"I bid ten talents and thirty minæ," Chares said promptly, addressing the auctioneer.
It was evident to all that he could go no further. Would Phradates be able to outbid him? The Phœnician hesitated and turned to Mena.
"He has won," the slave whispered. "You have only ten talents. If you had beaten him, we should have starved to death."
"Then we will starve!" Phradates replied. "I demand that the gold be weighed!"
"You have that right," the auctioneer admitted. "Bring out the scales."
The scales were brought and the gold was poured into the broad pans which hung suspended from their framework of wood. The glittering heaps increased until each pan overflowed with the precious coins and ingots. When all was in readiness for the test, they held a fortune such as few men in all Greece possessed. The spectators devoured it with their eyes, pressing against the soldiers in the hope of getting a better view. The maiden, Maia, who was the object of the rivalry, was forgotten.
The scales oscillated slowly and at last settled deliberately on the side toward Chares. The tale was correct and his last thirty minæ had given him the victory. The crowd broke into a cheer.
"Are you satisfied?" asked the Macedonian captain.
"No!" Phradates shouted. A red spot glowed on his cheeks and his fingers trembled as he stripped off his rings and his chains of gold. He placed the ornaments on his side of the scales. "I bid thirteen talents," he declared.
"Payments are to be made in money," Chares remonstrated. "Who can tell what these trinkets are worth?"