"Save thyself, brother!" he cried, forgetting the royal titles in his haste. "The battle is lost! Mount and fly while there is yet time!"

Darius sprang from his chariot and threw himself upon the back of the chestnut mare, whose silken flanks trembled with excitement. A bound and she was beside the smoking altar, from which the priests had already fled. In her ears rang the anxious call of her foal, and the brute instinct of her mother-love saved that day the King of Kings, who was leaving his own wife and children and the queen his mother to the mercy of his enemies.

Straight as an arrow, leaping every obstacle that came in her way, the mare darted through the confused squadrons of the reserves toward the Amanic Gates. Behind her thundered prince and satrap, each intent upon saving himself at whatever cost.

"The king flees! The king flees!" The cry rose in a hundred tongues throughout the Persian host. The tens of thousands of troops who had not been called upon to strike a blow because there had been no room for them in the fighting line melted away as if by magic. The plain was filled with men streaming toward the mountains or the sea, seeking some place of refuge. Here a body of Scyths, clad in shuggy skins, retreated sullenly; there a band of dark-skinned Libyans ran like a herd of frightened cattle, casting away their clubs and stone-tipped spears; Arabs, Egyptians, Indians, Assyrians, fled in panic, each man seeking to place his neighbor behind him. Collisions were frequent, and more than one unfortunate was hacked down because he stood in the way of some savage comrade in arms.

The men who were actually engaged in fighting did not at first perceive that they were being left to their fate. As soon as they discovered the desertion of the reserves, many of them threw down their weapons and sued for mercy. A portion of the Greek mercenaries alone maintained a semblance of discipline, though broken into several bodies. They fell back, still facing their enemies, toward the seashore, in search of ships to carry them away.

To the Persian cavalry, that had borne back Parmenio, the news of defeat came last of all. They alone still held an advantage, and it was bitter for them to be forced to abandon it. But without support they were powerless. The phalanx wheeled in upon them, threatening to drive them into the sea. Finally they too relinquished hope and joined the rout.

Then through all the plain and up the mountain slopes rode squadrons of Macedonian horse, cutting down the fugitives. The Thessalians there took merciless revenge for their losses. The earth was encumbered with corpses.

When the trumpets at nightfall recalled the scattered and weary bands of executioners, nothing of the vast army of Darius remained on the plain excepting the spoil and the dead, over whom the jackals snarled and howled. And down the Syrian slope of the pass, bathed in sweat, galloped the fleet-limbed chestnut mare, with Darius upon her back.

CHAPTER XXXIV

IN THE PAVILION OF THE QUEENS

On the night after the battle, rough soldiers of the phalanx slept in garments of fine wool wrought with gold, clasping in their hands necklaces of jewels in which the glow of the camp-fires danced and flashed. Chares had decked himself in a long cloak of scarlet, upon which strange patterns were worked in silver. A collar of emeralds encircled his arm, and bracelets of gold gleamed upon his wrists.

"These are for Thais," he said proudly, opening a strip of linen and displaying to Clearchus a collection of gems that sparkled with varying hues.

"You are a barbarian at heart," the Athenian said. "Come, let us join the king. Leonidas waits for us."

Alexander sat upon his foam-streaked horse in the golden glow of the sunset. He had removed his white-plumed helmet, and the cool air bathed his temples. There was a new flash of pride in his eyes as he gazed upon the field of his triumph. The last orders had been given, the wounded had been cared for, and Parmenio had been despatched to Damascus, with a swift body of horse, to take possession of the Persian stores and treasure before they could be removed.

"Now let Demosthenes put on mourning!" Alexander exclaimed. "Come, let us see what provision Darius has made for us."

Followed by his Table Companions, he led the way toward the great pavilion, which none had dared to enter before him. At the entrance stood the chariot from which the Great King had looked upon the wreck of his hopes.

"Here is the royal mantle," Alexander remarked, spreading out the purple robe, stiff with gold. He tossed it back into the chariot, which he ordered to be removed.

Like a troop of boys, the Macedonians entered the great pavilion.

Light from a hundred lamps filled the tent. Rich carpets had been spread upon the ground, and embroidered hangings divided the interior into a succession of rooms destined for the use of the Great King.

From one to another Alexander led the way, making no attempt to conceal his wonder at the evidences of luxury that he there encountered for the first time.

In the first apartment, they found a wardrobe consisting of suits of armor inlaid with gold and silver; garments of silk and linen; helmets, shoes, parasols, mirrors, and a litter of utensils the uses of which were unknown to the Companions.

"I wonder what my old governor, Leonidas, would say to this?" Alexander cried. "He would never allow me clothing enough to keep me warm in winter."

Next they entered the treasure-chamber, filled with chests of cedar, bound with iron and brass. Several of these chests had been forced open, apparently by faithless slaves; but the rapidity of the Macedonian victory had not allowed them to carry away more than a very small part of the treasure. The boxes contained golden coins bearing the stamp of Darius, and evidently fresh from the mint.

"Here is balm for the wounded," Alexander said, lifting a handful of the coins and permitting them to fall back in a glittering stream.

Beyond this, they found the bed upon which Darius was to have reposed from the fatigues of the day. It was a mass of down, covered with silk and linen of the finest texture, and hung with silken curtains, fringed with gold. Adjoining the bedchamber was the scented bath in an enormous vessel of solid gold. Near it stood rows of crystal vases and jars of Phnician glass, containing unguents and rare perfumes, compounded of priceless ingredients after formulae known only to the body-servants of the Persian kings.

"This is what gave us the battle," Alexander said, pointing to the enervating array.

He pushed aside the last curtain and stood in the banquet room. Along its sides tables had been spread, flanked by rich couches and covered with dishes of massive gold and silver. At one side of the room was a canopied couch, higher and more magnificent than the others. The tables had been prepared before the flight of the attendants. Royal wine sparkled in goblets of crystal and beakers of gold. Hephaestion found the kitchen and reported that all the materials for the feast were in readiness.

"Let our cooks take charge of them," Alexander said. "I bid you all to sup with me here to-night."

This idea was received with eager applause and in an hour the preparations had been made. The Macedonians, wearing garlands of oak leaves, stretched themselves upon the gorgeous couches and partook of the strange dishes that were set before them by the pages. Goblets were filled and emptied and beakers were drained. Each man began to relate the deeds of valor he had performed on the battle-field, explaining in great detail how, but for him, the day would have been lost. Alexander alone, who had led them to victory, had nothing to say of himself, though he talked with Ptolemy, son of Lagus, Perdiccas, and Philotas of the mistakes that Darius had made.

Aching muscles and smarting wounds were forgotten under the influence of the wine and in the vainglorious rehearsal of the battle. The Macedonians began to feel that the world lay at their feet, and their minds were uplifted by dreams of endless conquest. The pavilion rang with laughter and was filled with the babel of tongues.

Suddenly, amid the jesting, the voices of women raised in lamentation penetrated the tent. The merriment was hushed, and every head was turned toward the sounds. Alexander despatched a page to learn the cause and the lad breathlessly brought word that Sisygambis, the Great King's mother, and Statira, his wife, were bewailing his death.

"Come, Hephaestion," Alexander said gravely, rising from the royal couch. "Let us reassure them."

Looks of intelligence and furtive smiles were exchanged as the two young men left the pavilion; but none dared venture upon open comment.

From the beginning of war, the women of the vanquished had been counted as part of the victor's spoil.

Following the direction of the sorrowful sounds, Alexander discovered a smaller pavilion in the rear of the first. At its doorway stood a dark and stalwart figure, erect and motionless as a statue.

Upon the approach of the young king, the silent guardian fell with his face to the earth and remained motionless.

"Who art thou?" Alexander asked, looking down upon him.

"I am Tireus," the man replied. "I guard the women."

"Why didst thou not save thyself when thy master fled?" the young king inquired.

"Because the women could not flee," Tireus replied simply.

Alexander reflected for a moment. "Rise!" he said at last. "Had thy master possessed more servants like thee, he would not have lost his empire. Thou art chief eunuch. Keep thy charge, and if any molest thee, make thy complaint to me. Go now and ask if Alexander may be admitted."

Tireus had risen, but instead of obeying, he fell again upon his knees, stretching his hands toward Alexander in supplication that he dared not put into words.

"Go," Alexander said, understanding his meaning. "They have nothing to fear."

Tireus went, returning in a moment to draw aside the curtain so that the young king might enter. The wailing had ceased.

Alexander and Hephaestion found themselves under a silken canopy of crimson. The floor of the pavilion was covered with thick carpets, woven in bright colors and laid one upon another. Silver lamps suspended from above diffused a soft light.

Huddled together in the middle of the tent upon heaps of cushions lay a crowd of women in attitudes of despair. Their white arms and shoulders gleamed through their dishevelled hair. Their eyes were heavy with weeping. They seemed like a flock of doves that had been caught in a snare and were awaiting with palpitating breasts the coming of the fowler.

A woman of mature years rose from the group and threw herself at the feet of Hephaestion, mistaking him for the king, because he was taller than Alexander and still wore his armor. She was Sisygambis, the queen mother.

"Mercy!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "Thou hast slain my son.

Have pity upon his mother and his innocent wife."

"I am not the king!" Hephaestion exclaimed, hastily stepping back.