DARIUS
Alexander’s most pressing care was now the capture of Darius himself.
As long as the Great King was at liberty he might become the centre of
a dangerous opposition. If he was once taken Persia was practically
conquered. He had fled to Ecbatana, the ancient capital of the Medes,
from the field of Arbela; and now he had left Ecbatana to find refuge
in the wilds of Bactria, the most rugged and inaccessible of all the
provinces of the empire. But he was not far in advance; Alexander was
only eight days behind him at Ecbatana, and eight days would not, he
thought, be difficult to make up, when his own rate of marching was
compared with that of the fugitive. Affairs that could not be neglected
kept him some days at Ecbatana. These disposed of, he started in pursuit,
hoping to overtake the flying king before he could reach the Caspian
Gates, a difficult mountain-pass on the southern side of the range which
now bears the name of Elburz. He pressed on in hot haste, but found that
he was too late. He was still fifty miles from the Gates, when he heard
that Darius had passed them. And for the present it was impossible to
continue the chase. So worn out were the troops that he had to allow them
five days for rest. After this the fifty miles that still separated him
from the Gates were traversed in two days. At the first halting place
on the other side he heard news that made him curse the delays that had
hindered his movements.
Toilsome as this rapid march had been, Queen Sisygambis, the mother of
Darius, had, at her own earnest request, accompanied it. Alexander had
just finished his evening meal on the evening of the first day after
passing the Gates, when he received a message from the queen’s mother,
requesting an interview on matters of urgent importance. He obeyed the
summons at once, and repaired to the tent.
The queen, usually calm and self-possessed, was overwhelmed with grief.
“Speak, and tell your story,” she said, addressing the elder of two men
who stood by wearing the dress of Bactrian peasants. The man stepped
forward.
“Stay,” cried Alexander, “first tell me who you are, for, unless my eyes
deceive me, you are not what you seem.”
“It is true, sire,” replied the man. “We have disguised ourselves that
we might have the better chance of bringing you tidings which it greatly
concerns both you and the queen to know. My companion and I are Persian
nobles. We have been faithful to King Darius. Till three days ago we
followed him, and it is our duty to him that brings us here.”
“What do you mean?” cried Alexander. “Where is he? How does he fare?”
“Sire,” said Bagistanes, for that was the Persian’s name, “he is king no
longer.”
“And who has presumed to depose him?” said Alexander, flushing with rage.
“Who is it that gives and takes away kingdoms at his pleasure?”
“Sire,” replied Bagistanes, “since the day when King Darius fled from the
field of Arbela——”
The speaker paused, and looked doubtfully at the queen. It was impossible
to tell the truth without implying blame of the king, who had in so
cowardly a fashion betrayed his army.
“Speak on,” said Sisygambis. “I have learnt to bear it.”
“Since that day, then,” resumed Bagistanes, “the king has had enemies who
would have taken from him the Crown of Persia. Bessus, Satrap of Bactria,
conspired with other nobles against their master. They consulted whether
they should not deliver him to you, and had done so, but that they
doubted whether you were one that rewarded traitors. Then they resolved
to take him with them in their flight eastward, and in his name to renew
the war.”
“But had he no friends?” asked the king.
“Yes, he had friends, but they were too weak to resist, nor would the
king trust himself to them. Patron, who commanded the Greeks that are
still left to him, warned him of his danger, but to no purpose. ‘If my
own people desert me,’ he said, ‘I will not be defended by foreigners.’
And Patron, who indeed had but fifteen hundred men with him—for only so
many are left out of the fifty thousand Greeks who received the king’s
pay four years ago—Patron could do nothing. Then Artabazus tried what he
could do. ‘If you do not trust these men because they are foreigners, yet
I am a Persian of the Persians. Will you not listen to me?’ The king bade
him speak, and Artabazus gave him the same advice that Patron had given.
‘Come with us, for there are some who are still faithful to you, into the
Greek camp. That is your only hope.’ The king refused. ‘I stay with my
own people,’ he said. That same day Patron and his Greeks marched off,
and Artabazus went with him. My companion and I thought that we could
better serve our master by remaining, and we stayed. That night Bessus
surrounded the king’s tent with soldiers—some Bactrian savages, who know
no master but the man who pays them—and laid hands on him, bound him with
chains of gold, and carried him off in a covered chariot, closely guarded
by Bactrians. We could not get speech with him; but we went a day’s
journey with the traitors, in order to find out what direction they were
going to take. We halted that night at a village, the headman of which I
knew to be a faithful fellow—in fact, he is my foster-brother. He gave us
these disguises, and we got off very soon after it was dark. Probably we
were not pursued; the start was too great. This is what we have come to
tell you.”
“You will save him, my son,” said Sisygambis to Alexander.
“I will, mother,” replied the king, “if it can be done by man, and the
gods do not forbid.”
Within an hour a picked body of troops was ready to continue the
pursuit. Two small squadrons, one of the Companion Cavalry, the other of
Macedonian light horse—the Thessalians had gone home from Ecbatana—and a
company of infantry, selected for their strength and endurance, formed
the van of the pursuing force. Alexander, of course, took the command
himself. Charidemus, who was beginning to have a reputation for good
luck, a gift scarcely less highly esteemed even by the wise than prudence
and courage, received orders to accompany him. No man carried anything
beyond his arms and provisions for two days, the king himself being as
slenderly equipped as his companions. The main body of the army was to
follow with the baggage at a more leisurely pace.
It was about the beginning of the first watch[74] when the flying column
started. It made a forced march of two nights and a day, making only a
few brief halts for food, and taking a somewhat longer rest when the sun
was at its hottest. When the second day began to dawn, the camp from
which Bagistanes had escaped to bring his information could be descried.
Bessus was now three days in advance. Another forced march, this time for
twenty-four hours, broken only by one brief siesta, for the men ate in
their saddles, materially decreased the distance. The column reached a
village which Bessus and his prisoner had left only the day before. Still
the prospect was discouraging. The headman was brought before Alexander,
and questioned by means of an interpreter. The man had plenty to tell,
for it was only the day before that he had been similarly questioned by
Bessus. From what had fallen from the satrap, the headman had concluded
that it was the intention of the fugitives to push on night and day
without halting.
“Can we overtake them?” asked the king. “Tell me how I may do it and you
shall have a hundred gold coins for yourself, and your village shall be
free of tribute for ever.”
“You cannot overtake them by following them; but you can cut them off.”
The man then described the route which would have to be followed. It lay
across a desert; it was fairly level and not unusually rough, but it
was absolutely without water. Sometimes used in winter, it was never
traversed between the spring and the autumn equinox. But the distance
saved was very large indeed.
Alexander’s resolution was at once taken. He was one of the men to whom
nothing is impossible, and this waterless desert was only one of the
obstacles which it was his delight to overcome. But, if his idea was
audacious, he had also a consummate readiness of resource, and a most
careful and sagacious faculty of adapting means to ends. He began by
selecting from the cavalry force which accompanied him the best horses
and the best men. All the infantry were left behind. The riding weight
of the chosen horsemen was reduced to the lowest possibility, even the
ornaments of the horses being left behind. Then he gave them a long
rest, so long that there was no little wonder among them at what seemed
a strange waste of time. But the king knew what he was doing. He was
going to make one supreme effort, and everything must be done to avoid a
breakdown.
The start was made at nightfall, but the moon was fortunately full, and
the riders had no difficulty in keeping the track. By an hour after
sunrise on the following day they had completed nearly fifty miles, and
their task was all but accomplished.
They had, in fact, cut the Persians off. The two bodies of men were
marching on converging lines, which, had they been followed, would have
actually brought them together. Unluckily some quick-sighted Bactrian
had caught a glimpse of the Macedonians, and had given the alarm to
his commander. Bessus and his column were already in flight when they,
somewhat later, became visible to the Macedonians.
The best mounted of the troopers started at once in pursuit. They
recognized the figure of the satrap, and took it for granted that Darius
would be with him. The chase would in any case have been fruitless, for
the Bactrians had not been pushing their horses during the night, and
easily distanced the wearied pursuers. But, as a matter of fact, Darius
was not there, and it was Charidemus who, by mingled sagacity and good
luck, won the prize of the day. His eye had been caught by an object
in the Persian line of march which he soon discovered to be a covered
chariot, surrounded by troops. He saw it become the centre of a lively
movement and then observed that it was left standing alone. He also
observed that before the soldiers left it they killed the animals which
were drawing it. It at once occurred to him that it was here that Darius
would be found. He looked round for the king, intending to make his
conjecture known to him. But Alexander was a long way behind. His horse,
not the famous Bucephalus, which was indeed too old for such work, but a
young charger which he was riding for the first time, had broken down.
No time was to be lost, and Charidemus galloped up to the chariot.
His guess had been right. Darius was there, but he was dying. The story
told afterwards by the slave who, hidden himself, had witnessed the last
scene, was this: Bessus and the other leaders, as soon as they discovered
that the Macedonians had overtaken them, had urged the king to leave the
chariot and mount a horse. He refused. “You will fall,” cried Bessus,
“into the hands of Alexander.” “I care not,” answered Darius. “At least
he is not a traitor.” Without further parley they hurled their javelins
at him and fled, not even turning to see whether the wounds were mortal.
The king was near his end when Charidemus entered. The slave had come out
of his hiding-place, and was endeavouring in vain to stanch the flow of
blood. Darius roused a little as the strange figure came in sight.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Charidemus, my lord,” was the answer.
“What?” murmured the dying man, “do his furies haunt me still?”
“My lord,” said the young man, “I have only kindness to remember.”
Darius recognized his voice. “Ah! I recollect,” he said, “you were at
Issus. But where is your king?”
“He is behind; he is coming; but his horse failed him.”
“He will be too late, if indeed he wished to see me alive. But it matters
not: Darius, alive or dead, is nothing now. But give him my thanks, and
say that I commend my mother to him and all of my kindred that may fall
into his hands. He is a generous foe, and worthier than I of the sceptre
of Cyrus. But let him beware. He is too great; and the gods are envious.”
Here his voice failed him. A shudder passed over his limbs; he drew a few
deep breaths, and the last of the Persian kings was gone.
About half an hour afterwards Alexander arrived, having obtained a horse
from one of his troopers. For some minutes he stood looking at the dead
man in silence. Then calling some of his men, who by this time had
collected in considerable numbers, he bade them pay the last duties to
the dead. The corpse was conveyed to the nearest town, and there roughly
embalmed. In due time it received honourable burial in the royal tomb at
Pasargadæ.