Alexander (Vol. 2)

by Manfredi, Valerio Massimo

  ‘Who will lead the cavalry?’ asked Parmenion, who up until that moment had listened on in silence.

  ‘I will,’ replied Alexander.

  ‘I advise you against it, Sire. It is too dangerous. Let Craterus do it – he was with me during the first expedition into Asia and he is truly very good.’

  ‘General Parmenion is right,’ Seleucus intervened. ‘This is our first clash with the Persians, why should we risk jeopardizing the King’s safety?’

  Alexander lifted his hand to mark the end of the discussion, ‘You saw me fight at Chaeronaea against the Sacred Band and on the River Ister against the Thracians and the Triballians – how can you imagine that I might behave otherwise now? I will lead the Vanguard personally and I will be the first Macedonian to come into contact with the enemy. My men must know that I will be facing the same dangers they face and that in this battle everything is at stake, including our lives. I have nothing else to tell you, for now. I will see you all at supper.’

  No one had the courage to protest, but Eumenes, sitting alongside Parmenion, whispered in the old general’s ear, ‘I would put someone particularly experienced next to him, someone who has fought against the Persians and knows their techniques.’

  ‘I had already thought about it,’ the general reassured him. ‘The Black will be at the King’s side – everything will go well, you’ll see.’

  The council was brought to an end. They all left and went to their divisions to give the final briefing. Eumenes remained behind and approached Alexander. ‘I wanted to say that your plan is excellent, but there is still one unknown factor, an important one.’

  ‘Memnon’s mercenaries.’

  ‘Exactly. If they lock up into a square formation it’ll be a hard job even for the cavalry.’

  ‘I know. Our infantry might well find themselves in trouble, perhaps it’ll come to hand-to-hand combat – swords and axes. But there is one other thing . . .’

  Eumenes sat down, pulling his cloak over his knees, and the gesture reminded Alexander of his father, Philip, whenever he was losing his temper. But for Eumenes the gesture was different – simply the result of his feeling the cold in the cool evening; he wasn’t used to wearing the short military chiton and had goose-bumps all over his legs.

  The King took a papyrus scroll from his famous box, the one containing the edition of Homer’s works which Aristotle had given him, and he unrolled it on the table. ‘You know The March of the Ten Thousand, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course, it’s studied in all the schools now. The prose is very readable and even youngsters can manage it without any difficulty.’

  ‘Good, listen to this then. We are on the battlefield at Kunaxa, some seventy years ago, and Cyrus the Younger orders the commander Clearchus:

  . . . to lead his army against the enemy’s centre, for the reason that the King was stationed there; “and if,” he said, “we kill him there, our whole task is accomplished.” ’

  ‘So you would like to kill the enemy commander with your own hands,’ said Eumenes in a tone of complete disapproval.

  ‘This is why I will lead the Vanguard. Then we will take care of Memnon’s mercenaries.’

  ‘I understand. And now I must take my leave because no matter what I say, you aren’t going to pay any heed to my advice.’

  ‘Exactly, Mr Secretary General,’ laughed Alexander. ‘But this doesn’t mean that I love you any the less.’

  ‘I am fond of you too, you stubborn old sod. May the gods protect you.’

  ‘And may they protect you too, my friend.’

  Eumenes left and went to his own tent, where he took off his armour, put something warm on and set about reading a manual of military tactics while he waited for suppertime to come around.

  5

  THE RIVER RAN FAST, its waters swollen by the melting snows on the Pontus mountains, and a light westerly wind stirred the leaves of the poplars which grew along the banks. The sides of the banks themselves were steep, clayey, sodden after the rains.

  Alexander, Hephaestion, Seleucus and Perdiccas were all positioned on a small rise from which they could see both the course of the Granicus and a certain extent of the territory beyond the eastern bank.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked the King.

  ‘The clay on the banks is very wet and slippery,’ said Seleucus. ‘If the barbarians take up position along the river they will let loose a rain of arrows and javelins and wipe out many of us before we reach the other side. As for those of us who do get across, our horses will sink up to their knees in the mud, many of them will be lamed and we will be at the total mercy of our enemies once more.’

  ‘It is not an easy situation,’ Perdiccas commented dryly.

  ‘It’s too early to begin to worry about it. Let’s wait for the scouts to return.’

  They waited in silence for some time, and the gurgling of the flowing water was drowned out only by the monotonous croaking of the frogs in the ditches nearby and the chirping of the crickets just beginning in the peaceful evening. At a certain point there came a call, like an owl.

  ‘It’s them,’ said Hephaestion.

  They heard the noise of men walking through the sodden clay and then the gurgling of the river around two dark figures who were fording it – two of their scouts from the shieldsmen battalion.

  ‘Well?’ asked Alexander impatiently. The two looked terrible – completely covered in red mud from head to toe.

  ‘Sire,’ said the first of them, ‘the barbarians are three or four stadia from the Granicus, on a small hill which dominates the plain right up to the banks. They have a double row of sentries and four teams of archers patrolling the area between the camp and the banks of the river. It is extremely difficult to cross without being seen. What’s more, there are bonfires burning all around among the guard units and the sentries are using the concave sides of their shields to project the light outwards.’

  ‘Fine,’ said Alexander. ‘Go back and wait on the other bank. At the slightest movement or sign from the enemy camp, hurry back to this side and raise the alarm with the cavalry guard behind those poplars. I will be told almost instantly and I will decide what is the best thing to do. Go now, and make sure no one spots you.’

  The two slid back down into the river and crossed it again in the waist-deep water. Alexander and his companions walked to their horses to ride back to camp.

  ‘And if tomorrow we find them waiting for us on the banks of the Granicus?’ asked Perdiccas as he took his black horse by the reins.

  Alexander ran his hand quickly through his hair, as he always did when he had a lot on his mind. ‘In that case they will have to line up their infantry along the river. What sense is there in using the cavalry to hold a fixed position?’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Perdiccas, increasingly laconic.

  ‘So they will line up their infantry and we will send out the Thracian, Triballian and Agrianian assault troops, plus the shieldsmen covered by a thick rain of arrows and javelins let loose by the light infantry. If we manage to dislodge the barbarians from the bank, we’ll push the Greek heavy infantry and the phalanx forward, while the cavalry will protect their flanks. Anyway, it’s early yet to decide all this. Let us return now, supper will be ready soon.’

  They went back to the camp and Alexander invited all the commanders to his tent, including the chiefs of the foreign auxiliaries, who felt very honoured.

  During supper they all wore their weapons, as called for by the tense situation. The wine was served in the Greek manner, with three parts of water, meaning that they could approach the discussion with the necessary clarity of mind, and because drunken Agrianians and Triballians were dangerous.

  The King briefed them with all the latest news regarding the situation and they all breathed a sigh of relief; at least their enemies were not yet in direct control of the river.

  ‘Sire,’ said Parmenion, ‘the Black asks for the honour of covering your right flank tomorrow. He fought in th
e front line during the last campaign against the Persians.’

  ‘I fought alongside your father, King Philip, more than once,’ added Cleitus.

  ‘In that case you will be at my side,’ said Alexander.

  ‘Are there any other orders, Sire?’ asked Parmenion.

  ‘Yes. I’ve noticed we already have quite a following of women and merchants. I want them all out of the camp and kept under surveillance until the attack is over. And I want a detachment of light infantry ready for battle stationed on the banks of the Granicus all through the night. Naturally, these men will not fight tomorrow – they will be too tired.’

  Supper finished in due time, the commanders retired for the night and Alexander did too. Leptine helped him take off his armour and his clothes and washed him, having already prepared his bath in a separate area of the royal tent.

  ‘Is it true that you yourself will fight, my Lord?’ she asked as she rubbed his shoulders with a sponge.

  ‘These things do not concern you, Leptine. And if you eavesdrop again from behind the curtain, I will have you sent away.’

  The girl looked down at her feet and stood in silence for a while. Then, when she realized that Alexander was not angry, she started again. ‘Why does it not concern me?’

  ‘Because nothing bad will happen to you should I ever fall in battle. You will have your freedom and sufficient income for you to live your life.’

  Leptine stared at him intensely and sorrowfully. Her chin trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears – she turned her head so that he wouldn’t see.

  But Alexander spotted the tears running down her cheeks. ‘Why are you crying? I thought you would be happy.’

  The girl swallowed her sobs and said, as soon as she was able, ‘I am happy as long as I can be with you, my Lord. If I cannot be with you then there is no light nor breath nor life for me.’

  The noises of the camp faded away. All they could hear were the calls of the guards shouting to one another through the darkness and the barking of the wild dogs scavenging for food. For a moment Alexander seemed to listen out, then he stood up and Leptine approached, ready to dry him.

  ‘I will sleep fully dressed tonight,’ said the King. He put on fresh clothes and chose the armour he would wear the following day: a helmet of bronze, laminated with silver and in the shape of a lion’s head, its jaws wide open and adorned with two long heron feathers, an Athenian breastplate in crushed flax with a bronze heart-plate in the shape of a gorgon, a pair of bronze greaves so shiny they seemed to be gold, a sword-belt of red leather with the face of the goddess Athena at its centre.

  ‘You will be easy to spot from a great distance,’ said Leptine, her voice trembling.

  ‘My men must see me and must know that I risk my own life before risking theirs. And go to sleep now, Leptine, I no longer need you.’

  The girl left, her steps rapid and light. Alexander arranged his weapons on the stand near his bed and extinguished his lamp. His armour, his panoply could be made out in the darkness nonetheless – it was like the ghost of a warrior, waiting motionless for the first light of dawn to bring him back to life.

  6

  ALEXANDER WOKE UP WITH Peritas licking his face and he jumped to his feet to find two servants standing there before him, ready to help him put on his armour. Leptine brought his breakfast on a silver tray – Nestor’s Cup, raw egg beaten with cheese, flour, honey and wine.

  The King ate standing up while they laced up his breastplate and greaves, hung his sword belt across his shoulder and attached his scabbard, complete with sword.

  ‘I don’t want Bucephalas,’ he said as he left. ‘The river banks are too slippery and he would risk his legs. Bring me the Sarmatian bay.’

  His attendants went to prepare the chosen horse and Alexander joined them in the centre of the camp, carrying his helmet under his left arm. Almost all the men were already lined up and there was constant movement from those running to take up position alongside their companions. Alexander mounted the steed and rode to inspect first the Thessalian and Macedonian cavalry squadrons, then the Greek infantry and the phalanx.

  The horsemen of the Vanguard waited for him at the far end of the camp, near the eastern gate, perfectly lined up in five rows. In silence they lifted their javelins as the King passed by.

  The Black took up position alongside Alexander when the King lifted his arm to give the order to move off. There came the rumble of thousands of horses setting off, together with the muted clanking of weapons as the foot-soldiers began their march in the darkness.

  At just a few stadia from the Granicus they heard the noise of horses galloping, and a patrol of four scouts suddenly came out of the darkness and stopped in front of Alexander.

  ‘King,’ said their leader, ‘the barbarians have not yet moved and are encamped at some three stadia from the river, on a slight rise. On the banks there are only patrols of Median and Scythian scouts who have our side under observation. We cannot take them by surprise.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Alexander, ‘but before their army covers the three stadia between them and the eastern bank, we will have crossed the ford and we will be on the other side. At that point most of our work is done.’ He nodded to his bodyguard to move nearer. ‘Tell all the divisional commanders to be ready to cross over to the other bank as soon as a suitable landing site is identified. At the sound of the trumpets we will rush towards the river and ford it as quickly as possible. The cavalry will go first.’

  The guards moved off. Shortly afterwards the infantry stopped to let the two columns of horsemen on their flanks move forwards and line up before the Granicus. A pale light was just beginning to fill the sky to the east.

  ‘They thought that we would have the sun in our eyes, but instead not even the moon will be bothering us,’ said Alexander, indicating the bright crescent that was just setting to the south behind the hills of Phrygia.

  He lifted his hand and guided his horse into the river, followed closely by the Black and by the entire Vanguard squadron. At the same time they heard a shout from the other bank, then ever louder calls culminating in the drawn-out, plaintive sound of a horn accompanied by other signals. The Median and Scythian scouts were sounding the alarm.

  Alexander, who was already half-way across the ford, shouted, ‘Trumpets!’ and the trumpets sounded one single, sharp, piercing note, which sped like a bolt to the other side and mixed with the deeper sound of the horns so that the mountains echoed repeatedly with all the various signals.

  The Granicus seemed to boil with foam as the King and his guards crossed it as quickly as they possibly could. A shout was heard and a Macedonian horseman, wounded, fell into the water. The Median and Scythian scouts were grouped together on the banks and were firing wildly into the approaching group without even taking aim. Others were hit in the neck, in the belly, in the chest. Alexander undid his shield from its bracket and spurred his bay horse forwards again. He had reached the other side!

  ‘Forward!’ he shouted. ‘Forward! Trumpets!’

  The sound of the trumpets became even sharper and more piercing and in response came the neighing of the steeds, excited by the confusion and the shouts of the horsemen kicking them on and even making use of the whip to urge them on against the strong pull of the current.

  The second and third rows had crossed the centre of the ford now, and the fourth, fifth and sixth were just entering the water. Alexander with his squadron were now climbing up the slippery bank. Behind them came the booming, rhythmic marching of the phalanx as they advanced in their regular lines in full battledress.

  The enemy scouts, having run out of bolts, turned their mounts and spurred them on at full speed towards the field, from which came a terrible, confused din of weapons, while the indistinct shadows of soldiers ran everywhere in the darkness, torches in their hands, filling the air with calls and shouts in a hundred different languages.

  Alexander had the Vanguard assume formation and took his place at its he
ad, while two squadrons of the hetairoi and two of the Thessalian cavalry arranged themselves behind and on the flanks, in four rows, under orders from their own commanders. The Macedonians were led by Craterus and Perdiccas, the Thessalians by Prince Amyntas and the officers Oenomaos and Echekratides. The trumpeters waited for a signal from the King to start sounding the charge.

  ‘Black,’ called Alexander. ‘Where are our foot-soldiers?’

  Cleitus trotted over to the end of the line and looked out towards the river. ‘They are scaling the banks now, Sire!’

  ‘Then sound the trumpets! Forward!’

  The trumpets sounded again and twelve thousand horses galloped off together, head to head, panting and neighing, their pace dictated by Alexander’s massive Sarmatian bay.

  In the meantime, on the other side, the Persian cavalry was gathering together at full haste and with considerable confusion – those already lined up were waiting for a signal from their supreme commander, the satrap Spithridates.

  Two scouts arrived at top speed. ‘The Macedonians are launching an attack, Lord!’ they shouted.

  ‘Then follow me!’ ordered Spithridates without any further delay. ‘Let’s send these yauna back where they came from, we will throw them back into the water as fish food! Forward! Forward!’

  The horns sounded and the earth shook under the hammering gallop of the fiery Nysaean steeds. In the front line were the Medians and the Khorasmians with their big double-curved bows, while behind came the Oxians and the Kadusians with their long curved sabres, finally the Saka and the Drangians brandishing enormous scimitars.

  As soon as the cavalry was under way, the heavy infantry of the Greek mercenaries, already in battle trim, followed at a march and in close formation.