"But I am still a woman and thy mother," she replied. "How can I suffer thee to leave me?"
"I will send for thee from Babylon," he said consolingly.
"Thou goest to victory and to glory," she said. "Of that I have no fear; but thy mother's heart is filled with sorrow! Kiss me yet again!"
Alexander embraced her and led her back to the chariot. He stood looking after her with bared head, until, escorted by Antipater, she disappeared in the city gate. His heart went out to the jealous, fiery woman's spirit, whose great love for him made her ever faultless in his eyes. Something told him, as it had told her, although neither had confessed it, that they would never look upon each other again.
In another moment he was astride of Bucephalus and off after the army. Clearchus, riding with Chares and Leonidas in their company of the Companions, saw him dash past with a smile on his eager face.
Along the northern shore of the Ægean, and always within sight of its blue waters, they marched for twenty days until they crossed the Melas and came to the Hellespont, beyond which they could see the mountains of Phrygia, with the snow-capped summit of Mount Ida towering above the rest. Before them, across the strait, lay the promised land. Wheeling south to Sestos, they met the fleet that had kept them company along the coast. There Alexander left Parmenio to take the army over to Abydos, while he pushed on with the Companions to Elæus.
He himself steered the foremost of the ships that carried them across the strait to Ilium. In mid-channel they offered sacrifice to Poseidon and the Nereids, and as they neared Cape Segeium the king hurled his javelin upon the sand, and leaping into the water in full armor, dashed forward to the Persian beach. From every ship rose cries of emulation as the Companions plunged in after him and strove with each other to see which of them should first follow him to the shore.
Upon the battle-field where the terrible Achilles had raged among the Trojans when the Greeks of olden time sought revenge for Helen's immortal shame, the Companions celebrated with feasting and with games the fame of the Homeric heroes. These exercises, filling their minds with thoughts of wondrous deeds, were a fitting prelude for the mighty task that lay before them.
Through their camp the rumor ran from sources none could trace that beyond the mountains lay the Persian host in countless numbers. Arsites, Phrygia's satrap, and the cruel Spithridates, ruler of Lydia and Ionia, were said to be in command. Memnon of Rhodes, the story went, was at the head of an Hellenic mercenary force more numerous than Alexander's entire army.
No attempt was made to check the spread of these tidings. If the thought of possible defeat crossed the mind of any of the Companions, he was careful not to give it utterance. In their talk around their camp-fires they assumed that the first battle was already won and their plans ran forward into the heart of Persia. What mattered it whether the enemy was many or few? Had not the Ten Thousand, whose exploits Xenophon related, shown to the world that one Greek soldier was better than a hundred barbarians?