Throwing their weight suddenly upon the cords that drew the triggers, the soldiers released the arms of the machines, which sprang upward and crashed against the cross-beams. The bodies of the heralds, hurled with frightful velocity into the air, shot outward and upward. Galas fell upon the end of the mole. Cleanor was dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks beside him.

A savage outcry rang from the wall across to the Macedonian camp.

Soldiers ran forward and took up the two bodies, bearing them tenderly to the shore.

"Alexander has his answer!" Azemilcus said, with a chuckle. "Let us go to dinner."

CHAPTER XXXVIII

MENA REVEALS A SECRET

On the night after the slaughter of the heralds, the galleys sent to Carthage returned with a courteous message that it would be impossible for the colony to send assistance. Ambassadors who had been despatched to other Phnician towns, demanding aid, were equally unsuccessful.

Tyre must stand or fall alone. Her brood turned its back upon her.

This indifference created a disagreeable feeling in the city. The joy over the destruction of the Macedonian works was transformed into uneasiness. Instead of abandoning the siege, the army of Alexander had begun a new mole, twice as wide as the first, and so directed that the wash of the waves, which before had been a serious obstacle, was rendered harmless. It was apparent that the young king intended to keep his word.

Several of the inhabitants of the city reported that in dreams they had seen the great bronze image of Melkarth rise from its seat in his temple and stretch its hands over the walls toward the Macedonian camp, calling upon Alexander to enter. There was a consultation of the priests. The enormous statue was bound with chains to the pillars of the temple and huge spikes were driven through its feet into the floor.

Nevertheless, the Tyrians were apprehensive and spoke of Melkarth as "the Alexandrine." The ominous words of the herald, Galas, when he declared that the Gods of Tyre would desert her, were remembered and repeated. The people began to think that perhaps they had gone too far.

Time failed to remove this impression. The new mole continued to advance, and one hazy afternoon the watchmen on the walls caught sight of a fleet of warships approaching from the north. The flag of Sidon fluttered from their masts and the beleaguered city concluded that at last reinforcements had been sent. But instead of entering the Sidonian Harbor, the vessels sheered off and came to anchor in front of the Macedonian camp.

The gloom of the city deepened when Enylus, king of Byblos, and Gerostratus, king of Adradus, added their fleets to that of Sidon. All three were Phnician cities. Rhodes sent ten ships and Cyprus later added one hundred and twenty, under command of Prytagoras.

For every Tyrian ship, Alexander now had three; and among them were vessels of the largest size, some with four banks of oars and some even with five. They were manned by sailors of Phnician stock, whose skill upon the water equalled that of the Tyrians themselves. As soon as the fleet had gathered, it sailed in battle order toward the mouth of the Sidonian Harbor, from which the Tyrian navy came out to meet it.

But when Azemilcus saw the overwhelming force opposed to him, his heart failed, and he gave the order to retreat into the harbor, the entrance of which he caused to be blocked with huge chains behind which were moored as many Tyrian vessels as would lie in the passage side by side.

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 Phnician 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 Phnician 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."

"We do not worship her," Phradates said. "With us, the moon belongs to Astoreth, who is the same as your Aphrodite, and she has lost her power."

"Are you sure of that?" Thais asked.

The young man looked at her and his expression changed.

"I am sure of nothing," he said thickly.

"Except?" Thais suggested, looking into his eyes and leaning forward on her arm so that the necklace of pearls slid across her bosom, half revealed under the folds of her robe.

"Except that I love you!" he responded.

Thais fell back upon her cushions and began again to stroke the cat.

"You should not insult the Goddess," she said.

"By Melkarth, I think you are she!" Phradates cried.

"Perhaps," she admitted, smiling and nodding her head.

Phradates stared at her for a moment as though he half believed it, and then, rising abruptly, left the room. His brain seemed obscured. He could think of nothing but his love for her. The emotion that possessed him mastered every faculty, and even the approaching ruin of the city seemed trivial in comparison with it. Yet there was his oath!

At the door of his chamber he encountered Mena.

"Master, the council is sitting," the Egyptian said.

"What is that to me?" Phradates replied harshly.

"They have decided to offer sacrifice to Baal-Moloch," Mena continued, following him into the apartment.

"They should have thought of that before," said Phradates. "Where will they find children now fit for an offering? They have all been sent to Carthage. No wonder Moloch is angry."

"This has been considered by the council," Mena continued. "Esmun, the chief priest, has told them that there are still enough of the first-born left among the Jews, who, as you know, refused to send their families away."

"But the Jews will not give them as a willing sacrifice, and without that it will be of no avail," Phradates replied impatiently. "Why do you tell me all this?"

"The council intends to find means of forcing them to make the sacrifice willingly," Mena persisted; "but Esmun declares that this will not be enough to calm the God. Baal demands a virgin of noble birth to be given to him before he will aid the city."

Phradates laughed. "Where do they expect to find her?" he asked scornfully.

"She must be pure and beautiful," Mena continued. "It is announced that he who will bring such an offering will do the city a great service."

"What do you mean? Speak out, dog!" Phradates exclaimed, catching an undertone of significance in the Egyptian's voice.

"Thou hast such a maiden," the slave said hesitatingly.

"Thais!" the young man cried. "Never. The city may perish first!

Have you dared to suggest this?"