Tyre was no longer mistress of the sea. She stood forsaken amid the waters, gray and deserted, like a lioness in her last refuge, encompassed by the hunters. The mole crept ever nearer to the wall, and Macedonian captains, cruising around the city, gazed hungrily at the battlements.
The inhabitants understood that nothing but a miracle could save the city. They turned to their Gods. In ancient times they had never failed in the observance of their worship, but as they waxed strong and gained knowledge of the world, scepticism had found a lodgement in their hearts. The ceremonials had been neglected by many who either did not believe or had grown careless. The offerings diminished. More than once the sacrifice of the first-born to Baal-Moloch had been omitted. The worship of Astoreth, it is true, had been maintained; but it was clear that the Goddess was not powerful enough to rescue them. Baal was angry and must be propitiated.
Phradates became more and more downcast and sullen as misfortune gathered about the city. The cruelty that was a part of his Phœnician heritage rose to the surface. His slaves were lashed for the slightest fault, or even for no fault at all. Some of them he ordered put to death. Terror filled the great house, with its spacious rooms hung with embroideries, beautiful with paintings and statues, its rare glass, and its treasures of gold and of amber.
One evening, when a languid southern breeze stirred the silken curtains, the young Phœnician entered the apartments occupied by Artemisia and Thais. Artemisia sat by the window, gazing at the brilliant stars that seemed so near and yet so immeasurably far away. The two young women had been talking of Chares and Clearchus; but a silence had fallen between them. Thais lay on a couch of cedar, burying her fingers in the thick fur of a Persian cat, which purred with half-shut eyes under her caress.
Phradates threw himself into a chair in an attitude of weariness and dejection. Thais shot a glance at him and went on stroking the cat.
"Do you believe in the Gods?" the young man asked.
"Artemisia does," Thais replied lazily, with a tantalizing smile.
"Why?" Phradates demanded, turning to the younger sister.
Artemisia turned her eyes wonderingly upon his troubled face.
"I cannot tell you," she replied slowly, as though searching for a reason. "I have always believed in them and I have passed through many dangers unharmed. I think Artemis has protected me, for I love her. I have no fear, since I am in her hands."