Child of a Dream

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘You’re right, but the north is still a problem. The Triballians are now allied with the Getae, who live along the lower reaches of the Ister, and together they have been carrying out raids on our territory almost continually. Many of the cities founded by King Philip have been lost.’

  ‘I believe this is exactly why Alexander has called you back to Pella. He intends to march north in midwinter to catch the enemy off guard, and you will be asked to lead the front-line infantry. He will put his friends at your disposal as battalion commanders – he wants them to learn from a good teacher.’

  ‘And where is he now?’

  ‘The latest news is that he is crossing through Thessaly. But before that he went to Delphi.’

  Parmenion’s face darkened. ‘Has he consulted the oracle?’

  ‘In a way, yes.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘The priests probably wanted to avoid another incident like Philip’s visit, so they told Alexander that the Pythia was not well and that she couldn’t answer his questions. But Alexander simply dragged her bodily to the tripod with the intention of obliging her to give him a prophecy.’ Parmenion’s face and eyes were a picture of incredulity as he listened. ‘By that stage the Pythia was out of her mind with rage and started shouting wildly, “But there is absolutely nothing that can hold you back, my boy!” Alexander stopped then, struck by these words, and simply said, “That’ll do fine as a response.” And then he left.’

  Parmenion shook his head. ‘That’s a good one . . . a line worthy of a great actor.’

  ‘And that’s exactly what Alexander is. Or rather, he’s a great actor among other things. You’ll see.’

  ‘Do you think he believes in the oracles?’

  Antipater rubbed his hand through his bristly beard. ‘Yes and no. The rationality of Philip and Aristotle live in Alexander, together with the mysterious, instinctive and barbaric nature of his mother. But he saw his father fall like a sacrificial bull before the altar, and at that moment the words of the prophecy must have exploded like a thunderclap in his mind. He won’t forget them for as long as he lives.’

  Evening was falling and the two old soldiers found themselves in the grip of a sudden, deep melancholy. They felt that their time had reached its twilight with the death of King Philip, as if their days had been consumed in the vortex of flames around the pyre of the assassinated King.

  ‘Perhaps if we had been at his side . . .’ Parmenion suddenly murmured.

  ‘Don’t say another word, my friend. No one can alter fate’s design. Our only thoughts must be that our King had prepared Alexander to be his successor. All that remains of our days belongs to him.’

  *

  The King returned to Pella leading his troops and he paraded through the city in the midst of two lines of joyous onlookers. It was the first time in living memory that an army had returned victorious from a campaign without having been involved in combat, without having suffered any losses. This handsome young man – his face, his clothes, his armour all resplendent – was for everyone the virtual incarnation of a young god, an epic hero. And in his companions as they rode alongside him the people saw the same light reflected; their eyes seemed to burn with the same intense and febrile gaze.

  Antipater went to meet him and return the seal and tell him that Parmenion had returned.

  ‘Take me to him right away,’ ordered Alexander.

  The General mounted his horse and led the way to an isolated villa just outside the city.

  Parmenion came down the stairs with his heart in his mouth as soon as the King’s arrival was announced and it was explained that he hadn’t even been to the palace yet after his journey. When Parmenion came out of the door he found Alexander there before him.

  ‘Soldier! My old Soldier!’ Alexander greeted and embraced him. ‘Thank you for coming home.’

  ‘Sire,’ replied Parmenion with a lump in his throat, ‘your father’s death was a terrible blow. I would have given my life to save him, had it been possible. I would have shielded him with my body . . . I would have . . .’ but he couldn’t continue because his voice had started cracking.

  ‘I know,’ nodded Alexander. Then he put his hands on Parmenion’s shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. ‘I would have done the same thing, had it been possible.’

  Parmenion looked down.

  ‘It was like a lightning bolt, General, organized by a genius, a ruthless genius. There was a lot of fuss and noise just at that moment and I was ahead of him together with King Alexander of Epirus. Eumenes shouted something to us, but I didn’t understand, I couldn’t hear, and when I realized something was happening and I turned round, he was already falling to his knees, falling into his own blood.’

  ‘I know, Sire. But let’s not speak of such sad things. Tomorrow I will go to Aegae, I will make a sacrificial offering on his tomb and I hope he will hear me. Why have you come to see me now?’

  ‘I wanted to greet you and to invite you to supper. Everyone will be there and I intend to illustrate my plans for the winter. This will be our last enterprise in Europe, after which we will march towards the East, towards the rising sun.’

  He leaped onto his horse and went off at a gallop. Parmenion went back into the villa and called for his manservant: ‘Prepare my bath and my best clothes,’ he ordered. ‘This evening I am to dine with the King.’

  43

  IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING these events, Alexander joined in military training and took part in several hunts, but he also had occasion to realize just how much his authority was now recognized even in remote countries. He received delegations not only from the Greeks in Asia, but from Sicily and Italy as well.

  A group of cities on the Tyrrhenian Sea, for example, brought him a golden bowl as a gift and petitioned for his help.

  Alexander was much flattered and asked them where they came from.

  ‘From Neapolis, Medma and Poseidonia,’ they explained in an accent that he hadn’t heard before, but which reminded him somewhat of the way people spoke on the island of Euboea.

  ‘And what can I do for you?’

  ‘King Alexander,’ replied the eldest representative, ‘there is a powerful city to the north of us and it goes by the name of Rome.’

  ‘I have heard of it,’ replied Alexander. ‘They tell me it was founded by Aeneas, the Trojan hero.’

  ‘Indeed, but in the Romans’ territory, on the coast, there is a city peopled by pirates who are causing terrible disruption to our sea traffic. We want to put an end to this situation and we would like you to intervene. Your fame has spread everywhere and we believe that your opinion would carry substantial influence in the matter.’

  ‘I will do it gladly. And I hope they will take heed. Make sure you let me know the result of this initiative.’

  Then he nodded to his scribe and started dictating.

  Alexander, King of Macedon, pan-Hellenic leader, to the people and the city of Rome, Hail!

  Our brothers of the cities of the Tyrrhenian Gulf tell me they are suffering grievous harm at the hands of some of your subjects who engage in piracy.

  I would therefore ask you to resolve this as soon as possible or, if you are not able to resolve it yourselves, to let others deal with it.

  He pressed his seal on the letter and gave it to his guests who thanked him profusely and left satisfied with their mission.

  ‘I wonder what effect this letter will have?’ Alexander asked of Eumenes who was sitting near him. ‘And what will these Romans think of such a distant King who interferes in their internal affairs?’

  ‘Not so very distant,’ said Eumenes. ‘You’ll see that they will reply.’

  Other emissaries and other news, much worse, came from the northern border: the alliance between the Triballians and the Getae had been consolidated and was now jeopardizing all of Philip’s conquests in Thrace. The Getae were especially formidable because they believed themselves to be immortal and fought wildly and furiously and wi
th utter disdain for personal danger. Many of the colonies founded by Alexander’s father had been attacked and plundered, the populations massacred or enslaved. At that particular moment, however, the situation seemed calm and the northern warriors had all gone back into their villages to get ready for the harsh winter cold.

  Despite the unfavourable season, Alexander decided to bring forward their departure and to put his plan into action. He sent word to the Byzantine fleet to proceed up the Ister for five days’ sail, until they reached the confluence with the River Peukes. In the meantime he mobilized all of his army’s units in Pella, put Parmenion in charge of the infantry, and personally took command of the cavalry before setting off.

  They crossed Mount Rhodope, went down into the Vale of Europos and then started out on a forced march towards the Haemon passes which were still covered with a thick blanket of snow. As they advanced they saw ruined cities, devastated fields, bodies hanging on poles, others tied up and burned; the wrath of the Macedonian King grew like the implacable fury of a river in flood.

  In a completely unexpected manoeuvre, Alexander descended with his cavalry onto the Getaen plain, burning villages and camps, destroying harvests, massacring livestock.

  The people, terror stricken, retreated in panic towards the Ister and sought refuge on an island in the middle of the river, where they thought Alexander could never reach them. But the Byzantine fleet arrived, and ferried the assault troops, the shieldsmen and the Vanguard cavalry.

  The battle on the island was a fierce one. The Getae and the Triballians fought desperately and with superhuman energy because they were defending not only their last scrap of land, but also their wives and children. Alexander in person, however, led the attack on their positions, in the teeth of the icy wind and the rough waves of the Ister which was swollen by torrential rain. The smoke from the fires mingled with the sheets of rain and sleet, while the shouts of the soldiers, the cries of the wounded, and the neighing of horses melded with the crash of thunderclaps and the whistle of the northern wind.

  Those under attack had formed a tight circle by uniting their shields and planting the shafts of their spears in the ground to create a barrier of spikes against the cavalry charges. Behind this were the archers who let off clouds of deadly arrows on command. But Alexander himself was possessed of an awesome strength.

  Parmenion, who had seen him fight at Chaeronaea three years previously, was shocked as he watched him fight hand-to-hand, oblivious to everything, as if gripped by an uncontrollable fury. The King was animated by an inexhaustible energy – shouting, mowing down the enemy with sword and axe, pushing Bucephalas, with his bronze armour, against the opponents’ lines to open a breach through which he could lead the heavy cavalry and the assault infantry.

  Surrounded, scattered, hounded one by one like fleeing beasts, the Triballians surrendered, while the Getae continued to the bitter end, to the last spark of their vital energy.

  When it was all over the squall that had been moving down from the north reached the island and, on coming into contact with the humidity of the Ister, it quietened somewhat. Then, as if by magic, it started snowing. Initially it was a form of sleet, tiny crystals of ice falling with rain, and then they became ever bigger and thicker and developed into large flakes. The bloody mess on the ground was soon covered by a white blanket, the fires were quenched and everywhere a grim silence fell, broken only here and there by some muffled shout or by the snorting of the horses as they moved through the blizzard.

  Alexander returned to the riverbank, and the soldiers he had left on guard at the jetty saw him appear suddenly out of the curtain of snow and fog. He had lost his shield, but he still held his sword and his double-bladed axe and he was covered with blood from head to toe. The bronze plates on Bucephalas’ chest and forehead were splashed with red too and thick steam came from the stallion’s body and his nostrils. He looked like some beast from a warped imagination, a creature from a nightmare.

  Parmenion was with Alexander in an instant, consternation written all over his face. ‘Sire, you shouldn’t have . . .’

  The King took off his helmet, freeing his hair into the icy wind, and the old General didn’t recognize his voice when he said, ‘It’s over, Parmenion, let’s go back.’

  *

  Part of the army was sent back home along the same road they had taken on the way north. Alexander, however, led the rest of the soldiers and the cavalry westwards along the Ister until he came upon the Celts, a people whose origins lay far away on the banks of the northern ocean, and he established an alliance with them.

  He sat under a tent of tanned animal skins with their chief – a huge, blond-haired man sporting a helmet with a bird on top whose wings went up and down with a slight creaking every time he moved his head.

  ‘I swear,’ said the barbarian, ‘that I will be faithful to this pact for as long as the earth does not sink into the sea and the sea does not rise to cover the earth and the sky does not fall on our heads.’

  Alexander was surprised by this formula which he had never heard before and asked, ‘Which of these things do you fear most?’

  The Celtic chief looked up and the bird’s wings moved up and down as he thought for a moment before saying, very seriously, ‘That the sky might fall on our heads.’

  Alexander never discovered the whys and wherefores of that one.

  He then crossed the lands of the Dardanians and the Agrianians, wild peoples of Illyrian stock who had reneged on their alliance with Philip and had joined forces with the Getae and the Triballians. He quashed them and forced them to provide troops because the Agrianians were famous for their ability to climb, fully armed, up the steepest mountain faces. The young King thought that making use of these skills might be more convenient than cutting stairways out of rock for his infantry as he had done on Mount Ossa.

  The army took a long time marching and riding its way through the many valleys and woods of those inhospitable lands, so much so that rumours began to circulate about the King having fallen into an ambush and having been killed.

  This news travelled like lightning and reached Athens first, by sea, and then Thebes.

  Demosthenes returned to Athens immediately from Calauria where he had taken refuge and he gave an impassioned public speech. Messages of support were sent to Thebes together with supplies of heavy armour for their infantry, something the city was completely lacking in. Indeed, the Thebans rose up in arms and besieged the garrison occupying the Cadmean citadel, digging trenches and building barriers all around it so that the Macedonians who were blocked in there had no hope at all of receiving supplies from outside.

  But Alexander came to hear about the uprising and was furious when he heard about Demosthenes’ speeches against Macedon and her new King.

  It took him thirteen days to travel from the banks of the Ister and he appeared beneath the walls of Thebes just when the defenders of the Cadmean citadel – much weakened by the siege – were about to capitulate. They couldn’t believe their eyes when they saw the King astride Bucephalas, ordering the Thebans to hand over the ringleaders of the uprising.

  ‘Hand them over!’ he shouted. ‘And I will spare your city!’

  The Thebans went into council to decide. The representatives of the democratic grouping, exiled by Philip, had returned and were determined now to wreak their revenge on Macedon.

  ‘He’s only a boy. What are you afraid of ?’ asked one of them, who went by the name of Diodorus. ‘The Athenians are with us, the Aetolian League and even Sparta itself might well join forces with us before long. Now is the moment to rid ourselves once and for all of the Macedonian tyranny! Even the Great King of Persia has promised his support – arms and money to bolster our uprising are on their way to Athens as I speak.’

  ‘In that case why don’t we wait for reinforcements?’ asked another citizen. ‘In the meantime the garrison in the Cadmean citadel may well surrender and then we will be able to use those men in negotiations – letti
ng them go free in exchange for a definitive withdrawal of the Macedonian troops from our territory. Or we might wait until an ally’s army is positioned behind Alexander and attempt an attack.’

  ‘No!’ Diodorus persisted. ‘Every day that passes goes against us. All those who believe they have suffered injustice or oppression at the hands of our city will unite with the Macedonian. As I speak, troops are coming from Phocis, from Plataea, from Thespiae, from Oropus, and they all hate us to the point of seeking our total ruin. Have no fear, Thebans! We will avenge the dead of Chaeronaea, once and for all!’

  The citizens, fired by these passionate words, stood up in unison and started chanting, ‘War!’ Without even waiting for the federal magistrates to bring the assembly to its official conclusion, they all ran off to their homes to make ready their weapons.

  Alexander summoned a war council in his tent.

  ‘All I want is to force them to negotiate,’ he began, ‘even though they refuse to do so.’

  ‘But they’ve issued a challenge!’ Hephaestion objected. ‘Let’s attack now and show them who’s the strongest!’

  ‘They already know who is the strongest,’ Parmenion said. ‘We are here with thirty thousand men and three thousand horses, all of them veterans who have never lost any battle. They will negotiate.’

  ‘General Parmenion is right,’ said Alexander. ‘I don’t want blood. I am about to invade Asia, and all I want to leave behind me is peace among all Greeks and to know that perhaps I have their support in my venture. I will give them time to mull it over.’

  ‘Then why on earth have we just put ourselves through thirteen days of forced marching? To sit here under the tents and wait for them to decide what they want to do?’ Hephaestion asked.