Xanthe remarked.

"No doubt," Mena said, watching her with increasing amusement, "and probably he has a wife of his own. Why else should he burn the letter?"

Xanthe winced at this thrust, although she had no idea that Mena had fathomed what was in her mind. "At any rate, he cannot marry her," she said, as though thinking aloud.

"The old one might die, you know," Mena suggested. "Such things have been known to happen at the right moment."

These words were accompanied by a look so full of meaning that poor Xanthe felt a chill of apprehension. She did not trust herself to say more, but carried away the fragment to her own room, where she concealed it.

Mena's hint had fallen upon fertile ground. She went over the situation again and again in her mind, coming always to the same conclusion. That Ariston was carrying on an intrigue with some girl was now certain; for it never occurred to her that the letter might not have been intended for him. It seemed certain to her also that her husband would seek to rid himself of her so that he might marry her rival. Mena was right. Such things had happened more than once and poison was the easiest way. If she should die, who was there to ask what had caused her death? Nobody. She began to take infinite precautions regarding her food, tasting nothing that she had not herself prepared; yet she felt that she was in hourly danger in spite of all she could do. When nothing happened to her, she concluded that her husband's failure to attempt her life was due solely to the fact that his plans were not yet ripe. When all was ready, he would kill her and flee with Clearchus' fortune to some distant land, where he could meet the abandoned creature upon whom his affections had fallen.

She knew only too well that he was capable of anything in the furtherance of his selfish schemes. Thus her folly led her on until at last she came to regard her imaginings as truth confirmed. But if she was to be murdered, she thought, at least she would prevent him from enjoying the fruit of his wickedness. She would write to Clearchus and tell him all.

When she had reached this conclusion, she lost no time in carrying it into execution. But it was long since she had used the stylus and she was forced to confine herself to the barest outline of what she wished to say. After many failures, she finally produced the following:--

"Clearchus: Iphicrates has Artemisia in Halicamassus. My husband is a beast who wants to poison me. If you hear that I am dead, you will know why, and I hope you will see that he is punished. Go to Halicamassus, and when you get her, keep her safe. Iphicrates is a wicked man and he should be killed. If my husband does not poison me, make no accusation against him."

Xanthe sealed this letter and hid it away until a chance should offer to send it to her nephew. She felt much easier, as though the fact that she had written it were in some way surety for her safety.

Several weeks passed before she found the opportunity for which she had been looking. At last she learned that Callias, son of a widow of her acquaintance, had joined a mercenary troop that was being raised in Athens. She gave the letter to his mother to be delivered to Clearchus in Pella, but Callias, having received part of his pay in advance, could not tear himself away from his friends in Athens until the gold was spent. Consequently the letter was not delivered until after Macedon and Persia had met at the Granicus.

CHAPTER XIII

THE UNQUENCHABLE FIRE

It was a clear, bright spring day when the three friends rode into Pella. The new sap was beginning to swell the buds, and the fresh green of the grass was gleaming hopefully on sunny slopes. Chares had been singing snatches of love songs since early morning when they set out on the last stage of their journey. Even Clearchus forgot his anxiety in the thought that he was drawing nearer to Artemisia, and the grim Leonidas had smiled more than once at the sallies of the light-hearted Theban.

In the Macedonian capital on every side was the stir of animation and preparation. Recruits were being drilled for the army. Messengers were hastening hither and thither. Ambassadors were coming and going with their trains. They gazed with admiration at the solid buildings, designed with a stately magnificence which, in its own way, was as impressive as the marble embodiments of Athenian genius. Everywhere were the evidences of a young and strong people, buoyant, self-confident, energetic, and fearless. No idlers blocked the streets. Every man had something to do and was doing it. The tide of vigorous life flowed strong through the city as in the veins of a young oak tree.

It was not strange that Pella should have swarmed with activity on that day in spring. Within the boundaries of the rugged little state, half Hellenic and half barbarian, a vast project, supported by a sublime confidence, was taking shape. It had been formed and nursed by the crafty and far-seeing Philip, whether as a possibility or as a stroke of policy to bring Hellas under his control none could say. Now it had suddenly become a reality. The great empire of Persia, which covered the world from the shores of the Euxine to the sources of the Nile, and from the aegean to limits undefined, beyond the regions of mystery through which the Indus flowed, was to be invaded. It had endured for centuries as an immense and impregnable power. Fierce tribes dwelt in the fastnesses of its snow-clad mountains, numberless caravans crept across its scorching deserts, gigantic cities flourished upon its fertile plains. Nations were lost among the uncounted millions of its population. Its wealth surpassed the power of imagining, and about the throne of the Great King, whose slightest wish was the unchangeable law of all this vast dominion, stood tens of thousands of the bravest warriors in the world, ready at a sign to lay down their lives for him.

What had Persia to fear from the handful of peasants turned soldiers who had made a boy their king? Why should Darius feel any uneasiness concerning the projects of a rash young man who already owed more than he could pay? To be sure, he had made himself the Hegemon of Hellas, with the exception of Sparta, but everybody knew that he had forced the older states to bestow the title upon him against their will and that they were waiting only until his back should be turned to fall upon him. With the slender resources at his command, how could he hope to hold Greece in subjection and at the same time to subdue an empire which had more Hellenic mercenaries alone upon its pay-roll than the sum total of his entire army? Surely, the Great King must be himself despised if he did not look with contempt upon such mad ambition.

Something of the force of this reasoning assailed the mind of Clearchus as he lay down that night on the hard pallet that had been assigned to him by Ptolemy in the barracks of the Companion Cavalry. The immensity of the obstacles to be overcome oppressed him, and he began once more to doubt whether, after all, there could be any hope of success for the young king. He fell asleep, to see in his dreams the pale face of Artemisia framed in her unbound hair.

His mind was still clouded with misgiving when he went next morning with Chares and Leonidas to pay his respects at the palace; but they were dispelled like mists before the morning sun when he stood face to face with Alexander. In the inspiring presence of the young leader no doubts could live. He radiated confidence as a fire radiates warmth.

Every glance of his sympathetic eyes, every tone of his voice, revealed a certainty of the future that was beyond peradventure.

The palace was the centre of the activity that was filling the city.

Generals and captains, agents, princes, hostages, ambassadors, and messengers swarmed in its halls. Here stood the gray-haired Antipater, who had been appointed by Alexander regent of Macedon and guardian of Greece during his absence, talking with citizens of Corinth who had come to consult him concerning proposed changes in their civil government. There was old Parmenio, fresh from his campaign in Mysia, giving his orders for the disposition of a company of mercenaries who had arrived that morning.

There were travellers from the Far East, who had been summoned to tell what they knew of the cities, rivers, and mountains through which the Macedonian march would lie and of the character of the peoples who were to be encountered. There were contractors for horses and supplies anxious to provide the army with subsistence. There were soothsayers and philosophers, slaves, attendants, and courtiers; and among them all, with banter, jest, and laughter, walked the young nobles of Macedon, bosom friends of the king, who had defied Philip for his sake and were now reaping their reward. There were Hephaestion, son of Amyntas, Philotas, son of Parmenio, Clitus, Crateras, Polysperchon, Demetrius, Ptolemy, and a score of others, in spirits as brave as their attire, as though they were about to start upon a holiday excursion instead of a desperate venture into the unknown.

Alexander recognized the three friends immediately and gave them cordial greeting.

"So you have come to follow the Whirlwind," he said, laughing, as though the simile pleased him. "It will soon be launched now."

"We have come to take any service that you may give us," Chares replied.

"You are enrolled in the Companion Cavalry," Alexander informed them.

They gave him their thanks for this mark of favor, for the Companions contained the flower of the kingdom, young men of distinguished families, who were admitted freely into Alexander's confidence as his friends.

"I have just been giving away the security for my debts," Alexander said, smiling at Chares. "I saw you spend your last obol to purchase the liberty of your friends at Thebes. You trusted to the chance of war to bring your fortune back to you, but I have gone further than you, for I have staked my honor. As you see me, I am worth some thirteen hundred talents less than nothing."

"But what have you left for yourself?" the Theban asked.

"My hopes," Alexander replied.

"They say the Medes have gold in plenty," Leonidas observed reflectively.

"Never fear," Alexander replied, laughing. "What are our debts of to-day in comparison with our riches of to-morrow? The Companions are all following my example. We set out with only our swords and our courage--and our golden hope!"

Again he laughed, and calling Philotas to him he turned to Clearchus.

"The queen, my mother," he said, "has heard the story of Artemisia and of what they told you at Delphi. She desires to see you. Philotas will take you to her."

Philotas led the way through courts and colonnades to the women's wing of the palace, where Olympias held sway. As they went, Clearchus recalled all he had heard of Alexander's mother--how it was averred that a great serpent was her familiar, and the tales of her passionate and revengeful nature that had caused her to order the babe of Cleopatra, who had supplanted her in the affections of her husband, to be torn from the arms of its mother and killed in her sight before she herself was slain. He had heard also of her devotion to religious mysteries and especially of her skill in the secret rites of the Egyptian magicians.

As they neared the queen's apartments, Clearchus was astonished to hear a woman's voice raised in anger, followed by the sound of blows and pitiful cries for mercy. He paused in embarrassment, but Philotas drew him on.

"Do not be disturbed," said his guide; "the queen is probably chastising one of her slaves."

He ushered the young Athenian into a large room furnished with luxurious magnificence. Before them stood Olympias, with a rod of ebony in her grasp, and at her feet upon the silken carpet crouched a weeping girl with bare white shoulders, marked with red where the rod had fallen. The queen turned upon them with blazing anger in her great black eyes and the wrathful color on her cheeks.

"Who enters here unbidden?" she demanded sternly, and then in a milder tone she added: "Is it you, Philotas? These girls will kill me yet with their stupidity. I wish I could drown them all in the sea! Ah!"

She swung up the rod and brought it down upon a great vase of Phnician glass, which flew into a thousand fragments. She laughed and threw the rod from her.

"There, now I feel better!" she exclaimed, drawing a long breath. "You may go, Chloe. Dry your eyes, child; you shall have your freedom. Who is this whom you have brought me, Philotas?"

"It is Clearchus, the Athenian, whom the king sends," Philotas answered.

"I remember," she said quickly, turning to Clearchus. "You were robbed of your sweetheart. Do you love her very much?"

"I love her better than my life," Clearchus replied simply.

"Will you never grow weary of her and cast her off, as Philip did me?"

she persisted.

"If I find her, I will never willingly let her go out of my sight again," the young man declared.

"But did not the Pythia tell you that you would find her if you followed my son?" she inquired.

"The oracle instructed me to follow the Whirlwind," Clearchus said,

"Tell me about it," Olympias commanded, seating herself upon a couch.

She made him relate his experience with the oracle in the minutest detail, asking many questions that indicated her lively curiosity. She then inquired of Artemisia's personal appearance, her age, and family.