Hephaestion gave up. He knew there would be no sense arguing with Alexander anymore on this point. Once the young king had made up his mind, nothing and no one, not even his cherished Hephaestion, could make him change his mind.
“I want these walls torn down, so that there is no stone left standing upon another. But,” added Alexander in afterthought, “I will spare the temples, the homes of our allies and that of Pindar, as you propose, dear Hephaestion, if it is not too late.”
Hephaestion saluted and made his preparations to restore order. As he quickly gathered his troop, he dispatched another group of armed men to the House of Pindar.
Just as so many other soldiers had broken ranks to see to the safety of their families once it was apparent that the city was lost, so, too, did Captain Dimitrios in despair race to his own home. He hoped it was not too late to save his brother, Klemes the physician, and his best friend and shieldmate, Ari, who was recuperating in Klemes' care, and what others of the family still lived.
The way home was a hard one. Smoke obscured the otherwise familiar streets, many of which were blocked by open fires, collapsed walls, or gangs of drunken, brutal looters – not all of them foreigners. Several thousands of the city's slaves and many of its poor were taking vengeance of their own, seeking to grab whatever they could make off with of from the homes of the oligarchs – or any who were even the least bit wealthy. These, too, did Dimitrios, still carrying his battered shield, try to avoid as he made his way home.
“My King,” General Antipatros said in reporting to Alexander the next morning. “The city is secure. The worst of the fires have burned themselves out for lack of fuel. What areas are still afire we have isolated and contained, and expect they, too, will extinguish themselves for want of anything to feed the flames.”
As Antipatros was concluding his report, forward came yet another of the many commanders of the army, Antigonos, known to his soldiers, for obvious reasons, as Monophthalmos, or One-Eye.
“We estimate that about 6,000 Thebans have been killed, some in battle, most in what followed. The slavers have rounded up the rest of the population, nearly 30,000, more than two-thirds of them women and children, my King,” he smiled cheerfully. “We have penned them in outside the Proitides Gate. The prettier ones, of course, will be bought by the officers before we let the slavers march them away. I've taken a few of the choice ones for myself, although I will gladly give you first pick of the lot, should you desire,” he added with a wink and a smile. “The rest seem fairly strong and healthy and will fetch a good price on the markets. More than enough to cover the costs of this southern diversion from your purpose.”
“And our losses?” asked the king.
“Some 500 dead. I have already taken the liberty of ordering the priests to prepare a funeral. As for the Thebans...”
“A deep pit will do for them, General,” spat Alexander. “All the closer to hell, as they deserve.”
“And the army, my King, shall I make preparations to return to Macedonia?”
“We are not done here in the south, yet, General,” said Alexander grimly, paying little notice to the commander's report concerning slaves – or his offer to pick one for his bed. “We have to dig out the roots of this conspiracy, and eliminate the source of the poison that caused Thebes to rise up against us. I give you three days to get the army into marching order.”
“Aye, then we go back north, and then across the Hellespont into Asia as we planned?” asked Antipatros.
“No, not yet,” replied Alexander. “The time has come to silence that worm-tongued Demosthenes. We will put an end to this division among Greeks once and for all. Leave a brigade here to finish the destruction of the city. And by destruction, I mean total destruction. Make of it an abaton – a place of 'no go.' Hephaestion,” he added, turning to his friend, “tell the Phoceans and the rest of the cities of Boetia to lay claim to what Theban farms and orchards they want. The rest they can leave to the thistles and tamarisk trees to take over. I want no city to sprout back up here to vex me. Oh, and as for the rest of army; tomorrow, we march...to Athens.”
10
Pindar's House
Amidst the ruins of Thebes
The orgy of rapine, slaughter, looting, and arson that is part of the sack of any city taken by storm, would normally have abated once the baser instincts of the victorious soldiery had been sated, or at least once exhaustion set in. At Thebes, however, another and even more powerful force drove the victors: revenge.
Macedonians felt betrayed. They wanted to make the Thebans pay for what they had done to the commanders of the garrison of the Cadmea fortress. Phoceans and Plateans, however, had older – generations older – scores to settle. For nearly two centuries, young children in those cities had been frightened into obedience by being told that the Thebans would come for naughty young boys and girls at night. Now it was their turn to come for the Thebans.
For farther back than any in their rebuilt cities could remember, horror stories of what the Thebans had done to their ancestors had been told around the hearth and the camp fire. It was the Thebans, after all, who had ignited the spark that started the 30-year war between Athens and Sparta, when they had bribed a traitor to open the gates of Plateai and tried to seize the city by coup de main – and without a declaration of war! And even before that, it was Thebes that had taken Persian gold and opened the way through Boetia to Athens for the Great King's ravaging hordes. Never mind that in living memory the Thebans had overthrown the oligarchs who had done such deeds and later freed Greece from the nail-shod boots of Sparta's red-cloaked killers; the list of betrayals from a century or more ago were more deeply written in the hearts of Thebes' neighbors.
In Phocea and Plateai, hate had been kept alive for decades by such stories – and in the sacking of Thebes that hate was unleashed in its full and horrific fury. Scores, fresh and ancient, needed settling, or so the victors told themselves to excuse their savagery. Alexander's acquiescence only emboldened them in their near total destruction of once proud Thebes.
Captain Dimitrios witnessed the fury and ferocity as he made his way back through the smoke-clouded, rubble-strewn streets of his dying city. At the little temple near the Cadmea, where he had so often found peace, for example, the stone benches had been smashed, the fountain broken and even the young laurel trees that had been growing out of the stones cut down.
As he came into the Street of the Tanners, Dimitrios stumbled upon a trio of soldiers who were taking turns raping a woman and her young girls. Two others were piling up plunder from her home and the workshops nearby. Alone and with only his sword and a broken spear, Dimitrios knew that to charge in to try and save the family would be suicide – but it was the honorable thing to do. Better to take a chance now and even die than live with the guilt of having done nothing.
As he flipped his spear to bring its bronze-sheathed butt to the fore, he tried to decide how best to take on the rapists and looters. Just rushing in headlong would certainly lead to a glorious death, thought Dimitrios, of which warriors from before the time of Achilles and Hector were said to dream. It would also mean that he would surely die, and to no purpose. There was no poet around to sing of such a sacrifice, and not even the slightest chance that such a sacrifice would save the woman or her girls.
Although it tore at his heart and his sense of self, Dimitrios realized that there was quite literally nothing he could do, except at best, take one or two of those men down with him. It would also mean that any chance he had of saving his own friends and family would be forfeit. With tears of shame creating little rivulets through the blood and dirt which covered his face, the hoplites captain turned away from the brutal scene. He crept through the debris that littered the street, and ran down an alley, an alley he knew would at least lead him toward his goal: home.
Back in that home, his brother Klemes was attending to those citizens of Thebes who had sought refuge in the House of Pindar. The building itself was no palace, and
was certainly no fortress, as the poet had eschewed riches. Still people saw it as a place of hope amidst the horror. If Klemes had learned anything from his studies at Hippocrates academy on the island of Cos, it was that a physician should encourage such feelings of hope among those in his charge. Hope, as his teachers had hammered into him, can perform miracles, and miracles far beyond the skills of even the most learned of physicians.
What hope those who clustered within the House of Pindar had, however, sank when a pair of Platean hoplites kicked in the door. Their smoke and blood smudged faces and maniacal smiles evoked screams of fear from the children cowering in the corners. Had their mothers any tears left, they would have wept in anticipation of what tortures these devils would inflict upon them and their children.
Klemes, however, was neither frightened nor worried. He was simply annoyed.
“Don't just stand there, you two,” he spoke in a commanding tone to the two intruders, “go fetch me some water from the well down the street. There are many injured and hurt here, and others, too, in need of water to slake their thirsts and wash clean their wounds. So, go on, go on I said!” he continued in his most imperious voice. “Why are you still lolling about? Go! You will find buckets in the courtyard. Go!”
Shocked and stupefied by the physician's demeanor, the two soldiers forgot why they had come into the house. Lives spent following orders from their elders, their betters, and their officers, the pair reacted automatically to being told what to do. With the women, and children, and wounded in the House of Pindar looking on incredulously, the enemy soldiers bowed, tugged at their helmets, turned around, and grabbed a bucket in each hand as they went outside.
Dimitrios had been sneaking up behind the pair when he heard his brother's command and saw the two soldiers obey Klemes, as if it was the most natural and expected thing to do. As they all but ran out to do his brother's bidding, Dimitrios walked past them, into the house and slumped, exhausted, against the door jam. Klemes turned away from splinting the broken arm of a young boy to see who now had come to interfere with his work, but only for a moment. As he went back to treating the child, Klemes said simply “well, brother. It is about time you showed up.”
Hephaestion's guards had done the impossible. By mid-day they had restored order to what had been an orgy of butchery, carnage, slaughter, looting, and arson. Unfortunately, however, they had been able to secure only a handful of temples and other key buildings that the king had grudgingly agreed to spare, the House of Pindar among them. Dimitrios and Aristophanes chafed at knowing they had to thank Hephaestion's Companions for their lives, but Klemes did not care. All he cared about was that there would be no more interruptions.
“What happens next, Dimitrios,” asked Ari of his friend and captain. “What are we going to do?”
“We are going to keep fighting, my friend.”
“How, and with what?” Ari responded incredulously. “There is nothing and no one left to fight with. Thebes is dead – as are our comrades.”
“But we're not dead, not yet, Ari,” replied the captain, grimly. “There will be others who will stand for Greece; others who will fight for freedom. We will find them – and offer them our swords.”
“Brave words, Dimitrios,” interrupted Klemes. “But your friend Ari isn't going anywhere, at least not soon. Nor am I, not while there are sick and wounded who need my help.”
“Who said anything about you coming with us, brother? What do you know of war?”
“I know every bit as much of war as you do, brother,” Klemes shot back angrily. “It is here, all around us, just as it was three years ago at Chaeronea. The blood, the broken bones, the hacked-off limbs, the entrails spewing out, and the corpses. This is what war is all about, brother,” he said, with a particular emphasis on the last word. “Wherever you go to fight and whomever you fight alongside, there will be more of...this” the physician added, sweeping his hand to indicate his patients. “They will need attending to, as may you. It is not only those who stand in the phalanx who fight, brother. Others also serve. So,” said Klemes, taking a breath, “like Ari was asking, where do we go from here?”
Part II
Athens
Southern Greece
Year Two of the Reign of Alexander of Macedonia
11
The House of Demades
Athens
News of the razing of Thebes spread quickly throughout Greece, as Alexander had anticipated. Rightly fearing that Athens was next, the city leaders sent a delegation in great haste, to intercept the Macedonians and to seek an audience with the king. Demosthenes, having lost all support for a confrontation with Alexander, cast about for the right man to send out to meet the young king. The choice was obvious. Of the eight most important and most influential men in the city, only one had argued against Demosthenes. Only one considered himself a friend of Macedonia, and, more importantly, he was also the only one Alexander would also consider a friend: Demades.
Once a sailor in the fleet, Demades, like so many of the poorest class of Athenians, had managed through hard work and perseverance to become a man of some property. When Athens joined the alliance against Macedonia three years earlier, he had marched with the army to stand alongside the Thebans at Chaeronea. When Philip had spared his life and that of the other Athenian prisoners of war, however, Demades had decided that cooperation, not confrontation, was the best way to secure Athens' future in a Greece dominated by Macedonia. He soon let the Macedonians know of his willingness to speak for them, and became a conduit for Macedonian gold into the city. With such largess his to distribute, Demades grew in popularity, became the voice of Macedonia, and the leader of the pro-Macedonian peace party in Athens.
It was to such a man that Demosthenes, much to his chagrin, was forced to turn as the army of Macedonia appeared outside the city.
“He will want my head, will he not, this young lion of Macedonia,” asked Demosthenes of his rival.
“I expect so, Demosthenes. Can you blame him?”
The elder statesman nodded in agreement, adjusted his robes and, composing himself, came right to the point of his meeting with Demades. “What will it take to change his mind? To get him to accept, how shall I say, a lesser sacrifice in my stead?”
Demades smiled knowingly and responded, as Demosthenes had expected. “It is not a matter of what it will take, but how much it will take.”
“By which of course you mean how much you will take of my money to convince this boy to leave my head on my shoulders.”
“Yes, Demosthenes. Exactly. I think ten talents would do – five for me, and five to grease some very important and very grasping Macedonian hands.”
“Ten! Ten talents!” Demosthenes all but screamed. “That would keep ten triremes and 2,000 crewmen at sea for a month! That is twice what I sent to put steel in the Thebans to rise up and go to war!”
“Yes, it is,” smiled Demades gloatingly. “But you see what only five talents got you. If you want to share the fate of those Thebans you roused into rebellion, then five talents will surely suffice. Should you want to survive, however...”
“All right, all right,” scowled Demosthenes. “Ten talents it is then. But I want more than to just survive, Demades. I am not going into exile, not if I impoverish myself so. For that kind of money I want you to guarantee that I will remain in Athens – and that my voice will still be heard.”
“You ask a lot for a measly ten talents, my dear Demosthenes,” chortled Demades. “For that, it will take another couple of talents – and a promise of your support and that of your clique in matters political.”
“It is a high price you ask, Demades...”
“No, Demosthenes, it is merely the price of defeat.”
True to his word, Demades asked for leniency for his city and for Demosthenes. He explained to the king, as Cleades had said of the Thebans, that Athenians too, had been “gullible.” That they had been duped by Demosthenes into believing that the young king had met h
is demise in the north. Demosthenes, Demades pointed out, had even brought before the assembly a soldier who claimed to have seen the king fall. That he had a seemingly bottomless barrel of gold to throw about, only further convinced many to support him. Most if not all of that, the Athenian envoy admitted, apparently had come from Persia. Rumors were that the Great King had given Demosthenes 300 talents with which to raise his rebellion. Not enough to sustain an army, but plenty to bribe others to raise one.
For his scheming and dishonesty, Demades told Alexander, Demosthenes had been reprimanded. Although Alexander had demanded that the orator and seven other politicians in his clique be handed over to face royal judgment, the delegate in his obsequiousness had convinced the king to rescind that demand and accept a single scapegoat – a minor associate of Demosthenes named Charidemos. Alexander agreed, but in return, however, he demanded money, ships and men for his war with Persia.
The Athenian was ready with an argument to counter that demand, just as he had been ready to argue against turning over Demosthenes and his cronies to the Macedonians. Charidemos, in the meantime, had been warned that, unless he was willing to become a sacrificial scapegoat, he would better exile himself. He had agreed, thanked Demades for the warning, and fled to Persia, where he found refuge in the court of Darius.
“The Great King can marshal armies that drink rivers dry and take weeks to pass by,” the Athenian delegate said in arguing against starting such a war. “What will you send against these innumerable hordes of Asia? You have at most 20,000 men.”
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