"I am blinded by my sorrow!" Sisygambis replied, turning to Alexander in confusion. "Pardon me, I pray thee, in the name of thy own mother, Olympias!"

Alexander stooped and raised her gently by the hand.

"Thy son lives," he said. "Be not alarmed that you mistook my friend for me, for Hephaestion is also an Alexander."

Sisygambis looked earnestly into the boyish face before her.

"Is Darius still alive?" she asked beseechingly. "Is it true? I am his mother. Do not deceive me!"

"He is alive and he is free," the young king replied. "He escaped into Syria."

With a cry of joy, Statira rose from among her women, clasping in her hand the chubby fist of her child. The heavy masses of her dark hair framed a face of pure oval. The color flooded her cheeks, and her eyes shone in fathomless depths of mystery and life. As his glance met hers, Alexander was conscious of a thrill such as he had never felt before. His pulses were disturbed, and he felt his face flush. With an effort he mastered the unaccustomed emotion.

"Alexander does not make war upon women," he said quietly. "For your own sakes, I must carry you with me; but you are as safe as though you were still in your palace in Babylon. Your household shall remain with you. Command as freely as you did yesterday, and fear nothing."

"How shall we repay you?" Statira exclaimed, attempting to kneel at his feet.

"By ceasing to grieve," he replied. "Remember that you are still a queen."

The infant son of Darius looked at him with round eyes of wonder.

Alexander took the child in his arms and kissed him.

"Come, Hephaestion," he said, turning to go. The Macedonian, whose gaze had been fixed upon Statira with an intensity that rendered him oblivious to everything else, roused himself and followed. As they passed from the pavilion, they heard a murmur of women's voices in silvery notes of astonishment and admiration.

Alexander was silent and thoughtful when he resumed his place at the head of the banquet table. The Companions were impatient to learn the details of his visit.

"Is the queen as beautiful as they say?" Perdiccas ventured at last.

The young king frowned slightly, and the hand in which he held his goblet trembled.

"Whoever in future speaks to me of the beauty of Statira, wife of Darius," he said, "that man is no longer my friend. Let it be known to the army that she is to be treated with all the respect due to a queen.

He who forgets shall be punished."

He glanced at Hephaestion, who flushed and looked another way. For a moment there was silence in the tent, and then the laughter and talk flowed on as though nothing had occurred to interrupt them.

CHAPTER XXXV

PHRADATES MAKES A WAGER

Phradates stood on the broad stone wharf in the Sidonian Harbor of Tyre, amid a group of young men whose costly garments and jewelled fingers showed them to belong to the rich families of the richest city in the world. Upon the edge of the wharf were gathered a score of older men, clad in sombre robes, over which spread their silvery beards. They wore close-fitting caps and heavy golden chains. Each carried a short rod of ebony and ivory as a token of authority. They were the elders, members of the council of King Azemilcus, who was absent with the fleet of Autophradates, the Persian admiral.

The basin of the harbor formed a deep bay, shut in on the seaward side by lofty walls, built of huge blocks of squared stone laid in gypsum.

On the right, facing north, was a narrow opening in the barrier, forming a passage flanked by long breakwaters. The circumference of the harbor was ringed by a succession of stone wharves, where hundreds of merchant vessels were moored, their sails furled against their masts. They were discharging their cargoes or taking on lading for new voyages. Lines of men, half naked, ran backward and forward between the ships and the great warehouses, carrying bales upon their heads.

The sailors, chanting monotonous songs, were emptying the holds of the ships or storing away the fresh cargoes.

"There's an old tub that looks as though she had seen service," cried one of the young men. "Let us see where she has been."

They strolled across to a vessel whose weather-beaten sides and patched sails told of rough usage.

"Whence came you?" demanded the youth, addressing the brown-faced master, who stood at the gangway, superintending the discharge of his cargo.

"From the Cassiterides," the man replied.

"Where are they?" the youth asked, gazing at the bright ingots of tin that the sailors were dragging to the deck.

"They are in the western seas," the master answered, "so far that Carthage seems but a stone's throw away. Three months we were beaten northward by storms, and the waves of the great ocean ran higher than the walls of the city. At last we came to the land of long days, where the men have yellow hair and blue eyes and the women are more beautiful than light. By the favor of Baal, we were enabled to obtain a store of amber that is created there by the sun, in exchange for beads of glass.

This we dedicated to the God, and after we had got our tin on board, he brought us back under his protection."

The young men listened, open-mouthed. From their boyhood, they had been accustomed to drink in such tales of mystery and wonder along the wharves of the city, nursing the bold spirit of adventure that was born in every Phnician. They plied the master with questions. What monsters of the sea had he seen? What were the customs of the men of the North? Was it true that they devoured strangers who fell into their hands? The mariner told them of enormous water snakes and dragons, but his marvellous tales were interrupted by a cry from the walls, where lookouts were always posted to scan the sea. The state trireme had been sighted. She was returning from Sidon, bringing Prince Hur and the ambassadors whom the council had despatched to Alexander. The council was now awaiting their return.

At the signal from the walls, work was suspended throughout the city and the population crowded to the harbor. Merchants with their tablets clasped in their hands, dyers with their arms stained to the elbow, metal workers, artisans, laborers, and soldiers of the garrison, thronged to the water front by thousands to learn the answer of the Macedonian. A vast murmur of expectation and speculation rose from the people.

Presently, through the entrance of the harbor, the trireme could be seen, making for the opening between the sea-walls, over which the waves were dashing in spurts of white spray. Urged by its three banks of oars, rising and falling in unison, the vessel ran swiftly into the harbor.

Headed by Prince Hur, the son of Azemilcus, the ambassadors were standing grave and silent upon the deck. At sight of their anxious faces a hush fell upon the crowd. The pilot gave a sharp command, the oars churned backward in the water, and the long trireme swung into her mooring. The ambassadors descended to the wharf and spoke in low tones to the elders of the council.

Was it peace or war? War! The news ran through the crowd and into the city as ripples spread across the face of a pool when a stone falls.

Turmoil and confusion followed. What had Alexander said? Would the other Phnician cities join with Tyre to repel him?

They had deserted her. Tyre must stand alone. Strato, son of Gerostratus, king of Adradus, had surrendered. Byblos had capitulated.

Sidon had opened her gates to the Macedonians.

"We offered submission according to our instructions," said the chief of the ambassadors, to the council. "Alexander accepted it and bade us tell you it was his purpose to offer sacrifice in the temple of Melkarth, who, he says, is really Heracles, and his ancestor. We replied that Tyre could not admit strangers within her walls, but that Melkarth had an older temple on the mainland, where he might offer sacrifice. 'Tell your council,' he said, 'that I and my army will offer sacrifice to Melkarth upon his altar within the walls of New Tyre. Bid them make ready the temple. It is for them to say what the victims shall be.' That was all."

"You did well; let us consider," said Mochus, the eldest of the council.

They walked in slow and silent procession to the palace of the king in the southern quarter of the town and disappeared within its gates.

The city continued to seethe like a huge caldron. Its unwonted stir attracted the attention of Thais and Artemisia, on the housetop, where they had gone as usual to take the air after midday. The two young women stood side by side, close to the parapet of the roof, looking down into the narrow streets, where men came and went like ants whose nest has been disturbed. The strong sea-breeze blew out Thais' crimson robe into gleaming folds, and the sun glistened upon the burnished copper of her hair. Rich color glowed in her cheeks and in her scarlet lips. The immortal vitality of the salt breeze and of the crisply curling waves seemed in her. She laughed aloud.

"I wonder what is the matter?" she said. "These Phnicians are afraid of their own shadows."

Artemisia smiled. Her chiton of fine white wool, edged with purple, outlining her figure, indicated that it had lost some of its roundness.

Her face was pale; blue veins showed through the transparent skin of her temples.

"I hope it means something good for us," she said, slipping her arm around her sister's waist. "When shall we get away from this hateful city?"

"The time will come, child," Thais said soothingly. "You shall see him again; I know it."

It was a conversation that had been repeated many times. Artemisia drew a sigh that caught in her throat in a little sob.

"Oh, Thais, if I could feel his strong arms around me only once," she said, "I think I could die in thankfulness."

"Do not talk of dying," Thais replied reprovingly. "See, the world is beautiful!"

They stood in silence for a moment, gazing at the scene, which was indeed beautiful, as Thais had said. On three sides the sea flashed and sparkled with white-capped waves before the southwest wind. On the east a channel, half a mile in width, divided the mainland from the island upon which the new city was built. Beyond the strait lay the city of Old Tyre, with its wide circle of walls. There, as in the new town, thousands of pieces of cloth--linen, woollen, cotton, and silk--fresh from the vats of the dyers, were hung to dry in the sun.