"Why didst thou not save thyself when thy master fled?" the young king inquired.
"Because the women could not flee," Tireus replied simply.
Alexander reflected for a moment. "Rise!" he said at last. "Had thy master possessed more servants like thee, he would not have lost his empire. Thou art chief eunuch. Keep thy charge, and if any molest thee, make thy complaint to me. Go now and ask if Alexander may be admitted."
Tireus had risen, but instead of obeying, he fell again upon his knees, stretching his hands toward Alexander in supplication that he dared not put into words.
"Go," Alexander said, understanding his meaning. "They have nothing to fear."
Tireus went, returning in a moment to draw aside the curtain so that the young king might enter. The wailing had ceased.
Alexander and Hephæstion found themselves under a silken canopy of crimson. The floor of the pavilion was covered with thick carpets, woven in bright colors and laid one upon another. Silver lamps suspended from above diffused a soft light.
Huddled together in the middle of the tent upon heaps of cushions lay a crowd of women in attitudes of despair. Their white arms and shoulders gleamed through their dishevelled hair. Their eyes were heavy with weeping. They seemed like a flock of doves that had been caught in a snare and were awaiting with palpitating breasts the coming of the fowler.
A woman of mature years rose from the group and threw herself at the feet of Hephæstion, mistaking him for the king, because he was taller than Alexander and still wore his armor. She was Sisygambis, the queen mother.
"Mercy!" she cried, with streaming eyes. "Thou hast slain my son. Have pity upon his mother and his innocent wife."