THE GORDIAN KNOT
Alexander kept the anniversary of his departure from Macedon in the
city of Gordium, surrounded by his army, on the wind-swept uplands of
Phrygia. He reached the place through the drifted snows that blocked
the passes of the Taurus and the rugged hills of Pisidia, subduing on
his way the tribes that had held them for ages, to whom the Great King
himself had deemed it wise to render tribute in exchange for peace.
Looking backward, the young leader of men saw the Ægean coast and all
the territory west of the mountains subject to his rule. To the rich
and prosperous Grecian cities by the sea he had restored their ancient
rights, and the hostages of the barbarians thronged his camp. He had
made a beginning, and his heart had confidence in the end.
Parmenio came from Sardis, bringing the troops that had wintered there,
with the siege train and abundance of supplies. Alexander resolved to
rest until the roads should be settled so that he might strike another
blow. In games and feasting and martial exercises his army passed the
breathing space permitted before the onslaught. The camp was filled
with jests devised by the detachments that under Alexander had
conquered stubborn Salagassus, at the expense of the men who had been
idling in Sardis and who were accused of having grown white-faced and
soft in their luxury. Parmenio's men, in turn, took their revenge in
quips levelled at the young married men, who had been allowed to go to
their homes across the Hellespont and who now returned, bringing the
latest news and gossip of Pella and squadrons of eager recruits.
Leonidas had risen high in the favor of the young king, who had seen
his courage tested in the winter campaign. He had become one of the
Table Companions, with command of a squadron of cavalry, and even the
proud young Macedonian nobles, jealous of intrusion, had ceased to look
down upon him as an outsider and had taken him into their circle. Of
all the stories told in the camp, none was more often repeated than
that which related how the Spartan had held the light-armed troops when
they were taken in ambush by the fierce mountaineers before Salagassus,
until Alexander could lead the phalanx to their rescue.
But Leonidas showed no elation. On the contrary, he seemed more grim
and taciturn than ever. Gladly would he have given both favor and
command if he could have seen Clearchus and Chares ride into camp
unharmed. Since they started for Halicarnassus, he had heard nothing
of them, and it was the general opinion in the army that they were
lost. The Spartan had few friends and none to take the place of these
two. His grief for them was the deeper because he would not show it.
Though it gnawed at his heart like the stolen fox, he gave no sign.
One night, at table, the jest turned upon Amyntas, who had purchased
gilded armor.
"You are as vain as Chares the Theban," one of the Thessalian officers
said to him, laughing.
Leonidas sought the man out next day. "You have insulted my friend,
who is not here. I think you are sorry for it," he said quietly.
The young captain laughed, looking down upon the Spartan from his six
feet of stature.
"You think too much," he replied contemptuously.
With a bound, Leonidas caught him by the throat in a grip that was like
that of a bulldog's jaws. In vain the Thessalian sought to break his
hold. His face grew black and his tongue protruded.
"I think you are sorry," Leonidas repeated coolly.
The other, feeling his senses leaving him, made an affirmative motion,
and the hands that gripped his throat relaxed.
"Thou shouldst speak no ill of those who cannot answer," the Spartan
said, turning away and leaving the young man to recover his breath.
When this incident reached the ears of Alexander, as everything that
happened in the camp was sure to do, the king smiled.
"I suppose you would serve me in the same fashion if I should be
unfortunate enough to make such a jest," he said.
"The king does not mock brave men," Leonidas replied.
Alexander laid his hand on the Spartan's shoulder. "I am Alexander,"
he said, "but I envy Chares and Clearchus. I wish I had such a friend
as they have."
"Thou hast many," the Spartan replied. "Wrong them not; but thou hast
small need of mortal friends since the Gods are with thee."
"That is true," Alexander said simply. He knew that nine-tenths of the
army believed indeed that the Gods had taken him under their
protection. He seemed to them, in fact, to be himself almost like one
of the immortals in the beauty of his face and form, his perfect
courage, and his unerring judgment. While the graybeards at home, the
philosophers and statesmen, were predicting failure for him and
demonstrating by precedent and logic that his success was impossible,
he had succeeded. Already he had wrested from the Great King the
colonies of Greece that for centuries had groaned under Persian
oppression, and while he had not yet stood face to face with the mighty
power that he had attacked, he had confounded the prophets of evil and
proved their wisdom to be no better than folly. When his captains
looked into his face, ruddy with youth and strength, his smooth brow,
unmarked by a line of care, and felt the charm of his glance,
remembering what he had done, it was impossible for them to think that
he was only a man like themselves.
So when it became known, after the preparations for the southward march
in search of the Great King had been completed, that Alexander had
determined to attempt the loosening of the knot that King Gordius had
bound, there were few of his followers who doubted that he would
accomplish it. For ages this knot had defied all attempts to guess its
secret. The farmer, Gordius, driving his oxen into the city, found
himself suddenly raised to the throne. Tradition told how he had tied
the neap of his cart to the porphyry shaft in the midst of the temple
and how it had been declared that whoso should unbind it should become
lord of all Asia. In the reign of King Midas, his son, friend of the
great God Dionysus, whose touch had changed the sands of the Pactolus
to gold, many had essayed the task and had failed. In subsequent years
a long line of ambitious princes and scheming kings had made the
attempt, seeking to propitiate the God with rich gifts, but none had
succeeded. More lately, few had tried the knot, for the Great King
watched the shrine, and those who were bold enough to tempt Fortune
there soon found themselves summoned to his court, where they were
taught how unwise it was for the weak to aspire to the dominions of the
strong.
It was knowledge of all this that led the soldiers to regard
Alexander's trial of the knot as no less important than a great battle.
If the knot should yield to him, there would no longer be any doubt of
what the Gods intended.
Parmenio, with the caution born of age, shook his head when the king
told him of his project.
"What will you gain?" he asked. "The army already has complete
confidence in you, and if you fail, some of it will be lost."
"Dost thou believe we shall conquer Darius?" Alexander demanded.
"With the aid of the Gods, I think we shall," Parmenio replied.
"And dost thou not believe in the prophecy regarding the knot?"
Alexander asked again.
Parmenio hesitated and looked confused. "It is very old," he said at
last, "and we know not whence it came."
"Thy faith is weak," the young leader said severely. "Fear not; the
cord shall be loosed."
Before the ancient temple the army was drawn up in long lines, archers
and slingers, spearmen and cavalry, find the phalanx in companies and
squadrons. Alexander, mounted on Bucephalus, rode slowly along the
ranks, splendid in his armor, with the double plume of white brushing
his shoulders on either side. He halted before the temple, where the
robed priests stood ready to receive him. Every eye was upon him as he
leaped to the ground and turned his face to the army.
"I go to test the prophecy, whether it be true or false," he cried, in
a clear voice. "Wait thou my return."
Followed by his generals and by Aristander, the soothsayer, he entered
the portals of the temple after the priests. They led him to the spot
where the cart was fastened to the pillar. Its rude construction
indicated its great age. Its wheels were sections of a tree trunk cut
across. Its body was carved with strange figures of forgotten Gods and
monsters, colored with pigment that time had dimmed. Its long neap was
tied at the end to the shaft of stone with strips of cornel bark, brown
and stiff with age and intertwined in curious folds that left no ends
visible.
Alexander looked to the chief priest. "What is the prophecy?" he
demanded.
The old man unrolled a parchment written over with dim characters, and
read.
"To that man who shall loose the knot bound by King Gordius under
direction of the high Gods," he quavered, "shall be given the realm of
Asia from the southern ocean to the seas of the North. Once only may
the trial be made. Thus saith the God."
Outside the temple the soldiers stood silent in their ranks awaiting
the result. As the aged priest ceased reading and rolled up the
parchment, Alexander drew closer to the magic knot and examined it,
while the others fell back in a wide circle. Between the priests there
passed a covert glance of understanding as though they said to each
other, "Here is another who will fail, and more gifts will come!" The
young king saw that no man could ever disentangle the convolutions of
the fastening without tearing the bark. Avoiding even a pretence of
attempting the impossible, he drew his sword. The astonished priests
started forward with a cry of protest, but before they could interfere,
the flashing blade fell and the neap of the ancient cart clattered to
the stone floor.
"The knot is loosed," Alexander said quietly, sheathing his sword.
"The God greets thee, Lord of Asia!" the chief priest declared in a
solemn tone, bowing his head.
Rushing out of the temple, the generals repeated Alexander's words to
the army.
"The knot is loosed! The knot is loosed! We shall conquer!" ran the
joyful cry through all the ranks, and the young king, listening within
the temple, knew that the hour for decisive action was at hand.