Clash of Empires

by Ben Kane

  Unless Flamininus was a complete idiot, he wouldn’t waste men on repeated attacks: the defences would be tested only a few times, like as not. Philip was relatively content as he moved from one catapult to another. Spying Demetrios approaching along the walkway, he raised a hand in greeting. The youngster had real balls, first to have won his way into the phalangists’ ranks, and then to have saved Philip’s life. The king hadn’t seen him since he’d recovered from his injuries. What, wondered Philip, was he doing here?

  ‘Sire!’ called Demetrios.

  Philip cast a critical eye at Demetrios’ fine bronze cuirass, padded pteryges and pair of matching, contoured greaves. ‘Every part the phalangist,’ he said.

  Demetrios shuffled his feet. ‘Gratitude, sire.’

  ‘You didn’t come to show off your armour,’ said Philip.

  ‘No, sire. I have news for you.’

  Now Philip noticed the slight figure in a ragged tunic and sheepskin jerkin behind Demetrios. The wretch looked terrified. Philip’s curiosity rose. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘A local shepherd, sire. We came across him on patrol. He tried to run, but didn’t get far. I told him about the reward you were offering; I also thought you would want to talk with him.’

  ‘Aye.’ Philip’s interest quickened. Thus far not a single local had come forward to claim the coin. It was likely, he thought, because of his previous bloody campaigns in the area. He beckoned the middle-aged man forward. Short, brown-skinned, sinewy-muscled and as lean as a hunting dog, he looked to have lived his entire life outdoors. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

  ‘Sire.’

  ‘Rise,’ commanded Philip. ‘What do they call you?’

  ‘Aetos, sire.’ The shepherd’s voice trembled.

  ‘Be at ease. You are among friends,’ said Philip. ‘The eagle? That’s quite a name.’

  Aetos ventured a shy grin. ‘It wasn’t my birth name, sire. My father gave it to me when I started herding. He said my eyesight was gods-gifted.’

  ‘It’s a valuable gift,’ agreed Philip. ‘Come, are you thirsty? Hungry?’

  ‘A drop of water wouldn’t go astray, sire.’

  ‘Try this wine.’ Philip pulled free the leather skin hanging from his belt and held it out.

  Aetos bobbed his head. ‘My thanks, sire.’ He took up the skin, he took a long pull. When he lowered the skin, his eyes were full of wonder. ‘I’ve never tasted anything like that, sire.’

  ‘Keep it.’ Philip wanted him to feel safe.

  ‘T-thank you, sire,’ Aetos stammered.

  ‘The pleasure is mine. You know the mountain tracks around here?’ Philip gestured at the slopes above.

  A toothless grin. ‘Like the back of my hand, sire.’

  Philip felt a mixture of pleasure, that Aetos should be in his grasp, and regret, that the man had to die. ‘How many shepherds like you are there?’

  ‘In the area? About thirty, sire. When I met your soldier here, he said we’d be paid well to hide away from the Romans. You not wanting them to get around behind your army and all.’

  ‘That’s right. You will be rich men,’ lied Philip.

  Aetos beamed. ‘After your man here promised his words were true, I sent my boy to the caves where our families are hiding. The other men will be here by sundown, after they’ve brought their flocks off the mountain, see.’

  ‘Thirty, you say?’ demanded Philip. ‘Could it be less? More?’

  Aetos looked confused. He thought for a moment.

  ‘Perhaps it’s twenty-nine, sire.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Philip’s gaze bore down hard.

  ‘Aye, twenty-nine. I swear it on my ancestors, sire.’

  Aetos said no more, because Philip had slashed his throat wide open. He dropped, gouting blood on the king’s feet; a few drops even hit a stunned-looking Demetrios.

  ‘You did well,’ said Philip, wiping his dagger on Aetos’ grubby chiton.

  ‘Y-you killed him, sire.’ Demetrios was pasty-faced.

  ‘I did.’ Such is the price of kingship, thought Philip. The lives of thirty peasants counted as nothing before the defence of Macedon and the lives of his soldiers. ‘At least he died happy, thinking he was rich.’

  ‘I told him he’d be rewarded, sire. He would have kept his word, to hide from the Romans.’

  Philip did not tolerate men who questioned his actions, but Demetrios had saved his life. ‘You can’t be sure, boy. Imagine your wife’s feet, your child’s, your father’s, being held in a fire, and what you might do to stop it. That’s precisely what the cursed Romans would have done to Aetos. Or, I suppose, they might have paid him more than I would have to show them a path around my army. Brutal though it is–’ he nudged Aetos’ bloodied corpse with his foot ‘–this removes that possibility.’

  ‘So the other shepherds must also be slain, sire?’

  ‘They must.’ Philip concealed his regret.

  ‘I see, sire.’ Demetrios bowed his head.

  ‘War is not all singing the Paean and standing in the phalanx with our comrades. Sometimes it’s this.’ Philip indicated Aetos again. ‘Don’t think he would have survived if you hadn’t found him. Someone else would have brought him to me.’

  ‘Yes, sire,’ said Demetrios miserably.

  Philip dismissed him, resolving that the next time he saw Perseus, he would tell him what he’d done. One day his son would have to make similar decisions. Shocked though he’d be, it was better to know about them from his father than be thrust, wide-eyed and inexperienced, into brutal reality.

  Kingship came at a heavy price.

  CHAPTER XXXV

  Mouth of the River Aous, Epirus

  Flamininus breathed deep. It wasn’t far to Brundisium in Italia – less than two days’ voyage – but the air here was different. Somehow fresher, and full of promise. He was on the seashore, and had just disembarked. At his back, scores of troop transports filled the waves as far as a man could see. The air was full of gulls, wheeling and screeching. The beach and the countryside beyond appeared to be one great Roman camp. Once the new legions came ashore, he would have a force more than thirty thousand men strong.

  Flamininus smiled. The months of politicking had paid off, but Galba’s support was what had swayed the Senate: the protesting tribunes’ speeches had fallen on deaf ears. Trying not to think about the price he would have to pay Galba, Flamininus had swiftly put his plans into action, filling every moment of the time since his election in March. There had been meetings with the commanders of his legions; discussions with quartermasters about the army’s supply needs; appointments of staff officers who would see his every order carried out. He’d sent letters to the senior officers in Illyria, but had left it to the Senate to inform Villius that he was to be replaced.

  Setting in place arrangements for his departure had been far from the only things requiring Flamininus’ attention. Every political ally had been visited to ensure their support in his absence. Hands had been shaken, gifts offered, undying friendship sworn. To make doubly sure, plenty of palms had also been greased with silver. Subtle threats had been offered to the less trustworthy; one or two had been warned that switching sides – in particular, returning to Galba’s camp – risked much.

  Flamininus had managed to persuade Galba to accept a legateship for the year following. ‘Men in post have a better understanding of the current situation,’ he had lied. He had succeeded in this, but Galba had not relinquished his hold. The night before Flamininus’ departure from Brundisium, he had received an unsigned letter that had said simply, ‘I will have eyes on you. Do not fail.’

  Flamininus put Galba from his mind. I am here at last, he thought. After years of dreaming, I am consul of Rome, and general of a huge army. Macedonia lies over those mountains, and there Philip awaits me. Despite Flamininus’ concerns, it was impossible not to be delighted with himself. His path to glory, his future as a modern Alexander, lay open. The next simple step was to relieve Villius of his c
ommand.

  ‘Horse!’

  Flamininus’ steed was brought to him, and the groom waited as his master cast a critical eye over it. A spirited grey mare, she stood taller than most of her kind. Her mane had been combed, harness fittings polished, and the saddle blanket on her back was of the finest weave. Even her hooves had been polished. Flamininus gave the groom an approving look and mounted. His staff officers took his lead and did the same.

  ‘Take me to Villius,’ said Flamininus, his anticipation brimming over at last.

  ‘Welcome.’

  Publius Villius Tappulus wasn’t in full military dress like Flamininus, which accentuated the difference between them. A short, ill-shaped man, Villius had podgy features and a tendency to sweat. He waved a hand, indicating Flamininus should enter the command tent’s meeting area. The gaggle of officers who had been attending him gaped at the new arrival, and realising who it was, came smartly to attention.

  Flamininus acted as if they didn’t even exist. ‘Villius, good day.’

  If it hadn’t been for the grand surroundings, he decided, Villius’ wine-spotted tunic could have seen him mistaken for a lower-end tradesman. Poor sense of decorum aside, he had never been someone to warm to, but was an effective politician. The man was friendly without being obsequious, and like Flamininus, assiduous at making allies. Where he fell down was in retaining them.

  If more of your so-called friends in Rome had stood by you, thought Flamininus, I might not be standing here. He indicated the neat arrangements of coloured stones on the table. ‘Discussing your plans?’

  Fleeting irritation marked Villius’ features. ‘I— yes.’

  Flamininus strode closer. ‘Show me. I want to know how the land lies before I order the legions to march.’ The staff officers’ muffled whispers gave him immense pleasure.

  Villius smoothed down his tousled hair, a clear effort to remain calm. ‘You’re assuming command at once? I had thought to share the duties for a time—’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. Your staff will have all the logistical details to hand. That is, unless . . .?’

  ‘My subordinates know where each and every unit is, and its disposition,’ said Villius stiffly.

  ‘Excellent.’ Flamininus leaned over the stones, orienting himself. ‘Ah. These white ones must be the legions’ camps.’ He glanced at Villius.

  ‘That’s right.’ Villius’ finger traced a sinuous line eastward. ‘This is the path of the River Aous, and this, to the south, is its tributary the Drynos. Both run through narrow valleys, but only the Aous runs east to Thessaly and Macedonia. Philip has built fortifications on both banks of the Aous–’ he indicated the lines of black pebbles ‘–here and here. The mountains on either side of the river are steep, and covered in forest.’

  ‘There must be goat tracks,’ said Flamininus, thinking of Thermopylae, when the Persians had outflanked the Spartan king Leonidas and his men.

  ‘Too many to count, and most lead nowhere in particular,’ replied Villius. ‘The locals have hidden themselves too. It will prove hard to find a way around Philip’s army.’

  Flamininus pointed to the black stones. ‘What of his defences?’

  ‘They are strong. Ramparts run from deep in the treeline to the water’s edge, with ditches in front. There are towers on the walls, where he has placed catapults and bolt throwers.’ Villius’ finger came to rest on a neat square of grey pebbles. ‘The phalanx is positioned behind the defences. Taking the place by storm will prove costly.’

  Flamininus hoped that Villius’ assessment was incorrect. He would see Philip’s fortifications with his own eyes at the earliest opportunity, but it seemed that ingenuity would be the key to success, rather than a full-frontal assault. And yet, with Galba’s threats hanging over him, it would have to be taken one way or another. ‘Is there anything else?’

  Villius’ eyes flickered from the stones to Flamininus and back again. ‘I— Well, yes.’

  Flamininus felt a twinge of sympathy for Villius, who resembled a child deprived of a long-expected birthday present. ‘Continue.’

  ‘The mountain passes to the north, including the one used by Galba, lie undefended.’

  ‘Yet to use them would leave our camps on the coast vulnerable. Philip would not look such a gift horse in the mouth.’

  ‘Which is why I had thought to attack him here.’ Villius’ voice had risen.

  He can make sensible decisions, thought Flamininus.

  ‘Our naval forces are ready to sail. They await only my order.’

  ‘Don’t concern yourself with the fleet. My brother is the new commander; he will already have taken charge.’

  Villius’ mouth was a surprised O. After a moment, he said, ‘We have local allies.’

  ‘The Epirotes, yes.’

  ‘They’re a bunch of brigands for the most part, but there is one chieftain who has proved useful – Charops, they call him.’

  ‘Has he many warriors?’

  ‘A few hundred, but they’re a rabble. He’s of more use with finding water and supplies, that kind of thing. My staff officers know how to reach him.’

  ‘Very good.’ Flamininus made a mental note of the name. ‘I think that’s about it, eh?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose.’ Villius blinked, as if he was waking from a bad dream.

  ‘Dine with me this evening. Any details you’ve forgotten can be mentioned then. Dress appropriately, won’t you?’

  This was dismissal – only a fool wouldn’t see it. Villius nodded miserably. ‘May Jupiter and Fortuna guide you.’

  ‘Gratitude.’ Flamininus clicked his fingers at the staff officers. ‘I want the details of every unit, cavalry and infantry. Now.’

  Absorbed, he didn’t see the humiliated Villius leave the room. When he realised, Flamininus felt no remorse. Cream rises to the surface, he thought. The best men succeed, and lesser ones fall by the wayside. Galba was a thorn in his side, it was true, but Flamininus intended to make the best of the situation. Back in Rome, he had paid a dozen of his spies to find out everything they could about Galba. The man would have a weakness – everyone did. All Flamininus needed was to find it.

  Flamininus stared at Philip’s defences. Two days had passed, and he had a thorough grasp of his army’s situation. It was time to understand his enemy, and to that end, he had ridden up the Aous valley with ten maniples of his best principes at his back. Some hundreds of his troops were in place already, to monitor Philip’s soldiers, but Flamininus had brought the extra protection regardless. Dying in a surprise attack was not how he intended to leave this world.

  ‘Is there any chance of sending men through the trees to come down on the enemy’s flank?’ He directed his question at the closest centurion, a bandy-legged type with a beady stare.

  ‘From what I understand, sir, it would be difficult. The incline is steep, and the trees thick. The ground underfoot is treacherous, full of roots and rocks.’ The centurion hesitated, then added, ‘Fighting on such terrain would be very risky, sir.’

  ‘Your information is from . . .?’

  ‘The scouts, sir. They crept through the forest right to the edge of Philip’s ramparts. Both sides of the river are the same.’

  The centurion was confident and not intimidated by his rank, thought Flamininus. He liked it. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Matho, sir.’

  ‘You fought against Hannibal?’

  A wry look. ‘I spent half my life at it, sir.’

  ‘Were you at Zama?’

  ‘I was, sir. A hard fight.’ Matho raised his right arm, exposing a scar that ran from elbow to wrist. ‘That’s my memento of it.’

  Matho was a tough one, Flamininus decided. A leader of men. ‘Last year, the legions smashed Philip’s lines at the dirty gates.’

  ‘Aye, sir. I was there too.’ Matho glanced at the enemy positions. ‘Those will be harder to break through.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They’re much better constructed, sir. The ene
my marched in before the snows had melted. They’ve had half a month of building without any interference from us. Villius—’ Matho stopped.

  ‘Speak your mind. No harm will come to you.’

  ‘The scouts brought word of Philip’s presence here, sir. It would have been easy to send up a force to attack the enemy. Catch them off guard at first light, like we learned to do against Hannibal. Villius lost an opportunity.’

  ‘Perhaps. You wouldn’t have stopped the defences being finished,’ challenged Flamininus.

  ‘No, sir, but we would have slowed the bastards – beg your pardon – the enemy down. Put the filth on the defensive, made it harder to erect such strong ramparts. Taking them will prove costly, sir. Unless you’re of a mind to march up one of the valleys to the north, that is?’

  Flamininus’ laugh was cold. Ruthless. ‘No, centurion. We shall attack Philip, head-on, and smash through his men. If the gods are with us, victory will be ours here in this valley.’

  Matho’s leer was unpleasant. ‘I like the sound of that, sir. Me and my boys will play our part.’

  With soldiers like Matho, his destiny would be made real, thought Flamininus. He could see Philip now, kneeling before him. Gods, but he looked forward to that day. It would make his deal with Galba worth the price.

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  Philip had ordered his peltasts to man the fortifications on both sides of the river. His phalanxes were positioned behind the defences on the northern bank, a further barrier for the Romans to break on if they succeeded in taking the first. The enclosed space there meant his cavalry could not be used, so the king had ordered the horses out of harm’s way, letting the Companions form up on foot beside the phalangists.