They sat down beneath a vine-grown trellis while Leonidas told them of the events that had led to the new distribution of the empire, describing the jealousies of the leaders and the ferment of revolt that was working in Greece.
"When will they stop killing each other?" Artemisia said sadly. "Has not each of them more than enough without trying to rob the others? Leave them to their quarrels, Leonidas; there is room enough for another house here beside us, and we will find you a mistress for it."
Leonidas shook his head and sipped the wine that a slave had brought for his refreshment. He knew that she referred to the site that they had reserved for Chares and Thais.
"It is too late," he replied, half regretfully. "As we have lived, so we must die."
Artemisia slipped her hand within that of Clearchus, while the Spartan followed with his eyes the glancing sails of a vessel whose prow was turned toward the north and the rugged hillsides of his native land. Their reflections were interrupted by the children, who had tired of their play and were seeking new diversion.
"Ho! Uncle Leonidas," shouted the boy, swooping down upon the Spartan. "Where did you come from? Tell me about the death of King Darius!"
He sat down beside Leonidas and composed himself to listen. The little girls took Artemisia prisoner and led her away to see a nest they had found, in which, they assured her, were funny little birds with no feathers on their wings. Leonidas, his eyes still on the receding ship, began the story that he had often told before. He related how the army came to Ecbatana, the gem of cities, with its seven walls each of a different color from the others, and each rising higher than the one outside it, and how they found that the Great King had fled up into the snow-capped mountains that overlook the Caspian Sea. He had with him Bessus, the treacherous; Oxathres, his own brother; Artabazus, the first nobleman of Persia, who commanded the Greek mercenaries; and a score more of the generals and viceroys who still remained constant to his fortune. He told how Darius wished to stand and fight among the rugged passes, but the others would not allow it; how Artabazus, suspecting their perfidy, besought him to trust himself to his Greeks, to which the Great King consented for the morrow; and how that night Bessus fettered him with golden chains and made him a prisoner in his litter.
The boy listened with sparkling eyes intent upon the Spartan's face, while Leonidas described how Alexander, finding the Persians ever fleeing before him, had left the foot-soldiers behind and struck out with the Companions across the desert to intercept them. The lad held his breath as he followed the desperate ride over the burning sands, where one by one the horses stumbled and fell, gasping, until only seventy riders remained. His cheeks flushed when he heard how a soldier had brought water to Alexander in his helmet, and how the young king, thirsty as he was, refused to moisten his lips because there was not enough for all.
Then came the charge of the seventy weary Macedonians in the gray of the morning upon the camp of the sleeping Persians and the panic-stricken flight of the cowardly army before them, too frightened even to look back. And there they found the Great King lying in his litter, stabbed through and through by the order of Bessus, who had hoped thus to win the favor of Alexander.
"And that was the end of Darius," the Spartan concluded. "Alexander was sorry for his death, and he spread his own cloak over him as he lay there; but I think it was better for him to die then than to live subject to another, remembering his former power. He was unfortunate in this, that he was not killed in battle, as all brave men should wish to be. He had an opportunity for that at Gaugamela, but he threw it away."