Alexander (Vol. 2)

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘Why have you sought refuge here?’ he shouted.

  ‘Because this place is small enough to be defended by a few men.’

  ‘How many of you are there?’ Alexander shouted once more, under the walls now. Hephaestion and his bodyguards gathered around him to protect him with their shields, but he sent them back.

  ‘Enough of us to make the job of taking this place a difficult one.’

  ‘Open the gates and no harm will come to you. I have great respect for valour and courage.’

  ‘Who are you, boy?’ asked the same voice.

  ‘I am the King of Macedon.’

  Hephaestion ordered the guards to move forward once more, but Alexander gestured to them to stay where they were. The Miletans conferred for some time and then the same man spoke again. ‘Do I have your word as King?’

  ‘You have my word as King.’

  ‘Wait then, I am coming down.’

  There came the noise of bolts being pulled before the gate of the fort opened and there stood the man whose voice they had all heard. He was about fifty, his beard long and unkempt, his hair encrusted with salt, his limbs lean, his skin wrinkled. He found the King standing there before him, alone.

  ‘May I come in?’ asked Alexander.

  17

  THE SOLDIERS OF MILETUS who had taken refuge on the island of Lade pledged their allegiance to Alexander after meeting him and speaking to him. Three hundred of them, the majority, signed up with his army to follow him in his campaign.

  The city received the conquerors’ full respect. No looting was tolerated and a motion was approved which called for the restoration of the walls. Eumenes summoned a meeting of the city council on Alexander’s orders and had it ratify the re-establishment of all democratic institutions, together with the transfer of all taxes from the Great King to Alexander. He took the opportunity to call immediately for an advance on the taxes, but even then the situation remained critical because of the enormous war expenses.

  The following day, at a meeting of the high command, the secretary illustrated the situation with a punctilious presentation of the expedition’s accounts that left everyone present with a bad taste in their mouth, despite the great victories achieved up to that point.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Leonnatus. ‘All we have to do is help ourselves to whatever we need. This city is rolling in riches and we have asked for a derisory sum.’

  ‘I’ll explain it to you,’ said Ptolemy patiently. ‘You see, Miletus is now part of our realm – to loot it would be like looting a Macedonian city such as Aegae or Drabescus.’

  ‘But King Philip didn’t see things that way when he took Olynthus and Potidaea,’ replied the Black.

  Alexander became visibly more tense, but he did not reply. Neither did anyone else say anything. It was Seleucus who broke the silence: ‘Those were different times, Black. King Philip had to set an example, we instead are uniting all the Greek world into a single homeland.’

  At this point Parmenion asked permission to speak: ‘Men, we must not concern ourselves with such problems – all we must concentrate on now is the liberation of Halicarnassus. We have to garner our strength for this final effort and then our work will be complete.’

  ‘Is that so?’ asked Alexander with a certain tone of resentment. ‘I have never said anything of the kind. I have not set any limits to our enterprise. But if you don’t feel up to it, General, you may turn back whenever you wish.’

  Parmenion lowered his head and bit his lip.

  ‘My father had no wish to . . .’ began Philotas.

  ‘I understand perfectly what your father was trying to say,’ replied Alexander, ‘and I had no intention of humiliating a great soldier. But General Parmenion has been through many battles, many sieges, many sleepless nights and at his age he is no longer an eager new recruit. No one would blame him if he felt he wanted to return home for a well deserved rest.’

  Parmenion lifted his head and looked around like an old lion surrounded by his cubs, all of whom had become too full of themselves.

  ‘I have no need of rest,’ he said, ‘and I can still teach anyone here, apart from the King, a few things or two.’ But it was quite clear that he really meant ‘including the King’. ‘How to hold a sword, for example. And if I may be allowed to make my own decisions regarding this matter, there is only one way to send me home before the end of this expedition is over, whatever its final destination may be, and that is as a handful of ashes inside a funeral urn.’

  There then followed a long silence, broken in the end by Alexander himself: ‘That is what I wanted to hear. General Parmenion will remain to support us with all his valour and all his experience, and we thank him from the depths of our heart. But now,’ he continued, ‘I must inform you of a serious decision I have made this very day after having considered the matter long and hard – we must do without the fleet now.’

  The King’s words provoked a buzz of comment throughout the royal tent.

  ‘Do without the fleet?’ Nearchus repeated incredulously.

  ‘Exactly,’ confirmed the King, impassible. ‘Events over recent days have confirmed that we have no need of it. Twenty ships to transport the disassembled siege machines will be enough. We will move forward by land and take the coast and the ports – in this way the Persian fleet will find itself without moorings and without supplies.

  ‘They can always land in Macedonia,’ Nearchus pointed out.

  ‘I have already sent a letter to Antipater asking him to keep guard. And in any case, I really don’t think they would do that.’

  ‘This would save us over one hundred and fifty talents a day – money we don’t have,’ said Eumenes, ‘but far be it from me to bring it all down to a question of money.’

  ‘Furthermore,’ said the King, ‘the fact that we no longer have an escape route by sea will motivate our men even more. Tomorrow I will inform Karilaos of my decision. You, Nearchus, will take command of the small fleet we will have left. It’s not much, but it is very important.’

  ‘As you wish, Sire,’ the admiral said resignedly. ‘And let us hope you are right.’

  ‘He is most surely right,’ said Hephaestion. ‘I have never known him make a mistake. I am with Alexander.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Ptolemy. ‘We do not need the Athenians. And then, I am sure they will soon present us with the bill for their collaboration and I am equally sure it will not come cheap.’

  ‘Are we all agreed then?’ asked the King.

  They all assented, apart from Parmenion and the Black.

  ‘Cleitus and I do not agree,’ said Parmenion, ‘but this matters not. Up to now the King has shown that he has no need of our advice. He knows that he can count on our devotion and our support just the same.’

  ‘Support that is essential to our plans,’ said Alexander. ‘If the Black were not here with us, my adventure in Asia would already be over. At the Granicus he was the one who chopped off the arm that was about to decapitate me – let us not forget this. And now, let’s eat because I am starving! Tomorrow I will assemble the army and give the men my news.’

  Eumenes brought the meeting to an end and gave instructions for the invitation to dinner to be sent to the Athenian officers together with Callisthenes, Apelles and Pancaspe, all of whom accepted enthusiastically. He then sent for some fine-looking ‘companions’ – experts in keeping up the spirits of a group of young men. They were all from Miletus, elegant and refined, emanating the dark and mysterious beauty of oriental goddesses, daughters of men who came from across the sea and women who came down the rivers from the great highlands of the interior.

  ‘Send one of them to General Parmenion!’ shouted Leonnatus. ‘I want to see if he can still give us lessons with his staff as well as with his sword!’

  The joke had them all laughing and lightened the tension of what was a difficult moment. Although none of them were actually afraid, the imminent departure of the fleet signified a point of no return, almost
a sort of foreboding of their leaving the homeland behind, perhaps for ever.

  Evening had just begun when Alexander got up to leave – the Cypriot wine had left him a little fuzzy-headed and he was somewhat embarrassed by the ever-increasing audacity of Pancaspe, who ate with her left hand although she wasn’t left-handed, her right hand being otherwise occupied elsewhere.

  As soon as he was outside he had Bucephalas brought to him and set off at a gallop towards the interior. He wanted to savour the perfumed air of the spring and the light of the full moon which was rising just at that moment.

  Ten men from his personal guard had set off to follow him, but their animals struggled to keep up with Bucephalas, who gave no sign of slowing down, not even on the uphill path on Mount Latmus.

  Alexander rode for a long time, until he felt the horse drenched in sweat. Then he slowed to a walk and continued forward on the rolling plateau that opened out before him, small villages and isolated homes of peasants and shepherds spread here and there. The guards, expert at their job by now, kept their distance, but they also kept their eyes on him.

  Occasionally he saw patrols of Macedonian cavalry at full gallop, accompanied by the barking of dogs on the farms, or by the sudden flight of flocks of birds, disturbed in their rest. His army was gradually taking possession of the Anatolian interior, the unchallenged realm of ancient tribal communities.

  Suddenly he saw signs of a fuss along the road that led to the small city of Alinda – a group of horsemen galloping with torches, accompanied by shouting and insults.

  He took his traditional wide-brimmed Macedonian hat, put it on his head, wrapped his cloak around him and moved closer at a walk.

  The horsemen had stopped a carriage escorted by two armed guards who were offering resistance – spears in hand, they refused to have their passengers leave the vehicle.

  Alexander approached the Macedonian officer who was commanding the patrol and gestured to him. Initially the officer reacted with his own gesture of irritation, but for an instant the moonlight illuminated the white ox-skull mark on Bucephalas’s forehead and the man recognized his King.

  ‘Sire, but what . . .’

  Alexander gestured for him to keep his voice down and asked, ‘What is happening?’

  ‘My soldiers stopped this carriage and we would like to know who is travelling in it and why they are travelling at night with an escort, but they offer resistance.’

  ‘Tell your horsemen to move back and explain to the men of the escort that they need not be afraid, that no harm will come to the people on the carriage, so they should show themselves.’

  The officer did as he was told, but the men protecting the vehicle failed to respond. At that moment, however, a woman’s voice came from behind a curtain, ‘Wait . . . they don’t understand Greek . . .’

  And immediately a woman wearing a veil slipped gracefully to the ground, her foot resting on the step. Alexander asked the officer to light his way with a torch and moved nearer.

  ‘Who are you? Why are you travelling at night with armed men? Who is with you?’

  The woman’s countenance was of startling beauty – two large dark eyes with long lashes, full, well-drawn lips and above all else a proud yet dignified bearing, coloured by the slightest touch of apprehension.

  ‘My name is . . . Mitrianes,’ she replied with a slight hesitation. ‘Your soldiers have occupied my home and my property under Mount Latmus and I have therefore decided to join my husband in Prusa, in Bythnia.’

  Alexander looked at the officer, who proceeded to ask the woman, ‘Who else is in the carriage?’

  ‘My sons,’ she explained, and then she called out to them. Two fine-looking young men appeared. One looked like his mother; the other was very different – blue-green eyes and blond hair.

  The King studied them closely. ‘Do they understand Greek?’

  ‘No,’ replied the woman, but Alexander noticed the look she threw to her sons, as if to say, ‘Let me do the talking.’

  ‘Your husband cannot be Persian – this boy has blue eyes and blond hair,’ said the King, and he realized that the woman was distinctly ill at ease. He took off his hat, uncovering his face, and moved even closer to her, fascinated by her beauty and by the aristocratic intensity of her gaze.

  ‘My husband is Greek and he was . . . physician to the satrap of Phrygia. I have heard nothing from him for a long time and I am afraid that something may have happened to him. We are trying to reach him.’

  ‘But not now – this moment is too dangerous for a woman and two boys. You will be my guests tonight and tomorrow you will continue on your way with more adequate protection.’

  ‘Please, O powerful Lord, do not bother yourself. I am sure that nothing will befall us if you let us go. We have a long way to travel.’

  ‘Do not worry. You have nothing to be afraid of, neither for yourself nor for your boys. No one will dare treat you badly.’ Then he turned to his men: ‘Take them to the camp!’

  He leapt on to his horse and sped off, accompanied by his guards, who in all this had not lost sight of him for even an instant. Along the way they met Perdiccas, anxious because of Alexander’s disappearance.

  ‘I am responsible for your safety and if you could only bring yourself to let me know when you intend going off on your own, I . . .’

  Alexander interrupted him. ‘Nothing has happened, my friend, nothing at all. I know how to look after myself. How is supper going?’

  ‘The usual thing, but the wine is too strong – our men aren’t used to it.’

  ‘They’ll have to get used to all sorts. Come on, let’s get back.’

  The arrival of the carriage with the two foreign guards caused excitement and curiosity in the camp. Peritas started barking and even Leptine had questions to ask: ‘Who’s in there? Where did you find them?’

  ‘Prepare a bath in that tent,’ the King ordered her, ‘and beds for two boys and a woman.’

  ‘A woman? Who is this woman, my Lord?’

  Alexander threw her a severe look and Leptine set to without another word.

  Then he said, ‘When she is ready, tell her I will receive her in my tent.’

  The pavilion of the war council was not far off and from it now came drunken cries, the somewhat tuneless music of whistles and flutes, girlish giggles and the shouting of Leonnatus, louder than any other noise.

  Alexander had them bring him some food – figs, honey and milk, then he picked up the portrait of Memnon that Apelles had left on his table and was struck by the expression of fathomless melancholy that the painter had captured.

  He put it down on the table once more and started reading the correspondence which had reached him over previous days – a letter from the regent Antipater telling him that the situation at home was quiet on the whole, apart from the Queen’s intemperate insistence on interfering in affairs of state, and a letter from Olympias herself in which she protested that the regent had deprived her of her liberty and of any possibility of acting in a manner befitting her rank and her role.

  There was no mention of the fine gifts he had sent her following the victory on the Granicus. Perhaps she had not received them yet.

  18

  SHE WAS STANDING THERE before him when he lifted his eyes from the correspondence. She wore no veil now, her eyes slightly emphasized with a simple black line in the Egyptian manner, her body wrapped in a dress of green linen worked in the oriental style, her raven-black hair gathered to the top of her head after the Greek fashion. Although they were in his tent, Alexander’s foreign guest seemed still to emanate the moonlight in which he had seen her for the first time.

  The King moved towards her and she knelt to kiss his hand. ‘I had no idea, my Lord . . . forgive me.’

  Alexander took both her hands and guided her to her feet, the two of them so close as their eyes met that he could smell her hair – the perfume of violets.

  He was stunned. Never before had he so suddenly desired a woman, to hold her
tight in his arms. She was aware of this, yet in the same instant she felt in his gaze an almost irresistible force that attracted her . . . like the light of a lamp that attracts a moth.

  She lowered her eyes and said, ‘I have brought my sons to pay homage to you.’ Then she moved back to the entrance of the tent and had the two boys come in.

  Alexander moved towards a tray filled with food and fruit, ‘Please have something to eat . . . help yourselves.’ But as he turned to speak to the boys he understood in the blink of an eye what had happened while his back was turned.

  One of the young men had seen the portrait of Memnon on the table and had shown such surprise that his mother had thrown him an urgent look and put her hand on his shoulder.

  The King pretended not to have noticed. He simply repeated, ‘Don’t you want to eat? Are you not hungry?’

  ‘Thank you, my Lord,’ replied the woman, ‘but our journey has tired us out and we wish only to retire, with your permission.’

  ‘Certainly. You may go. Leptine will carry this tray to your tent – if you are hungry or thirsty during the night you may help yourselves as you wish.’

  He called the girl and had her accompany them, then he returned to his table and took the portrait of his adversary in his hands once more, studying it as if in an attempt to fathom Memnon’s gaze and to discover the secret of his mysterious energy.

  *

  The night was half-way through and the camp was completely immersed in silence. A guard completed his tour and the officer in command made sure that the sentries at the entrances to the camp were all awake. When the echoes of the calling and the passwords had died away, a cloaked figure came out of the guests’ tent furtively and headed towards the King’s quarters.

  Peritas was asleep in his kennel and the sea breeze brought him only the scent of salt water, carrying all other smells off towards the open country. The two sentinels at the royal pavilion were leaning on their spears, one to the right and one to the left of the only entrance.