The Golden Hope: A Story of the Time of King Alexander the Great. Fuller Robert Higginson
face. Her beauty evidently made a deep impression upon him, for his expression changed and he seemed hardly able to take his eyes from her.
"Where is this Chares?" he inquired, at last, staring about him.
Mena indicated the Theban with a nod, and then, noticing that all eyes were turned upon his master, he bawled out: "Make room for Phradates of the royal blood of Tyre!"
"Do you want to sell him?" asked the auctioneer.
The Phœnician's face became purple and he turned angrily upon Mena, but the alert Egyptian had slipped away to fetch the gold.
"Three talents for the girl!" Phradates cried.
"Five talents!" Chares answered.
The spectators, who had long ago ceased to think of bidding against the Theban, drew a deep breath and looked from one contestant to the other. Maia alone seemed indifferent. A tress of her hair had fallen upon her shoulder. She twisted it back into place. Chares had not seen her face when the soldier lifted her veil and his attention was now centred upon his opponent.
"Seven talents!" Phradates shouted, fixing his eyes defiantly upon Chares.
"Eight!" the Theban answered, without hesitation.
This was more than all the other captives in the group had brought. The crowd began to hum with excitement. Phradates looked over his shoulder and saw Mena leading four slaves who carried bags of gold.
"Ten talents!" he cried.
"All bids must be paid in cash," the auctioneer said warningly.
Every face was turned toward Chares, who had called his steward and was consulting with him. "How much have we left?" the Theban asked. The man made a rapid calculation on his tablets.
"You have ten talents and thirty minæ," he replied. "That is the end."
"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?"
"We may accept them at a true valuation," the captain decided.
He summoned a jeweller of Corinth, who examined the rings with care, and announced his readiness to take them at a sum sufficient to make up the total of the Phœnician's offer.
"Phradates wins!" shouted the spectators, cheering the Tyrian with all the enthusiasm that they had shown to his rival a moment before.
The Theban stood silent. He had nothing more to offer. He raged inwardly at his defeat, for he felt that his honor was involved. While he stood hesitating, nobody seemed to notice a young Macedonian soldier of athletic figure and fresh complexion who had stopped on the outskirts of the crowd and stood listening, with his head slightly inclined to one side.
Suddenly Chares strode forward and threw his sword upon the scales. The weight of the steel caused the balance to sway decisively toward him.
"I bid fifteen talents!" he cried. "Let my sword make up the weight of gold that is lacking."
Phradates laughed mockingly. "Let me have the girl," he said. "It is time to end this child's play. There is no place in the world where a sword is worth three talents."
"Except here," a voice behind him said quietly.
Phradates turned, and his eyes met those of the soldier who had been lingering on the edge of the ring of spectators.
"Here!" the Phœnician exclaimed angrily. "And who is there here to give such a price for it?"
"I will," the soldier replied with a smile.
"You will, indeed!" Phradates echoed. "And who are you?"
"My name is Alexander," the soldier said.
Phradates turned to the crowd, which had fallen back a little and now stood strangely silent.
"Who is this insolent fellow?" he cried. "Why do you allow him to interfere here?" he demanded of the captain.
The captain made no reply, and nobody in the throng ventured to answer. Phradates felt deserted. He stood with Chares and the soldier beside the gold-laden scales, beyond which waited Maia, with her eyes fixed upon the face of the newcomer.
"Is there no fair dealing in this land of thieves?" Phradates cried, losing his temper absolutely. "The girl is mine! Deliver her to me in accordance with your agreement and let me go. You have your price and it is enough!"
He made a step forward as though to seize Maia, but the soldier blocked his path.
"I am Alexander, as I told you," he said, slightly raising his voice. "I will tell you more. You are Phradates of Tyre, sent here by your king and your Council to spy out my strength and learn my plans. You have used the eyes and ears of your slaves. Take what you have learned to King Azemilcus, and with it take also this message: Alexander, King of Macedon, sends word that he is coming with his companions to offer sacrifice to Heracles in his temple, known in the city of Tyre as the temple of Melkarth. Let him prepare the altar."
Phradates read in the faces of the crowd that the youth who spoke so confidently to him was indeed the king. Nevertheless, he could not wholly stifle his rage.
"Has your army wings, Macedonian?" he asked insolently. "The walls of Tyre are both high and strong."
"What is the fate of spies in your country?" Alexander replied. "You are spared to bear my message. Must I choose another?"
There was something in the tone of these words that brought Phradates to his senses like a plunge into cold water.
"We shall meet elsewhere," he said, casting a look of hatred at Chares, who stood smiling at his discomfiture.
"If we do not, I shall never cease to regret it," the Theban replied.
Mena had been hurriedly putting his master's gold into the sacks in which he had brought it. The waiting slaves took it up and followed Phradates back to his tent.
"What was it all about?" Alexander asked, glancing from Chares to Maia.
"I wished to buy her as a present to my mother, as I have bought nearly five hundred of our friends to-day," Chares replied.
Alexander took up the sword from the scales and drew it from its sheath.
"It is a good blade," he said, "and I would not deem its price too high if your arm was to wield it in my cause."
"Was not that included in the purchase?" Chares asked, surprised. "I have made my bargain and I will live up to it."
"No," said Alexander, gently, "I will not have such an arm at a price. I am no Cyrus to attack the power of Persia with hired weapons. The spirit and the hope that goes