When the soldiers, with their heads bent earthwards, still suppressed what they felt, “I must,” he said, “have inadvertently given you some offence that you will not even look at me. Methinks I am in a solitude. No one answers me; no one so much as says me nay. Is it to strangers I am speaking? Am I claiming anything unreasonable? Why, it is your glory and your greatness we are asserting. Where are those whom but the other day I saw eagerly striving which should have the prerogative of receiving the person of their wounded king? I am deserted, forsaken, surrendered into the hands of the enemy. But I shall still persist in going forward, even though I should march alone. Expose me then to the dangers of rivers, to the rage of elephants, and to those nations whose very names fill you with terror. I shall find men that will follow me though I be deserted by you. The Scythians and Bactrians, once our foemen, but now our soldiers—these will still be with me.[276] Let me tell you, I had die rather than be a commander on sufferance. Begone then to your homes, and go triumphing because ye have forsaken your king![277] For my part, I shall here find a place, either for the victory of which you despair, or for an honourable death.” _Chapter III.—Speech of Coenus on behalf of the army—Alexander’s displeasure at the refusal of the soldiers to advance—He resolves to return—Raises altars as memorials of his presence—Reaches the Acesines, where Coenus dies—Reconciles Taxiles and Porus, and then sails down stream_ But not even by this appeal could a single word be elicited from any of the soldiers. They waited for the generals and chief captains to report to the king that the men, exhausted with their wounds and incessant labours in the field, did not refuse the duties of war, but were simply unable to discharge them. The officers, however, paralysed with terror, kept their eyes steadfastly fixed on the ground, and remained silent. Then there arose, no one knew how, first a sighing and then a sobbing, until, little by little, their grief began to vent itself more freely in streaming tears, so that even the king, whose anger had been turned into pity, could not himself refrain from tears, anxious though he was to suppress them. At last, when the whole assembly had abandoned itself to an unrestrained passion of weeping, Coenus, on finding that the others were reluctant to open their lips, made bold to step forward to the tribunal where the king stood, and signified that he had somewhat to say. When the soldiers saw him removing his helmet from his head—a custom observed in addressing the king—they earnestly besought him that he would plead the cause of the army.