IN THE WHIRLWIND'S TRACK
Long before Nathan with his captives reached the Persian capital, the
sentinels upon the towers of Halicarnassus gave warning of the approach
of Alexander's army. Fresh from the storming of stubborn Miletus, the
Macedonians advanced against the lofty walls which sheltered the army
of Memnon, nearly as numerous as their own. At the first alarm the
braying of trumpets sounded through the city, and soldiers filled the
streets, marching quickly towards the Mylasan Gate.
Iphicrates, perched high on the walls with the corps of citizen
defenders to which he belonged, watched the regular troops making ready
for their sally. He held a spear in his hand and a sword was buckled
about his fat sides.
"I wish I was with them," said a youth beside him, little more than a
boy, gazing down upon the array.
"It's cooler up here--and safer too," the old money-lender muttered,
wiping his brow.
"They will cut the Macedonians to pieces," the boy exclaimed, "and I
shall have no part in the victory."
"Patience!" Iphicrates answered. "Thy chance will come, perhaps."
The boy turned and looked outward towards the attacking army. "They
have stopped," he cried. "They are afraid!"
Iphicrates shaded his eyes with his hand. The Macedonians indeed had
halted amid the clouds of dust that their feet had raised and they
seemed to be in some confusion. At that moment the gate was thrown
open and the garrison emerged in a wide, glittering column. The walls
rang with cheers. The column advanced, wheeled, and deployed in a
long, deep line, confronting the enemy. It was evidently Memnon's plan
to strike a blow that might prove decisive while the Macedonians were
still wearied from their march and before they were able to form. His
archers sent a flight of arrows towards the Macedonian ranks and his
spearmen prepared to charge.
Then behind the dust-cloud rose a sound that seemed to the watchers
upon the walls like the murmur of a mighty river. The advance guard of
the Macedonians scattered, and in its place appeared the solid front of
the phalanx with its forest of sarissas.
"What are they singing?" asked the boy, gazing wide-eyed upon the
changing scene.
"It is the pæan; they are calling upon the Gods," Iphicrates replied,
again mopping his face.
"It is like a tragedy in a theatre," the boy said, catching his breath
in the intensity of his excitement. "Look! Who is that?"
Across the front of the Macedonians rode a man upon a great black horse
that curvetted and tossed the foam from his bit. The rider's armor
flashed through the dust and his white plumes nodded from his helmet.
"That must be Alexander himself," Iphicrates replied. "Ah, here they
come!"
Louder rose the pæan as the phalanx swept forward. The space that
divided the two armies seemed to shrink away until they almost touched.
Then, as with one impulse, the sarissas of the foremost Macedonian
ranks dropped forward, until their points were level with the breasts
of the foe, and were driven home by the impulse of the charge. The
lines of the defenders bent, swayed, and broke. Order gave place to
confusion. Here and there small parties began to run back toward the
gate they had left so bravely half an hour before.
"We are beaten!" sobbed the boy on the wall.
"It is cooler up here," Iphicrates replied mechanically. A chill ran
through his bulk as though he already felt the edge of the swords that
were rising and falling in the hands of the victors.
The swiftest of the fugitives, throwing away their weapons, had already
dashed panting through the gate. Others crowded behind them, and the
opening quickly became choked by a mass of men who trampled each other
in their eagerness to get inside the walls. The cavalry and
light-armed troops of the Macedonians pressed close at their heels,
giving them no respite from their terror.
Of the army of Halicarnassus hardly a remnant would have escaped had
not the rain of missiles and arrows from the walls checked the
Macedonian advance. As soon as the enemy was within range the order
was given to the archers and slingers, of whom there were thousands
posted upon the ramparts. They showered stones and arrows upon the
pursuing force, and the catapults sent huge darts buzzing down among
the close-packed squadrons.
The boy beside Iphicrates was twanging away with his bow as fast as he
could fit his arrows to the cord.
"I hit one!" he cried, following the course of a shaft with his eyes.
"I saw him fall! He went right over backward!"
He began shooting again with renewed ardor.
Meantime a few squadrons of the bravest men in Memnon's forces rallied
and made a brief stand before the gate. They succeeded in halting the
Macedonians long enough to enable their comrades to swarm through to
safety; but soon they were swept off their feet and hurled back toward
the battlements. To their dismay, they found the great gate closed
against them. They were cut down as they ran hither and thither,
seeking in vain for a place of refuge.
Iphicrates watched the butchery with horrible fascination. His face
was mottled, and the spear in his hand shook like a blade of corn.
"Cowards!" cried the boy with flashing eyes, "why did they not let them
in?"
A shout of warning sounded along the crest of the wall. The Macedonian
slingers and archers had turned their weapons against it, and they
swept the parapet with a deadly storm that drove the defenders to
shelter. The hissing of the arrows and the humming of the balls of
lead from the slings filled the air. The boy beside Iphicrates uttered
a cry, threw up his arms, and fell with a red mark on his forehead.
"Mother!" he murmured, and lay still.
Iphicrates dropped to his hands and knees and crawled away, shaking
with the palsy of fear.
There was little sleep in Halicarnassus that night. Soldier and
citizen labored together, and morning found them still toiling upon the
walls, preparing for what they knew was to come. The city was in the
iron grip of the siege.
By day and by night the great walls crumbled before the unremitting
assaults of the enemy. The Macedonians filled in the wide ditch,
raised mounds and towers, and burrowed beneath the foundations of the
defences like moles. There was no lack of provisions in the city, for
Memnon's fleet came and went with nothing to oppose it, bringing corn
and supplies as they were needed. It had been the hope of the
inhabitants that Alexander would withdraw when he had measured the
difficulty of the task before him. They had ground for the belief that
disturbances might be fomented in Greece that would cause him to turn
his attention to that quarter. But their plans miscarried. Antipater
held Greece with a firm hand and the siege continued.
No man was permitted to lay aside his armor, for the Macedonians
attacked at every hour. Again and again the city was roused in the
dead of night by the crash of falling battlements, and the defenders
were obliged to guard some new breach while they repaired the damage as
best they might. They made frequent sallies, attacking the formidable
engines that had been constructed by the enemy. Several of them were
destroyed in this way, but they were replaced by new ones more powerful
than their predecessors.
Orontobates sent urgent messages to his master, Darius, telling him of
the desperate situation and begging for succor; but none came. What
was one city, rich and populous though it might be, to a monarch who
counted his cities by the thousand? The brave garrison was left to its
fate, fighting obstinately against its doom. The faces of the men grew
haggard with watching and anxiety. Custom and order were forgotten.
Rich and poor, slave and freeman, labored side by side against the
inevitable; and ever, like men swimming against the current, they felt
the resistless pressure bearing them down.
Artemisia and Thais, shut up in the house of Iphicrates, awaited the
result of the siege. The younger woman was overcome at first when she
learned that Clearchus was to be sent to Babylon, but Thais managed to
convince her that he was in no danger, and a message that was brought
to them before the siege began went far to revive her hope. One of the
Cyprian women came back from the market with a basket of grapes. She
said that a young man had followed her and asked her whether she did
not belong to Thais. She replied that she did.
"Then tell her," the stranger said, "that Nathan the Israelite bids her
have no fear."
With that, he vanished in the crowd, and she brought the message.
They learned without much difficulty who Nathan was, and the mysterious
message consoled them. Artemisia spoke of it with a childlike faith
that touched Thais' heart.
"When they return, they will rejoin the army of Alexander," she said.
"If we could only escape to the Macedonians."
"We shall manage it in some way," Thais replied. "Leave it to me."
Phradates, whose broken wrist prevented him from taking part in the
fighting, came often to visit them. He had never forgotten his glimpse
of the face of Thais as it appeared in the great slave market before
the ruined city of Thebes. His defeat that day was rendered more
bitter in the recollection by the thought that she had been a witness
of it. The face had haunted him until it had become a part of his
life. After her return to Athens he had dogged her footsteps until he
was called away to join the army of the satraps.
When he saw her again before Memnon's tribunal, the fascination of her
beauty took complete possession of him. His anger against Chares was
forgotten, and he was even glad when his rival was sent to Babylon
instead of being condemned to death. He believed that the Theban would
never come back, and the execution of the prisoners in Halicarnassus
might have proved an insurmountable barrier between him and Thais.
Phradates knew that he had the young woman in his power, but he could
not bring himself to make use of this advantage. He would not force a
triumph; he must have a complete surrender. Day by day he hoped to
obtain it. He found a half promise in her words, a suggestion of
tenderness in her manner, and at times an implied appeal to his
generosity that made his hope almost a certainty. When he grew
impatient, the fear of losing her entirely restrained him. Thus he
fell more and more completely under her domination, like a man who sips
a narcotic, yielding by little and little to its power, until his will
to resist is gone, and he gives himself wholly to its subtle
intoxication, unwittingly a captive.
After one of her interviews with him, Thais often threw herself down,
disgusted with the part that she was forced to play. She grew angry at
Artemisia's failure to understand the necessity of what she was doing.
When the smile faded from her lips as the door closed upon the
Ph[oe]nician, she found Artemisia's eyes fixed upon her in sorrowful
reproach.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she exclaimed petulantly. "Speak
out, if you must!"
Artemisia bent her head and remained silent.
"Do you think I love him?" Thais demanded scornfully, coming close to
her. "Do you believe that I am false to Chares? Tell me, if you do."
"I do not," Artemisia replied hesitatingly. "Only it seems to me--"
"It seems to you that I do it too well," Thais exclaimed, completing
her thought. "What would you do if you were shut up with an untamed
tiger? You may give thanks to your Artemis in your innocence that I
have been able so far to hold this one in check."
"Forgive me," Artemisia cried, embracing her. "I know you must, and
yet--I am sorry for it, my sister."
Artemisia often made use of this title, never dreaming how true it was,
and it always awakened a pang of tenderness in Thais' heart. She
returned the embrace and forgave her, although she felt that Artemisia
could not really understand, try as she might.
"I wish the siege would end!" Thais said wearily. "If you knew how
much I loathe all this, you would have more pity."
Her wish was granted at last. Even the most hopeful inhabitant of the
city understood that neither flesh nor stone could hold out much longer
against the dogged Macedonian assault. Memnon knew that unless the
battering rams and catapults could be destroyed the city must fall.
There were breaches in the massive walls and the great towers were
tottering. If he could gain a little more time, reinforcements might
arrive and compel Alexander to raise the siege. Mustering his best
remaining troops, he poured them out of the Triple Gate and through the
gaps in the wall upon the works of the enemy. The attack was repulsed
without accomplishing its object; and when the garrison sought to
regain the defences, scores were slain at the wall and hundreds more in
the moat, where they were precipitated by the breaking of the bridge
leading to the gate.
It was plain that the end was at hand. The Rhodian felt that the city
was at the mercy of the young king, and he hastened to take advantage
of the respite that Alexander's forbearance allowed him. At midnight
after this last defeat the evacuation began. The troops were withdrawn
to the Royal Citadel and to the Salmacis, where they could still remain
in touch with their ships. The greater part of the population fled to
the harbor and sought escape in the merchant vessels which were putting
to sea. Azemilcus, king of Tyre, who had been acting with the fleet,
made ready a trireme in which to send home the wounded among the
Tyrians. He placed it under the command of Phradates.
Thais learned from the slave women that the young Ph[oe]nician was
making ready to depart in haste.
"If we are to escape, we must do it now," she said hurriedly to
Artemisia. "He will try to take us with him."
"Can we not refuse to go?" Artemisia replied.
"No," Thais responded. "To refuse him would be to open his eyes, and
he would certainly take us by force. Flight is our only hope."
She gathered her jewels into a packet and placed it in her bosom. She
then ordered the women to muffle them in long cloaks that concealed
their faces.
"Go down and find out who is there," she said.
One of the women brought word that Phradates had gone to the harbor to
see that all was in readiness, and that Mena was also absent. Thais
led the way boldly down the stairs and out of the house, followed by
Artemisia and the two women. The slaves who were at work below stared
at them, but in the absence of their master none ventured to stop them.
They gained the street in safety, and were immediately swept away in
the clamoring, terror-stricken streams of fugitives who were pouring
toward the harbor. A lofty tower that had been built beside the Triple
Gate was on fire. The flames roared up the sides of the structure,
bursting from its windows and loopholes, and converting it into a
gigantic torch. They spread quickly to the houses nearest the walls,
sending volumes of reddened smoke rolling over the harbor. The howling
of dogs mingled with the shouts of men and the wailing of women who
clasped their children to their breasts.
Iphicrates left the walls with his comrades in arms and plunged into
the crowded streets. He had intended to seek his own house in the hope
of finding some remains of his hoard untouched; but the panic seized
him, and he changed his direction. He determined to gain the Royal
Citadel, which he knew was to be defended against the Macedonians.
Thinking only of his own safety, he forced his way through the press,
pushing women and children aside in his haste. Blinded by the terror
that possessed him, he took no heed of a small, dark-skinned man with
sharp features who reeled back from the thrust of his elbow. Even if
he had noticed that the figure fell in behind him, following his
footsteps like a shadow, he would have taken him only for one of the
fugitives.
Steeped in the contagion of fear, the money-lender hardly noticed where
he went. He soon became exhausted by his struggle with the crowd, and
he heaved a sigh of relief when he found himself at last in a street
that was comparatively deserted. He overlooked the fact that the few
persons whom he met were hurrying the other way, and it was not until
he was brought to a halt by a blank wall that he recognized his
surroundings. He had entered a road from which there was no outlet.
He halted in dismay. The shadow behind him glided into a doorway and
crouched out of sight. The street was hemmed in by tall buildings that
had been emptied of their tenants, and the light of the burning tower
flickered redly upon the upper walls, increasing the gloom below. A
sense of loneliness and desertion smote him. He felt himself suddenly
cut off from human companionship. His heart beat thickly and heavily.
He seemed to be strangling under the oppression of a nameless and
deadly horror.
He turned and rushed back in the direction whence he had come. As he
passed the doorway within which the shadow had disappeared, a light
form bounded out upon him. There was a flash of steel; a lean arm was
thrust forward and seemed to touch him lightly on the back beneath his
shoulder. He fell upon his face with a choking cry; the shadow leaped
over him, fled, and vanished, leaving him motionless where he lay.
Thais and Artemisia were borne forward in the crowd without power to
choose the direction of their flight. In the frantic masses of
humanity, all fighting toward the harbor, they saw women and children
trampled underfoot; and they clung to each other in desperation,
knowing that if they fell, they would never be able to rise. The
maddened crowd swept them on to the wharves, where the agitated waters
of the harbor spread before them like a lake of blood in the glare of
the conflagration.
Utterly bewildered and unable to extricate themselves, the young women
were drawn hither and thither by the eddies of the mob as it rushed
feverishly from one vessel to another, seeking means of escape.
Suddenly they found themselves wedged in before a double line of
soldiers drawn up before the gangway of a trireme, the sides of which
loomed dark above their heads. Torches shed a smoky light upon the
agonized faces of the throng, held at bay by the spears of the guard.
Warning shouts rose from the darkness, followed by a swaying motion of
the crowd which divided before the rush of a compact body of men making
toward the vessel. Thais and Artemisia felt themselves crushed forward
against the living barrier until they could hardly breathe. They heard
the shouting and cursing of the soldiers advancing from the rear into
the circle of torchlight. The pressure became unbearable. They had
given themselves up for lost, when, before they knew what was taking
place, they were seized and borne upward. Thais recovered her senses
to find herself seated upon the deck of the trireme, with Artemisia's
head in her lap.
"Why did you run away?" asked a familiar voice reproachfully.
She looked up and saw Phradates standing before her. "It is fate!"
flashed through her mind.
"We thought you had deserted us, and we were frightened," she replied.
"I searched everywhere for you," he said. "Astarte must have guided
you here."
He turned and commanded the sailors to cast off. The great vessel
swung slowly from the wharf, leaving behind the mass of unhappy
fugitives, some of whom cursed her, while others stretched out their
arms toward her, praying to the last to be taken on board. Artemisia
was revived by the cooler air of the harbor.
"Where are we?" she asked faintly, opening her blue eyes.
"We are on the Ph[oe]nician trireme, bound, I suppose, for Tyre," Thais
answered bitterly. "No, it was not my doing," she continued, replying
to her sister's glance of surprise and question. "I had no more part
in it than you this time. It is the will of the Gods."
The trireme pointed her brazen beak toward the entrance of the harbor.
The banks of oars which fringed her sides in three rows, one above the
other, like the legs of some gigantic water insect, caught the waves,
and the panic-stricken city began to glide away from her stern. A
fishing boat, laden with fugitives, drifted across her path. The sharp
prow struck the side of the hapless little craft and cut through it
like a knife. For a brief moment the screams of women and children
rose out of the darkness, and then the voices were stifled.
Artemisia hid her face on Thais' shoulder and wept; but Thais, gazing
back on the fiery city, saw the great tower reel and fall, clothed in
flame from base to summit. The roar of turmoil and terror sounded in
her ears, and she smiled. The red light danced in her eyes, making
them gleam like opals as she turned them upon Phradates.
"They say thy city hath strong walls, Ph[oe]nician," she said. "Thou
wilt have to build them still stronger, I think."
"They are strong," Phradates answered proudly; "but we shall not need
them, for between us and Alexander stand a million men, ready to lay
down their lives for their king."
Thais raised her white arm and extended it toward the stricken city.
"What shall withstand the Whirlwind?" she said.
In the stern of the trireme sat Mena, gazing thoughtfully back at the
city and wiping the stains from the blade of his dagger.