Darius.
“The Persian king held a great review of his army in the plain of Babylon. First he numbered them, sending them into a sort of camp, surrounded by a ditch and rampart, that was reckoned to hold ten thousand men. I watched them march in and out, my lord, for I was then with my master, for the whole of a day from sunrise to sunset. As they came out they took their places on the plain, stretching as far as I could see and further too. ‘What think you of that?’ said King Darius to my master, when the last detachment had marched out, ‘what think you of that? are there not enough there to trample these insolent Greeks under foot?’ My master was silent; at last he said, ‘Does my lord wish me to speak what is in my heart?’ ‘Speak on,’ said the king. Then my master spoke out: ‘This is a splendid sight, I confess. No one could have believed that there could have been gathered together so great, so splendid a host. And I can well believe that there is no people in Asia but would see it with fear and a very just fear too. But the Macedonians and the Greeks are a very different race. You have nothing here that can be matched for a moment with the solidity of their array, with their discipline, with the speed and order of their movements. If you want my advice, my lord king, it is this: It is only in Greece that you can find men who can stand against Greeks. Send these useless crowds away. Take the silver and gold with which they make all this useless display, and use it to hire men who can really fight.’ There was a perfect howl of rage from all the Persian nobles who were standing by, when my master said this. Some of them shook their fists at him; some drew their scymetars. As for the king himself he was as furious as any of them. He jumped up from his seat, and caught my master by the throat. ‘Take him away,’ he shouted to the guards who stood behind his throne, ‘take him away, and behead him.’ My master’s face did not change one whit. ‘You asked for the truth, my lord,’ he said, ‘but it does not please you. When it comes to you, not in word but in deed, it will please you less. Some day you will remember what has been said to-day, and Charidemus will be avenged.’ After that the executioners led him away, and I saw him no more.”
“And about yourself,” said the king, “how came you hither?” There was a fierce light in the man’s eyes as he answered this question. “My lord,” he said, “the king divided all that belonged to my master between the executioners. I watched my time, and the day after his death I plunged my dagger into the heart of one of the ruffians; I wish that I could have plunged it into the king’s. Then I escaped.”
“To-morrow,” said the king, “you shall tell me in what way you came, and what you saw on the road. Just now you are only fit for rest. Treat him well, and take care of him,” he went on to the attendants. “And now, gentlemen,” he said to his guests, “said I not well that the gods had good tidings for me on this day? What could be better than this? If the choice had been given me, I could have chosen nothing more to be desired—Darius means to give battle.”
CHAPTER XII
ON THE WRONG SIDE
The good fortune of Alexander was not yet exhausted; indeed, if it was to be called good fortune at all, it remained with him in a remarkable way up to the very end of his career. It was a distinct gain that the Persian king had abandoned the waiting policy of Memnon, and, in a haughty self-confidence that, as has been seen, brooked no contradiction, resolved to give battle to the invader; but there was a yet greater gain remaining behind. Not only was he going to give battle, but he was going to give it exactly in the place which would be the least advantageous to himself and the most advantageous to his antagonist. How this came about will now be explained.
Alexander called a hurried council of war after the banquet to consider the intelligence which had been just brought to him. He expounded to his lieutenants at length the views which he had briefly expressed at the banqueting hall. If Darius was in the mind to fight, their policy was to give him the opportunity that he desired as soon as possible. The suggestion was received with enthusiasm by the majority of the officers present; but there was a small minority, led by Parmenio, that ventured to dissent. Parmenio was the oldest and most experienced general in the army, numbering nearly fifty campaigns. He had often been extraordinarily successful, and Philip had trusted him implicitly.