The beat of trampling hoofs and the thunder of rolling wheels was mingled with the roar of panic, and in an instant the street was filled from side to side with close ranks of wild-looking horsemen.
"Way for Bessus! Make way for the noble viceroy!" they shouted, striking right and left with their rawhide whips.
They rode into the mob with reckless indifference, and all who were unfortunate enough to be unable to get out of their way were trampled under the hoofs of the galloping horses.
"They are the Bactrians," Nathan panted. "We are saved."
From their sheltering angle, the Greeks watched the horsemen go past. Every man seemed an athlete, and the riders sat upon the backs of their horses as though they had grown there. Behind them, after a brief interval, rumbled a heavy war chariot drawn by four black steeds. In this ponderous vehicle, beside the charioteer, stood a corpulent man, with an enormously thick neck and a heavy jaw that gave an aspect of sternness to his dark face. He paid no heed to the lifeless forms over which the wheels of his chariot rolled, and he seemed deaf to the cries of pain uttered by the wretches who had been maimed beneath the hoofs of his guard. Clearchus' eyes for a moment met those of the viceroy and he felt a chill strike through him, as though he had touched some monstrous reptile unawares.
The passage of the Bactrians effectually cleared the street, but Nathan deemed it wise to fall in behind them lest the attack should be renewed. As they were about to start, a thought occurred to Chares.
"Where is the lieutenant?" he asked.
"He is there," Nathan replied, pointing to a heap of the slain.
The body of the young man lay a little apart from the rest, with the paint still on its cheeks and a gaping wound in its chest.
"So his cowardice did not save him," Chares said. "Let us go."