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"We must find out what the decision of the council is," Leonidas whispered, as they rolled themselves in their cloaks, "and then the next thing will be to get away."
CHAPTER XVII
THE TRAGEDY OF THE MARSH
It was after midnight when the council ended and the generals returned to the mercenary camp. Chares and Clearchus had long been slumbering, but Leonidas, feeling his responsibility as leader, had deemed it his duty not to yield to his fatigue until the camp was still.
The story of what had occurred in the council spread quickly through the mercenary army next morning. Memnon had returned in a rage. He had warned the satraps of their folly in expecting an easy victory and had advised them again to fall back, laying waste the country as they went, so that the Macedonians would be forced to give battle on disadvantageous terms and when they had been disheartened by privation.
This suggestion had been treated with scorn by the Persians. They had taunted Memnon with cowardice and the satrap Arsites had flatly refused to permit a single house in his province to be destroyed.
"If the Greeks wish to earn their pay without fighting," he had said, "let them stand idly by and see how brave men can conquer."
Thereupon all the Persian nobles had shouted assent and it had been decided to proceed without delay to crush the invasion by forcing a battle.
This was the news that was told through the camp of the Greeks and discussed with bitter comment by groups of soldiers.
"I wish I was back with my wife and children," said a sturdy Locrian. "These dogs know nothing of war."
"I shall stay here, no matter what they do," remarked an Athenian, with a shrug. "Hemlock does not agree with me."
"Wait until the phalanx strikes them," said a hoplite from Syracuse. "I'll wager that the date-eaters will sing a different song when the sarissa begins to tickle their ribs."
"You would suppose that these fellows would like to see the barbarians beaten," Chares muttered to Clearchus.
"Hush," said Leonidas. "We know all that we came to learn. What we have to do now, is to get out as soon as we can. The army cannot be far away and unless we can reach it before it arrives, the day may be lost. If we give the Persians time, they may yet change their minds. All depends upon an immediate attack, while their forces are divided. We must get away at once. How are we to manage it?"
"Why, walk away, of course," Chares said. "Who is to stop us?"
"That will not do," Leonidas replied. "You know the order that nobody shall straggle from the camp. There is too much danger of getting into a brawl with the Persians."
"If a foraging party is going out, we might join it," Clearchus proposed.
"That is worth trying," the Spartan assented; "wait here until I find our friend, the captain."
It happened that the same foraging party that they had joined the day before was going out again. Leonidas asked permission to join it.
"You have not yet been enrolled," the grizzled captain objected, "but come along if you wish; we may need the big fellow with the stake. I'll leave three of my men behind and you can take their places."
Leonidas breathed more freely when they were out of the camp, with the most dangerous part of the mission accomplished. They were forced to cross the Granicus and to walk five or six miles on the other side before they met with any success in their search for provisions. At last they discovered a flock of sheep, of which they took possession. All was in readiness for the return march when Leonidas, Chares, and Clearchus approached the captain.
"We have decided that we will not join the army," Leonidas announced. "We have seen enough of this war. We are going back to the coast."
"I don't know about that," the captain said, scratching his head.
"We are not enrolled," Leonidas reminded him.
"That is true," said the honest fellow, "but you have been in the camp."
"Well, we are not going back," the Spartan said deliberately. "Are you going to try to force us? There are thirteen of you and only three of us, but if you want a fight, you can have it. We don't intend to risk our lives for such leaders as Arsites. Which shall it be – shall we go, or shall we fight for it?"
"Let them go," interposed one of the soldiers who had drawn near to learn what the controversy was about. "They saved us yesterday. I have half a mind to go with them myself. I would if I had my pay."
"Yes, let them go, if they wish," others chimed in. "They are not enrolled."
"Farewell," Leonidas said, sheathing his sword and extending his hand to the captain. "You can say we were killed in a skirmish with the Persians if you like."
"That's it, I'll say you were killed," the captain exclaimed in a tone of relief, clasping the proffered hand. "Only, you will not come back?" he asked doubtfully.
"Never fear," cried Chares, giving him a slap on the back that almost felled him to the ground. "If we do, we'll swear you told the truth."
So they turned north and passed on, while the remainder of the party drove in the sheep to camp.
It was mid-afternoon when they separated from the mercenary company, and they had no means of knowing how many miles they would have to travel before they fell in with the Macedonian army.
"Now for it," cried Leonidas, swinging his shield over his shoulder. "Come on!"
Before they had gone far, they found themselves descending a long slope toward what seemed to be a wide stretch of marshland extending as far as they could see. It was covered with long, dry rushes, which rustled and bent before the strong breeze. The brown expanse apparently had once been a lake, for in the distance they could catch the gleam of water; but the greater part of the basin had dried, and the reeds had sprung up as the water receded.
"It looks like a swamp," Clearchus said, anxiously scanning the plain. "How are we to pass?"
"It seems dry enough now," Leonidas replied. "We will cross it if we can find no better way; but let us look first for a road."
Facing to the east, they skirted the edge of the rushes for more than a mile without finding an opening or coming within sight of the end.
"I'm afraid we shall have to try to get through," Leonidas said at last, halting on a tongue of land which extended some distance into the marsh. "We can't afford to waste much more time."
The question was decided for them in a manner that left them no choice. As they stood in doubt, shouts came from their rear, and turning, they saw a company of horsemen at the top of the slope, half a mile away, bearing down upon them at a breakneck gallop. Their long lances and flowing garments showed them to be Persians.
"You were right in saying that we had no time to waste, Leonidas," Chares exclaimed. "What are you going to do about this? I am anxious to take orders."
For answer, the Spartan set off at a run for the marsh. It was evident that the Persians had seen them and were aiming to attack them at a distance from the camps, where the affair would remain undiscovered.
With the wind blowing in their faces, the three young men plunged in among the reeds. The dry stalks met above their heads and whistled about their ears.
"Go first!" commanded Leonidas, standing aside for Chares to pass.
The Theban took the lead, tearing like a wild bull through the crackling stems. Clearchus followed at his heels and Leonidas brought up the rear, retaining for himself the post of danger. Although their figures were hidden, they knew their pursuers would have no trouble in following them, for they left a broad trail, and, moreover, the elevation of the backs of their horses would enable the barbarians easily to mark their progress by the waving of the rushes.
For a mile and two miles the race continued without a word being spoken. The Persians had ridden headlong into the marsh after them and were slowly gaining upon them, although the speed of their horses was checked by the rushes, which caused them to stumble, and by the softness of the ground, into which their hoofs sank to the fetlock at every stride.
Clearchus was panting for breath and he heard Leonidas breathing hard behind him. Sweat streamed from the face and neck of Chares, who broke the path. The Athenian knew that the pace could not be maintained much longer.
Still another half mile they struggled on with the endless brown walls of reeds before them and around them. Long ago they had cast away their javelins and their shields, which caught in the reeds and hindered them. Even if they could find a barrier behind which to make a stand, they knew they would have no chance for their lives against the enemy, who outnumbered them six to one and had the advantage of being mounted.
Clearchus thought of Artemisia, and his temples throbbed with anguish as he nerved himself to fresh effort. Was he never to see her again? His bones would bleach in the middle of that vast morass and she would not know. He thought of the high-spirited young king who had sent them to obtain information that might save his army from destruction and the hopes of Greece from ruin. On them alone might depend the result of the battle that was to be fought and the destiny of two nations.
He saw Chares stumble once and again. His own muscles were benumbed by the long strain. The shouting at their backs was growing louder and more near and he could hear the thudding of the hoofs upon the spongy, black soil.
"Stop!" Leonidas gasped behind him, and looking over his shoulder, Clearchus saw that the Spartan had fallen to his knees.
"Back, Chares," he shouted. "The end has come!"
The Theban halted and they both ran back to Leonidas, drawing their swords with a fierce determination to defend themselves to the last.
"Beat down the rushes!" Leonidas cried hoarsely. "Let in the wind!"
They saw that he held his flints in his hands and that a tiny blaze was flickering up from a heap of rushes which he had crushed into a tinder-like mass.
They understood his plan and hope returned to them. Like madmen, they trampled the reeds to the right and left. A puff of wind came through and caught the darting tongue of fire. It leaped upward so suddenly that the Spartan's hair was singed before he had time to draw back. In an instant, it seemed, a sheet of flame flung itself into the air above the reed-tops, casting off a thin swirl of bluish smoke. With incredible swiftness the fire swept from them straight down upon their pursuers, leaving behind it a rapidly widening wake of black.
"Scatter it!" cried Leonidas, seizing the blazing reeds and throwing them in every direction. The others followed his example, spreading the fire as far as they could to the right and left so as to make it impossible for the Persians to evade it by avoiding its path.
As soon as the barbarians saw the first smoke, they halted, hesitated for a moment, and then turned wildly back in the hope of escaping by the way they had come. The Greeks had taken a position on the charred ground, where they themselves were safe from the flames, and were awaiting the result, sword in hand.
The conflagration, as it gathered headway, seemed to become a monster animated by a living spirit. One broad sheet of flame swept high into the air, roaring like a hungry beast, and throwing up clouds of smoke that hid the southern sky. With deadly swiftness it devoured the lake of reeds before it, leaving behind a bare and level plain of ashes from which here and there rose smoky spirals. It seemed to create a scorching gale stronger even than the wind that had fanned it into life. It rushed forward by great leaps and bounds, pausing now and then over some especially tempting thicket of reeds, and then starting up far in advance.
In vain the three young men tried to learn what had become of the pursuers upon whom Leonidas had let loose their terrible ally. Grasping their swords, they stood back to back amid the drifting smoke, striving to look beyond the flaming wall. The wave of fire reached the slope from which they had fled, lingered there for a few moments, and then vanished as quickly almost as it had sprung into existence. The smoke blew away over the uplands in a bellying cloud. Gazing through its rifts, they could see nothing of the Persians. They seemed to have disappeared as completely as though the earth had swallowed them.
"Where are they?" exclaimed Clearchus in bewilderment.
"They must have escaped," Leonidas replied.
"No, by Zeus, I see them!" Chares cried, pointing to a group of blackened mounds about halfway from where they stood to the edge of the marsh.
One of the mounds stirred as he spoke, and they saw that he was right. It was one of the horses. The animal tried to raise itself on its fore legs, gave a scream of agony, and fell back among the cinders.
Without a word, the three Companions turned away. While the fire had fled rapidly before the wind, it had made little progress in other directions. It was still eating into the rushes behind them and on either side and they were surrounded by it, excepting where it had swept back to the slope. To return in that direction would be to run new risk of capture. They were prisoners.
They looked at each other. Their faces and garments were black with smoke and ashes.
"What would they say if they could see you in the Agora in Athens looking like that?" Chares asked of Clearchus.
"They would ask me the price of charcoal, I suppose," the Athenian replied, laughing.
They moved slowly after the receding fire, choosing their path with caution and halting every few yards to wait until the ground had cooled.
"We shall not get out in time!" Leonidas groaned.
"Don't be too sure," Clearchus cried. "Look at that." He extended his hand, upon which a drop of water had fallen.
"Rain!" cried the Spartan, joyfully. "The Gods be thanked!"
It was rain, indeed. The drops were falling all around them, making little puffs in the hot ashes and hissing on the embers. The wind shifted further to the east and brought a refreshing dampness to their faces, crimsoned by the stifling atmosphere which they had been forced to breathe. There was a muttering of thunder, then a nearer crash overhead, and they saw the storm striding across the plain in a long, sweeping curve. They lifted their faces to it and drew deep breaths, letting the water trickle through their hair and down their bodies. Steam rose from the blackened expanse all about them. Gaps began to appear in the hissing circle of fire. The red tongues flickered and went out.
"There is yet time," Leonidas cried, and in a few moments they were once more among the reeds, heading for the northern margin of the swamp.
CHAPTER XVIII
GREEK AND BARBARIAN
Alexander was riding upon Bucephalus, with Parmenio at his side. Behind them rode the light-hearted pages and the grave generals, followed by the Companions and the infantry, winding like an enormous snake along the road that led southward to the Granicus.
The young king seemed preoccupied. He glanced restlessly to the right and left where scouting parties were beating the country to guard against surprise and in the hope of finding some trace of the enemy.
"The Persians cannot be far away now," he said to Parmenio. "Do you think they will wait for us?"
"If they were wise, they would fall back and draw us away from our supplies," the old general replied.
"They must fight," Alexander exclaimed.
"I have no doubt they will," Parmenio answered, with the shadow of a smile upon his lips.
Alexander glanced sharply at him and was silent, riding with bent head as though debating with himself. There was something in the veteran's tone that jarred upon him.
"I wish Leonidas, Chares, and Clearchus were here," he said at last.
"Perhaps they have taken service under Memnon," Parmenio suggested dryly.
"Is there none that you trust?" Alexander said sharply. "They are not deserters; but they may have been killed."
"That is possible," the old man replied.
"I care not so much for the Persians," Alexander continued, "but I would like to know how many men Memnon has and what spirit they are in."
A small party of the scouting horsemen appeared before them in the road.
"It is Amyntas himself," Alexander said, catching sight of them. "What has the Lyncestian found?"
"Either stragglers or prisoners," Parmenio replied, shading his eyes with his palms. "They seem to be negroes."
"We will put them to the torture," Alexander said, with satisfaction. "They may be able to tell something of what we wish to know."
He urged Bucephalus forward to meet the skirmishers, who halted to await his arrival.
"What have you here, Amyntas?" he asked.
"Three men who seemed to be wandering about the Country," Amyntas replied. "They are Greeks, but they refuse to give any account of themselves excepting to Alexander."
One of the three prisoners, short and strong of build, stood forward and saluted. Alexander looked hard at him and then at the other two. His face cleared and he laughed aloud.
"Order a halt," he said. "Let the men rest and eat. Leave the prisoners to me."
He gave his horse to a groom and led the way to a wide-spreading oak tree a short distance from the road.
"I thought you had been either killed or captured," he said to the prisoners. "Leonidas, what have you learned?"
"Everything," the Spartan replied.
"How many soldiers has Memnon?" the young king asked.
"Twenty thousand," was the reply.
"Will they fight?" Alexander inquired.
"No, because the Persians will not let them," Leonidas said. "Memnon advised a retreat, but the satraps laughed in his face and gave him permission to watch them win the battle."
"What think you of that, Parmenio?" Alexander exclaimed. "He gave them the same advice you would have given had you been there. They have refused it. The day is ours!"
With hasty questions he brought out the whole story of the expedition. The plan of battle formed itself in his mind as he listened, walking back and forth before them. His eyes flashed and his cheeks glowed red.
"You have done well," he said to the three friends, when they had finished. "Your horses are waiting for you. Refresh yourselves and put on your armor, for you will need it before the sun goes down."
"I hope nobody has stolen my breastplate," Chares muttered.
Alexander continued to pace backward and forward with his head inclined a little to the left, as was his wont when in thought. Parmenio watched him closely, but did not venture to speak. Amyntas, who had ridden forward after surrendering his prisoners, now returned at a gallop.
"The barbarians await us on the opposite side of the river," he said.
"Your prisoners have already told me," Alexander replied. "Is the stream fordable?"
"Not directly in front of their line," the cavalryman replied. "There is shallow water above and below them, but the stream is swift."
"Call the council," Alexander said quietly, turning to Parmenio.
Heralds bore the order down the road beside which the army lay at rest. The commanders left their stations and came forward, singly and in groups, gathering about their leader. In few words he set the situation before them.
"Shall we attack them now or to-morrow?" he asked.
"Let us fight now!" the captains shouted.
But Parmenio frowned and shook his head. "My advice is to wait," he said boldly. "Already it is late and we must cross the river to reach the enemy. They have chosen their own ground. The men are weary with their march."
"No, no!" the younger men shouted.
"As for the river," Alexander replied, "the Hellespont would blush for shame if we stood waiting on the banks of such a stream as this after having crossed the other. It is true that we have little time, and that is the more reason that we should make the most of it. We will fight now."
His decision was received with a burst of cheers. He waited with a smile until the clamor of approval had ceased.
"Comrades and Macedonians!" he continued, "we are about to face the Mede. If we win here, we win all. I say to you that we shall win. I ask you only to be worthy of yourselves. Fight this day as the heroes fought before the walls of Ilium. Their shades are with us. Your names shall be linked forever with theirs. Here we shall reap the first harvest of our hope."
"Lead us, Alexander! We shall win!" the captains shouted.
They ran back to spread the news among the soldiers, who received it with such enthusiasm that even the anxious face of Parmenio brightened. In another half hour the army was again in motion with Alexander in the van, wearing the helmet with the white plumes that swept his shoulders.
When they reached the river, they saw the Persians drawn up on the opposite bank in a long, deep line. The front of the enemy was gay with banners flaunting in the sun and resplendent with the multi-colored finery of the Persian lords. The Greeks could hear the braying of their trumpets and the shouts of their commanders as the dense masses of their cavalry wheeled into position to meet the attack. At sight of Alexander a high-pitched, long-drawn cry ran from one end of their line to the other, rising and falling in derision.
There was no answer from the Greeks. The young king drew aside to a point of vantage and threw a rapid glance at the barbarian host. He saw that the river before them broadened into a pool, over whose quiet surface the swallows were skimming. Immediately in front of him the water foamed and gurgled over a shallow, and a similar break ended the pool below. The opposite bank rose steeply from the water's edge to the wide declivity upon which the Persians had taken their stand. Behind them Memnon's mercenaries had been posted as a reserve and to be spectators of the punishment which the barbarians were to inflict upon their countrymen.
"Leonidas was right," Alexander exclaimed, pointing to the mercenaries. "See, we shall not have to meet the spears of the Greeks. Form the line, Parmenio."
Squadron and company emerged from the road and wheeled into their positions in silence under the direction of their captains. Clearchus, Chares, and Leonidas were riding with Ptolemy's troop when a page sought them and they saw Alexander beckoning.
"Do not forget that you are to fight with Alexander to-day," he said, as they rode up.
Leonidas flushed with pride and Chares threw a satisfied glance at the gorgeous breastplate which he had recovered safely. They took their places in the cluster of young Macedonians behind the king.
Amyntas, with his light horsemen, was posted on the extreme right, beyond the left of the Persian line. Ptolemy, with the heavy cavalry, stood next, and Alexander, with seven squadrons of the Companions, the best and bravest of his army, supported him on the left. Then came the terrible phalanx, rank on rank, its sarissas standing up to four times the height of a man, like a giant field of corn. Farther down the river, in the left wing, where Parmenio commanded, was the dashing Thessalian horse, with the riders of Thrace and the Greek allies, supported by other squadrons of foot-soldiers.
Quickly and calmly, as though forming for a parade, the line extended itself and stood still. Behind its centre the catapults and ballistæ were posted, with their strings tightened and their great arms drawn back, ready to hurl their bolts or to discharge their missiles.
A sudden hush fell on both sides of the river. The jeers of the Persians died away and their banners stirred lazily in the light air. The Macedonians stood facing them like an army of statues. Alexander touched his horse with the spur and rode slowly down the line alone to see that all was in readiness. As he passed he spoke to the captains, calling them by name.
"Nicanor," he said, "let your men prove themselves men once more to-day! Perdiccas, fight for the honor of Hellas! Cœnus, there are no cowards among your followers; fight now as you never fought before! Remember Macedon!"
So the young king reached the left of the array, where he gave his final instructions to Parmenio, and galloped back to his place on the right with his double white plume streaming behind him.
Gazing across the narrow stream, the veterans of Macedon saw the pride of Persia awaiting their onset. The great struggle for which they had been making ready through years of toil was about to be brought to an issue. There rose before them a vision of the farms and villages among the rugged Macedonian hills where their wives and children awaited them. They set their teeth upon the thought that defeat would leave the road to their homes unguarded. They pictured the shame of returning as hunted fugitives, with the barbarians at their heels – how sullen Sparta would exult and fickle Athens blaze up in revolt. It would be better to die there on the banks of the foreign river than to incur such disgrace.
To all minds came the thought that the fate of the world was hanging in the balance, and all eyes turned to Alexander. The young king, cool and confident, had regained his position at the head of the Agema. He raised his hand and away on the right the army heard the clear notes of a trumpet sounding the charge.
Amyntas, with his gallant lancers, galloped down the slope and dashed into the river, which foamed about the knees of the plunging horses.
Again the trumpet-call quavered in the air, and Ptolemy's squadrons followed Amyntas with a clanking of armor and a jangling of scabbards.
On the opposite shore the Persians raised their fierce, defiant shout and rushed eagerly forward to meet the charge. A flight of arrows rose from the archers posted upon the hillside in their rear and converged in a glittering shower upon the ford.
Then along the dreaded phalanx of the Greeks ran a swelling murmur. The forest of sarissas began to move toward the river. Louder rose the chant until it drowned the clash of arms and the shouts of the barbarian host. It was the solemn pæan from twelve thousand bearded throats, calling upon the Gods of Hellas for their aid. The hearts of the Greeks in the mercenary camp on the heights across the river tightened as the deep-toned chorus rolled up to them and for a time they avoided looking into each other's eyes.
Enormous darts, ponderous balls of lead, and jagged stones were hurled against the Persian line from the death-dealing engines in the rear of the Greek position. Amyntas was struggling hand to hand in the foaming ford. The battle was joined.
