He looked around for the second of the two horsemen with whom Chares had been engaged when Phradates attacked him, but the man was nowhere to be seen. He turned to his friend and embraced him.

"You were just in time," Chares said.

"Thank the Gods!" Clearchus replied. "This is no place to die. I think the battle is ours."

Phradates, riding at full speed, passed through the Persian lines and galloped up the slope. Here and there a Persian horseman saw him go and followed. Others, and still others, joined the flight until, like a dam that goes down before the swollen current of a river in spring, the barbarian squadrons wavered and broke, streaming up the hill disordered and panic-stricken, with death at their heels. Their only thought was to save themselves.

Slaughter took the place of conflict. Grim and silent the Macedonian cavalry and the Thessalian horse rode among the fugitives with swords that knew no mercy. In that disastrous rout the pride of Persia's chivalry was dragged in the dust, and the courtier deemed himself fortunate who escaped to tell of his own dishonor.

Past the camp of the despised Greek mercenaries who had been bidden to watch the defenders of the Great King conquer or die, ran the barbarian rabble, with the wolves of Macedon tearing at their flanks. Southward they fled, leaving behind a broad track of the wounded and the dying, and scattering as they went until no semblance of the Persian army remained. Sweet in their ears at last was the music of the trumpet notes that withdrew the pursuit and left them free to take breath.

The mercenaries stood before their camp, unmoved amid the panic, awaiting the command to fight or flee. The order never came. Memnon had fought beside the Persian generals and had been swept away with them, leaving his army to its fate. Below them the Greeks saw the Macedonian phalanx re-forming its ranks, with the cavalry, of which they had none, upon its wings.

"Why should we die for these cowards?" they said, one to another.

"They have deserted us and we are free."

They stretched out their hands in supplication toward Alexander.

"Grant us our lives, O king!" they cried.

"They surrender," Parmenio said. "They are ready to join us. Why not accept them? It will cost many lives to punish them."

Alexander's brow darkened. "They are traitors to Greece," he said. "I will have none in my army who has raised his hand against his country."

The deep phalanx rolled onward to the chant of the paean, and the despairing mercenaries knew that they could expect no quarter.

"Let us die like Greeks, since we must die," their captains exhorted.

"There is no escape for us."

The phalanx dashed upon them with a rending shock. The long sarissas tore through their ranks; but they stood firm, giving blow for blow, and calling upon each other not to disgrace their name. They even forced the veterans of Macedon to recoil, and the phalanx surged back like a mighty wave that dashes itself against a sounding cliff and returns with renewed strength.

Had only the foot-soldiers, with whom they could fight on equal terms, been arrayed against them, the issue might have remained in doubt; but the cavalry, against which they had no defence, fell upon their rear ranks with terrible effect. Their squares were broken; their captains fell; disordered and without guidance, they went down before lance and sword, fighting to the last.

Alexander's horse was killed under him while he was leading the cavalry charge upon the left, and for the second time that day he narrowly escaped with his life.

"They fought like men," he said sadly to Ptolemy. "I wish they had been with us instead of against us, for they were Greeks."

He gave command to stop the carnage. Where the mercenary line had stood the dead lay in heaps, friend and foe together. A few of the mercenaries who had been cut off from the main body by the cavalry had succeeded in making their escape; but of the twenty thousand whom Memnon had led, eighteen thousand never left that bloody field. At least, they had shown the barbarians how to die.

"It will be harder for Darius to hire Greeks to fight for him after this," Chares remarked, as he reined in his horse beside his two friends and dismounted.

"They were of our race, after all," Clearchus said, regretfully.

"They were not cowards," Chares assented, nodding his head in approval, "and we have lost more men than we could spare. Here is a fellow, now, who might have amounted to something."

He pointed to the body of a young man who lay with his broken sword beside him. His pale face was calm and his wide eyes stared upward at the crimson evening sky. His corselet had been broken, disclosing the end of a thin roll of papyrus. Chares drew it out and broke the seals.

"He may have been a poet," he said, handing the roll to Clearchus.

"Read it!"

The Athenian glanced at the writing and uttered a quick exclamation.

"Artemisia is in Halicarnassus!" he cried.

"What do you mean?" Chares demanded.

"This is a letter from Xanthe to me," Clearchus said, and he proceeded to read the lines that his unhappy aunt had written with so much toil.

"Who is this Iphicrates?" Leonidas asked.

"I know not," Clearchus replied eagerly, "but if it be the will of the Gods we shall learn. Let us seek the king at once!"

CHAPTER XX

MENA MAKES A DISCOVERY

Mena, the Egyptian, had found a good excuse for remaining in Athens during the fighting, but after the battle of the Granicus Phradates had summoned him to Halicarnassus. He was sitting in a wine-shop, discussing topics of moment with his host. His restless mind, ever on the alert for intelligence that he might turn to account, was gathering information concerning the city.

"Memnon is an able general," he said. "If they had let him lead, the war would have been over by this time."

"I wish they had, then," the host replied, drawing his cup. "That battle on the Granicus came near to ruining me, there were so many of my debtors who did not return."

"You can make up your loss by raising your prices when the siege begins here," the Egyptian observed.

"Do you think there will be a siege?" the other asked anxiously.

"Of course," Mena replied. "Do you expect Alexander to turn back now that the northern provinces are his? But with Memnon here, he will have his trouble for his pains."

"I don't know," the shopkeeper said, shaking his head. "They say these Macedonians are wonderful fighters, and I am not sure, after all, that I want to see them beaten. Blood is thicker than water, and this is a Greek city, when all is said, even though it pays tribute to Darius. I can't see how we should be worse off under Alexander than we are now.

The Persians are robbers, and my grandfather was a Botian."

"Would you have the city surrender?" Mena demanded, in affected surprise.

"No, of course not," the shopkeeper said hastily, taking his cue from his customer, after the manner of his kind. "No, I would never surrender, for our walls are so strong and high that the Macedonians will never get through them; but we might make terms," he added cautiously.

His embarrassment was relieved by a boy who came to tell him that two strangers who had just entered the shop desired to speak with him. He excused himself to the Egyptian, whose sharp eyes followed him as he went to obey the summons. He could not suppress a start of surprise when he saw who had sent it. The two men had taken their places at a remote table, evidently not wishing to be remarked. They wore the garb of light-armed foot-soldiers and their accoutrement seemed much the worse for rough usage. One of them was of great size and strength, with blue eyes and yellow hair which curled about his temples. The other was smaller and more delicate in appearance. The cunning Egyptian recognized them in an instant. They were Clearchus and Chares.

Mena knew the two young men had set out with the army of Alexander, and that they must have had some purpose in coming to Halicarnassus.

Either they had found some clew, he thought, to Artemisia's hiding place, or they had been sent forward from the army as spies. He gradually shifted his position so that he might watch their conversation with the host without danger of being recognized. Their talk lasted long enough for Chares to drain a huge measure of wine, after which the keeper of the shop bowed them out and returned to Mena.

"They were two Athenians," he said. "They wanted to know where Iphicrates lives."

"Who is Iphicrates?" Mena asked innocently.

"He is an old rascal who makes his living out of the necessities of others," the shopkeeper replied. "I dare say they want to borrow money from him. They will have to pay well for it!"