THAIS GIVES A FEAST
Down in the secret passage the fugitives from the Temple of Moloch
could hear no sound of the battle. Leonidas had snatched one of the
perfumed censers from the hand of a quaking neophyte, and this shed a
glimmer of light as he led the way.
Artemisia came to her senses to find herself clasped in her lover's
arms.
"Clearchus!" she murmured, "may the Gods grant that this be not a
dream."
"It is no dream, my beloved!" the young man answered. "I have found
thee at last."
"Dear heart, I have longed for thee so!" she said, with a little sigh
of content, as her arms stole around his neck.
Clearchus bent his head, and their lips met in the darkness. Thais
heard the murmur of their voices.
"Oh, I have lost my sandal--and I am cold!" she exclaimed, in a tone of
distress. "Chares, I am afraid you will have to carry me."
"You are so heavy," the Theban said, taking her in his arms.
"There, be careful, sir, or I shall make you set me down again," she
cried.
Leonidas uttered a sound that was something between a snort and a grunt
and signified disdain, whereupon Chares laughed until the narrow
passage rang.
Before they reached the palace it was in full possession of the
Macedonians. They entered the room where the young men had left
Azemilcus the night before, and found a portion of the squadron
belonging to Leonidas busily searching there for plunder. The men
stood open-mouthed when their captain appeared from behind the
hangings. They looked like schoolboys caught in a forbidden frolic.
"Where is the king?" the Spartan demanded sternly.
"He is fighting down there," one of the soldiers replied, pointing from
the window.
Leonidas glanced down upon the city and saw the conflict raging in the
streets.
"Then what are you doing here?" he asked harshly. "Fall in!"
"I will go with you," Nathan said. "I must seek my people."
"You will find us here when you come back," Chares cried after them.
"We will fight no more to-day."
Leonidas overtook Alexander stamping out the last sparks of resistance
in the northern part of the city. The young king, still glowing with
the ardor of battle, greeted him with a smile.
"Are Clearchus and Chares safe?" he asked.
"They await you in the royal palace with Artemisia and Thais," the
Spartan replied.
"Good!" Alexander cried. "This will have to be celebrated. Let us see
what has become of Azemilcus."
He led the way to the Temple of Melkarth, which was filled with
fugitives and suppliants. The general feeling in the city that the God
was on the side of the Macedonians had led many to seek his protection
when no other remained. Some of them were even striving to remove the
chains with which the image had been bound to the pillars.
Azemilcus and the chancellor came forward, surrounded by the priests of
the temple. The two kings, one withered and shrunken and old, his
brain cankered by the cynical knowledge of experience, and the other,
in the fulness of his vigorous youth and generous enthusiasms, looked
into each other's eyes. Alexander's face was grave and stern, but the
mocking smile still hovered about the lips of the older man.
"What have you to say?" Alexander said at last.
"I have been a king," Azemilcus replied, "but I am a king no longer.
What is your will?"
"You may live," Alexander replied coldly, "but you have never been a
king. Where is your son?"
"He is dead," the old king answered, and his eyes wavered.
"I would rather be in his place than in thine," Alexander said shortly.
"Follow me."
Azemilcus shrugged his shoulders and gathered his robe more closely
around him. To all who had sought refuge in the temple Alexander
granted safety, and then, having issued the necessary orders regarding
the city, he turned back to the palace.
The streets were encumbered with the dead. The bodies lay in heaps
behind the broken barricades or scattered between them, where the
fugitives had been stricken as they fled before the fury of the
Macedonian charge. A wounded Tyrian raised himself on his elbow while
the two kings passed, cursed Azemilcus, and died.
In the council room of the palace Alexander demanded from the
chancellor an accounting of the public treasure of Tyre, an enormous
sum in gold and silver, and gave it into the custody of his own
treasurer. There, too, he received the reports of his captains, and
with marvellous quickness despatched the business that they brought
before him. The greater part of the army he ordered back to the camp
on the mainland.
When nothing more remained to be done, he turned to Leonidas.
"Where are thy friends?" he asked. "They seem to have forgotten me."
"I will fetch them," the Spartan replied.
He ran to the apartment where he had left the lovers, and burst in, to
find them nestled among the cushions, telling each other of all they
had endured.
"Come," he cried. "The king has asked for you."
"Tell him that we will come presently," Chares said, but Thais promptly
boxed his ears and slipped out of the arm that encircled her waist.
"I don't suppose there is a woman in the palace to smooth my hair," she
exclaimed.
"Do you think Alexander will look at you?" Chares asked. "He has more
important things to think about, indeed."
Nevertheless, Artemisia and Thais made Leonidas wait five minutes while
they aided each other to make the best appearance possible under the
circumstances, before they followed him to the great council chamber.
Artemisia entered shyly, casting down her eyes before the bold glances
of so many men; but Thais walked beside Chares with head erect, her red
lips parted in a smile, and a gleam of excitement dancing in her eyes.
With the license that Alexander permitted, the captains raised a shout
of welcome when Chares and Clearchus appeared. Before Artemisia could
catch her breath, she was standing in front of Alexander, and Clearchus
was presenting her to him.
"She looks like a rosebud when the dew is on it," Clitus whispered to
Hephæstion.
"Don't be sentimental," the favorite answered. "When did you become a
poet?"
"Not until this minute," Clitus replied.
Alexander himself was not free from embarrassment when he greeted
Artemisia, for he knew nothing of women, not yet having met Roxana; but
he took her hand and praised the bravery of Clearchus, at which she
blushed and smiled.
Thais looked the young king frankly in the face. "We bid you welcome
to Tyre," she said.
There was something in the unconquerable vitality of her gaze that
reminded him of his mother, although Olympias' eyes were dark and the
eyes of this girl were yellow, if any color could be assigned to them
that seemed a blend of all.
"It was worth fighting for," he said, returning her look with
unconcealed admiration. "But sometimes I wish I were not Alexander,"
he added, turning to Chares with a smile.
"And I thank the Gods that thou art indeed Alexander," the Theban
replied, drawing Thais closer to him.
The young king seemed to fall into a momentary revery, but it passed
quickly.
"You four shall be my guests to-night," he exclaimed. "Azemilcus will
provide the feast."
"Do not trust him," Chares said, in a low voice. "He tried to poison
us."
"If that be so, we will eat elsewhere," Alexander answered, frowning
and looking askance at the Tyrian.
"If you will permit me to manage it," Thais said, "Phradates shall
furnish the feast."
"Who is he?" Alexander asked.
"He was our captor here," Thais replied, "and he is a man of some good
qualities, though he has others also."
"He is the messenger whom you sent from Thebes to carry word to King
Azemilcus of your coming," Clearchus explained.
"I remember," Alexander said. "I would like to see him again and ask
him whether he delivered the message. So be it, then."
Bidding the Companions follow, Alexander suffered Thais to lead him to
the house of Phradates. It was still closed and silent, but Chares and
Clearchus beat upon the door with their sword-hilts and demanded
admittance in the name of Alexander. Mena, recognizing the king
through the wicket, thought it best to open, since he knew that
resistance would be in vain. The door swung back, and he prostrated
himself at Alexander's feet.
"Welcome, O son of Philip," he said. "The house of my master and all
that was his belong to the Conqueror of the Earth."
"Where is he that he does not himself receive me?" Alexander demanded.
"Alas, he is dead!" the Egyptian answered. "He received a fatal wound
while fighting on the walls, and they brought him home. He died in my
arms."
Mena affected to wipe tears from his eyes as he told of his master's
end.
"It is a lie!" the old nurse screamed, from among the slaves clustered
in the back of the hall. They tried to stifle her voice, but Alexander
commanded her to come forward.
"What happened?" he asked briefly.
The old woman sank upon her knees and raised her hands in supplication.
"I was his nurse," she said, in her cracked and broken voice. "They
brought him wounded to this door, and Mena--this man here--would not
permit him to enter. He was not always kind to me, but I loved him;
for how often when he was little have I held him in my arms! So I
stole away and brought him in by another door, thinking to save him,
for he was so weak from his wound. And then Mena stabbed him, and he
died. Vengeance, O king; thou art strong!"
"Thou shalt have it," Alexander said sternly. "Is this true, dog?"
Mena tried to deny, but he could not speak. His face turned ashen.
"I promised this man that he should be crucified," Thais said softly.
"Then let it be done now," Alexander said.
He motioned to his guard, who seized the Egyptian and held him fast.
"Were others concerned in this?" he demanded of the nurse.
"No others, my lord," the woman replied.
"Then let them have no fear," he said. "They shall be unharmed. I
give them and this house to Thais."
"Mercy! Mercy!" cried Mena, finding his voice at last. "It is all a
lie!"
"Take him away," Alexander said. "I see you know how to punish," he
added, turning to Thais.
"I thank the king, both for that and for his gift to me," she replied
demurely. "I was sold at Thebes."
By her order the slaves conducted Alexander to the bath and waited upon
the Companions who began to arrive. She caused the body of Phradates
to be carried to his own chamber, where it was left in the care of the
old nurse. With the aid of Artemisia, she superintended the
preparations for the feast, giving especial care to the selection of
the wines and to the decoration of the hall in which the tables were
spread.
Masses of oak leaves from the gardens of Melkarth's temple hid the
columns, and from among them shone hundreds of lamps and torches,
shedding their light upon the platters of gold and trenchers of silver,
interspersed with flagons of colored glass of the finest workmanship,
that weighed down the tables. The couches were covered with silks of
many hues and piled with yielding cushions.
Pyramids of flowers from the roofs of the houses were disposed upon the
tables, and for each guest a wreath was prepared. The warm,
perfume-laden air throbbed with the music of flutes breathed upon by
invisible musicians.
Thais had caused soldiers to be sent to the Temple of Astoreth, where
the priestesses, with many lamentations, supplied them with pheasants
from the sacred flock, and these, with abundance of fish from the
harbors, pastries, and sweetmeats, disguised the poverty of the larder.
Alexander was accustomed afterward to drive his cooks and stewards to
despair by commanding them to provide a banquet like the one that Thais
had given; for, try as hard as they might, he never could be brought to
give his approval, but persisted in declaring that the feast of Thais
remained unequalled.
The secret was that there never after came a time when the young king
was so well satisfied with himself and his fortune, when his friends
were so inspired, and when the future held so much promise. The battle
of Issus had been won, and the strongest fortress in the world had been
taken. The shores of the sea, from the Hellespont to the Nile, had
been conquered and held. Alexander knew then that no power on earth
could stand against him. He foresaw the overthrow of Darius and the
spread of his own dominion to the confines of the world. Great
thoughts and limitless projects were stirring in his mind. He felt
himself half a God, and he wondered at his own power. There was yet no
bitterness of anxiety to contaminate the pleasure of anticipation,
which always in ambitious hearts so much exceeds that of realization.
The feelings that animated the young leader were shared in greater or
less degree by his followers. Even Hephæstion forgot to sulk because
his place on the right of the king had been given to Artemisia. Thais
sat on his left, and beyond her reclined the lazy bulk of Chares. Each
man looked his neighbor frankly in the face, sure of his sympathy, and
all felt toward Alexander an affection and generous admiration in which
there was no selfish thought.
What wonder that, in after years, when suspicion and insidious pride
had poisoned the mind of the young king, and when the free-hearted
soldiers there gathered together had fallen away from each other, each
hoping evil to his comrade that he himself might profit thereby,--what
wonder that Alexander remembered the feast of Thais as the happiest of
his life? But of the sorrows that were to come none then knew or even
guessed, unless it was old Aristander, to whom all paid honor because
his prophecy of the fall of Tyre, that the king himself had deemed
impossible, had been fulfilled. And even Aristander was cheerful that
night beyond his custom, forgetting the future in the present.
So the young men rejoiced in their strength, in their hopes, and in the
honest affection that warmed their hearts toward each other. The hall
was filled with laughter, and their jesting left no scars. The wine
expanded and stimulated their minds instead of their passions, and when
Callisthenes, at Alexander's request, recited the immortal description
of the fall of Troy, the majestic periods of the epic drew tears of
emotion to their eyes, and every man of them became a hero.
"If I were to bid thee crave a gift at my hands, what would it be?"
Alexander asked of Artemisia.
She blushed, and her glance sought Clearchus.
"It would be one of thy soldiers, O king," she replied softly.
"That is much to ask of a general," Alexander said, affecting
hesitation. "I would rather you had demanded his weight in gold; but
which one?"
"Here he is," said Artemisia, blushing still more deeply and laying her
hand in that of the Athenian.
"I suppose I must give him to thee," the young king said. "Let the
chief priest of Melkarth be summoned."
"I will fetch him myself," Clearchus cried, leaping from his couch, and
he hurriedly left the hall amid the approving laughter of the company.
The priest was found, the marriage contract drawn and signed, and while
Alexander joined their hands, the words were spoken that made Clearchus
and Artemisia one. The captains rose to their feet, each with a
brimming goblet, and they drank the health of the bride with a cheer
such as they had not given since they charged the squadrons of Darius.
With heart-felt freedom they showered good wishes upon their comrade,
and loud were their protests when Alexander broke up the feast to
return to the royal palace.
Leonidas remained, with a few men of his troop, to guard the house, and
he and Chares sat for hours with a flagon of wine between them, talking
of all that had passed since the day when they rode at dawn into Athens
in search of Clearchus.
In the lofty chamber where Artemisia and Thais had spent so many weary
days waiting for the coming of deliverance, Artemisia stood with
Clearchus at the window that looked toward the Macedonian camp. The
cloud-wrack had vanished, and the sky was thickly sown with great stars
that seemed to look down upon them with friendly gaze. The young man's
arm clasped his bride warm and close, and her dear head rested against
his breast. He kissed the soft coils of her hair; but she lifted her
lips to his, and he saw that her blue eyes were swimming with tears of
happiness.
Leonidas, who had gone about his duties long before his friends were
stirring next morning, returned at midday and placed in Artemisia's
hands a mysterious package.
"This is Moloch's gift," he said.
When Artemisia opened it, out poured a magnificent double necklace of
rubies, so large and pure that she could not help kissing him, at which
the Spartan blushed like a boy.
"I found them under the idol," he said. "For once, the chancellor told
the truth."