THE WORLD AT STAKE
With the sea on their left and the mountain cliffs on their right, Clearchus and Nathan rode on either side of Chares in the front rank of the squadron of Companion cavalry commanded by Leonidas. The crisp November air and the excitement of the coming battle made their blood tingle and raised their spirits to a pitch of reckless gayety. The Spartan rode in advance, without turning his head or moving a muscle under the fire of jokes that Chares directed at him.
Presently the cliffs ended and the mountain barrier curved away inland, leaving a plain of greensward and shingle, flooded with sunlight.
"There they are!" Clearchus cried eagerly.
Straight before them, perhaps three miles away, they saw a confused mass of gleaming banners and the glint of countless spears. The shallow Pinarus, flowing down from the mountains, rippled across the level, and on its further bank, where the ground was high, the Great King had taken his stand. For a mile and a half, from the hills to the sea, the plain was blocked by a living rampart, gay with the pomp of Oriental splendor.
As the squadrons of Macedonian cavalry emerged from the pass, they wheeled to the right and formed their line close to the lower slopes of the mountain.
"Here come the men of Thessaly," Chares cried.
Their plumes fluttering in the breeze, the Thessalian horse poured out of the pass and ranged themselves behind the Companions.
Then the phalanx appeared, marching rank after rank, with the precision of a machine. The lancers under Protomachus and Aristo's Pæonians, who had been thrown forward in advance of the cavalry, raised a shout as the scarred veterans, each holding his long sarissa erect and bearing his heavy shield across his shoulder, followed the proud Agema.
While the phalanx was forming on the left of the cavalry there was a movement among the Persians.
"They are coming!" Chares shouted.
Clearchus and Nathan saw a large body of horse and foot advance across the river. Although in numbers they exceeded the entire Macedonian army, their departure from the main body of the Persians seemed to make no diminution in its size. They halted as soon as they had crossed the stream and from the host beyond came the bray of trumpets and the hoarse murmur of many voices.
"They are taking their positions," Nathan said. "They will not attack."
His conjecture proved correct, for in half an hour the troops that had advanced fell back again across the river through openings that had been left for them in the wings of the main force, and the glittering front of the Persian army was revealed, drawn up in battle array.
The Macedonians had continued to advance slowly across the plain, forming as they went, so that only half a mile now separated them from the Persians. Nathan's eyes sought the centre of the enemy's line.
"There he is!" he exclaimed, pointing with his finger.
Clearchus followed the direction he indicated and saw a blotch of variegated color, above which fluttered many standards.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"Darius," Nathan replied. "You can see his Medean robe of purple—there, just beneath that golden banner."
"What troop is that about him?" inquired Chares.
"They are the princes and the nobles of the court," the Israelite answered. "Oxathres, the Great King's brother commands them."
"I wonder whether Phradates is there!" Clearchus said.
"I hope so!" Chares exclaimed, in a voice that came from his heart.
"There, in front of Darius, are his Greek mercenaries," Nathan continued. "Leonidas told the truth when he said there were thirty thousand of them. Those heavy-armed troops on each side of the centre are the Cardaces. And, look, there is the cavalry, there on the beach. That is the flower of the Persian army. Nabazarnes leads it."
"We met some of those blossoms at the Granicus," Chares remarked. "It did not take them long to wither; but there is a whole garden of them yonder, and our line seems rather slender compared with theirs."
The Persian horse was massed on the smooth, hard beach in an enormous wedge which looked as though it might be able, by weight alone, to scatter the squadrons of Greek cavalry under Parmenio which were opposing it on the left wing of the Macedonian army. Evidently this discrepancy had struck the attention of Alexander, for, while Chares spoke, the Thessalians quietly left their places in the line and trotted around behind the phalanx to reënforce the allies.
"There goes the sickle that will reap the roses of Darius," Chares said, gazing after them longingly. "Phœbus! I wish I were with them!"
"You will find plenty to do here," Clearchus said. "There are a few men over there on the hill who will have to be cared for."
He pointed to the slope on the right, where some twenty thousand of the Cardaces were drawn up, far in advance of the Persian line, near the foot of the mountain.
"They intend to try our flank when we advance," the Theban observed. "I didn't know the Persians had so much sense."
"They are going to get a little exercise first," Clearchus said as the flare of trumpets sounded down the line.
Immediately a body of light-armed foot-soldiers and cavalry detached itself from the right wing and advanced up the hill toward the Cardaces. The eyes of both armies were upon them and a cheer ran along the Macedonian ranks, from the hillside to the sea.
The Cardaces wavered slightly. They had evidently not expected so prompt an attack. The leaders of the Macedonian force could be seen riding or running in advance of the various divisions, and the men followed as steadily as though the charge were merely an exercise drill. They paused to send a flight of arrows and stones among the Cardaces, who, being armed only with lances and swords, had no means of replying. To charge down the hill meant that they would be annihilated by the Macedonian army. To remain where they were was to be slain piecemeal by the darts and arrows. They began to retire slowly upward out of the zone of fire.
Their retreat was greeted from the Macedonian lines by a roar that sounded like the booming of the surf upon the rocks. The peltasts and archers continued to press them until they had been forced into a position where they were no longer a menace to the rear of the army. The light-armed troops were then recalled, leaving two squadrons of Companions, containing about three hundred men, to hold the twenty thousand in check if they should attempt a charge. They performed the task imposed upon them. Nothing more was heard of the isolated Cardaces that day.
As the detachment returned down the hill and resumed its place in the ranks, the commotion in the long, thin line that stretched away to the sea gradually ceased. The soldiers stood motionless behind their captains.
Alexander, riding Bucephalus, gave his final commands to Parmenio on the beach where the Thessalians waited with the allied cavalry to meet the attack of the Persian horse. Then he turned and came slowly up along the line, drawing rein here and there to speak a word of confidence and encouragement. His double white plume floated over his shoulders, and the sunlight flashed upon his coat of mail.
When he reached the right wing he addressed the Companions with his familiar smile.
"Do not forget," he said, "that a part of your accustomed duty is to set an example to the rest. I shall lead the Agema. Keep near me, for I may need you. Whether we win or lose, let it be with glory."
He turned his face toward the Persians and scanned with care the dense masses of troops who stood waiting beyond the Pinarus, in lines so deep that he could not see their rear. His eyes lingered upon the centre, where Darius, his rival for the mastery of the world, was standing. On the left of the Great King, the course of the stream bent backward, and the formation of the Persian army followed its course. The left of the Greek mercenaries, upon whom Darius relied to win the battle, rested in this elbow of the river.
"There is the vital spot," Alexander said. "If we can gain a foothold on that bank, have no fear of what may happen elsewhere. It will be easier than it was at the Granicus."
"The cavalry is coming," said Clitus, pointing toward the beach.
Alexander turned and saw the gayly caparisoned squadrons of the Persian right dashing into the river. The foam splashed about the knees of the horses and a forest of lances waved and tossed in the air.
"There is work for Parmenio," the young king remarked as the head of the column gained the shore.
He glanced once more along the Persian front, but the movement on the beach did not extend to the main force. It was clear that Darius intended to compel him to begin the infantry battle.
Alexander cantered down to the right of the phalanx, where he dismounted and placed himself at the head of the Agema. On the beach the Thessalians met the shock of the tremendous body of cavalry that had been launched against them. The impact bore them back, but even that rushing avalanche of horses and men could not break them. It dashed against their wall of steel, recoiled, and rolled on again, in successive waves, continually strengthened from the rear as fresh squadrons crossed the stream.
The Macedonian line quivered with eagerness. A page darted from Alexander's side along the front of the phalanx and spoke a word to Ptolemy, son of Lagus. Another sped to the Companions.
"Advance," he cried, "and charge when the king leads! This is the order!"
"Here we go!" cried Chares, clapping Nathan on the back with a blow that nearly hurled him from his horse. "Stick to Leonidas! He will find the best of the fighting for us, or we will drown him in the river!"
"The phalanx is moving!" Clearchus cried with shining eyes.
A dull throbbing beat through the air and the heavy centre started slowly forward, each man touching the arm of his neighbor and keeping step in parade order. The cadence of voices began to mingle with the drum beat and the wild music of the trumpets.
As they advanced, Clearchus gazed eagerly at the Persian line, every nerve stretched to the point of physical pain. He saw in the centre the ranks of the Greek mercenaries, ten times as deep as those of the phalanx, standing grim and motionless, in strange contrast with the restless flutter of the heterogeneous masses that surrounded them on three sides. He blushed to think that, when Persia stood at bay, Greeks could be found to range themselves with her against their own country. The thought passed through his mind that Alexander was right after all, and that Demosthenes and those who aided him to fan the flame of hostility to Macedon at home were really acting the part of traitors, not only to Athens, but to all Greece.
He turned his eyes to Alexander, whose plumes shone in the front rank of the Agema. This had now almost reached the Pinarus. Suddenly from the phalanx rose the deep-toned pæan, summoning the Gods of Hellas to protect their own. The mighty chant drowned the throbbing of the drums and the uproar of the battle on the beach. As it rose and swelled, it filled the plain and rolled back in echoes from the mountain sides. There was something in it stern and inflexible, that thrilled Clearchus' heart and lifted him to the plane of self-forgetfulness.
The Agema reached the river. The pæan gave way to a wild shout as the slow advance of the phalanx changed to a rush, and the Macedonian line dashed into the rain of javelins, darts, and arrows that was poured upon it from the Persian side of the stream.