There was silence for a moment, and then Clearchus said slowly:--

"If it is written that Alexander shall overthrow the Great King, why dost thou lead us captives to Babylon?"

"I know not," Nathan replied, "but the command was laid upon me, and it is Jehovah's will that I should obey. Were it not so, He would have told me. How can we know His ways? Who are we that we should question His wisdom? Yet in the end, I have faith that it will be well with thee; for to Him nothing is impossible."

It was long before Clearchus closed his eyes in sleep that night. He lay looking upward at the tranquil and steadfast stars and revolving in his mind the words of the Israelite. Could it be that a Divinity greater than all others existed in the universe, whose will ruled all things? The idea took possession of him, and at the same time hope was renewed in his breast. The Gods whom he had honored had deserted him; perhaps the God of Israel could help him.

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE WHIRLWIND'S TRACK

Long before Nathan with his captives reached the Persian capital, the sentinels upon the towers of Halicarnassus gave warning of the approach of Alexander's army. Fresh from the storming of stubborn Miletus, the Macedonians advanced against the lofty walls which sheltered the army of Memnon, nearly as numerous as their own. At the first alarm the braying of trumpets sounded through the city, and soldiers filled the streets, marching quickly towards the Mylasan Gate.

Iphicrates, perched high on the walls with the corps of citizen defenders to which he belonged, watched the regular troops making ready for their sally. He held a spear in his hand and a sword was buckled about his fat sides.

"I wish I was with them," said a youth beside him, little more than a boy, gazing down upon the array.

"It's cooler up here--and safer too," the old money-lender muttered, wiping his brow.

"They will cut the Macedonians to pieces," the boy exclaimed, "and I shall have no part in the victory."

"Patience!" Iphicrates answered. "Thy chance will come, perhaps."

The boy turned and looked outward towards the attacking army. "They have stopped," he cried. "They are afraid!"

Iphicrates shaded his eyes with his hand. The Macedonians indeed had halted amid the clouds of dust that their feet had raised and they seemed to be in some confusion. At that moment the gate was thrown open and the garrison emerged in a wide, glittering column. The walls rang with cheers. The column advanced, wheeled, and deployed in a long, deep line, confronting the enemy. It was evidently Memnon's plan to strike a blow that might prove decisive while the Macedonians were still wearied from their march and before they were able to form. His archers sent a flight of arrows towards the Macedonian ranks and his spearmen prepared to charge.

Then behind the dust-cloud rose a sound that seemed to the watchers upon the walls like the murmur of a mighty river. The advance guard of the Macedonians scattered, and in its place appeared the solid front of the phalanx with its forest of sarissas.

"What are they singing?" asked the boy, gazing wide-eyed upon the changing scene.

"It is the paean; they are calling upon the Gods," Iphicrates replied, again mopping his face.

"It is like a tragedy in a theatre," the boy said, catching his breath in the intensity of his excitement. "Look! Who is that?"

Across the front of the Macedonians rode a man upon a great black horse that curvetted and tossed the foam from his bit. The rider's armor flashed through the dust and his white plumes nodded from his helmet.

"That must be Alexander himself," Iphicrates replied. "Ah, here they come!"

Louder rose the paean as the phalanx swept forward. The space that divided the two armies seemed to shrink away until they almost touched.

Then, as with one impulse, the sarissas of the foremost Macedonian ranks dropped forward, until their points were level with the breasts of the foe, and were driven home by the impulse of the charge. The lines of the defenders bent, swayed, and broke. Order gave place to confusion. Here and there small parties began to run back toward the gate they had left so bravely half an hour before.

"We are beaten!" sobbed the boy on the wall.

"It is cooler up here," Iphicrates replied mechanically. A chill ran through his bulk as though he already felt the edge of the swords that were rising and falling in the hands of the victors.

The swiftest of the fugitives, throwing away their weapons, had already dashed panting through the gate. Others crowded behind them, and the opening quickly became choked by a mass of men who trampled each other in their eagerness to get inside the walls. The cavalry and light-armed troops of the Macedonians pressed close at their heels, giving them no respite from their terror.

Of the army of Halicarnassus hardly a remnant would have escaped had not the rain of missiles and arrows from the walls checked the Macedonian advance. As soon as the enemy was within range the order was given to the archers and slingers, of whom there were thousands posted upon the ramparts. They showered stones and arrows upon the pursuing force, and the catapults sent huge darts buzzing down among the close-packed squadrons.

The boy beside Iphicrates was twanging away with his bow as fast as he could fit his arrows to the cord.

"I hit one!" he cried, following the course of a shaft with his eyes.

"I saw him fall! He went right over backward!"

He began shooting again with renewed ardor.

Meantime a few squadrons of the bravest men in Memnon's forces rallied and made a brief stand before the gate. They succeeded in halting the Macedonians long enough to enable their comrades to swarm through to safety; but soon they were swept off their feet and hurled back toward the battlements. To their dismay, they found the great gate closed against them. They were cut down as they ran hither and thither, seeking in vain for a place of refuge.

Iphicrates watched the butchery with horrible fascination. His face was mottled, and the spear in his hand shook like a blade of corn.

"Cowards!" cried the boy with flashing eyes, "why did they not let them in?"

A shout of warning sounded along the crest of the wall. The Macedonian slingers and archers had turned their weapons against it, and they swept the parapet with a deadly storm that drove the defenders to shelter. The hissing of the arrows and the humming of the balls of lead from the slings filled the air. The boy beside Iphicrates uttered a cry, threw up his arms, and fell with a red mark on his forehead.

"Mother!" he murmured, and lay still.

Iphicrates dropped to his hands and knees and crawled away, shaking with the palsy of fear.

There was little sleep in Halicarnassus that night. Soldier and citizen labored together, and morning found them still toiling upon the walls, preparing for what they knew was to come. The city was in the iron grip of the siege.

By day and by night the great walls crumbled before the unremitting assaults of the enemy. The Macedonians filled in the wide ditch, raised mounds and towers, and burrowed beneath the foundations of the defences like moles. There was no lack of provisions in the city, for Memnon's fleet came and went with nothing to oppose it, bringing corn and supplies as they were needed. It had been the hope of the inhabitants that Alexander would withdraw when he had measured the difficulty of the task before him. They had ground for the belief that disturbances might be fomented in Greece that would cause him to turn his attention to that quarter. But their plans miscarried. Antipater held Greece with a firm hand and the siege continued.

No man was permitted to lay aside his armor, for the Macedonians attacked at every hour. Again and again the city was roused in the dead of night by the crash of falling battlements, and the defenders were obliged to guard some new breach while they repaired the damage as best they might. They made frequent sallies, attacking the formidable engines that had been constructed by the enemy. Several of them were destroyed in this way, but they were replaced by new ones more powerful than their predecessors.

Orontobates sent urgent messages to his master, Darius, telling him of the desperate situation and begging for succor; but none came. What was one city, rich and populous though it might be, to a monarch who counted his cities by the thousand? The brave garrison was left to its fate, fighting obstinately against its doom. The faces of the men grew haggard with watching and anxiety. Custom and order were forgotten.

Rich and poor, slave and freeman, labored side by side against the inevitable; and ever, like men swimming against the current, they felt the resistless pressure bearing them down.

Artemisia and Thais, shut up in the house of Iphicrates, awaited the result of the siege. The younger woman was overcome at first when she learned that Clearchus was to be sent to Babylon, but Thais managed to convince her that he was in no danger, and a message that was brought to them before the siege began went far to revive her hope. One of the Cyprian women came back from the market with a basket of grapes. She said that a young man had followed her and asked her whether she did not belong to Thais. She replied that she did.

"Then tell her," the stranger said, "that Nathan the Israelite bids her have no fear."

With that, he vanished in the crowd, and she brought the message.

They learned without much difficulty who Nathan was, and the mysterious message consoled them. Artemisia spoke of it with a childlike faith that touched Thais' heart.

"When they return, they will rejoin the army of Alexander," she said.

"If we could only escape to the Macedonians."

"We shall manage it in some way," Thais replied. "Leave it to me."

Phradates, whose broken wrist prevented him from taking part in the fighting, came often to visit them. He had never forgotten his glimpse of the face of Thais as it appeared in the great slave market before the ruined city of Thebes. His defeat that day was rendered more bitter in the recollection by the thought that she had been a witness of it. The face had haunted him until it had become a part of his life. After her return to Athens he had dogged her footsteps until he was called away to join the army of the satraps.

When he saw her again before Memnon's tribunal, the fascination of her beauty took complete possession of him. His anger against Chares was forgotten, and he was even glad when his rival was sent to Babylon instead of being condemned to death. He believed that the Theban would never come back, and the execution of the prisoners in Halicarnassus might have proved an insurmountable barrier between him and Thais.