"There's something worth fighting," Chares cried to Nathan, waving his lance at the mercenaries. "They are Greeks," he added proudly. "Come on, and we will show you what a real battle is like."

The Companions had partially regained the order which they had lost in the charge. They now faced the mercenary flank at right angles to the front of both armies. Again the trumpet notes launched them forward.

Again the wild cheer arose, ending in a grinding shock. The momentum of the charge carried the Companions far into the exposed flank of the mercenaries; but this time no panic and no yielding followed. Although hard pressed in front by the furious and unremitting onslaught of the Agema and the hypaspists, where Clearchus again caught the gleam of Alexander's floating plumes, the hirelings stood their ground until death overcame them. Facing half about, they met as well as they could the attack of the Companions to which the cowardice of their allies had laid them open. But not even their courage could save them, unsupported and without generalship as they were, from the impetuous determination of Alexander.

Into the living wall the Macedonians hewed their way, foot by foot.

Alexander raged like a tiger, knowing that here the battle was to be lost or won. The phalanx was all but broken. Away on the beach the Thessalians had been borne back by the impenetrable masses of the Persian cavalry and were holding the enemy in check only by a series of desperate and reckless charges. At that moment Darius was triumphant everywhere excepting at the bloody curve in the river where Alexander led in person.

It seemed to Clearchus that for hours they were locked in that desperate struggle without being able to advance. His lance was broken and the hand in which he held his sword was numb. Beside him he saw the broad shoulders of Chares heave and fall as he delivered his blows.

The lust of battle seemed to flame in the Theban's veins like a fever.

Again and again the mercenaries leaped upon him to pull him down. His sword was everywhere.

"He is mad!" thought Clearchus, and so indeed he seemed.

Nathan fought beside him, cool and wary, parrying and thrusting with sinews of steel. His eyes glowed with excitement held in check, and a flush tinged the sunburned olive of his cheek.

Little by little, the Companions worked their way toward the hypaspists, until at last the cavalry and the foot fought side by side, with Alexander at their head. So fierce was the conflict that flesh and blood could not long sustain it. The flank attack finally threw the left of the mercenaries into confusion, which gradually extended until the ranks that opposed the phalanx began to waver. A mighty quiver ran through the hireling force. Its resistance weakened and it gave ground.

With a wild shout the phalanx rushed up the river bank. The mercenary lines were hurled backward. The wall was broken.

Among the swirling eddies of men and plunging horses, Clearchus found himself close to Alexander. He saw the young king, sword in hand, his armor dimmed with dust and blood, pause for a moment with heaving breast to note the final charge of the phalanx. As soon as he saw the straightened lines and caught sight of the sarissas rising above the river bank, followed by the grim faces of his veterans, he turned and directed his gaze in the opposite direction, toward Darius.

The Great King had not shifted his ground since the beginning of the battle. He still stood, erect and proud, in the golden chariot with its four white steeds, whose jewelled bridles were held by slaves. His long robe, in folds of lustrous purple, floated from his shoulders. In his hand he held an idle bow, inlaid with pearl. He looked unmoved upon the slaughter that was going on before his eyes, but when the mercenary line gave way, he turned to his brother Oxathres.

"Is that the courage of which these Greeks boast so much?" he asked.

Oxathres shrugged his shoulders.

"They are dogs," he replied. "Wait until the Macedonian has spent his strength upon them, and we will show him what it is to meet Persian steel. Look yonder, O king!"

He waved his hand toward the sea beach, where the Persian cavalry had pushed Parmenio and the Thessalians back from the river's mouth.

"So will we do to them here," he said contemptuously.

A cupbearer brought Darius a goblet, gleaming with precious stones and filled with the wine that only the royal lips might taste. The Great King drank it deliberately and turned again to the battle.

"What is that handful of horsemen there on the left?" he asked.

"They are called the Companion cavalry," Oxathres answered. "They are said to be brave men."

"Who is leading them?" Darius asked again.

"Alexander, who wears the white plumes," his brother replied. "He is mounting. They are about to charge."

"Will he dare to attack us here?" Darius queried anxiously.

"Grant, O Beltis, that he may!" Oxathres said fervently. "Then we shall have him at our mercy."

"What shall I do with him when he has been captured?" Darius asked.

"O king, may you live forever!" Oxathres exclaimed. "Many have fallen this day. Crucify him beside his fellow-robbers on the shore as a warning to all the world."

"Could I so treat a king?" Darius asked doubtfully.

"Thou couldst treat him so, for he is no true king," Oxathres urged.

"Thou knowest the stories of his birth."

"So then shall it be," Darius said. "Give the necessary orders."

At that moment the steward of the king's household forced his way through the nobles and prostrated himself, kissing the dust before the chariot.

"Speak," Darius commanded.

"O king of kings!" the man said, "Sisygambis, thy mother, and the Queen Statira sent me to know if thou wert safe, and to ask when thou wilt return to them."

"Tell them to have no fear," Darius said confidently. "Let them make ready to attend the banquet in my pavilion at the going down of the sun."

Darius glanced again at the Companions, who were forming for the charge under cover of the advancing phalanx, and let his eyes sweep slowly over his own forces. Around him stood princes and governors of provinces, satraps, viceroys, and generals. His personal guard of ten thousand horse was drawn up on either side, while in front of him, so disposed as not to obstruct his view of the battle, were ranged the Immortals, ten thousand of the bravest soldiers of his empire.

In an open space behind his chariot stood a group of white-robed priests around a massive altar of silver from which rose the pale blue perfumed smoke of the eternal fire. Mithra, Darius believed, would never forsake his votaries or permit his fire to be extinguished.

"They are coming," the Great King said tranquilly, having completed his inspection. "Look, Oxathres, Baal has stricken them with madness!"

He leaned forward in his chariot, fixing his eyes upon the white plumes that his brother had said distinguished his rival. Between him and the Macedonians stood a solid barrier of men, every one of whom was ready to die if by so doing he could save his master so much as a scratch.

"If they will persist in their folly," Oxathres said, "let them come."

The Companions tore their way through the remnant of the mercenary line. Onward they came, trampling and scattering a squadron of Scyths as if their weapons had been the toys of children. They reached the Immortals. Darius drew a breath of relief. There they must stop at last.

But no! The white plumes still advanced, and behind them came a widening stream of horses and men. It seemed as though nothing could stand against them. The Immortals were scattered like chaff from a threshing-floor.

Oxathres changed color. He turned and spoke to his trumpeter. The brazen note that followed warned the nobles to make ready for a charge.

The heart of many a silk-robed courtier who had been boasting all day of the deeds he would do when his chance came grew sick at the sound.

The time had come.

Darius hastily dismounted from his heavy chariot, leaving his mantle behind him, and took his place in another chariot, drawn by two horses only and more easily manageable. At a sign from Oxathres, a groom advanced, leading a beautiful chestnut mare, who tossed her head with distended nostrils, neighing for her foal, which had purposely been left behind beyond the Amanic Gates in Syria. The groom took his place in silence beside the chariot.

"Shall I lead the charge?" Darius asked.

"Thy servants beg of thee not to deprive them of the glory that awaits them," Oxathres replied.

Darius waved his hand in assent. Already the nobles in the outer circle of the royal guard were struggling for their lives with the Companions. The charge had been delayed too long and there was no time now to make it. Nothing was left but defence.

Darius saw the white plume tossing like a fleck of foam on the crest of an advancing wave. He fitted an arrow to his bow and drew it to the head. The loosened shaft struck the satrap Arsames and passed through his body.

Princes and nobles fought breast to breast with the sons of Macedonian herdsmen. There was no longer question of rank or power, of birth or riches, but only of who had the braver heart and the stronger arm. The eminence on which the Great King had posted himself to witness the punishment of the invaders at his leisure was clothed in slaughter.

His favorites were rolling in the dust under the feet of their maddened horses. For the first time in his life, the monarch looked in the face of peril, and his spirit quailed before the test.

Out of the struggle Oxathres came galloping, breathless and with blood upon his armor.