The best mounted of the troopers started at once in pursuit. They recognized the figure of the satrap, and took it for granted that Darius would be with him. The chase would in any case have been fruitless, for the Bactrians had not been pushing their horses during the night, and easily distanced the wearied pursuers. But, as a matter of fact, Darius was not there, and it was Charidemus who, by mingled sagacity and good luck, won the prize of the day. His eye had been caught by an object in the Persian line of march which he soon discovered to be a covered chariot, surrounded by troops. He saw it become the centre of a lively movement and then observed that it was left standing alone. He also observed that before the soldiers left it they killed the animals which were drawing it. It at once occurred to him that it was here that Darius would be found. He looked round for the king, intending to make his conjecture known to him. But Alexander was a long way behind. His horse, not the famous Bucephalus, which was indeed too old for such work, but a young charger which he was riding for the first time, had broken down. No time was to be lost, and Charidemus galloped up to the chariot.
His guess had been right. Darius was there, but he was dying. The story told afterwards by the slave who, hidden himself, had witnessed the last scene, was this: Bessus and the other leaders, as soon as they discovered that the Macedonians had overtaken them, had urged the king to leave the chariot and mount a horse. He refused. “You will fall,” cried Bessus, “into the hands of Alexander.” “I care not,” answered Darius. “At least he is not a traitor.” Without further parley they hurled their javelins at him and fled, not even turning to see whether the wounds were mortal.
The king was near his end when Charidemus entered. The slave had come out of his hiding-place, and was endeavouring in vain to stanch the flow of blood. Darius roused a little as the strange figure came in sight.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Charidemus, my lord,” was the answer.
“What?” murmured the dying man, “do his furies haunt me still?”
“My lord,” said the young man, “I have only kindness to remember.”
Darius recognized his voice. “Ah! I recollect,” he said, “you were at Issus. But where is your king?”
“He is behind; he is coming; but his horse failed him.”