Although there was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to Kassandros’s ultimate intentions, he still felt somewhat constrained by the possibility, however remote, that word of his antagonism against the women might somehow reach either Olympias’s son or Kleopatra’s husband. Accordingly, he had to content himself with gradually, almost imperceptibly, tightening the screws.
His next visit came when news of Zopyrion’s defeat reached Pella. Even from their upstairs quarters, the women could tell something was afoot in the palace. At first, they noticed an increase in activity, with soldiers running across the courtyard. Then, they overheard hurried, whispered conversations between the soldiers and servants, followed by open weeping and lamentation by various women who had evidently learned of the loss of their sons, husbands, or brothers. Eventually, the courtyard erupted in a general uproar when Kassandros attempted to address the rapidly increasing crowd. No one was in a mood to listen.
The only people who didn’t know what was going on were the women in the gynaikonitis. In desperation, Olympias sent a couple of the serving girls to beguile the guards and bring back some news. The girls must’ve exceeded their brief because neither one returned until the next morning. And when they did stagger in, there were indications that their fraternization efforts must have been intimate indeed. Olympias didn’t discipline them, however, because by then she had found out what the news was and she thought the dedication to the cause demonstrated by the girls might prove useful in the future.
Kassandros had come in, late the previous evening, accompanied by three guards (and after first sending word he was coming) and explained that a transport vessel carrying Zopyrion and his soldiers had foundered in the Thermaic Gulf, with the loss of all aboard.
Olympias laughed in his face. “Must have been a very large vessel if it was capable of carrying 30,000 soldiers. You may have locked us in here but we’re not deaf. And we’re not stupid, either. So, how about telling us what really happened?”
Eventually, she had successfully wormed the entire story out of Kassandros. Zopyrion’s unnecessary and self-appointed siege of Olbia proved to be a disaster. The Olbians, known heretofore primarily as shrewd businessmen, proved to be resourceful defenders of their city as well. They extended citizenship to all residents and visitors willing to fight on the walls; they manumitted all slaves and put arms in their hands; they forgave business debts and promised future considerations; they did whatever was necessary to prevent Zopyrion’s troops from sacking their city. They also persuaded their trading partners, primarily the fierce, savage Skythians, to come to their aid. Eventually, Zopyrion had no choice but to lift the siege and retreat. However, the Skythians, having tasted blood, refused to let the invaders go. They harried the hapless Macedonians all the way back to Thrake, attacking when and where they could, destroying supplies under the cover of night, forcing the retreating army off course.
Zopyrion’s soldiers suffered casualties not only as a result of the Skythians’ guerrilla raids but also because they lacked adequate food, contracted diseases in the unhealthy climate, and drowned in the many hidden bogs and marshes. Their destruction was completed when the Getai, a hostile Thrakian tribe which controlled the northern bank of the Danube River and which was still smarting from a defeat that Alexandros had inflicted on them some four years earlier, decided to join in the fun, crossed the great river, and delivered the coup de grace to Zopyrion’s demoralized, diminished army. As far as Kassandros knew, the Macedonian expeditionary corps had been killed to the last man.
Afterward, Kassandros could only gnash his teeth at the thought of having been somehow induced by Olympias to reveal far more of the story than he’d intended. He retaliated by removing most of the serving girls from the women’s quarter and restricting deliveries of food and other necessities.
By the time the lugubrious letter from Epiros arrived, they had no servants at all and were subsisting on a beggar’s diet. For once, Kassandros practically flew up the steps and sauntered in, smiling broadly, unable to conceal his glee. He handed the scroll, with its broken seal and numerous wine stains, to Kleopatra.
She glanced at it and, without reading it, handed it back, smiling just as broadly. “You don’t really expect me to believe this, do you?”
“Oh, believe it – it’s genuine. Came in an hour ago. And I’m really, really sorry.” He tried hard not to laugh.
“Let me have it,” Olympias commanded. Kassandros obeyed. Olympias read the letter slowly. Then she read it a second time. “Get out!” she screamed and Kassandros scrammed, followed by his three bodyguards.
“I’m afraid it has the ring of truth to it, sweetheart,” she said when they were alone.
“What’s it say? I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of reading it in front of him. And I assumed it was a forgery in any case.”
“It says that your husband’s dead.”
“Yeah, I got that from the first line but what else does it say? And how do you know it’s genuine?”
“It’s a pretty complete description of his activities this past year. I’ve had other reports about him and this letter matches what I’d already heard.”
Kleopatra was stunned. “You knew he was dead?”
“No, that I hadn’t known until this letter came,” Olympias assured her.
“So, how do you know that part isn’t made up?”
“Because I wasn’t shocked when I read it. Deep down, I think I was expecting something like this. The risks he took, the engagements he accepted. It was almost as if he had a death wish.”
“My husband didn’t have a death wish!” Kleopatra stomped her foot for emphasis. “He had two wonderful children. He was a king. He had everything a man could wish. Why would he want to die?” She was sobbing by the time she’d finished.
Olympias hugged her daughter. “I put it wrong, my dear. Your husband didn’t want to die. What he wanted was to compete with your brother. He wanted to accomplish in the west what your brother is achieving in the east. But it amounted to the same thing. There’s never been a military leader like my son. For anybody, even your husband, to try to equal his feats was inevitably going to be fatal.”
They spent the night discussing the Epirote Alexandros’s many campaigns in Italy, his final stand, as described in the letter, his drives and motivations, his effervescent personality and his fateful ambition.
By the morning, when the children awoke and Kassandros dropped by to gloat, they had dried their tears, arranged their hair, and pasted smiles on their faces. They wouldn’t let anyone see them crying.
Not long after they’d learned of Alexandros’s death, the women heard another commotion in the courtyard. It was almost a mirror image of the day when word of Zopyrion’s defeat had arrived. It started with the energetic hoofbeats of a messenger on a mission, followed by an exclamation, then more shouting. Soon, there was a deafening uproar in the courtyard. But this time, when the messenger rode in, the clippety-clop of his trotting horse beat out a joyful ode to victory, instead of a funereal march. When Kassandros first read the letter, his shout was triumphant; when the crowd learned the news, their joy unconstrained.
The women barred the entrance door to their jail. They had no wish to hear whatever it was that Kassandros wanted to tell them. After the vice-regent tried, unsuccessfully, to gain entrance, he shrugged and went away. Instead, he sent back the serving girls, carrying enough food and wine for an extended feast.
Olympias arched an eyebrow when she saw the serving girls come in, laden with provisions. “What’s going on?”
“We’ve won, we’ve won!” They were all shouting at once, too excited to tell a coherent tale. The only thing clear was that the Macedonian army, led by Antipatros, had prevailed and the hated King Agis was dead.
“Well, now I understand why Kassandros has suddenly become so solicitous of our welfare,” Olympias said. “His father is on his way back.”
And in fact, Antipatros himself, trailing a large entourag
e, including his son, paid them a visit several days later. “I’m pleased to see my son took good care of you ladies in my absence.”
“Oh, that he did, that he did,” Olympias concurred. “And we’re pleased to see you back, safe and sound. I trust the enemy didn’t trouble you greatly.”
Antipatros made himself comfortable in the only decent chair in the room. He was pleasant and genial, especially compared to his son. “You have no idea, queen mother. Our kingdom came within a hair of losing its independence. The Spartan revolt was joined by every city in the Peloponnese, except Megalopolis. And Megalopolis only remained on our side because it was held by our garrison of 10,000 troops, commanded by Korrhagos. The Spartan King Agis, with his 30,000 troops, was besieging them, and on the verge of taking the city, when I received Korrhagos’s urgent plea for help.
“I marched immediately, at the head of 20,000 troops, which was all that was left in Macedonia, after we had sent our best soldiers to your son and after we dispatched Zopyrion to deal with the Thrakian revolt. Fortunately, there were still some members of the Hellenic League, outside of the Peloponnese, who remained loyal to me, if not to Macedonia, and who answered my urgent call for assistance. By the time we arrived at Megalopolis, I had 40,000 men.
“Most importantly, my friend Demades, whom I have been cultivating for years, did his job in Athens and kept them from joining the rebellion. If they had allied themselves with Sparta, your son would’ve had no kingdom to return to.
“Tragically, we arrived at Megalopolis a couple of days too late. Apparently, Korrhagos, who had no idea that deliverance was only a javelin throw away, despaired of withstanding the siege much longer. Rather than watching his troops die of starvation, he decided to give them the honor of dying as heroes. He sallied out of the city with his 10,000 men and met Agis’s army in the open field. Our boys didn’t have a chance, starved and outnumbered as they were. All we found, by the time we arrived, were their bodies. Korrhagos himself died fighting. A neat circle of enemy dead marked the place of his last stand.”
Olympias opened her mouth to interject but thought better of it.
Antipatros resumed his account. “At that point, we found ourselves in a difficult strategic position. Although Agis’s forces hadn’t yet succeeded in sacking Megalopolis, they did hold the high ground between us and the city. And they’d had plenty of time to get used to Agis’s leadership style, whereas half of my troops were still trying to learn who I was.
“Nevertheless, there was nothing for it but to attack and trust in the favor of the gods, which is what we did the morning after our arrival. The enemy, especially the Spartans, fought exceptionally well. Soon enough, my men – mostly troops supplied by our allies – were running back down the hill, in disordered flight, with the enemy in hot pursuit.
“It was all I could do to stem the stampede. In truth, it was the example of my wonderful Macedonian troopers, more than my words, that stiffened their resolve. But we did get them to stop running, to turn, and to start fighting back. We actually had a slight numerical advantage but it was to little avail because the field at the point of the encounter was quite narrow.
“The tussle went on all day, with both sides taking heavy casualties and with neither side making any headway. It became clear that, as long as Agis was on the field, we had no chance of victory. He fought like a man possessed, catching our missiles on his shield, or ducking them, and then rising again to snuff the life out of another of my men. And his men, inspired by their leader, followed his example.
“Finally, I got my Agrianian friends to start chucking lance after lance directly at him. Eventually, one lance got through and pierced his legs. His men, seeing their leader down, immediately broke off the shaft and pulled what remained of the lance through the wound but Agis was bleeding heavily. They put him on a shield and ran off, carrying him on their shoulders. I ordered my men to chase them down.
“The Spartans were beginning to tire and we were closing the gap. Agis, realizing we would soon catch up, instructed his men to put him down and continue retreating without him. They, being Spartans, obeyed his order. Agis tried to regain his feet but his legs wouldn’t hold him. He sank to his knees, covered himself with his shield, and started to brandish his spear wildly. My men surrounded him but no one was willing to come within striking distance of his spear. Instead, they started throwing their own spears at him, until one managed to penetrate his chest. Agis violently yanked the spear out, creating a jet of bright red blood spurting from his breast. He gazed at his chest, a look of puzzlement on his face, and collapsed onto his shield. Soon, his bleeding slowed to a trickle and his breathing stopped.”
“Well, he might have been a Spartan, but he died a soldier’s death.” Olympias’s tone was remarkably cold considering the arresting tale she’d just heard. “And what did you do to capitalize on their leader’s death?”
“We pursued the Spartans and their allies as far as we could, killing perhaps 5,000 of them. We lost 3,500, including a thousand Macedonians. But the good news is that my boys have saved our kingdom.”
“Well, that is good news indeed. Although my son would have managed it without losing so many of our boys, I’m sure.”
Antipatros shrugged, rose to his feet, and left, without saying another word.
“I don’t think he remembers he’s still only the regent,” Olympias observed after the visitors had left.
Antipatros eventually sent a letter to Alexandros, telling him that Zopyrion, Alexandros of Epiros, and Agis of Sparta were all dead. He assured the king that he, Antipatros, was now firmly in control of Greece. He closed by mentioning that Olympias and Kleopatra were doing well. Whether this was meant as reassurance or blackmail was not immediately clear.
It took several months for Antipatros’s message to catch up to Alexandros.
*******
Dareios was conducting routine business in the Great Hall of the Babylon Palace when a disheveled Mazaios stumbled in and prostrated himself in front of the throne. It was hard to tell whether he fell on his face as a sign of respect or as a result of exhaustion, having ridden 450 miles in four days.
“He’s not coming to Babylon,” Mazaios cried from the floor, too tired to rise to his feet.
“What are you talking about?” Dareios motioned to the guards to restore his second-in-command to an upright position. Someone handed Mazaios a cup of wine.
“He’s crossed the Euphrates, your celestial eminence, and he’s continuing on, toward the Tigris. He’s not turning toward Babylon.”
“You mean, he’s splitting his forces?”
“No, your divine potency. The entire pan-Hellenic army is marching toward the Tigris. They’re not coming down the Euphrates. I think they mean to cross the Tigris somewhere around Arbela and then continue on and take Ekbatana.”
Hearing this, Bessos perked up. “They’re headed for Baktria!”
Dareios had no patience for the young satrap. “Nobody gives a crap about Baktria. At least Ekbatana is one of my imperial capitals but even so he doesn’t care about territory and capitals. He wants me.”
“I give a crap about Baktria,” Bessos protested indignantly. “And besides, the entire eastern half of your empire is lying supine, wide open to him, waiting to be ravished like a helpless virgin, while you’ve gathered the best of our troops to sit around uselessly outside the walls of Babylon.”
This was the point at which Dareios was supposed to signal to his guards to seize the uncouth hothead from Baktria, drag him out of the hall, and execute him, but the emperor was too preoccupied by the news brought back by Mazaios. He ignored Bessos’s outburst and silently pondered his next move.
“We’ll find another Kounaxa and squash the pest there,” Dareios said quietly after a few minutes, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “It’s mostly flat country on both sides of the Tigris around Arbela. We simply have to find the right spot, array our forces, and wait until he marches into our trap.”
“Why would he do that?” an exasperated Bessos called out. “He’s not a fool. He’ll cross the Tigris, just as he has crossed the Euphrates, and lay waste to the eastern provinces. He’s never going to engage your much larger army.”
“He’s done it twice already.” Dareios, still not looking up, continued to keep his voice low. “We’ve made some mistakes, allowing him to escape both times, but there’ll be no mistakes this time.”
Finally, he raised his eyes and his voice, speaking directly to Bessos. “Only a fool would attempt to rampage through the eastern provinces. That would be like a bear deciding to rampage through an endless marsh. With every step, he’d sink deeper into the mire. The more vigorously he thrashed about, the faster he’d sink. Even if he tried to turn around, he could never emerge from the bog. His army would be swallowed without a trace.
“I only wish he were fool enough to attack the eastern provinces. No, he knows his only chance of surviving this idiotic, suicidal attack against our empire is to kill me and usurp my throne. Don’t you understand, his objective is to kill me.” Dareios was screaming by now. “And your assignment is to keep me alive. Otherwise, our empire is lost.”
There was a stunned silence in the audience hall. Even Bessos, although looking somewhat skeptical, kept his mouth shut.
Dareios continued to ponder. “In fact, this move by Alexandros is a gift to us from Ahura Mazda. On further thought, here’s what we’ll do: We’ll march up the eastern bank of the Tigris and await their arrival at the usual crossing point near Arbela. When they try to cross the river, we’ll be waiting on the opposite bank and we’ll slaughter them as they try to clamber out. We almost succeeded in doing that at the Granikos. We had them stopped when they first tried to ford that river but then, for some reason, my commanders decided to permit them to cross the next morning unopposed. From what I heard afterward, it was their belief that, if Alexandros’s entire army gathered on our side of the river, our cavalry forces could envelop it and destroy it in detail. Had their plan succeeded, that would’ve been not only the end of Alexandros and his army but also the end of any thought by the Greeks that they could resist the might of the Persian Empire. Unfortunately, Alexandros somehow managed to break out of the trap prepared by my satraps, so now I have to deal with him myself.”
Conquest of Persia Page 14
