"Dost thou believe we shall conquer Darius?" Alexander demanded.
"With the aid of the Gods, I think we shall," Parmenio replied.
"And dost thou not believe in the prophecy regarding the knot?" Alexander asked again.
Parmenio hesitated and looked confused. "It is very old," he said at last, "and we know not whence it came."
"Thy faith is weak," the young leader said severely. "Fear not; the cord shall be loosed."
Before the ancient temple the army was drawn up in long lines, archers and slingers, spearmen and cavalry, find the phalanx in companies and squadrons. Alexander, mounted on Bucephalus, rode slowly along the ranks, splendid in his armor, with the double plume of white brushing his shoulders on either side. He halted before the temple, where the robed priests stood ready to receive him. Every eye was upon him as he leaped to the ground and turned his face to the army.
"I go to test the prophecy, whether it be true or false," he cried, in a clear voice. "Wait thou my return."
Followed by his generals and by Aristander, the soothsayer, he entered the portals of the temple after the priests. They led him to the spot where the cart was fastened to the pillar. Its rude construction indicated its great age. Its wheels were sections of a tree trunk cut across. Its body was carved with strange figures of forgotten Gods and monsters, colored with pigment that time had dimmed. Its long neap was tied at the end to the shaft of stone with strips of cornel bark, brown and stiff with age and intertwined in curious folds that left no ends visible.
Alexander looked to the chief priest. "What is the prophecy?" he demanded.
The old man unrolled a parchment written over with dim characters, and read.