Taking no chances, Alexandros ordered us into defensive formation and set off at breakneck speed to investigate. Those of us assigned to guard him were left in the dust, as usual, struggling desperately to catch up.
By the time Alexandros, trailed by his personal bodyguard, reached our tail end, the advance elements of the approaching force were already there. They’d alighted from their mounts and were engaged in amicable conversation with our rearguard veterans.
We recognized the massive figure of Amyntas son of Andromenes exchanging backslaps with everyone within reach of his long arms. Alexandros vaulted off Boukephalas and submitted to one of Amyntas’s bearhugs. “Man oh man, you sure took your time.”
Amyntas released the king, a hurt expression on his face. “We came as fast as we could, sire. When we heard upon arrival in Babylon that we’d barely missed you, we continued our pursuit without stopping.”
“The whores of Babylon must’ve been disappointed.”
“Not as much as the men, sire, I assure you.”
“Well, serves you right. While you were gallivanting in Greece, we conquered Egypt and half the Persian Empire.[19] But I’m glad to see you all anyway. Now, give me a headcount of what you’ve brought us.”
It took Amyntas a while to list all the new contingents: Seven squadrons of cavalry, 1,500 horsemen in all, mostly from Thessaly; 13,500 infantry, 4,000 of them good old Macedonian farm boys looking for their share of the fabled riches that their neighbors were said to have amassed, the rest mercenaries from throughout Greece; and finally, a battalion of light infantry sent by our barbarian allies, mostly Agrianians.
In addition, and somewhat surprisingly, fifty new royal pages had come along. These were the sons of Macedonian noble houses, sent by their fathers in order to ingratiate their families with the king. Alexandros winked at me when he heard about their arrival. “They’ll make fine hostages,” he whispered.
Lastly, Amyntas brought a wagonful of letters. He personally retrieved and handed over the ones intended for Alexandros. Interestingly, the king read his mother’s missives (forged though they might have been) before getting to the dispatches sent by his regent. Antipatros’s reports were uniformly dour, complaining of threats against the Macedonian homeland from every direction. Having read them carefully, Alexandros merely shrugged. “The old man is prone to exaggeration,” he assured us. “I’m sure he’s cleaned up all those messes by now. After all, it took these guys months to get here so anything they tell us is way out of date.”
Needless to say, our march to Sousa came to a halt. The mail had to be distributed and then painstakingly read to the soldiers, almost all of whom were illiterate. Friends, neighbors, and acquaintances from the old country had to be welcomed and debriefed. Clearly, a service of thanksgiving was mandatory, followed by a sumptuous feast.
It took a day and a half of foraging by our troops to round up the necessary provisions. Finally, the time had arrived for the start of the celebrations. But first, there had to be an invocation. This created a small problem. Normally, Aristandros the Seer was charged with supervising all religious performances. Alas, Aristandros had been in no shape to accompany us when we marched out of Babylon. Two contenders immediately stepped forward to fill his ceremonial robes.
On the one hand, from among the swarm of Khaldaian shamans who had accompanied us since we left Babylon, Niqarqusu, the high priest of Marduk, rushed in to slaughter the sacrificial victims. On the other hand, a multitude of Persian magoi, led by Ardumanish, Ahura Mazda’s principal magician, surrounded the makeshift altar and refused to budge. Next thing we knew, the shamans were brandishing ceremonial mallets and very real butcher knives, threatening to cut the throats of the magoi. The Persian divines, in the meantime, were busy casting spells against their rivals and setting their peaked miters on fire. The garlanded bulls munched contentedly on whatever grass they could find underfoot.
Our soldiers, who were used to boxing, wrestling, and pankration contests, readily embraced this new sport. They formed a large circle around the contending teams and cheered them on. Small sums of money changed hands as bets were proposed and accepted. When a mallet blow landed smartly on the felt hat of a magos, stunning the man momentarily, a loud ovation rose from among the supporters of the Khaldaian contingent. The swipe of a blazing torch, igniting the back of a shaman’s robe and singeing his hairy buttocks, brought loud plaudits and much laughter.
Alexandros was right there, among his men, enjoying the unexpected variation on the usual religious rituals. After a while, Hephaistion elbowed his way through to him and tried to whisper in his ear. Just then, the largest of the Khaldaians lifted the smallest Persian above his head and tossed him amidst the bulls. The placid animals made room for the new arrival, welcoming him to their own feast. Alexandros looked quizzically at his friend, unable to hear above the shouts of the crowd.
Hephaistion gave up on trying to be discrete and yelled as loudly as he could. “You have to put an end to this, Aniketos, before they kill each other.” By chance, there was a sudden lull in the roar, causing Hephaistion’s advice to rise above the crowd like a battle cry.
“No,” one of the soldiers yelled back, “let them sort it out.” His sentiment met with universal approval.
Alexandros shrugged. “What’s the name of our new soothsayer? Go and find him. See which side is favored by the signs.”
Hephaistion cast an incredulous glance at his commander but said nothing. Instead, he set off in search of Aristandros’s understudy. Seleukos, taking pity on our leader, slid into the space vacated by Hephaistion. “You’ll need the magoi, sire, to ratify your donning of the Persian tiara. You’d better put them in charge of this ceremony.”
The advice made sense and, besides, the contestants were tiring. Several shamans were bouncing up and down on their haunches, trying to put the flames out, while a couple of magoi crawled about on their hands and knees looking for lost teeth. When Alexandros raised his hand, the contestants were more than ready to stop. Order was quickly restored and the festivities proceeded with a minimum of discord. Everybody was anxious to get on to the food and wine.
After the men slept off the effects of the feast, we received word the baggage train and camp followers had managed to catch up to us during our unexpected delay. Naturally, the men couldn’t resist a brief visit with their favorite ladies. Even Alexandros spent some time with Barsine and their baby boy. He was, once again, in a remarkably good mood when he rejoined us.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to see either Barsine or Artakama, having been put in charge of maintaining security while our soldiers and commanders frolicked. We lost five days before resuming our march to Sousa.
*******
In a breach of the usual protocol, Antipatros and Kassandros mounted the stairs to the gynaikonitis unannounced. Olympias and Kleopatra, not having had any visitors in several weeks, didn’t raise a fuss.
The queen mother was her usual charming self when she saw the two men at their door. “Must be something mighty important to drag your carcasses all the way up those rickety steps.”
“A missive, madam, from your son.” Antipatros handed over the scroll, broken seal, wine stains, erasures, and all.
Olympias frowned. “How long have you had this?”
“Just got here today, your royal highness. We ran over here as soon as it arrived.” Kassandros couldn’t help himself. Or perhaps his studied insolence was a calculated ploy.
Olympias rose to the bait, as always. “It’s so old the papyrus is all frayed, you smart ass. The seal’s broken; it’s covered with dirt; somebody’s obviously tampered with it.”
“It’s had a long journey, queen mother.” Antipatros tried to smooth her ruffled feathers. “Just read it. It brings good news.”
For once, Olympias did as she was told. Her exclamations grew louder and more triumphant as she read. “I’ve told you.” Her tone was emphatic. “I’ve always told you.”
“You
did, madam. That you did.”
“He’s the ruler of the world now, isn’t he?”
“Not quite, your highness. The world is a big place. Right now, he’s the ruler of Babylon. And very little else.”
“Nonsense. He marches from victory to victory.” She shrugged. “He’s invincible, that’s all. My only concern is that the world isn’t big enough.” She handed the letter to her daughter. “Put this with the others and bring us some wine. We have to celebrate.”
“There were other letters we received along with this one, queen mother. You can read them if you’d like.” Antipatros held out several more tightly wound rolls.
Olympias read them quickly, without exclamations and without any change in her expression. When she finished reading, she rounded on the two men with a fury. “You expect me to believe this? After all the lies you’ve told me and all the forgeries you’ve sent me? Don’t act so surprised! I know exactly what you two ’ve been up to.”
“This is no forgery, queen mother,” Antipatros said quietly. “And it’s not the half of it, either. He’s whoring and drinking himself to death in Babylon while demanding more and more troops from us. He’s stripped his homeland of its defense while all of Greece is preparing to rise up against us. He’s killing our troops, and himself, in far off Persia, while leaving us to the mercy of our enemies here at home.”
“Stop that right now!” Olympias screamed. “Or I’ll have you, and your son, executed here on the spot.”
Kassandros sneered. “You can’t have a chicken executed unless we say so, you old crone. Haven’t you noticed you’re a prisoner? If we don’t feed you, you’ll starve to death.”
“How dare you? Wait ‘til my son hears about this.”
Kassandros scoffed.
“And he will hear, trust me.”
Antipatros stepped between them before they could come to blows. “Yes, queen mother, you’re right. He will hear from you. And perhaps he’ll listen. That’s why we’re here. That why I showed all those other letters to you. We need your help. Please, help us save our kingdom, save our people, and save your son. Before it’s too late.”
“What are you talking about? He’s marching from victory to triumph to endless conquest. He’s invincible. He’s practically ruler of the world already.”
“The only correct word in what you just said is ‘endless,’ your royal highness. You have to help us talk some sense into him. Please write him a letter, congratulate him on his victories, and ask him to come home. We’ve tried and failed. You’re our last hope. If he continues this march from victory to triumph to debauchery, none of us will live through it. None of our men over there in Persia and none of us back here in Macedonia.”
Olympias was silent for a moment. “You’re wrong. My son is invincible and headed for immortality. I don’t believe a word of what you say. And besides, what do you need me for? You can go ahead and forge any letter you want.”
Kassandros barked a short, malicious laugh. “Yeah, we just might have to do that.”
“Keep quiet, son. Like it or not, the only person in this world who can change our king’s mind is standing in front of you. Now, queen mother, won’t you please write that letter?”
He turned back to Olympias but she was already walking away. “Kleopatra, please tell those two dimwits to get out of our home. And bar the door behind them.”
*******
This time, we managed three uninterrupted, albeit leisurely, days of marching before another messenger arrived. We saw him galloping toward us from a fair distance away; evidently, he was alone. Nevertheless, and despite the fact that at least two hours of daylight remained, Alexandros ordered a halt for the day and told the men to make camp while we awaited the messenger’s arrival.
He sprang off Boukephalas and stretched his limbs. “Looks like a Persian messenger to me. What do you think he’s up to?”
Hephaistion jumped in immediately with the first guess. “He’s bringing a letter of surrender from Dareios.” He managed to deliver his prediction with a straight face.
When several of the other commanders scoffed, he fished out a handful of coins and threw them in the dirt. “Five gold darics says it’s a letter of surrender.”
Perdikkas rose to the bait, as usual. “You’re on!” He threw his coins on the pile.
Hephaistion looked around. “Anybody else?”
Another commander stepped up. “I’ll put in another five, if you’re willing.”
“The more, the merrier.” Hephaistion pulled out five more gold coins.
Pretty soon Hephaistion’s purse was empty while commanders continued to walk up, eager to get a piece of the action. The king’s favorite sycophant put an arm around my shoulder. “Ptolemaios, lend me your purse.”
With a shrug, I handed it over. “If you win, I expect to participate in the winnings.”
“Of course.”
“And if you lose, I expect my loan to be repaid in full.”
Hephaistion laughed. “Always said you were the smartest guy here. Don’t worry about the loan. I’m sure you’ve got more money stashed away than the rest of us put together.”
By the time we had managed to retrieve all the coins from among all the cracks and crevices in the road and place them into an empty pot, the messenger was upon us. Hephaistion handed the pot to Alexandros. “Here, Aniketos. You’d better hold this. As far as I can tell, you’re the only one here who didn’t make a bet.”
“It wouldn’t be fair now, would it? I already know the answer.”
“You do? How?”
“It’s my business to know.”
Kleitos leaned in to me. “Do you think he really knows?”
Before I could answer, the messenger, surrounded by our sentries, walked up to Alexandros and handed over the wrapped and sealed scroll. Our commander-in-chief broke the seal. He read the letter slowly and carefully. His face betrayed nothing. When he finished, he went back to the beginning and read it again.
Hephaistion could stand it no longer. “Well, what’s it say?”
“It’s an offer of surrender …”
Hephaistion let loose with a joyous shout.
“… but it’s not from Dareios. It’s from Abouletes, satrap of Sousiana. He’s offering to turn over Sousa to us.”
“A surrender is a surrender.” Hephaistion reached for the pot resting at Alexandros’s feet. “I win.”
“No, you don’t,” somebody shouted. “You said it was a letter of surrender from Dareios.”
“I may have said that but, when it came to the bet, my five gold darics said it was a letter of surrender. They said nothing about the identity of the sender.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re a cheater.”
“Hand over the money.”
Swords were drawn.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Calm down!” Alexandros’s voice rose effortlessly above the commotion. “I’m holding the pot and I will resolve this dispute. Now put those swords away and listen up.”
The men instantly obeyed.
“Ptolemaios, you can back me up on this.” I nodded. “Hephaistion did say that it was a letter of surrender from Dareios, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sire, he did say that.”
The tight clutch of men around us voiced their approval.
“But – hold on a minute – when Hephaistion actually proposed the bet and threw his darics down, there was no mention of any sender. Is your recollection the same, Ptolemaios? And before you answer, remember that half the money in that pot is probably yours.”
Two dozen pairs of angry eyes pivoted toward my face.
“We-e-ell, the two sentences came hard upon each other, sire. And the darics didn’t speak. I only heard Hephaistion’s voice. So, …” My voice trailed off.
Alexandros slapped me on the back. “You’re an honest man, Ptolemaios. And you men – let this be a lesson to you. You should never gamble.” He laughed at his own wit. “It only leads
to disputes and fights. Nobody ever wins. Am I right?”
For once, nobody agreed with him. He continued undaunted. “The bet was ambiguous. I can’t tell at this point whether the surrender had to come from Dareios or if any old surrender would do. So, nobody wins.”
This time, people actually raised their voices to our commander-in-chief. He simply shouted them down. “Listen, men, there is something you seem to have forgotten.”
“What’s that?”
“That the satrap of Sousiana just offered to turn Sousa, one of Persia’s capitals, over to us. Do you have any idea how much treasure there is in Sousa waiting for us? And you’re squabbling over a few golds darics?”
An uncertain silence took hold as the import of Alexandros’s words sunk in.
“So, here is what I’m going to do. I’ll hold on to the money in this pot. Kallisthenes will make me a nice list of the amount contributed by each of you. When we get to Sousa and get our hands on the imperial treasury, I promise to pay you ten darics for each daric you put in. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds good, sire.”
“OK, then. Now who wants to ride ahead to Sousa as fast as possible to take Abouletes up on his offer before he changes his mind?”
There was no shortage of volunteers. Next morning, before dawn, a mobile contingent of cavalry, unencumbered by infantry or baggage, set off for Sousa, led by one of our gambling commanders, Philoxenos. The rest of us were still only half way to Sousa when Alexandros received Philoxenos’s report that his contingent had secured the surrender of Sousa and seized the imperial treasury.
Alexandros halted our march once again to celebrate the good news. He also used the occasion to reorganize the army, ostensibly to integrate the new arrivals with the veterans. In fact, he did away with the previous regional divisions. From that point forward, men from all corners of Macedonia and mercenaries from around the Greek world were all assigned to geographically diverse infantry units.
The units then elected their own commanders, based on demonstrated battlefield valor. Alexandros nominated the candidates and supervised the voting. The new commanders, coming from all strata of Macedonian and Greek society, shared one unifying characteristic. They all owed their promotions to Alexandros.
Conquest of Persia Page 24
