The pursuit had almost reached the foot of the gate when the leader of the detachment, a young man with a handsome face, saw that his horse was splashing through the rising water and realized the danger that threatened them. He gave a sharp command to halt. He glanced quickly forward, and then back along the way they had come, as though considering what course to take.

No time was allowed him for decision. Nathan, Clearchus, and Chares strained at the levers.

With a sharp creak the heavy gate was loosened, and the flood that rushed beneath it helped to force it upward.

Roaring angrily, the water foamed into the gorge, filling it from side to side with a torrent ten feet deep that dashed impatiently against the walls of the tortuous channel.

The guardsmen had no chance to escape. Like men of straw, they were lifted, horse and rider together, whirled over and over, and swept down the valley on the crest of the yellow wave. Their cries were choked in the rush of the water.

Nathan and Clearchus dropped their levers and stood gazing at the surface of the turbid stream. Chares joined them.

"It is a pity," he said regretfully. "They deserved a better death. I wish we could have had a bout with them; but it may be all for the best. Let them go as a sacrifice to My Lady Beltis. By Dionysus, she has given us back our horses, too! Look here!"

One of the Nisaeans had gained the top of the dam and another was close behind him. The third had been overtaken by the flood and was struggling piteously for a foothold with his fore feet. Chares caught him by the bit and dragged him up to safety. They mounted and struck off at random among the hills, seeking to get as far away as possible before daylight should break.

This was the only direct encounter that they had with the soldiers of the pursuit. Skirting the desert, they made their way northward and westward until all danger of capture had passed. Once, in seeking to cross an arm of the sandy waste, they went astray and nearly perished from thirst. On another occasion they were surrounded by a band of robbers, from whom they barely escaped. This last adventure took place on the eastern slope of Mount Amanus on the borders of Cilicia, where they arrived after a month of wandering. It was here that they began once more to hear the name of Alexander and to feel the currents of the mighty storm that was gathering on the flank of the empire of Darius.

CHAPTER XXX

LEONIDAS UNDERTAKES A MISSION

Down from the Phrygian plateau, through a land that glowed with the touch of autumn, marched the Macedonian host, with Alexander at its head. On a clear October night the army halted at the foot of the rugged and forbidding crags of the Taurus. Leonidas with his cavalry troop followed the young king in the attack upon the Cilician Gates, which scattered the guard stationed there and opened the way into the satrapy of Cilicia.

From one of the captives taken at the pass, Alexander learned that the satrap Arsames had planned to plunder the city of Tarsus and retreat into Syria with his spoil. While the main body of the troops was still filing through the pass, he gathered a chosen body of cavalry and light infantry and swooped like a falcon upon the town. The Spartan rode that day at the head of his squadron for fifty miles; and Arsames, abandoning all thought of plunder, deemed himself fortunate to escape with his garrison.

It was here that Alexander fell ill from bathing in the icy waters of the Cydnus, and the rumor spread through the army that his life was in danger. Grief and anxiety pervaded the camp. The toughest of the veterans, with tears in their eyes, gathered before the house in which he lay, demanding news of his condition. The physicians came and went with grave faces and in silence.

Although his fever ran high, Alexander insisted upon receiving his friends as usual and attending to his affairs. One day came a letter from Parmenio, who had been sent forward with a strong detachment to secure the southern pass into Syria through the Amanic range. The young king read it thoughtfully, and Leonidas noticed that he thrust it under his pillow without discussing its contents as his custom was.

A conference of the physicians was being held to consider the king's malady, for it was evident that some decisive measure must be taken if the fever was to be checked. In this consultation a dispute arose between Philip of Acarnania and the other physicians. Philip maintained that a strong remedy should be given, but when he named the potion that he proposed to administer, his colleagues declared that they would have no part in it, holding the opinion that the drugs would surely kill the patient.

Hearing the voices raised in controversy, Alexander demanded the reason. He called the doctors before him and listened to all they had to say.

"Will this draught of which you speak enable me to ride Bucephalus in three days?" he asked of Philip.

"I will answer for it," the Acarnanian replied.

"Compound it, then, for me," the young king said. "When it is ready, I will take it."

He turned his face away and the physicians left him. During the interval of waiting he talked with Clitus, Philotas, Leonidas, and others of his Companions concerning the Trojan war, but, noting their evident anxiety, he broke off to rally them upon it.

"Do not think," he said, laughing, "that we have come so far and endured so much to stop here. There is many a campaign yet before us."

When Philip came, bringing an earthen bowl containing a liquid which steamed with an odor of spices, he raised himself on his couch and drew Parmenio's letter from under his pillow. As he took the bowl from the physician, he handed him the letter.

"Read it!" he said quietly, setting the potion to his lips.

With his eyes on Philip he slowly drank the medicine. The physician glanced at the letter and grew pale, but he returned Alexander's gaze without flinching.

"Drink and be of good cheer," he said. "I tell thee this after having read this charge against me."

He returned the letter as he spoke.

"I have drunk already," Alexander replied; and then, turning to Clitus, he bade him read what Parmenio had written.

"Beware of Philip, your physician," the letter ran. "I am informed that he hath been bribed by the Great King with the promise of a thousand talents and the hand of his daughter to poison thee. I beg of thee to take nothing that he may offer."

Scowling brows were turned toward the physician, who was busying himself unconcernedly in heaping fresh coverings upon his patient.

"Let no man interfere," Alexander said sternly. "Where I have placed my trust, no other shall doubt."

This warning was sufficient to restrain the Companions, even when they saw their leader lying like a dead man beneath the blankets, with closed lids and a pulse that was scarcely perceptible. But Philip never moved his watchful eyes from the pale face, and when he saw drops of perspiration rolling down the forehead a slight smile of satisfaction appeared upon his lips. His confidence and the faith that the young king had placed in him had been justified; for an hour later Alexander came out of his faintness, and, although weak, the fever had left him. He was able next day to show himself to the soldiers, and a few days later to lead them against the bandits who infested the southern part of the province, routing them from their fastnesses and scattering to the four corners of the earth those who escaped the sword. On his return he received news that Ptolemy and Astander had defeated Orontobates and captured the Salmacis and the Royal Citadel of Halicarnassus. He celebrated this victory and his recovery with sacrifice and games after the ancient manner.

Suddenly across the country like wildfire spread the news that Darius was approaching with an army so great that none might count its numbers. When inquiry was made, no man could tell whence the story had come. Alexander questioned many who were brought before him, but all gave him the same answer.

"The Great King is coming," they said. "Where he is we know not, nor when he will be here. All that we can say is that he is on the way, for the Syrians told us, and they learned it from the travellers and traders of the South."

Then came a shape of man who had once been a Corinthian. His tongue had been cut out and his ears and nose shaved away. He could only nod his head and weep when they asked him of the approach of the Persian monarch.

Alexander sent for Leonidas. The Spartan came with an impassive face, and stood awaiting his orders.

"They say Darius is on the march," he said. "Where he is and of what his army consists, no one can tell me. Choose what men you like and go to Parmenio at the Syrian Gates, where I purpose to join him with the army as soon as the march can be made. Find the Persian and bring me word there of the things that I should know."

"It shall be done," Leonidas replied.

On the evening of the fourth day after the order had been given, Leonidas, with fifteen men of his troop, whose courage had been tested in the campaign against the Pisidians, took leave of Parmenio and rode out upon the rolling plains beyond the Syrian Gates. He had learned that Darius was at Sochi, two days' march away, but when he arrived there, he found only hills and fields from which the harvests had been stripped as if by locusts, and a city where starvation reigned.

Here he learned much of the numbers and character of the host that had left such a track of desolation. From Sochi he bore away toward the left and the mountains, and on the third day overtook the Persian horde, whose camp-fires stretched for miles across the plain.

Although thousands of camp followers and women had been left behind in Damascus in charge of Cophenes, together with the greater part of the luxurious equipage of the courtiers, and of the treasure in gold and silver, which six hundred mules and three hundred camels could scarcely carry, there still remained an enormous train in the rear of the army.

Leonidas soon ascertained everything concerning the army of Darius and its composition that it was necessary for him to know; but he was astonished to find that the Great King had passed beyond the Syrian Gates, near which Alexander had expected to find him, and that he was still marching northward. This march puzzled the Spartan. It carried the Persian army each day farther from its base of supplies at Damascus, and apparently did not give the Great King a better battle ground than the one he had left behind at Sochi. He determined to keep the army in sight, at least until he had reached the Amanic Gates.

There was the only other entrance from Syria into Cilicia, and through them Leonidas planned to carry the information that he had gathered to Alexander, who would be awaiting him in the southern pass. As the Persian horde advanced, he found that he was being pressed toward the wooded slopes of the mountain range. At last, as the enemy showed no intention of halting, he resolved to strike for the Amanic Gates, not daring to delay his report longer.

He soon became entangled among the rocky spurs and ravines. At last he believed that he had reached the pass, and advanced far into the mountains before some shepherds told him of his mistake. Following their directions, he crossed a lofty ridge and descended into the true pass on the evening of the second day after his departure from the Persian army. Darkness overtook him, and he was forced to encamp halfway up the precipitous slope of the valley. Before sunrise next day he roused his men and led them down toward the broad road below, which followed a watercourse.

In their descent, Leonidas and his men entered a belt of timber that for a short time hid the road from their view. They burst their way through the undergrowth, to find themselves face to face with a troop of horsemen whom Leonidas recognized at once as belonging to the army of Darius.

"The Persians have entered the pass," was the thought that flashed through his mind before he considered his own danger. That Darius would seek to enter Cilicia instead of accepting battle upon the Syrian plains was a possibility that had never even been discussed in the Macedonian councils. Leonidas realized that if Alexander had carried out his plan of marching to the Syrian Gates, far to the southward, the Persian army was about to place itself between him and the territory that he had conquered, cutting off his line of retreat. The safety of the Macedonians might depend upon his reaching Alexander in time to give him warning.

He gave a rapid glance at the Persians who confronted him. There were thirty or forty of them. Far below he caught a glimpse of the plain, where miles of troops, horse and foot, were crawling like ants toward the pass. The enemy gave him no time to see more. They raised an exultant shout and dashed upon him with lowered lances. Although Leonidas and his men fought with desperation, the Spartan realized that they were not strong enough to hold their ground. The mere weight of their opponents forced them back, inch by inch, until their horses were struggling on the brink of the slope to the bed of the stream.

"Let us die where we stand!" Leonidas shouted. "Remember that we are Greeks! Forward, forward!"

He plunged in among the Persians, thrusting at their faces, and his men were enabled to gain a few feet in the space that he had cleared. The relief was only momentary, for the Persians surrounded them on three sides and the chasm was in their rear.