Conquest of Persia

by Alexander Geiger

  The Companion Cavalry was not reorganized quite as thoroughgoing as the infantry units but the squadrons were enlarged and then split in two, with each new half-squadron receiving a new commander appointed by Alexandros. The new commanders then reported to the preexisting squadron leaders. Thus, at least for the time being, I retained my position at the head if my squadron while gaining two subcommanders charged with implementing my orders.

  The newly-reorganized pan-Hellenic army was said to be a more efficient fighting machine. While that proposition might have been debatable, there was no doubt the new command structure was far more loyal to Alexandros personally than the previous regime had been.

  It was almost the end of November when we resumed our march to Sousa, the capital of Sousiana and one of the four great capitals of the Persian Empire.

  *******

  At last, we crossed a spur of the long and imposing Zagros mountain chain and emerged into the Garden of Eden. At least that’s what our local guide called it.

  Seleukos was immediately interested. “Where did that name come from?”

  Our guide shrugged. “Many stories to explain the name. I’ve been told the Elamites, who came to this area thousands of years ago, called it Edinnu, meaning ‘fertile or well-watered.’ When the Assyrians conquered the region, they shortened the name to Edin. And when the Assyrians were in turn displaced by the Persians, they liked they name and kept it. No idea whether any of these stories are true. Only thing I know for sure, this valley really is the most wonderful natural garden, or paradeisos as the Persians call it, on Earth.”

  “How so?” I wanted to know.

  “It’s really a bowl, nestled in the palm of the Zagros mountains. If you followed the fingertips all the way down, you’d find yourself in a marshy region not far from the northern end of the Persian Gulf, where the Euphrates and Tigris empty into the sea. But we won’t be going that far; we’ll be staying right here in this valley, where nature has contrived to create a perfect growing environment for trees and plants and flowers and vegetation of all kinds.” He spread his arms, seeking to embrace his country’s bounty. “The soil is deep, rich, and fertile. There are rivers and streams and, during the rainy season, daily, life-giving, drenching downpours. When the showers end, the sun returns, bright, intense, and nourishing. The farmers bring in three bumper crops per year, year after year.” He pointed to both sides of the road. “Just look around. Have you ever seen such voluptuous abundance?”

  Seleukos smiled, catching some of our guide’s enthusiasm. “Must be a great place to live.”

  The guide nodded vigorously. “It is, sire, it is. Except in the summertime, of course. Then it’s hell on Earth.”

  Seleukos’s smile dissolved into a skeptical, sidelong frown. “What do you mean?”

  “It gets awful hot here, sire. Those same mountain ridges around us that wring out, for our benefit, all the moisture from passing clouds during the rainy season also turn our valley into a searing furnace in the summertime.”

  “Must get pretty hot, I bet.”

  “Hot doesn’t begin to describe it. All sentient beings endowed with the power of locomotion hide during the midday hours. Except for the lizards, that is.”

  It was my turn to raise a querying eyebrow. “The lizards don’t mind the heat?”

  “Oh, they do, they do. Most of them have sense enough to find shelter during the hottest part of the day. But a foolish few think they’re swift and nimble enough to get across the road before succumbing to the scorching sun. They never make it half way over. We find them, when we emerge from our darkened dwellings at dusk, broiled to a crisp in the middle of the road. Believe me, sire, it gets hot in Sousa in the summertime.”

  “Some Garden of Eden,” Seleukos observed.

  “Sure is, sire, sure is. Most of the time. Your leader was very clever to get here right at the start of December. Couldn’t have picked a better time.”

  “Yes, our leader has a knack for that sort of thing.”

  *******

  A small troop of riders crested a hill and materialized without warning less than a mile in front of us. Their steeds, clad in chainmail, glistened in the fading sunlight. The riders wore the familiar armor of Persian knights. A few Sousian banners fluttered above their heads.

  Alexandros took one look and prodded Boukephalas into motion. “They look harmless enough. Let’s go meet them.”

  “Wait, Aniketos! They might be assassins.”

  Alexandros laughed. “C’mon, Hephaistion, ride with me.” He swept his hands in our direction. “You guys come along as well.”

  As we approached, the Persian knights dismounted. They appeared unarmed, except for their leader, who had a scabbard lashed to his left hip. He walked up to Alexandros and unsheathed a large, curved sword. Instantly, the unmistakable rasp of two dozen swords emerging simultaneously from their scabbards hissed through the air. Alexandros didn’t even flinch, his eyes locked on the eyes of his adversary.

  The young man smiled, bowed his head, and handed his sword to Alexandros, hilt first. “I am Oxathres son of Abouletes.” Alexandros accepted the proffered weapon and motioned to us to sheathe our swords. Oxathres, evidently having exhausted his store of Greek, looked over his shoulder and beckoned to an elderly man in civilian garb standing at the back of the Persian group.

  The old man shuffled hesitantly forward and prostrated himself within kicking distance of Boukephalas’s forelegs. Oxathres, who was still standing, looked expectantly up to Alexandros. Our king remained motionless on his mount, patiently awaiting the next installment of the surrender ceremony. Finally, growing impatient, he leaned over in the direction of the old man. “Speak!” he boomed.

  The old man cringed and, still lying prostrate in the road, starting speaking into the dirt. “Your celestial majesty. Welcome to Sousiana.”

  “You may stand up, old man. Do you have a name?”

  “I do, your majesty, but I’m only the interpreter.” The man struggled back to his feet. “My name is of no consequence. I’m the voice of my master, Oxathres.” He looked over at the young man standing next to him, who continued to grin like an idiot. “He wishes to welcome you and your men to Sousiana.”

  Oxathres, hearing a word he recognized, started to speak. I knew enough to recognize it as Persian. When he paused, the old man translated: “My father Abouletes, satrap of Sousiana, apologizes for not coming to meet you in person but he’s still engaged in making preparations for your majesty’s arrival in Sousa. He will be coming to meet us shortly. In the meantime, he asked me and these men to escort you the rest of the way.”

  Alexandros hesitated momentarily, trying to decide whether he should be offended that neither Oxathres nor the men accompanying him were groveling in the usual Persian fashion.

  Oxathres, as if reading his mind, started to speak again, through his interpreter. “Forgive us, your majesty, for remaining on our feet but we’re soldiers, here to serve you. We can’t do that effectively on our knees and bellies.”

  Alexandros turned to Hephaistion, speaking under his breath to stay out of earshot of the interpreter. “What do you think? Mazaios had the good grace to learn some Greek.”

  “Yes, he did. And he came out to greet us in person, along with all his sons.”

  “Who, in the accepted fashion, crawled through the dust. Naturally, I held them in contempt as a result but still, you have to go by the local mores. I kind of like this fellow but I’m worried he’s not paying sufficient respect.”

  Before Hephaistion could respond, Perdikkas rode up to join them, holding his spear at the ready, speaking even more loudly than usual. “I recognize this man, sire. He led the Sousiana contingent at Gaugamela. He killed our men. Request permission to run him through.”

  The interpreter stopped breathing.

  “Permission denied.” Alexandros reached for the spear. “I killed a lot of their men, too, and look how nicely they’re treating me.”

  “Well, that�
�s because you won, sire. And they lost.”

  For once, Hephaistion came to Perdikkas’s aid. “He’s right, Aniketos. This man’s head is way too big for his felt hat. We should cut him down to size.”

  The interpreter started to twitch but said nothing.

  Alexandros spun Boukephalas around and started to trot away. Hephaistion and Perdikkas followed on either side. “Look, guys, he’s also an ambassador of sorts. I can’t harm him. Put them all discreetly under guard and let’s get going. We’ll decide what to do when we get to Sousa.”

  Chapter 11 – Sousa

  Like all the Persian satraps we’d met before, Abouletes was cunning, well-informed, and flexible in his allegiance. Receiving word of his son’s less than successful reception, he rushed out to meet us in person. He was there, camped out at the Choaspes river crossing, awaiting our arrival. He tried hard to match the welcome extended to us by his fellow satrap Mazaios in every particular. To the extent he fell somewhat short, blame could be assigned to his personal failings, to differences between Babylon and Sousa, and – ultimately – to changes in Alexandros himself.

  As we approached the river, at midmorning, two days after the encounter with Oxathres, we spotted a lone figure standing astride the royal road, in front of the bridge across the Choaspes, arms akimbo, head held high, wearing a suit of shimmering gold armor and a magnificent ceremonial cloak of crimson silk with fur trimming. Alexandros, as usual, rode out to inspect this curious creature, accompanied only by his bodyguard.

  When our little group got within shouting distance, the lone figure sank to his knees, raised his arms, and collapsed to the road. There he lay as we pulled up short, face down, fingers clawing the ground as far overhead as he could reach, as if trying to approach us by pulling himself forward by his fingertips.

  Alexandros winked at Hephaistion. “Now that’s better.”

  Bending over the prone figure, he clapped his hands. “You may rise, Abouletes.”

  The man sprang to his feet. He was younger and more athletic than Mazaios, less oleaginous, and less smooth. “Vacome to Sousa, your cerestial maggotsy.”

  Alexandros couldn’t stop laughing, forcing Seleukos to step in. “You’d better call your interpreter, before you get yourself into even more trouble,” he said in Persian.

  Abouletes’s shoulders sank with relief. He turned and signaled to the far bank, where a colorfully clad throng stood watch. They all started to move as one, causing the satrap to shout and wave his arms frantically. Finally, they understood, stopped, and retreated from the bridge, while a single young man continued to stride forward. Although dressed in a simple white tunic, his bearing gave him away as a soldier.

  When he reached the satrap, they consulted briefly. The young man nodded, knelt, touched his forehead to the road, and rose once again – unbidden – to his feet. “Your celestial majesty, welcome to Sousiana. The gates of our capital are open and await your entrance.” He spoke better Greek than any of us.

  “Where’re you from, soldier?” Alexandros’s tone was mild, unthreatening. We all recognized trouble brewing.

  “I was born in Sousa, your celestial majesty. My mother and father are from Athens. They came here when my father was offered the position of court physician by one of Abouletes’s predecessors.”

  “Did you fight at Gaugamela?”

  The young man hesitated. He looked uncertainly at Abouletes. The satrap, not understanding a word, continued to smile benevolently. Finally, the young man set his jaw and nodded. “Yes, your worship, I was there.”

  “Did you fight?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “For which side?”

  “I was conscripted into the Sousiana contingent, like everyone else of fighting age.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Alexandros reared up in his seat. “Let’s get across this bridge and I’ll address the rabble on the other side.”

  By the time we crossed the bridge – Abouletes and the young interpreter doing their best to jog alongside our horses – the crowd on the far bank of the Choaspes was lying respectfully on their bellies. “Tell them to rise,” Alexandros said to the interpreter. “I have a few words I wish to say.”

  Seleukos leaned into my ear. “This should be interesting. I want to hear how he’ll explain to these Persians, living in the heart of Persia, that we’re here to liberate them from foreign oppression.”

  Alexandros surprised us. “Citizens of Sousa, listen up! Most of you standing here in your colorful costumes took up arms and fought against the pan-Hellenic army two short months ago. You were defeated, along with your former emperor and the rest of the Persian army.” He leaned down to the interpreter. “Go ahead, translate!” Then, turning to Seleukos, “and you make sure he gets it right.”

  When the interpreter stopped speaking, Alexandros continued. “My troops are in control of your city, of its fortress, and the royal palace right now. Greek arms have prevailed over the might of the Persian Empire. ‘How could that have happened?’ you’re probably asking yourselves. Well, I’ll tell you.” The crowd listened sullenly to the voice of the interpreter. “It happened because Ahura Mazda willed it so.” A murmur rose from the crowd. “That’s right. Your god is a just god and your emperors have ignored his wishes and have violated his commandments for many generations now. They invaded our homeland, without provocation, not once but twice. They burned and looted our cities, killed our people, desecrated our temples. No just god was going to tolerate such unprovoked aggression forever.”

  The folks, most of whom probably had no idea what he was talking about, listened in silence. “I, and my soldiers, are but the instruments of the gods. The reason our arms have prevailed over yours, time and time again, is because we carry the swords of justice, the spears of freedom, the message of liberation. A new day has dawned in the Persian Empire, a new order, and a new emperor. Now, get on your knees and stay there until my entire army has passed.”

  They did as they were told.

  *******

  Once we were inside the city walls, Alexandros paused. “I need a guide to tell me the history of this place. Where is Abouletes and that interpreter?”

  Abouletes and the interpreter came running in short order. “We have gifts, your celestial majesty, we have gifts. Please wait.”

  Alexandros condescended to wait. “Tell me about Sousa while we wait. When was it founded and by whom?”

  “Your highness, I have just the man for you. He’s a Greek-speaking scholar who’s lived with us for most of his life. He can answer all your questions. Just don’t arrest him, please.”

  Alexandros drew himself up on his mount. “Why should I arrest him? I just want to get some information.”

  “Here he is, sire. His name is Indabibi.” A bearded, stooped old man was thrust toward us. He fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground.

  “Put him on a horse so he can ride along.”

  By the time this little by-play was finished, Abouletes’s welcoming ceremonies were ready to proceed. There was a cast of thousands. Dancers twirled, singers trilled, acrobats tumbled, magoi chanted, and firefighters put out the resulting flames.

  Alexandros paid no attention. He was busy chatting with his new best friend Indabibi. “So, tell me about this place. Who founded it and when?”

  “Nobody knows, sire. People have lived in this sun-kissed, god-favored valley since time out of mind. Perhaps four thousand years ago, the Elamites came and built a fortress here. It still stands. We can visit it later, if you wish.”

  Hephaistion stuck his head in. “He always wishes. You can count on it.”

  “A city grew up around the fortress and the Elamites made it their capital. For reasons I can’t explain, they called it Sousa, which is why this region is called Sousiana nowadays. Eventually, the fortunes of Elam waned and the might of Assyria waxed. An Assyrian king named Ashurbanipal conquered and destroyed Sousa some three hundred years ago.”

  Alexandros nodded
but said nothing.

  “After the fires burned themselves out and after the conquering soldiers went away, the people came back and rebuilt the city. They lived in peace, as subjects of the Assyrian Empire, for another hundred years. By then, the Assyrians had undermined the might of their realm through incessant civil wars and a new empire arose to fill the vacuum – the Persian Empire. Kyros, the founder of the empire, came along and occupied Sousa on his way to greater conquests elsewhere. He, however, didn’t destroy the city, believing that a living, breathing, productive city was worth more than a burnt-out, smoking hulk. Several of his successors, liking the climate in the wintertime, enlarged the royal quarter and made the city one of their capitals.”

  Indabibi’s narrative was interrupted by Abouletes. “Animals, your worship, we have animals for you.”

  Alexandros’s ears pricked up at the word ‘animals.’ He liked his beasts. And Abouletes, learning from the experiences of his colleague Mazaios, did his best to indulge his new overlord’s foibles. We were treated to a parade of trained camels, racing dromedaries, and a dozen Indian elephants. “All for you, your celestial highness.” Abouletes was beaming. “All for you.”

  It started to pour. We followed the animals to the royal quarter, dodging heaven’s raindrops and the animals’ ordure as we went.

  *******

  Babylon was a great city, which included a royal palace. Sousa was a royal palace, around which a city had grown. The walls of Sousa were relatively flimsy by comparison to Babylon’s formidable fortifications. The rulers of Sousa were apparently always too secure in their hold on power to fear an attack – until it was too late to do anything about it. The only defensible position in the city was the fortress built atop the one rather mild hill in the area. Unfortunately, the fortress was too ancient and primitive to afford the creature comforts demanded by the emperors of Persia. So, they decided to build for themselves a sumptuous palace.