And now the force was on the move, Menon in the van, while at his side strode the faithful Kedah, he who had served in Syria, and at his master's lightest nod would charge across the lip of a precipice. Three spears' lengths in advance went the Bactrian spy who, choosing between the torture-iron and a sack of gold, had promised to lead the Assyrians by a shorter route to where King Oxyartes lay concealed; yet, lest he betray his trust, a noose was knotted about his neck and Huzim followed close upon his heels.
To those who raced with the coming dawn on slippery mountain paths, circling deep chasms, leaping from stone to stone where torrents cut their way, the ceaseless trainings of Menon's camp now stood them in good stead. The chill of the altitude was felt no more, for the soldiers' blood ran bubbling through their veins as their limbs grew damp with the sweat of toil. Upward they clambered, swinging westward in a wide detour, in the hope of taking Oxyartes in his rear, now running swiftly down some gentle slope, now clinging like flies to the face of a dizzy cliff, then up again on narrow, tortuous ways.
They came at last upon the point where Ninus and his force had passed when they entered the gorge which notched the summit of the mountain range; and as Menon paused, his ear could faintly catch a distant rumble of the chariot wheels where the rearguard dragged its way on the stony trail.
Well might Menon pause. To dash into that gulf of gloom, meant only to become a part of Assyria's slaughter when the battle joined; nor might a single spy press on with warning, for the march of Ninus, beyond a peradventure, was followed up by a force of Bactrians who would balk retreat. To advise the King of impending fate was beyond the powers of Menon's strength or strategy; yet, what if after all his journey bore no fruit save the knowledge of a fool who was lured by phantoms to forsake a trust? In fancy he fashioned swarms of hairy mountaineers who tumbled down the cliff sides to the valley's lap, charging his wagons, stabbing at his men beneath the wheels. He heard their howls of triumph—smelled the smoke, as great red flames leaped, roaring, at his priceless machines of war, while maddened cattle-beasts surged round and round, trampling his men beneath their frenzied hoofs.
Well might Menon cast his eyes along the backward trail, for if judgment served him ill, what hope of her who watched upon the walls of Nineveh, listening for the footsteps of a loved-one coming in the night? He faltered, yet, as he stood, irresolute, there came a memory of Semiramis admonishing a foolish serving-maid in their home at Azapah:
"Thou child!" she chided. "When once the mind be set upon a thing, go straightway and do that thing, leaving the broken threads of consequence to be gathered up in afterdays."
So Menon wiped the beads of sweat from off his brow and gave the word to move. He divided his men-at-arms, commanding Kedah to mount the heights on the gorge's right, while he, with an equal force, would take the left; thus the two long files diverged from the central point and soon were hidden among the beetling crags.
For an hour they stole along uncertain paths, hugging the edge of a slit-like mountain pass which marked the march of Ninus in the depths below. They moved with speed, yet cautiously, lest the rattling of a weapon or a stone displaced give warning to the enemy, while beneath their very feet could be heard the clattering hoof-falls of three score thousand war steeds plodding sleepily—and Menon and his men raced on to reach the van.
At length the gloom of night began to fade. A smear of grey crept up from out the east. Then, of a sudden, the hills awoke, resounding with the crash of arms, the thunder of descending stones, the cries of men, and the shriek of stricken steeds.
"Too late!" sighed Menon, gazing down into the shadowy gulf whence the tongues of tumult roared. "Too late! Yet, perchance, the hand of Ishtar stayed my speed!"