In the Sidonian Harbor, seven ships were hastily manned, the chains were let down, and the crews made a dash for the open sea. They were snapped up by the Cretan vessels which lay in wait beyond the breakwater. Three of them were sunk, and the rest were forced to surrender.

In the house of Phradates the terrified slaves locked and barred the doors by direction of Mena. The master was fighting on the walls.

More than once parties of Macedonian soldiers demanded that the gates be opened, but when no response was given, thinking perhaps that the house was deserted and tempted by easier spoil, they passed on. At last came a Tyrian cry for admittance. Mena looked from the wicket and saw Phradates, supported by two soldiers. His face was pale and his helmet had been shattered.

"Open!" cried the soldiers. "Your master has been wounded."

Several of the slaves started forward and laid their hands upon the bars, but the Egyptian pushed them back.

"There is no longer master or slave in Tyre," he said. "Each man must think first of himself."

At the suggestion of Phradates the soldiers bore him to the rear of the house, where there was a small door leading to the kitchens. It was opened by a white-haired crone, whose eyes were blinded with tears.

"Bring him in," she cried. "I am his nurse."

"Take him, then," the soldiers said roughly, irritated by the delay.

"He owes us fifty darics for bringing him off, and we have our own to save."

Upheld by the trembling arms of the old woman, Phradates staggered across the threshold. He could no longer feel the earth beneath his feet. If he could only rest a little!

"Is it you, mother?" he asked faintly. "I must sleep."

"Yes, yes, master," the old woman replied through her sobs, "but not here. Come to your own chamber."

She tried to urge him toward the banqueting hall, but his steps grew more uncertain and his weight became too great for her feeble strength.

"Mena!" she called. "Mena, here is your master. Come and help him!"

The Egyptian ran in furiously and closed the door that she had left open in her anxiety.

"Do you want to have us all killed?" he demanded, turning upon the old woman. "Take that, my master, for the beatings you have given me!"

He plunged his dagger into the young man's defenceless side, and Phradates sank to the floor.

"Thais!" he muttered, "where art thou?"

The old woman uttered a quivering cry and fell upon her knees beside him, trying with her robe to stop the flow of blood. Mena ran back to the front of the house, leaving her alone with the body.

"Speak to me! Speak to me!" she wailed, not knowing what she said; but Phradates made no reply.

Tyre was in a turmoil of riot and license. The real fighting was at an end, but the soldiers were everywhere pillaging and drinking. Costly fabrics were trampled in the mud of the gutters. Rare vases and priceless statuary were shattered upon the pavements. Rough Thessalians ransacked the houses of rich merchants for gold and gems, destroying with laughter and jests what they did not want. The stifled screams of women mingled with their voices. Here a soldier emerged from a great house with his arms full of rich silks. Another shouted to him that a hoard of gold had been discovered close at hand, and he straightway dropped his burden that he might get his share of the more convenient plunder. There a man who had found a huge tusk of ivory tried to carry it away on his shoulder, while his comrades wrestled with him for it, uttering shouts of laughter as their fingers slipped upon its polished surface. Sometimes swords were drawn and blood flowed over a bag of gold or a necklace of pearls. Bands of mercenaries paraded with wine-skins on their backs, singing the hymns of Dionysus and squirting the precious vintage into each other's faces.

Gorged with blood, the army glutted itself in a delirium of indulgence.

In the universal license the baser elements of the city's population joined in the pillage with none to hinder, for the Macedonians were too intent upon their revenge to heed them. Like Mena, slaves rose against their masters, and entire families were slain for the sake of plunder or to requite harsh treatment. The prisons were broken open and their inmates set at liberty. The sailors about the harbors, who had been kept inactive by the blockade of the fleet, desperate men from all quarters of the sea, satisfied their ferocious appetites at will. In the frenzied carnival of lust and slaughter, neither age nor innocence was spared.

The swirl of the battle drew Syphax and his companions from their haunts among the great warehouses near the waterside, where they had been drinking. The bloated face of the freebooter grew purple with eagerness as he heard the sounds of conflict and of panic spread through the city.

"Ho, comrades!" he shouted, "to-day we pay ourselves for all we have had to endure from Fortune! The spoil lies ready for us."

"Break open the warehouses and load a ship with ivory and silk," cried one of his followers.

"You are a fool," Syphax replied contemptuously. "We should be sunk before we could get out of the harbor. Take nothing but gold and jewels. We can hide them until the time comes to escape. Look there!"

An old man, a member of the council, came running toward them, glancing back over his shoulder to see if he was being pursued. Syphax grasped him by the arm and tore the heavy golden chain of office from his neck.

The man made no resistance, but fled away without a word as soon as he was released.

"This is what we want," Syphax cried, holding up the shining links.

"Be bold and follow me."

He set off toward a part of the city that the Macedonians seemed not yet to have penetrated. It was a quarter where many wealthy houses stood, and the sailors were fortunate enough to arrive among the first of the marauders. In half an hour, each of them had collected a fortune in gold and precious stones. There was blood upon the hands of Syphax and one of his men had a cut across his forehead when they came out of the last house, carrying their spoil in small, heavy bundles.

The city was in its death-throes. From harbor to harbor it had become a vast shambles.

"Let us get back to the warehouses and bury what we have," one of the seamen said.

Syphax looked about him, and his glance fell upon the house where he had seen Ariston enter. In their immediate vicinity there was yet no sign of the enemy. A cruel gleam entered the pirate's bloodshot eyes.

"Now that we are rich," he cried, "it is no more than fair that we should pay our debts. I have one yonder that must be discharged, and to you I resign my share of whatever of value we may find inside."

"Lead on, then, but hasten," the sailors answered.

Syphax found the door bolted, as he had expected. His men battered it in with stones and rushed into the entrance hall. The place seemed deserted. The sailors scattered through the house in search of booty, but Syphax sought only his enemy.

The terrified family had taken refuge in an alcove on the third floor of the house. There one of the sailors found them and summoned his chief with a joyful shout. Ariston and his host stood at the entrance of the recess, with swords in their hands to defend the women, a mother and three daughters, who cowered behind them in the shadow with two slave girls only, the rest of the household having fled. The sailors laughed at the two feeble old men who dared to oppose them.

"Spare our lives and you shall each receive five thousand talents of gold," Ariston cried. "I am Ariston of Athens, and I pledge myself to the payment."

"We know what the pledges of Ariston are worth!" Syphax replied, his face convulsed with hate and rage.

"We are lost, my friend," Ariston said, in a low voice, to his host, recognizing the pirate.

"You bade me once to remember Medon," Syphax bellowed. "I bid thee now to remember him and the silver talent thou wert to give me for what was done in Athens. I have had no luck since; and now thou shalt pay for all!" He rushed upon Ariston, who tried to defend himself; but the pirate easily disarmed him and dragged him out into the room. The master of the house fell beneath a shower of blows.

"Now for the harbor! Our time is short," Syphax shouted, hurrying Ariston with him down the stairs.

The screaming and prayers of the women mingled with sounds of brutal merriment told him that his order was unheeded.

"Do you hear?" he roared. "Come, I tell you, before it is too late!"

This time two of the wretches obeyed him, bursting from the room with loud guffaws. The others straggled after them, but several minutes elapsed before they were all assembled for the sally.

"Why not do it here?" one of the sailors asked, indicating Ariston, whose arm Syphax held in a firm grasp.

"Because I intend to make him remember Medon," the freebooter answered savagely. "You shall see sport when we reach the harbor."

A cold sweat covered Ariston's forehead, but he made no sound. His ear had caught the trampling of feet, and he hoped yet for rescue.

The sailors emerged into the street and turned toward the harbor. Just as they reached the first corner, a company of Thessalians, in pursuit of a few Tyrian fugitives, ran into them. No questions were asked.

The swords of the cavalrymen were already out, and they drove them into the bodies of the men who were unfortunate enough to block their way.

Syphax alone had time to drop his booty and draw his sword. He saw that there was no escape.