning angrily upon the Theban. "Are you trying to prevent honest men from making a living?"
"Let honest men speak for themselves," Chares retorted.
The laugh that followed filled the Egyptian with rage. He was cunning enough to wait until Chares had made several more purchases, and at prices far above the market value of the captives. Mena guessed that the Theban intended to outbid all who opposed him. He resolved to be revenged by making him pay dearly for his purchases. It happened that the next offering was a man whose name was not on Chares' list. Out of mere good nature he bid two hundred and fifty drachmæ for him.
"Five minæ!" the Egyptian shouted, doubling the bid with the intention of forcing Chares to go higher.
But Chares was silent, and no other bidder appeared. Mena, who did not have the money that he had offered, shifted uneasily, looking at Chares.
"I see you have some sense," he cried at last. "You are afraid to bid against me!"
Chares made no reply.
"He is yours," the auctioneer said, addressing Mena. "Step this way with your money!"
"Wait!" screamed the Egyptian. "I withdraw the bid! The man is lame!"
"Do you mean to accuse me of trying to cheat you?" roared the Macedonian captain.
"Perhaps you didn't notice it," the Egyptian faltered.
"Away with him!" cried the soldier.
While the prisoner was being awarded to Chares, two men led Mena out of the circle, amid the jeers of the spectators. At a safe distance, under pretence of seeing whether he really had the money he had offered, they took from him all that he possessed and divided it between themselves before they let him go.
"I'll make him sorry for this!" Mena said, shaking his fist at Chares. "I know what I know; but why do they call her Maia?"
Burning with rage, the Egyptian slunk away in search of his master, Phradates, whom he found wandering idly among the scattered groups of captives.
"Oh, Phradates, thou hast been insulted!" Mena cried, breathlessly.
"How so, dog?" Phradates demanded, his face darkening as he spoke.
The Phœnician's figure was tall and well knit, although the profusion of jewels and golden chains that he wore, and his garments of rich silk, woven with gold thread, gave him an effeminate look. His face might have been handsome had it not been marred by an expression of haughty insolence which betrayed the weakness upon which Mena intended to play.
He had been sent into Greece by Azemilcus and the Tyrian Council in the guise of a rich young man on his travels, but with the real object of discovering the plans and strength of Alexander. Tyre was nominally tributary to the Great King, but the only sign of her dependence was the payment of a small annual tribute. In all matters of moment she managed her own affairs. It was important, therefore, for her rulers to have exact knowledge of what was going forward in Greece, so that they might shape their course as seemed best for their own advantage.
Mena noted the flush on his master's cheek and foresaw the success of his scheme of revenge.
"It occurred to my poor mind," he explained volubly, "that your Highness would be pleased with a slave from this city of rats, which, nevertheless, contains some charming maidens. I learned that they had assembled all the prisoners of gentle birth in one place together. I went there and examined them for you. Among them I found a girl of rare beauty and when I asked concerning her, they told me she was Maia, daughter of Thales, one of the chief men in the city. Such a form as she has!—with hair like copper and a glance that would—"
"Will you never finish?" Phradates asked angrily.
"I chose her for your Highness and gave command that she be reserved until I could find you to claim her," Mena continued. "But it seems a Theban, whom they call Chares, had resolved to buy her for himself. I told him that I had spoken for the girl in your name. 'Let the Tyrian hound go back to his dye-vats,' he said. 'The girl is mine and he shall not have her while I have an obol left!' He said much more against the people of Tyre and yourself in particular that I will not offend your Highness by repeating. I am sorry that I lost the girl, for there is no other like her among the captives."
"Where is she?" Phradates demanded abruptly.
"If your Highness will deign to follow, I will conduct you to her," Mena replied with alacrity.
"Lead on!" Phradates commanded. "And then fetch quickly the gold we borrowed from the old Athenian."
Chares had purchased all the prisoners on his list excepting the girl called Maia, and the soldiers were leading her forward when Mena and Phradates arrived. The young woman's face and head were muffled in a silken scarf, and her figure was concealed beneath a cloak.
"Give place!" cried Mena, bustling officiously into the crowd. "Make way for the noble Phradates!"
One of the soldiers raised the scarf long enough for the Phœnician to see the young woman's face. Her beauty evidently made a deep impression upon him, for his expression changed and he seemed hardly able to take his eyes from her.
"Where is this Chares?" he inquired, at last, staring about him.
Mena indicated the Theban with a nod, and then, noticing that all eyes were turned upon his master, he bawled out: "Make room for Phradates of the royal blood of Tyre!"
"Do you want to sell him?" asked the auctioneer.
The Phœnician's face became purple and he turned angrily upon Mena, but the alert Egyptian had slipped away to fetch the gold.
"Three talents for the girl!" Phradates cried.
"Five talents!" Chares answered.
The spectators, who had long ago ceased to think of bidding against the Theban, drew a deep breath and looked from one contestant to the other. Maia alone seemed indifferent. A tress of her hair had fallen upon her shoulder. She twisted it back into place. Chares had not seen her face when the soldier lifted her veil and his attention was now centred upon his opponent.
"Seven talents!" Phradates shouted, fixing his eyes defiantly upon Chares.
"Eight!" the Theban answered, without hesitation.
This was more than all the other captives in the group had brought. The crowd began to hum with excitement. Phradates looked over his shoulder and saw Mena leading four slaves who carried bags of gold.
"Ten talents!" he cried.
"All bids must be paid in cash," the auctioneer said warningly.
Every face was turned toward Chares, who had called his steward and was consulting with him. "How much have we left?" the Theban asked. The man made a rapid calculation on his tablets.
"You have ten talents and thirty minæ," he replied. "That is the end."
"I bid ten talents and thirty minæ," Chares said promptly, addressing the auctioneer.
It was evident to all that he could go no further. Would Phradates be able to outbid him? The Phœnician hesitated and turned to Mena.
"He has won," the slave whispered. "You have only ten talents. If you had beaten him, we should have starved to death."
"Then we will starve!" Phradates replied. "I demand that the gold be weighed!"
"You have that right," the auctioneer admitted. "Bring out the scales."
The scales were brought and the gold was poured into the broad pans which hung suspended from their framework of wood. The glittering heaps increased until each pan overflowed with the precious coins and ingots. When all was in readiness for the test, they held a fortune such as few men in all Greece possessed. The spectators devoured it with their eyes, pressing against the soldiers in the hope of getting a better view. The maiden, Maia, who was the object of the rivalry, was forgotten.
The scales oscillated slowly and at last settled deliberately on the side toward Chares. The tale was correct and his last thirty minæ had given him the victory. The crowd broke into a cheer.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the Macedonian captain.
"No!" Phradates shouted. A red spot glowed on his cheeks and his fingers trembled as he stripped off his rings and his chains of gold. He placed the ornaments on his side of the scales. "I bid thirteen talents," he declared.
"Payments are to be made in money," Chares remonstrated. "Who can tell what these trinkets are worth?"
"We may accept them at a true valuation," the captain decided.
He summoned a jeweller of Corinth, who examined the rings with care, and announced his readiness to take them at a sum sufficient to make up the total of the Phœnician's offer.
"Phradates wins!" shouted the spectators, cheering the Tyrian with all the enthusiasm that they had shown to his rival a moment before.
The Theban stood silent. He had nothing more to offer. He raged inwardly at his defeat, for he felt that his honor was involved. While he stood hesitating, nobody seemed to notice a young Macedonian soldier of athletic figure and fresh complexion who had stopped on the outskirts of the crowd and stood listening, with his head slightly inclined to one side.
Suddenly Chares strode forward and threw his sword upon the scales. The weight of the steel caused the balance to sway decisively toward him.
"I bid fifteen talents!" he cried. "Let my sword make up the weight of gold that is lacking."
Phradates laughed mockingly. "Let me have the girl," he said. "It is time to end this child's play. There is no place in the world where a sword is worth three talents."
"Except here," a voice behind him said quietly.
Phradates turned, and his eyes met those of the soldier who had been lingering on the edge of the ring of spectators.
"Here!" the Phœnician exclaimed angrily. "And who is there here to give such a price for it?"
"I will," the soldier replied with a smile.
"You will, indeed!" Phradates echoed. "And who are you?"
"My name is Alexander," the soldier said.
Phradates turned to the crowd, which had fallen back a little and now stood strangely silent.
"Who is this insolent fellow?" he cried. "Why do you allow him to interfere here?" he demanded of the captain.
The captain made no reply, and nobody in the throng ventured to answer. Phradates felt deserted. He stood with Chares and the soldier beside the gold-laden scales, beyond which waited Maia, with her eyes fixed upon the face of the newcomer.
"Is there no fair dealing in this land of thieves?" Phradates cried, losing his temper absolutely. "The girl is mine! Deliver her to me in accordance with your agreement and let me go. You have your price and it is enough!"
He made a step forward as though to seize Maia, but the soldier blocked his path.
"I am Alexander, as I told you," he said, slightly raising his voice. "I will tell you more. You are Phradates of Tyre, sent here by your king and your Council to spy out my strength and learn my plans. You have used the eyes and ears of your slaves. Take what you have learned to King Azemilcus, and with it take also this message: Alexander, King of Macedon, sends word that he is coming with his companions to offer sacrifice to Heracles in his temple, known in the city of Tyre as the temple of Melkarth. Let him prepare the altar."
Phradates read in the faces of the crowd that the youth who spoke so confidently to him was indeed the king. Nevertheless, he could not wholly stifle his rage.
"Has your army wings, Macedonian?" he asked insolently. "The walls of Tyre are both high and strong."
"What is the fate of spies in your country?" Alexander replied. "You are spared to bear my message. Must I choose another?"
There was something in the tone of these words that brought Phradates to his senses like a plunge into cold water.
"We shall meet elsewhere," he said, casting a look of hatred at Chares, who stood smiling at his discomfiture.
"If we do not, I shall never cease to regret it," the Theban replied.
Mena had been hurriedly putting his master's gold into the sacks in which he had brought it. The waiting slaves took it up and followed Phradates back to his tent.
"What was it all about?" Alexander asked, glancing from Chares to Maia.
"I wished to buy her as a present to my mother, as I have bought nearly five hundred of our friends to-day," Chares replied.
Alexander took up the sword from the scales and drew it from its sheath.
"It is a good blade," he said, "and I would not deem its price too high if your arm was to wield it in my cause."
"Was not that included in the purchase?" Chares asked, surprised. "I have made my bargain and I will live up to it."
"No," said Alexander, gently, "I will not have such an arm at a price. I am no Cyrus to attack the power of Persia with hired weapons. The spirit and the hope that goes with us are not to be bought with gold. Come to me at Pella, if you will, with Clearchus and the Spartan, as soon as your affairs will permit. But if you come, let it be of your free will and not in payment of a debt."
"I will come," Chares said simply.
Day was drawing to a close over the plain where the people of Thebes had paid the final penalty for their rebellion. The multitude that had assembled to witness the last scene was melting away. Some of the unfortunates had found friends like Chares to rescue them; but the greater part of the thousands who were sold that day had become the property of strangers. On every side rose the sound of wailing and lamentation. Wives clung sobbing to their husbands until torn from them by their masters. Children wept for mothers they would see no more.
In the gathering twilight camp-fires began to glow. Slave-dealers bargained and chaffered over their purchases. Melancholy processions moved away into the darkness. Men fettered together gazed back silently but with bursting hearts upon the dark mass of the Cadmea, where it rose, black and huge, against the crimson sky. The air reverberated with the crash of falling houses and walls as the soldiers labored by the light of torches to level the city to the earth. A pall of dust and smoke hung suspended above them. Thebes had become a memory.
The captives purchased by Chares had been led away by his attendants as fast as each sale was made. When Alexander and the Macedonian soldiers moved off he was left alone with Maia. He had scarcely glanced at her during his duel with Phradates. She stood before him now with bent head, submissively, and he fancied that she was drooping from weariness.
"Come," he said kindly, extending his hand toward her.
The girl did not move, but as he approached she raised the scarf that hid her face and her eyes met his.
"Thais!" he exclaimed. "How did you get here? Where is Maia?"
There was a tone of displeasure in his voice, and the smile faded from the young woman's lips.
"Maia is safe enough," she returned, raising her head proudly.
"But where is she?" he persisted.
She hesitated and her eyes fell. A warm flush mounted to her cheeks.