Despite Alexander's curse upon Memnon for again trying what he had tried at Miletos, the king was not entirely correct. Yes, Memnon was once again trying to destroy Alexander's siege engines, but this time he was using a weapon at which the Persians excelled: the cavalry. At Miletos, with the broken ground, outer layers of ruined houses, and the great expanse of tombs, Memnon could never dream of deploying more than a handful of horsemen. But here, with the great, flat open plain between the city and the siege lines, the Persian cavalry could do what they did best: ride fast, shoot fast, race back, and do it all over again. Some hurled javelins, others shot bows, and all raised a cloud of dust that helped hide the second part of the attack force: the thick column of infantry marching out of the Myndos Gate on the western face of the city, a company of Immortals in the lead.
Memnon led the cavalry himself, trusting the infantry assault to Ephialtes with his Greek hoplites and Hydarnes with the Immortals. The cavalry was the smoke to their fire, the distraction – if a deadly one – that would draw the Macedonians to him while his foot soldiers did the real work. Memnon made a particular point of showing himself and shouting challenges in which he referred to himself by name, trusting word would soon reach Alexander of his presence on the battlefield. The cavalry could not leap the trenches and piles of earth the Macedonians had dug to protect their siege engines, at least not as long as the defenders held their line. But they could ride up close enough to force the Macedonians to take cover and keep them occupied on the eastern side of the city – in a sense hitting the Macedonians with a right-handed jab while preparing to swing a much harder blow with their left.
Alexander, his blood still up from his argument with Parmenion, took the bait. Memnon soon spied the king's bright helmet with its twin plumes, along with those of his Royal Companions, as they rushed to the battle line. Alexander had left many places along the line where wagons could be pulled back to expose openings, and where wooden bridges could be quickly laid to allow the besiegers quick and easy access to the open field between them and the city. It was through these openings Alexander was sending his own cavalry – and it was opposite those that, hidden by the cavalry and the dust they kicked up, Memnon had set up blocks of infantry. A line of men with tall tower shields protected two ranks of spearmen, who in turn were backed up by four ranks of archers. Set up in a horseshoe formation opposite each opening, they were set to catch the Macedonians in a deadly cross fire as they crossed those bridges. When the Macedonian horses thundered onto the wooden bridges, the Persian cavalry drew back to the right and left and through a gap left in the horseshoe by their infantry – a gap that the well-drilled Persian foot closed up as if slamming shut a door.
Massacre is perhaps too harsh a word for what happened next, but to say the Macedonian cavalry was decimated is too weak; surprise, slaughter, and stinging rebuke are more appropriate descriptions. Alexander, his initial headstrong and injudicious orders to attack having cost him dearly, was soon sobered by the blood spilled by his precious Companions, who had led those charges. As Parmenion and his sons brought up the battalions of well-ordered pikes, he coolly fed them into the fray. Although the Persian archers took a deadly toll of the lightly armored pikemen, the shieldbearers and spearmen to their front could not hold or even slow down the relentless Macedonian marching machine that bore down upon them. Memnon turned his cavalry to harry them, but that was all they could do, as Parmenion, with practiced care, ordered the files on the left and right of his columns to turn and face the Persian horse – none of whose beasts could be convinced to ride in close to the hedge of spear points that confronted them.
Ephialtes and Hydarnes, too, had fared well at first, but as the Macedonian heavy infantry moved to blunt their attack, they, like the cavalry and archers under Memnon, had to give way. At a signal from Orontobates, whose role had been to act as a coordinator and to pass communications between the wings, the infantry began a steady, orderly withdrawal back toward the city. What small groups of Macedonian horsemen broke into the plain to harass them were quickly convinced to retire, as they came under the fire of the artillery mounted on and set up behind the city walls. That, too, was Orontobates contribution to the attack.
“We almost had them,” Ephialtes said later as he and the other commanders met in Memnon's headquarters.
“At least we bled them,” added Hydarnes. “Even if Alexander does not show more caution when he next comes at us, I suspect his men and his generals will be a bit less enthusiastic.”
“To the contrary,” replied Memnon. “The young king will spin this as a victory – and by most measures it is, for we did give up the field. I know him all too well,” continued the general. “If anything, he is likely to become even more overconfident, and see in our repulse further evidence of his invincibility, and yet another affirmation of his destiny for greatness. And that,” Memnon said with a smile, “that is what I am counting on.”
64
Into the Interior
Riding for Barsine
Dimitrios, Klemes and Ari did not linger long after their narrow victory over the Prodromoi patrol. They paused only as long as it took to loot the bodies and round up the enemy's horses, after which they rode east as hard and as fast as their mounts would allow. They wanted to get as far away as possible from Alexander's army, but after three days of punishing travel the horses gave out. Their hooves were too badly worn to withstand the pavement of the Royal Road, which was still some distance away, let alone carry them across the rugged and often rocky ground overland. To rest the horses until their hooves were ready would mean at least a three or four day break, during which they would be easy as well as suspicious prey for the Macedonian patrols and local bandits.
Neither, however, could they just abandon them and move along on foot. Ari's bad leg and Klemes' worse temperament would severely limit their progress, which would be slow enough even at a marching pace, with only Dimitrios able to sustain. Although none of the trio were much experienced with horses, Klemes, being the physician, offered a possible solution.
“We can't ride the horses, but we can make the ground softer for them,” he told his brother.
“And just what kind of magic trick or prayer to the gods will make such a thing happen,” Dimitrios responded with a laugh. “I thought you were a physician, not a high priest!”
“Damn it, Dimitrios, I am a physician, and as a physician I am telling you there is a way to make the ground softer for the horses. We take the horse blankets and spare cloaks and clothes we have and we cut them up, make bags and fill them with soft dirt, then wrap and tie them around the hooves of each of the horses. That way when they do walk, their hooves are cushioned – thus making the ground softer for them.”
“Then we can ride on?” asked Ari.
“No. I would not suggest it. But we could lead them at a walking pace until we could find someplace where we could trade them or sell them for new mounts. They are too valuable to be left behind, and they can still manage to bear our kit – just not ourselves.”
“That will make it fairly slow going for a while,” Dimitrios said, thinking out loud, “but it is better than trying to go across country entirely on foot. All right, brother,” he decided, “I bow to your medical opinion. So let's get to work...”
After two very slow days in the back country, they came upon a rather large estate on the outskirts of Mylasa, a sizable farming town to the north-north east of Halicarnassos.
“Memnon is well-regarded around these parts,” Dimitrios added when outlining his plan on how to approach the estate. “I am sure if I but mention his name, we would find welcome. After all, we could all use a soft bed, a hot meal, and a safe place to rest for a night.”
Klemes cleared his throat, and quite noticeably, that being a sure sign that he thought otherwise.
“Now what, dear brother?” asked Dimitrios with a weary sigh.
“These land owners may not be as friendly as you think,” answered the physician. �
�Memnon represents the old order – and he has been chased the length of the land, losing battles and cities to Alexander. The rich can see which way the wind is blowing, and may not wish to do anything that will put them in the bad graces of the Macedonians – like taking a string of their cavalry horses in trade. They might even pretend to be nice, then sell us out to curry favor with Alexander's crowd...and that crowd is getting bigger every day, and you know it.”
“So, you have a better yarn to spin?”
“Why can't we just be three wise men traveling to the east? Better yet...I am a physician, after all, and you, Ari, can be my young servant...”
“And what would that make me?” scowled Dimitrios.
“Why, my bodyguard, of course” Klemes smiled. “That would explain your helmet, armor, weapons, and such. And we can be Ionian Greeks, as there are enough about this area, rather than Thebans, let alone mercenaries in Memnon's pay.”
“He's got a point there,” chirped in Ari. “Although that means you are going to have to do all of the talking for us, Klemes, and you are not known for being especially charming...”
“Charming! Charming!” huffed Klemes. “I can do 'charming.' Just watch me!”
“Well then,” scoffed Ari, “when you get to the big house down there, see if you can charm up some breakfast, because I'm starving....”
As the three men made their way down toward the main house on the estate, several of the field hands ran to tell their master of the approaching strangers. Within minutes, half a dozen armed men came out to greet them. They were not openly hostile nor were they brandishing their weapons, but those weapons were close at hand, close enough to convince Dimitrios that perhaps Klemes' plan was indeed better than his own.
“What do you want, strangers?” the man at the front of the group, and obviously their captain, asked, with more caution than malice.
“We are weary travelers, lord,” said Klemes in a far more obsequious manner than Dimitrios had ever heard him speak. “Our horses are healthy and hale, but, alas, spent from so many days on the road. We were hoping to find someone to whom we could trade them for fresh mounts...and, of course, are willing to sweeten the deal with some of the very few coins we carry.”
The guards mumbled something amongst each other that the Greeks could not make out, but at least seemed a little less threatened by the strangers.
“Our lord is not here,” replied the captain. “But his steward has full authority in these matters. Wait here and I will see if he is amenable.
“Hmmph!” mumbled Klemes. “Such a lack of manners. Man couldn't at least offer us a place in the shade, a cup of water, anything?”
“Now, now, brother,” whispered Dimitrios. “They're just wary of strangers, that's all...and at least they haven't drawn their weapons.”
“Aye,” murmured Ari, “and after what we've been through these last few months, that practically feels like a welcome.”
The officer soon returned, along with a young boy and a serving girl, each of whom was carrying a pitcher of water and a ladle.
“The boy here will take your horses and let them graze with ours, while the steward invites you to slake your thirst and refresh yourself out back in our master's paradiso,” he spoke directly to Klemes, and to Klemes alone. “As for your servants, they are welcome to sit in the shade. The girl will see to their needs.”
Although Dimitrios did not much care to be referred to as a mere servant, it was the role Klemes had created for him, for what was a hired bodyguard but a servant? Then again, it was a relief of sorts for a change, not having to be the one making all of the decisions or putting on his best manners to deal with a stranger. As he sat in the shade, he suddenly realized just how tired he had become, and as such was much happier being offered cool water by a lovely young girl than having to be nice to some gray-haired old steward. Ari, on the other hand, felt his tiredness wash away as the pretty girl gave him a blushing smile.
“I've got a good feeling about this,” he said to himself with a smile of his own. “A really good feeling about this.”
65
Halicarnassos
Rocks
Alexander prepared his next assault with the meticulous care to detail of a master builder laying out and constructing a city. He placed and sighted every siege engine personally. He supervised the digging of the advanced works and hand-picked the men and officers for each of the leading assault parties. He drilled them individually and incessantly – and then he changed everything and did it all over again. Twice.
During this week of preparation, the city of Halicarnassos was subjected to a bombardment that was to that of Miletos as a hailstorm was to a summer shower. Memnon and his generals were hard-pressed to shore up and repair the damage. Had it not been for their complete command of the sea that allowed for the evacuation of the wounded and the arrival of replacements, the attrition would have worn them down. As it was, even with the steady stream of reinforcements by sea, the garrison was close to being decimated. If not for the liberal disbursement of extra rations to the troops and to the citizens of Halicarnassos, all gratis and at the general's expense, morale would have cracked as badly as had the walls.
“When do you think they will come again?” Governor Orontobates asked Memnon.
“Today,” replied the general.
“How do you know that for certain?” asked the governor, surprised to the point of incredulousness.
“It's in the wind,” Ephialtes jumped in.
“What do you mean 'in the wind?'” said the governor with a disbelieving sneer.
“He means literally 'in the wind,'” answered Memnon. “Can't you smell it?”
“Smell what?”
“The burning meat. The Macedonians are making a sacrifice to the gods. Judging by the smoke and the smell, they must be slaughtering and roasting a whole herd. Probably white bulls, and white steers, and even white cows – that's the kind of thing Alexander thinks pleases the gods most. Makes for quite a show, too,” added Memnon. “All that living white mass splattered with blood, and the bright red and yellow flames and the sweet smell of roasting meat...”
“Barbarians,” chuffed the governor disapprovingly. “I suppose next you'll tell me they paint themselves with the blood of the slaughtered animals, like some wild men from the hills!”
“No, Governor,” Ephialtes laughed. “They drink it – fresh and warm from the slit necks of the living animals. Honors the beast, gets the men used to the taste of blood, and all that.”
“Are such things common in Greece – or just in Macedonia, and wherever else from where Alexander recruits his savages?” said the governor rhetorically. “I cannot believe a civilized land such as ours has been unable to repel these repulsive brutes!”
“We will this time, I swear it,” said Memnon calmly, as if asking for a little more water for his wine.
“And what, pray tell, makes you so certain?” scoffed the governor. “You've been wrong before – and several times before. Need I remind you of Miletus?”
Memnon reached out and gently put his hands on the governor's shoulders so as to draw him closer and force the Persian to look him directly in the eyes.
“This is not Miletos. I never promised to hold Miletos, merely to hold it long enough to bleed Alexander, and to buy time.”
“Time for what!” the governor nearly spat in his face.
“Time for this. For Halicarnassos. This is the rock where I will break Alexander – and tie him to it while the great king brings in an army from the east.”
“And what army is that?” the governor replied disbelievingly. “I have heard nothing of any such 'army'.”
Memnon took a deep breath, filling his chest and puffing himself out to his full breadth and height, and answered the doubting governor.
“That is because you are just the governor of Halicarnassos, my dear Orontobates. You know as much as you need to know. I, on the other hand, am married to a princess of the imperial house, an
d where you deal in provinces I deal in empires. I am the strong right arm of the king of kings, and those who serve as his eyes and ears also serve as mine. The king is gathering not just an army, but a host, a great mobilization from all over Persia. He himself is returning from putting down rebellions in the east, and as he comes, Darius is opening his arms to gather up and draw to him bowmen and elephants from India, horse-archers from the steppes, camel-riders from the desert and fierce foot soldiers from the mountains, as well as the armored cavalry of the lords and nobles of pure blood. Even more, he brings with him a new type of soldier – the kardakes – combinations of heavy spearmen and light archers, like the mighty Assyrians of old raised to create their vast empire. And,” he added in a particularly strong voice while nodding his head toward the tall imperial guard captain in the corner, “the Immortals. All 10,000 of them.”
“Wh...wh...when and where is he bringing this host?” sputtered the satrap, obviously surprised by this news.
“I am not sure exactly when, but as to where, well, that depends.”
“Depends on what?” asked the governor.
“On us. On holding Halicarnassos. On tying Alexander to us for weeks, months, maybe even a year. He thinks he has us under siege? The boy king may be a brilliant soldier,” said Memnon with a sign of respect for Alexander,”but his focus, while intense, is narrow. He only sees what is directly in front of him. The lad never could read a map, let alone understand just how big of an empire he has invaded. We will teach him.”
A Captain of Thebes Page 39
