The Sacred War

by H A CULLEY

  Parmenion accompanied Iphitos to the interview, for which the latter was thankful, but it didn’t stop him from being nervous. However, he was pleased to see that Lysis was one of the two companions on guard duty outside Philip’s office. He hadn’t seen Lysis since they had parted company outside Ainos and the two smiled at one another.

  ‘Good luck,’ Lysis told him. ‘I might be interested in talking to you if this goes ahead.’

  Iphitos looked at him in surprise. He didn’t understand how Lysis had heard about the proposal, nor did he comprehend why one of the king’s companions might be interested in becoming an engineer. Even with promotion it would be a definite drop in status. However, that conversation would have to wait.

  When he entered the king’s office he found that Philip was not alone. The two taxiarchs , Sostratos and Emyntor , were there along with Attulus , the other strategos, and two men he didn’t recognise. They were introduced as Attulus ’ taxiarch and his head of logistics who, like Demetrius, was also responsible for artillery and engineering. Most seemed friendly and tried to put Iphitos at ease but Sostratos glared at him. It was only then that Iphitos remembered the taxiarch’s last words to him in Demastion : ‘I sincerely hope that we don’t meet again. ’

  He tried to ignore Sostratos as he explained his ideas once more. Only Sostratos spoke directly against them, although Attalus and his staff weren’t convinced. Parmenion had been watching Iphitos and his nephew and he was curious about the obvious ill feeling between them. When everyone had had their say Philip thanked them and told them he wanted to be left alone to talk to Iphitos.

  Once outside Parmenion cornered his nephew and asked if he had a problem with his protégé.

  ‘Only that I don’t like him, or trust him; plus the fact that he’s far too young for that sort of responsibility, and he’s only an Illyrian peasant. I’m surprised that you are prepared to sponsor him in front of the king. I hope that this stupid idea doesn’t come back to bite you in the arse, uncle.’

  ‘This is about Chloe isn’t it? For Zeus’ sake Sostratos, tens, possibly hundreds, of men lay with your wife before Iphitos bedded her. Let it go.’

  ‘Yes, but that was business,’ he hissed. ‘She wasn’t in love with her clients.’

  ‘Ah! So she was in love with the boy and you’re jealous. Perhaps she still is?’

  His nephew glared at him and he knew his conjecture had hit the mark. She had accepted Sostratos because he could give her what Iphitos couldn’t: marriage, a comfortable home and status. She wasn’t in love with her husband and that hurt.

  ‘As to him being an Illyrian peasant, he was the son and is the brother of an important noble, so not a peasant then. We weren’t born Macedonians either, and Attulus is a Greek from Persia. I don’t think that matters to Philip, do you?’

  When Sostratos didn’t reply Parmenion said something he probably should have said before this. ‘You’re the taxiarch in charge of my cavalry because you’re my nephew and I wanted a deputy I could trust. Philip was opposed to the appointment but I insisted. Don’t make me regret going out on a limb for you.’

  Sostratos might have been chastened by Parmenion’s words but he still scowled when Iphitos appeared with a broad smile on his face. He was now an iliarch and Parmenion’s chief engineer.

  -o0o-

  ‘You’ve heard what’s happened in Phocis?’ Philip asked Parmenion.

  The two were relaxing with a goblet of wine after a day spent watching Iphitos’ engineers erect a fort outside Pella to protect the approach to the city from the north. It was a good demonstration of the effectiveness of the new engineering command structure and it eliminated one of Pella’s defensive weaknesses.

  The first trawl of the army to find suitable engineering officers had produced quite a few applicants but most of these proved to men their commanders wanted to get rid of or men only interested in the extra pay given to a tetrarch. Eventually eight had been selected and trained. One of these was Lysis who, because of his status as a former King’s Companion, was made Iphitos’ deputy on the engineering side.

  As soon as their training was complete, the erection of the fort began using a lochus of light infantry for labour. Each tetrarch was given two phylearchs and thirty men. Half erected the walls and gates and the other half constructed the parapet and the towers. Each tetrarch had a list of wood and other materials his men would have to collect first and clear instructions on what had to happen and in what sequence. It had gone without a hitch and by the day’s end the fort was complete, apart from the buildings inside it, and the soldiers were jubilant, having achieved its construction without a hitch in record time.

  ‘I heard a rumour that the Phocians lost a battle and that Philomelos is dead,’ Parmenion replied in answer to Philip’s question.

  ‘In essence that’s it. The battle took place at Neon; the Phocians and their mercenaries were defeated by the Amphictyonic League and their strategos was wounded. Rather than be captured and face certain execution, Philomelos committed suicide by throwing himself off the side of Mount Parnassos.’

  ‘So, is that the end of the Sacred War?’

  ‘Far from it. His taxiarch, Onimarcos , took command and managed to extract the rest of his army, giving the Thebans under the command Pammenes a bit of a bloody nose in the process. Pammenes has now retreated back into Boeotia to lick his wounds and doubtless Onimarcos is trying to rebuild his own army.’

  ‘Why didn’t Pammenes follow up the victory at Neon and attack Phocis?’

  ‘No idea. Even if Onimarcos had managed to fight his way clear, Pammenes should still have followed up and pursued him through the mountains to pillage Phocis.’

  ‘What’s happening now?’

  ‘You won’t believe it if I tell you. Obviously it’s still to be confirmed as the messenger only arrived with the news this morning whilst we were out watching Iphitos prove himself, but Pammenes has left with five thousand Theban hoplites to support Artabazos ’ rebellion in Persia.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  Philip shrugged. ‘Presumably they couldn’t resist the money that Atrabazon was offering.’

  ‘So, where does that leave the Amphictyonic League?’

  ‘I assume that they expected the Phocians to roll over and pay their fine now that Philomelos , the original instigator of the war, is dead.’

  ‘But you don’t think they will?’

  ‘No, I don’t. The Phocians are known for their pride and their stubbornness. I suspect that this is far from over.’

  Philip was quite correct and later that year Onimarcos succeeded in raising an army consisting of twenty thousand infantry and peltasts and five hundred cavalry. Knowing that Thebes was weak after sending its best commander and much of its army to fight in Persia, he turned his attention to Thessaly. Thessaly shared borders with Boeotia - the region that was dominated by the city state of Thebes – and with Phocis and Macedon. So when Onimarcos invaded and captured the city of Pherae, the Thessalians appealed to their neighbour, Philip of Macedon, for help.

  It was the excuse he had been waiting for to get involved in the war and, taking Parmenion and an army of nine thousand, he set out to retake Pherae.

  Chapter Six – Defeat in Thessally

  353 BC

  Iphitos set up his twelve lithoboloi in a shallow semi-circle so that they could concentrate all their fire on the main gate. On the second night the Phocian garrison sent out a hundred men to try and destroy the Macedonians’ artillery, but Iphitos was ready for them. He had expected them to try something of the kind because it was the obvious thing to do and he had discussed how to counter the raid with Parmenion and the two taxiarchs . Sostratos still gave him sour looks, but he agreed readily enough to the plan that Iphitos suggested.

  It was a new moon so that the slender crescent of silvery light did little to illuminate the ground below, even when it wasn’t obscured by the clouds that occasionally scudded across the night sky. Iphitos strained his eyes to
try and detect movement in the gloom between the gates of Pherae and where he stood next to one of the lithoboloi.

  Suddenly he thought he detected movement in the ground to his front. He was well aware that eyes can play tricks on you at night and he would look a fool if he sprung the trap and there was no one there after all, so he waited. Then he remembered a trick that his senior phylearch had told him. He moved his head so that he was watching the area where he thought that he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. The man had told him that peripheral vision often detected movement better than looking straight ahead.

  There it was again, then he spotted more fluctuations in the shades of black. Now he was certain and he sent Chronos to warn the lochagos commanding the light infantry he’d been lent. As the sliver of moon reappeared from behind another cloud he could make out the shadowy Phocians more clearly now. He thought that they numbered between fifty and a hundred so his two hundred and fifty spearmen should be more than adequate to deal with them.

  Those in the lead appeared to be carrying something heavy and then covers were removed from several oil lamps and he knew what the enemy planned to do. No doubt the heavy pots contained oil; they intended to douse the lithoboloi in the stuff and set fire to them. He grabbed the man next to him and whispered ‘now’.

  The man raised his keras to his lips and blew three short blasts on it, then repeated the signal after a pause. Before he had stopped blowing a hundred and fifty men rose from where they were lying beside him and charged towards the approaching Phocians. Their prime target should have been to break the clay pots full of oil before they could get near the lithoboloi, but they were after blood and most forgot about the pots in their eagerness to get to grips with the enemy.

  The lochagos led his other hundred men to cut off the enemy’s line of retreat back to the city. The raiders had been caught neatly in the trap but three pairs of pot carriers and one man with a lit oil lamp had got passed and were now running towards Iphitos with about ten spearmen. The boy drew his sword and waited. It might cost him his life but he intended to protect his artillery.

  -o0o-

  Chronos was making his way back towards where he thought Iphitos was standing after he had warned the lochagos to be ready to cut the line of retreat. The trouble was he had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the dark and had got lost. He knew roughly where he was, of course, because the myriad camp fires off to his right marked where the main Macedonian camp lay. It wasn’t until he saw the dark outline of the lithoboloi on a slight rise to his left that he realised that he had come out two hundred yards away from where he should have been making for.

  Chronos started to head for the middle two machines when he saw the silhouettes of two men just ahead of him creeping furtively in the same direction. Both had drawn swords and he instinctively knew that they were up to no good. He started to follow them at a distance, making as little noise as possible. After two minutes that didn’t matter anymore because the night was filled with the sound of fighting.

  The boy looked towards the centre of the line of lithoboloi and saw fierce fighting between Iphitos’ crews and some of the enemy. It was ferocious but brief. Those who had got through the spearmen with their cargo of flammable oil were heavily outnumbered by the artillerymen and, despite their inexperience at close-quarter fighting, they soon forced the enemy to flee and the jubilant artillerymen set off in hot pursuit. Iphitos looked round for his signaller to recall them but the man was one of the few Macedonian casualties. He was left standing there on his own and should therefore have been an easy target for the two assassins.

  As soon as Chronos saw one ready his sword arm to plunge the blade into Iphitos’ back he yelled a warning and sprinted forward, drawing his dagger as he did so. Iphitos instinctively dropped to one knee, twisted at the waist to face his rear and drew his own sword in one fluid movement. Instead of stabbing his unwary target in the back, the assassin found himself spitted on the youth’s blade as it slid into his somewhat portly stomach. The man screamed and clutched at his abdomen. Iphitos twisted the blade to reduce the suction on it from the man’s flesh and, with an effort, he pulled it out ready for his next attacker.

  However, Chronos had beaten him to it. He had barrelled into the second assassin as the startled man had turned towards the warning shout. He had looked for a man, not a thirteen year old boy, and consequently he was looking over the top of Chronos’ head for him when the slight figure cannoned into him. He might not have weighed nearly as much as a man but his speed gave him significant momentum and the man was knocked off balance. He crashed to the earth with the boy on top of him. He tried to bring his sword into play but the hold he had on it was for thrusting, not stabbing downwards, and he flailed around futilely trying to strike at the boy with it.

  Chronos had no such problem. He was on top and he drew his blade across the man’s throat in one swift movement. The man died gurgling his surprise shortly afterwards as his blood spurted all over the aide’s face and shoulders.

  Chronos remained lying on the body, sobbing with relief after the adrenalin rush had worn off. He had never killed a man before but his desperation to save the youth he idolised had driven him to act without thinking. Now he was in shock and started to shake like a leaf in the breeze before staggering to his feet, only to fall to his knees and vomit.

  Iphitos was stunned by the surprise attack himself, but he saw Chronos heaving his guts out and he ran over to comfort the boy, holding him tightly in his arms until he calmed down.

  ‘You saved my life tonight, Chronos and I’ll never forget it. I’ll make sure that Parmenion and the king hear how brave you were.’

  Just then his artillerymen returned from chasing the raiders off and he berated them for leaving their posts. They hung their heads shamefaced, especially when Iphitos pointed to the two dead men and told them about Chronos’ courage. They lifted the two corpses and carried them to Iphitos’ tent, where they could be examined by torchlight.

  Iphitos reacted in outrage when he saw that they were dressed like Macedonian soldiers. When their faces were cleaned up he was even more furious. He recognised both of them as they belonged to Sostratos’ bodyguard. Leaving Chronos and a section of men to guard the tent, he went off to find Parmenion, who was in his tent with his senior officers.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Iphitos. Well done, my boy. Your plan worked like a dream. We managed to kill or capture all but a handful of the raiders. They won’t try that…’

  He stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the fury in the boy’s eyes.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter …. ’

  ‘What’s the matter, strategos? I’ll tell you what the matter is. That bastard of a nephew of yours sent two assassins to kill me under cover of the attack tonight. That’s what the matter is. Luckily my aide saved me and killed one of them himself.’

  ‘How do you know it was Sostratos?’ Parmenion asked in little more than a whisper, his heart sinking as he turned towards his nephew.

  He didn’t have to ask anything else. The taxiarch’s face had gone deathly white as soon as Iphitos had entered the tent and now he screamed in rage and drew his sword, lunging at the youth. Everyone in the tent had been dumbfounded by the accusation and were too slow to react. Iphitos tried to twist out of the way but he felt the sting as the blade entered his side and then he knew no more.

  -o0o-

  Chronos was devastated and Philip was furious.

  ‘I told you it was a mistake to appoint your nephew as your taxiarch but you wouldn’t listen.’

  Parmenion didn’t like to point out that it was a woman who had caused the problem, not nepotism. Sostratos had been a good commander and he felt dreadful about having killed him. Had he moved quicker before his nephew had struck down his chief engineer he wouldn’t have had to do the deed himself, though his nephew would probably have faced execution anyway for conspiracy to assassinate Iphitos and the attempted murder of another officer.

  As soon a
s Iphitos had been struck down Parmenion had drawn his sword and killed Sostratos. He had liked his nephew and he really wasn’t looking forward to telling his elder brother than he’d been the one to kill his son. Of course, at the time he wasn’t to know whether Iphitos was alive or not.

  ‘Well, I’m making Antipater the taxiarch in charge of the cavalry. He’s nearly as old as you are so it’s time he was promoted.’ Philip paused. ‘How’s Iphitos? Will he live or do I need a new chief engineer too?’

  ‘Thankfully his linothrax absorbed a lot of the blow and the sword bounced off a rib. It’ a deep wound but it should heal alright in time. I think he collapsed in reaction to what he’d been through and the shock of the cut.’

  ‘Good. I wouldn’t want to lose him. I’ll go and visit him tomorrow.’

  Parmenion was surprised. Philip hated visiting the wounded; he said it depressed him. He must think a lot of Iphitos if he was prepared to brave the stench and gory sights of the hospital.

  Whilst Iphitos was recovering, the senior phylearch assisted Chronos to run the section and the boy made a pretty good job of it, seeing that there were enough stones roughly hewn into spheres as ammunition, ensuring that the men got their rations, and that the lithoboloi were properly guarded. It probably helped that, when the story of how he had saved Iphitos’ life and killed an assassin himself became common knowledge, he found he was something of a hero. Probably no-one would have taken a lowly aide who had just turned fourteen seriously otherwise.

  The one person that Parmenion had forgotten about in all the excitement was Sostratos’ skeuphorus, Timandros – the young Cretan boy who Kharis had bought at a slave market to save him from other bidders who would have turned him into a catamite. Officially he was still owned by Parmenion’s wife; he had only been sent to Sostratos because Parmenion didn’t know what to do with him. He had seen Timandros from time to time in his nephew’s tent so he wasn’t surprised to see that he had now grown considerably. He calculated that he must be around thirteen or fourteen. He still didn’t know what to do with him so he kept him as an extra personal servant for now.