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 Phœnician glass, containing unguents and rare perfumes, compounded of priceless ingredients after formulæ 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. Hephæstion 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, Hephæstion," 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 Hephæstion 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 Hephæstion, 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!" Hephæstion exclaimed, hastily stepping back.
"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 Hephæstion 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, Hephæstion," 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 Hephæstion, 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.