"We are beaten!" sobbed the boy on the wall.
"It is cooler up here," Iphicrates replied mechanically. A chill ran through his bulk as though he already felt the edge of the swords that were rising and falling in the hands of the victors.
The swiftest of the fugitives, throwing away their weapons, had already dashed panting through the gate. Others crowded behind them, and the opening quickly became choked by a mass of men who trampled each other in their eagerness to get inside the walls. The cavalry and light-armed troops of the Macedonians pressed close at their heels, giving them no respite from their terror.
Of the army of Halicarnassus hardly a remnant would have escaped had not the rain of missiles and arrows from the walls checked the Macedonian advance. As soon as the enemy was within range the order was given to the archers and slingers, of whom there were thousands posted upon the ramparts. They showered stones and arrows upon the pursuing force, and the catapults sent huge darts buzzing down among the close-packed squadrons.
The boy beside Iphicrates was twanging away with his bow as fast as he could fit his arrows to the cord.
"I hit one!" he cried, following the course of a shaft with his eyes. "I saw him fall! He went right over backward!"
He began shooting again with renewed ardor.
Meantime a few squadrons of the bravest men in Memnon's forces rallied and made a brief stand before the gate. They succeeded in halting the Macedonians long enough to enable their comrades to swarm through to safety; but soon they were swept off their feet and hurled back toward the battlements. To their dismay, they found the great gate closed against them. They were cut down as they ran hither and thither, seeking in vain for a place of refuge.
Iphicrates watched the butchery with horrible fascination. His face was mottled, and the spear in his hand shook like a blade of corn.
"Cowards!" cried the boy with flashing eyes, "why did they not let them in?"