CHAPTER L
PROMISES FULFILLED
In the great Hall of Xerxes, in Persepolis, the city whose streets hadnever been trodden by the feet of an enemy since the first Cyrusoverthrew the Medes and founded the Achaemenian line, Alexander feastedwith his friends. Two months had passed since the empire that Cyruswon had been wrested from Darius at Gaugamela. Susa had fallen, andthe might of Persia was shattered forever.
Terrace above terrace, from the limpid waters of the Araxes, fedeternally by mountain snows, rose the wonderful palaces upon which therevenues of generations had been lavished. There the grandeur andmajesty of the masters of more than half the world had bloomed intovisible form. There Cyrus and his successors had been accustomed toseek refuge from the summer heat, and to lay aside the cares of empirefor luxurious days amid the myriad blossoms of their gardens and thefairer flowers of their effeminate courts.
The huge monoliths of the Hall of the Hundred Columns reared themselvesfrom their hewn platform of stone. Around them were grouped thepalaces of Cyrus and of Xerxes, of Artaxerxes and Darius, built of rarewoods and polished marble, brought from distant quarries with infinitelabor, that the eyes of the Great Kings might take delight therein.Each monarch had striven to outdo his predecessor in beauty andmagnificence.
Broad staircases, guarded by colossal figures of soldiers, connectedterraces, upheld by retaining walls upon which were sculptured enormouslions and bulls.
The palaces themselves were large enough to give an army lodgement.Their walls and ceilings were adorned with paintings commemorating thetriumphs of the kings in war and in the chase. Upon the sides of theHall of Xerxes, where the Macedonian captains were gathered at tablesladen with vessels of solid gold, the petulant monarch, who hadchastised the Hellespont with rods and who had given the temples ofAthens to the flames, was represented in his hunting chariot, receivingthe charge of a wounded lion. In the light of countless torches, thegreat paintings, the hangings, and the carpets spread upon the floorformed a background of rich color for the snowy garments of thebanqueters.
Statues of ebony, lapis-lazuli, marble, and jade, brought from many acaptured city, gleamed against the lofty wainscoting of golden plates,wrought into strange reliefs.
Alexander reclined upon a raised couch, covered with pricelessBabylonian embroidery. In front of him the tables were arranged in theform of an oblong, stretching the length of the hall, and beside themlolled the veterans, crowned with wreaths of flowers whose perfumemingled with the heavy scent of unguents and incense. There were manywomen at the feast, each sitting beside her chosen lord. Some of themhad been taken as captives. Others, released from the bondage of theharem, had formed willing alliances with the conquerors. They wereadmitted to the banquet on terms of equality with the men, according tothe Macedonian fashion, and their light laughter, the brilliancy oftheir eyes, and the flashing of the jewels with which they wereplentifully adorned lent a finishing touch of brightness to the scene.
But the beauty of the fairest representatives of a race famed for itsbeauty paled before that of Thais, whose gilded chair was set next tothe couch of Ptolemy on Alexander's left. It was not so much theperfect grace of her form or the proud poise or her head, with itsmasses of tawny hair, that gave her distinction, as the spirit thatshone in her eyes. Beautiful as she was, she had changed since thedeath of Chares. There was a suggestion of imperious hardness in herglance; she was less womanly, but more fascinating. The hearts of menturned to wax as they gazed upon her, even though something indefinablewarned them that their longing would find no response in her heart.Yet warm vitality seemed to radiate from her, and the quick blood cameand went under her clear skin with each changing emotion.
Habituated to the stiff formalities of the Persian court, the deftslaves who attended the Macedonians were astonished at the freedom oftheir manners. All the skill of the royal cooks was expended toprepare the feast. Scores of delicate dishes were brought in and setbefore the Greeks, but the master of the kitchens was in despair attheir lack of appreciation. They devoured what was offered to them, itwas true, but without a sign of the gastronomical discussion in whichthe Persian nobles were wont to indulge. The wine, however, was notspared, and the keeper of the royal cellars groaned over the havocwrought among his precious amphorae. The provision for a twelvemonthwas exhausted, and still the thirst of the strangers seemed unabated.In the last and most ancient of the Persian capitals they werecelebrating their triumph in their own way, and it was the way of menwhose vices were as strong as their virtues.
The conversation, animated from the first, became livelier as thebanquet progressed. The soldiers called to each other from table totable, pledging each other in goblets of amber and ruby wine as costlyas amber and rubies. Faces were flushed and eyes grew bright. Thestately hall echoed with laughter, in which the musical voices of thewomen joined. Old stories were told again, and time-worn jokes took onthe attraction of novelty. The women provoked their guerdon of homage,and it was paid to them on hand and lip with frank generosity. Thebrains of even the stoutest members of the company were whirling, andsome of the more susceptible to the influence of the wine began to slipunsteadily away, amid the jeers of their comrades, in the hope that thecool outer air would drive off their giddiness and enable them to seethe end. Those who remained were all talking at once, boasting oftheir deeds, with none to listen.
Alexander, weary of the din, called suddenly upon Callisthenes to speakin praise of the Greeks. The orator rose slowly from his place andstrode out into the open space between the tables.
"To whom shall I speak?" he demanded, gazing about him with anexpression of disgust upon the babbling captains. "They are all madwith vanity and wine."
"Speak then to Xerxes," Alexander replied, pointing to the wall, fromwhich the royal portrait seemed to look down upon them with a sneer.
Callisthenes obeyed. At first his voice was unheeded; but as hisapostrophe gathered force, the chatter of talk died away around him,and all eyes were turned upon him.
Calling upon the dead king by name, he magnified his power and told howhe had gathered the nations to the invasion of Hellas. The failure ofhis attempt he attributed to the jealousy of the Gods, who would notpermit destruction to fall upon the country that was to produceAlexander. He described the heroic stand of the Spartans atThermopylae, and the victory of Salamis; and as he dwelt upon thebravery of the Greeks in the face of those overwhelming odds, the hallrang with the cheers of men who themselves knew what it was to fightand to conquer.
"By thy command, O Xerxes!" the orator cried, extending his open palmtoward the portrait, "Hellas was made to blush in the flames thatdevoured the temples of her Gods upon the Athenian Acropolis; but thelife of man is brief, while the Gods die not nor do they forget. Lookdown from thy chariot! Alexander, the defender and avenger of Hellas,holds thy dominions, and the nations that owned thy sway are bowed athis feet. Turn not thy face away; for the fire with which thou didstinsult and offend the Gods of Hellas hath flamed across all Persia,until it hath reached thee at last!"
The rage that had been gathering in the breasts of the Macedonians atthe recital of the wrongs that Greece had suffered could be repressedno longer. Clitus leaped to his feet and hurled his golden beaker atthe painted face of Xerxes. In an instant the hall was in an uproar.The company rose with one accord and turned to Alexander, shouting forrevenge. To their inflamed minds it seemed as though the injuriesinflicted by Xerxes were of yesterday. The contagion caught the youngking, who sprang from his couch and stood gazing around him, seekingsome means of satisfying the desire for vengeance that swelled hisheart.
Thais had been watching his face with lips slightly parted and astrangely intent look in her eyes, as though waiting for the moment tocarry into execution some project that she had formed in her mind.While Alexander stood hesitating, she seized a blazing torch from itssocket in one of the columns.
"He burned our temples--let fire be his punishment!" she
whispered,thrusting the torch into Alexander's grasp.
"The Gods shall be avenged!" he cried, accepting her plan withouthesitation; for the wine he had drunk and the maddening clamor of hisfollowers had gone to his head.
He thrust the lighted torch against the draperies that hung behind him.A cry of horror burst from the slaves and attendants as the flamecaught the heavy folds and ran upward in leaping spirals; but the crywas lost in the fierce triumphant shout of the captains. Every mangrasped a torch and ran to spread the conflagration. The great Hall ofXerxes was enveloped in flame and smoke so quickly that theincendiaries themselves had barely time to escape.
Rushing from the doorways with the torches in their hands, theMacedonians hastened from palace to palace, scattering destruction.Clouds of smoke, glowing red above the leaping flames, rose over themarvellous structures that had been reared with so much toil. Towerand terrace, porch and portico, were transformed into roaring furnacesin whose heat the great columns cracked and fell with a noise like therumbling of thunder. The lofty ceilings crashed down upon wonders ofart and precious fabrics. The plates of beaten gold that lined thewalls melted and ran into crevices which opened in the marble floor.Of the slaves, some perished in the flames; others fled with bootysnatched from the ruin; still others ran wildly into the darkness,crying that the Macedonians were preparing to put to the sword all whodwelt in the pleasant valley.
The banqueters, driven back by the heat, watched the conflagration withshouts of joy while it slowly burned itself out, leaving only the gauntand blackened skeletons of the group of palaces that had been thedelight of the Great Kings.
Thais stood beside Ptolemy, beneath the wide branches of an oak wherethe glare of the flames she had kindled threw her figure into strongrelief against the blackness. She held herself proudly erect, and aslight smile curved her lips as she saw the banners of flame leapupward toward the stars.
"Why did you do it?" the Macedonian asked, with an accent of respectthat seemed out of place in a camp where women were held so cheap.
"I did it because of a promise that I gave to Orontobates when I was acaptive in Halicarnassus," Thais replied. "I like to keep my word."
Something in her tone prevented the soldier, bold as he was, fromasking her what the promise had been. She had already taught him whento remain silent, and he had learned that he must either submit orabandon hope of winning her. As he stood, drinking in her beauty,revealed in a new aspect by the firelight, he was puzzled to see herhead droop, while two tears slowly gathered upon her lashes.
"Farewell, Chares, my lover!" she was saying to herself. "Upon thyfuneral pyre my heart, too, is turning to ashes!"
"Thais," Ptolemy whispered, moved by her emotion without knowing itscause, "do not forget that I love thee!"
"I do not forget," she replied, "nor have I forgotten another promisethat I made; for I think the Gods have sent thee to me. To-morrow Iwill be thy wife; and when this war has reached its end, thou shaltreign in Alexandria over Egypt with me at thy side."
"Thais!" Ptolemy exclaimed, clasping her at last in his arms.
So Thais, the Athenian dancing girl, kept her pledge; but through thelength and breadth of the land ran the news that the home of the GreatKings had been laid in ashes, and men knew that, though Darius stilllived, his power indeed was gone forever.