GREEK AND BARBARIAN
Alexander was riding upon Bucephalus, with Parmenio at his side. Behind them rode the light-hearted pages and the grave generals, followed by the Companions and the infantry, winding like an enormous snake along the road that led southward to the Granicus.
The young king seemed preoccupied. He glanced restlessly to the right and left where scouting parties were beating the country to guard against surprise and in the hope of finding some trace of the enemy.
"The Persians cannot be far away now," he said to Parmenio. "Do you think they will wait for us?"
"If they were wise, they would fall back and draw us away from our supplies," the old general replied.
"They must fight," Alexander exclaimed.
"I have no doubt they will," Parmenio answered, with the shadow of a smile upon his lips.
Alexander glanced sharply at him and was silent, riding with bent head as though debating with himself. There was something in the veteran's tone that jarred upon him.
"I wish Leonidas, Chares, and Clearchus were here," he said at last.
"Perhaps they have taken service under Memnon," Parmenio suggested dryly.
"Is there none that you trust?" Alexander said sharply. "They are not deserters; but they may have been killed."
"That is possible," the old man replied.
"I care not so much for the Persians," Alexander continued, "but I would like to know how many men Memnon has and what spirit they are in."
A small party of the scouting horsemen appeared before them in the road.
"It is Amyntas himself," Alexander said, catching sight of them. "What has the Lyncestian found?"
"Either stragglers or prisoners," Parmenio replied, shading his eyes with his palms. "They seem to be negroes."
"We will put them to the torture," Alexander said, with satisfaction. "They may be able to tell something of what we wish to know."
He urged Bucephalus forward to meet the skirmishers, who halted to await his arrival.
"What have you here, Amyntas?" he asked.
"Three men who seemed to be wandering about the Country," Amyntas replied. "They are Greeks, but they refuse to give any account of themselves excepting to Alexander."
One of the three prisoners, short and strong of build, stood forward and saluted. Alexander looked hard at him and then at the other two. His face cleared and he laughed aloud.
"Order a halt," he said. "Let the men rest and eat. Leave the prisoners to me."
He gave his horse to a groom and led the way to a wide-spreading oak tree a short distance from the road.
"I thought you had been either killed or captured," he said to the prisoners. "Leonidas, what have you learned?"
"Everything," the Spartan replied.
"How many soldiers has Memnon?" the young king asked.
"Twenty thousand," was the reply.
"Will they fight?" Alexander inquired.
"No, because the Persians will not let them," Leonidas said. "Memnon advised a retreat, but the satraps laughed in his face and gave him permission to watch them win the battle."
"What think you of that, Parmenio?" Alexander exclaimed. "He gave them the same advice you would have given had you been there. They have refused it. The day is ours!"
With hasty questions he brought out the whole story of the expedition. The plan of battle formed itself in his mind as he listened, walking back and forth before them. His eyes flashed and his cheeks glowed red.
"You have done well," he said to the three friends, when they had finished. "Your horses are waiting for you. Refresh yourselves and put on your armor, for you will need it before the sun goes down."
"I hope nobody has stolen my breastplate," Chares muttered.
Alexander continued to pace backward and forward with his head inclined a little to the left, as was his wont when in thought. Parmenio watched him closely, but did not venture to speak. Amyntas, who had ridden forward after surrendering his prisoners, now returned at a gallop.
"The barbarians await us on the opposite side of the river," he said.
"Your prisoners have already told me," Alexander replied. "Is the stream fordable?"
"Not directly in front of their line," the cavalryman replied. "There is shallow water above and below them, but the stream is swift."
"Call the council," Alexander said quietly, turning to Parmenio.
Heralds bore the order down the road beside which the army lay at rest. The commanders left their stations and came forward, singly and in groups, gathering about their leader. In few words he set the situation before them.
"Shall we attack them now or to-morrow?" he asked.
"Let us fight now!" the captains shouted.
But Parmenio frowned and shook his head. "My advice is to wait," he said boldly. "Already it is late and we must cross the river to reach the enemy. They have chosen their own ground. The men are weary with their march."
"No, no!" the younger men shouted.
"As for the river," Alexander replied, "the Hellespont would blush for shame if we stood waiting on the banks of such a stream as this after having crossed the other. It is true that we have little time, and that is the more reason that we should make the most of it. We will fight now."
His decision was received with a burst of cheers. He waited with a smile until the clamor of approval had ceased.
"Comrades and Macedonians!" he continued, "we are about to face the Mede. If we win here, we win all. I say to you that we shall win. I ask you only to be worthy of yourselves. Fight this day as the heroes fought before the walls of Ilium. Their shades are with us. Your names shall be linked forever with theirs. Here we shall reap the first harvest of our hope."
"Lead us, Alexander! We shall win!" the captains shouted.
They ran back to spread the news among the soldiers, who received it with such enthusiasm that even the anxious face of Parmenio brightened. In another half hour the army was again in motion with Alexander in the van, wearing the helmet with the white plumes that swept his shoulders.
When they reached the river, they saw the Persians drawn up on the opposite bank in a long, deep line. The front of the enemy was gay with banners flaunting in the sun and resplendent with the multi-colored finery of the Persian lords. The Greeks could hear the braying of their trumpets and the shouts of their commanders as the dense masses of their cavalry wheeled into position to meet the attack. At sight of Alexander a high-pitched, long-drawn cry ran from one end of their line to the other, rising and falling in derision.
There was no answer from the Greeks. The young king drew aside to a point of vantage and threw a rapid glance at the barbarian host. He saw that the river before them broadened into a pool, over whose quiet surface the swallows were skimming. Immediately in front of him the water foamed and gurgled over a shallow, and a similar break ended the pool below. The opposite bank rose steeply from the water's edge to the wide declivity upon which the Persians had taken their stand. Behind them Memnon's mercenaries had been posted as a reserve and to be spectators of the punishment which the barbarians were to inflict upon their countrymen.
"Leonidas was right," Alexander exclaimed, pointing to the mercenaries. "See, we shall not have to meet the spears of the Greeks. Form the line, Parmenio."
Squadron and company emerged from the road and wheeled into their positions in silence under the direction of their captains. Clearchus, Chares, and Leonidas were riding with Ptolemy's troop when a page sought them and they saw Alexander beckoning.
"Do not forget that you are to fight with Alexander to-day," he said, as they rode up.
Leonidas flushed with pride and Chares threw a satisfied glance at the gorgeous breastplate which he had recovered safely. They took their places in the cluster of young Macedonians behind the king.
Amyntas, with his light horsemen, was posted on the extreme right, beyond the left of the Persian line. Ptolemy, with the heavy cavalry, stood next, and Alexander, with seven squadrons of the Companions, the best and bravest of his army, supported him on the left. Then came the terrible phalanx, rank on rank, its sarissas standing up to four times the height of a man, like a giant field of corn. Farther down the river, in the left wing, where Parmenio commanded, was the dashing Thessalian horse, with the riders of Thrace and the Greek allies, supported by other squadrons of foot-soldiers.
Quickly and calmly, as though forming for a parade, the line extended itself and stood still. Behind its centre the catapults and ballistæ were posted, with their strings tightened and their great arms drawn back, ready to hurl their bolts or to discharge their missiles.
A sudden hush fell on both sides of the river. The jeers of the Persians died away and their banners stirred lazily in the light air. The Macedonians stood facing them like an army of statues. Alexander touched his horse with the spur and rode slowly down the line alone to see that all was in readiness. As he passed he spoke to the captains, calling them by name.
"Nicanor," he said, "let your men prove themselves men once more to-day! Perdiccas, fight for the honor of Hellas! Cœnus, there are no cowards among your followers; fight now as you never fought before! Remember Macedon!"
So the young king reached the left of the array, where he gave his final instructions to Parmenio, and galloped back to his place on the right with his double white plume streaming behind him.
Gazing across the narrow stream, the veterans of Macedon saw the pride of Persia awaiting their onset. The great struggle for which they had been making ready through years of toil was about to be brought to an issue. There rose before them a vision of the farms and villages among the rugged Macedonian hills where their wives and children awaited them. They set their teeth upon the thought that defeat would leave the road to their homes unguarded. They pictured the shame of returning as hunted fugitives, with the barbarians at their heels—how sullen Sparta would exult and fickle Athens blaze up in revolt. It would be better to die there on the banks of the foreign river than to incur such disgrace.
To all minds came the thought that the fate of the world was hanging in the balance, and all eyes turned to Alexander. The young king, cool and confident, had regained his position at the head of the Agema. He raised his hand and away on the right the army heard the clear notes of a trumpet sounding the charge.
Amyntas, with his gallant lancers, galloped down the slope and dashed into the river, which foamed about the knees of the plunging horses.
Again the trumpet-call quavered in the air, and Ptolemy's squadrons followed Amyntas with a clanking of armor and a jangling of scabbards.
On the opposite shore the Persians raised their fierce, defiant shout and rushed eagerly forward to meet the charge. A flight of arrows rose from the archers posted upon the hillside in their rear and converged in a glittering shower upon the ford.
Then along the dreaded phalanx of the Greeks ran a swelling murmur. The forest of sarissas began to move toward the river. Louder rose the chant until it drowned the clash of arms and the shouts of the barbarian host. It was the solemn pæan from twelve thousand bearded throats, calling upon the Gods of Hellas for their aid. The hearts of the Greeks in the mercenary camp on the heights across the river tightened as the deep-toned chorus rolled up to them and for a time they avoided looking into each other's eyes.
Enormous darts, ponderous balls of lead, and jagged stones were hurled against the Persian line from the death-dealing engines in the rear of the Greek position. Amyntas was struggling hand to hand in the foaming ford. The battle was joined.