‘I will take all responsibility, don’t worry.’
When the Greeks had left, she sent a servant to call for the Egyptian physician, who arrived at full tilt in a carriage from the palace of the satrap Spithridates.
‘What has happened, my Lady?’ he asked as soon as he came out of the carriage.
‘The yauna physicians wanted to use leeches, but I objected – I wanted to hear your opinion first. They have taken offence and have left.’
‘You did the right thing, my Lady. The leeches would have worsened the situation. How is he now?’
‘The fever is still high, but he is awake now and is speaking.’
‘Take me to him.’
They entered Memnon’s room and found him still awake – despite the pleas of the handmaids and the swearing of his men who had kept watch all night outside the door, he was trying to get out of bed.
‘Put any weight on that leg and I will end up having to amputate it,’ said the doctor. Memnon hesitated for a moment then lay down again, grumbling as he did so. Barsine uncovered his thigh for the examination and the Egyptian began inspecting it – it was swollen, irritated and evidently painful, but there were no obvious signs of infection as yet. Then he opened his bag and emptied the contents on the small table near the bed.
‘What is this?’ asked Barsine.
‘It’s a type of moss. I have seen Oxian soldiers treat their wounds with it and very often it results in rapid healing. I do not know how it works, but the important thing for a doctor is the cure, not his own convictions. I’m afraid that the mallow compresses on their own will not be enough.’
He moved over to Memnon and applied the moss, securing it in place with a bandage. ‘If by tomorrow morning he has a terrible itching, almost unbearable, then that means he’s on the mend. But don’t let him scratch it, even if you have to tie his hands together. If he has more pain and it becomes more swollen, then you must call me because if that happens we must amputate. I have to go now – there are many wounded to take care of at Zeleia.’
The doctor’s carriage, pulled by a pair of mules, moved off. Barsine allowed her husband’s soldiers to see him for a short time before she climbed to the highest tower of the palace, where she had had a small shrine built. A priest awaited her there, praying intensely, his gaze fixed on the sacred flame.
Barsine knelt on the floor in silence, watching the tongues of flame dancing in the light breeze that came down from the mountains, and awaited the response. In the end the priest uttered these words: ‘This is not the wound that will kill him.’
‘Can you tell me no more?’ asked the woman anxiously.
The priest again stared into the eyes of the flames that gained strength now with the rising wind. ‘For Memnon I see a great honour, but with this honour comes a grave danger. Stand by him, my Lady, and make sure his children stand by him too. They still have many things to learn from him.’
8
ALL THE SPOILS taken from the Persian camp and the weapons and armour stripped from the dead had been piled up in the centre of the Macedonian camp. Eumenes’s men were busy taking the inventory.
Alexander arrived with Hephaestion and Seleucus and sat down on a stool close by the secretary general.
‘How’s your head?’ asked Eumenes, indicating the large bandage, handiwork of Philip the physician.
‘Not so bad,’ replied Alexander, ‘but I was lucky. If it hadn’t been for the Black, I wouldn’t be here today. As you can see, Eumenes,’ he continued, pointing to the rich pile of loot, ‘there’s no longer any reason to worry about money. There’s enough here to keep our men going for at least a month, and even to pay the mercenaries.’
‘Don’t you want to keep something for yourself?’ asked Eumenes.
‘No. But I’d like to have the purple cloth, the rugs and the drapes sent to my mother, and something for my sister as well . . . those Persian clothes, for example. Cleopatra appreciates exotic things.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ said Eumenes, and he gave orders to the servants to prepare the selected items. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes. Choose three hundred sets of armour, the finest of the lot, and have them sent to Athens as an offering to the goddess Athena in the Parthenon. With a dedication.’
‘A special dedication?’
‘Of course. Please write: “From Alexander and the Greeks, with the sole exception of the Spartans, having stripped this armour from the barbarians of Asia.” ’
‘A fine insult for the Spartans,’ said Seleucus.
‘No less than they inflicted on me by refusing to take part in my expedition,’ replied the King. ‘It won’t be long before they realize that they are no more than a small, insignificant village. The world moves with Alexander.’
‘I have arranged for Apelles and Lysippus to come here to depict you in poses on horseback,’ said Eumenes. ‘They should arrive somewhere along the coast in a few days’ time – Assus or Abydos. In any case we’ll know in good time so that you can pose for both the statue and the painting.’
‘I’m not really concerned about that sort of thing,’ said Alexander. ‘What I do want is a monument to our men who fell in battle, something that has never been seen before, something that only Lysippus is capable of creating.’
‘Soon we will have news of the effects of your victory on both our friends and our enemies,’ said Seleucus. ‘I am interested to know what the people of Lampsacus will have to say, the ones who didn’t want to be liberated.’
‘They will suddenly say that they are most grateful to you for their liberation,’ laughed Hephaestion. ‘The winner is always right, the loser is always wrong.’
‘Has the letter for my mother been dispatched?’ Alexander asked Eumenes.
‘As soon as you gave it to me. At this point it will already be on the coast. With a favourable wind it will reach Macedonia in three days at the most.’
‘Has there been any contact with the Persians?’
‘None at all.’
‘That is strange . . . I had my surgeons take care of their wounded and I had their dead buried with full honours.’
Eumenes raised an eyebrow.
‘Are you trying to tell me something? Because if you are . . . by Zeus, speak!’
‘That’s exactly what the problem is.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The Persians don’t bury their dead.’
‘What?’
‘I didn’t know either. One of the prisoners explained to me yesterday. The Persians consider the soil sacred and they consider fire sacred, while for them a corpse is simply refuse – to bury a corpse would contaminate the soil, and if they were to burn it as we do then it would contaminate fire, which for them is actually a god.’
‘So . . . what happens?’
‘They put the corpses up on plateaux or high up in towers in the mountains, where they are eaten by the birds and are slowly consumed by the elements. They call these buildings their “towers of silence”.’
Alexander said nothing. He got up and started walking towards his tent.
Eumenes understood what sort of mood the King was in now and gestured to their companions not to detain him. ‘He feels humiliated for not having understood the customs of a people he esteems and for having offended them, albeit involuntarily.’
It was only after sunset that Eumenes went to see the King after having had himself announced. Alexander had him enter the tent.
‘General Parmenion has invited you to supper with all of us, if you wish to come.’
‘Yes, tell him I’ll be with you shortly.’
‘You mustn’t take it badly. You could never have known . . .’ said Eumenes, seeing how despondent he still was.
‘That is not the reason why. I was thinking . . .’
‘About what?’
‘About this custom of the Persians.’
‘It seems to me it must be a rite they have preserved since the time when they were nomads.’
/>
‘This is the great thing about the rite – it is a custom of their ancestors and it has not been forgotten. My friend, should I ever fall in battle, perhaps I too would like to sleep for ever in a tower of silence.’
9
THE FOLLOWING DAY Alexander sent Parmenion to occupy Dascylium, the capital of Pontic Phrygia, a fine city on the sea with a great fortified palace. The general also had orders to take possession of Zeleia.
The Persian nobility had fled, taking with them only their most precious things. Parmenion interrogated the servants at Zeleia to discover where they had gone and to have news of Memnon, whose corpse had not been found on the battlefield.
‘We have not seen him since then, my Lord,’ said one of the palace administrators. ‘Perhaps he was wounded and managed to drag himself far away from the site of the battle only to die later, hidden away somewhere. Perhaps his servants and his soldiers found him and buried him to make sure the dogs and the vultures did not get to him. But we have not seen him.’
Parmenion sent for Philotas, his son.
‘I don’t believe a word I’ve been told by these barbarians, but it is anyway likely that Memnon was wounded. Our information is that he had a villa here, where he lived like a Persian satrap. Have squadrons of light cavalry search the area – this Greek is the most dangerous of all our enemies. If he is alive, he will create many problems for us. Last night I saw the flashing of light signals up on the mountains – news of our victory is surely travelling far and wide and at great speed. The response will not be long in coming, and it certainly won’t be with a message of welcome.’
‘I will do everything I can, Father, and I will deliver him to you trussed up at your feet.’
Parmenion shook his head. ‘You will do nothing of the sort. If you find him, treat him with respect: Memnon is the most valiant warrior east of the Straits.’
‘But he is a mercenary.’
‘And what does that mean? He is a man whose life has stripped him of all illusions and who now believes in his sword alone. For me this is reason enough to respect him.’
Philotas scoured the countryside stone by stone, searching the villas and the palaces, interrogating slaves, even resorting to torture, but he obtained nothing.
‘Nothing,’ he reported to his father a few days later. ‘Nothing at all. It’s as if he’d never existed.’
‘Perhaps there is a way to root him out. Keep an eye on the doctors, especially the good ones, and find out where their work is – you might just find yourself at the bedside of an illustrious patient.’
‘That’s a good idea, Father. It’s strange, but I had always thought of you as a soldier, as a man capable only of thinking up ingenious battle plans.’
‘Winning a battle is never enough – the difficult part comes afterwards.’
‘I will do as you have advised me.’
From that day onwards, Philotas began distributing money and cultivating friendships, especially among people of more humble station, and he was not long in learning who were the best physicians, and who was the best of them all – an Egyptian by the name of Snefru-en-Kaptah. He had attended to King Darius at Susa and had been the personal physician of Spithridates, the Satrap of Phrygia.
Philotas had a series of observation posts set up and one evening the Egyptian was spotted leaving his home by a small rear door, after which he climbed aboard a cart drawn by a mule and headed off into the countryside. Philotas, with a patrol of light cavalry, followed him at a safe distance and off the road. After a long ride in the dark, in the distance they spotted the lights of a fine dwelling – a palace with battlements, porticoes and balconies.
‘This is it,’ he announced to his men. ‘Stand by.’
They dismounted and moved closer on foot, holding the animals by their bridles. But just as they were approaching the palace, they were welcomed on both flanks by a furious barking – a pack of ferocious Cappadocian bulldogs was attacking them.
They had to use their spears to keep them at bay, but in the dark they could not take aim properly and to use bows and arrows was even more difficult so that they found themselves having to engage in close combat, using daggers. Some of the steeds, frightened terribly, bolted, neighing and kicking, into the night and the horsemen, when they finally got the upper hand over the pack that had attacked them, found the number of horses almost halved.
‘We must continue all the same!’ ordered Philotas in a fury.
They leaped on to their mounts, those who still had them, and rode to the courtyard of the palace, which was lit by lamps arranged all around the portico. There before them was a most beautiful woman, dressed in a Persian gown with long golden fringes.
‘Who are you?’ she asked in Greek. ‘What do you want?’
‘I am sorry, my Lady, but we are looking for a man who has sold his sword to the barbarians and we have reason to believe he is in this house, probably wounded. We followed his doctor.’
The woman was obviously shocked by these words and turned pale with rage, but she moved to one side to let them past. ‘Come in and look anywhere you wish, but I beg you to behave appropriately in the women’s quarters. If you fail to respect my wishes I will make sure your King is informed. I hear he is a man who cannot bear any abuse of power.’
‘Did you hear that?’ Philotas asked as he turned to face his men, covered in wounds and dirt from the dogs.
‘I am sorry,’ Barsine then added, as she realized exactly what a state they were in. ‘If you had had yourselves announced, you could have avoided meeting the dogs. Unfortunately the area is rife with brigands and we have to take measures to protect ourselves. As for the physician, I will lead you to him immediately.’
Together with Philotas she entered the atrium and then started off along a long corridor, behind a handmaid who held a burning lamp.
They entered a room where a youth lay on a bed. Snefru-en-Kaptah was examining him.
‘How is he?’ asked Barsine.
‘It is only indigestion. Have him drink this infusion three times a day and have him fast all day tomorrow. He will soon be fighting fit.’
‘I must speak to the doctor alone,’ said Philotas, ‘with only my interpreter present.’
‘As you wish,’ Barsine agreed, and showed them both into a nearby room.
‘We know that this is Memnon’s home,’ Philotas began as soon as the door was closed.
‘Indeed, it is,’ the Egyptian confirmed.
‘We are looking for him.’
‘In that case you must look elsewhere, because he is not here.’
‘And where is he?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Have you treated him?’
‘Yes. I treat all those who require my services.’
‘You are of course aware that I can . . . oblige you to speak if I so choose.’
‘Of course, but I will not be able to tell you any more than I already have. Do you think that a man like Memnon would ever tell his doctor where he was planning on going?’
‘Was he wounded?’
‘Yes.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Any wound can be a serious one. It depends on how it progresses.’
‘I have no need of a medical lesson. I want to know what state Memnon was in the last time you saw him.’
‘He was on the mend.’
‘Thanks to your treatment.’
‘And those of some Greek doctors, including a certain Ariston of Adramyttion, if I remember correctly.’
‘Was he in any condition to ride?’
‘I really have no idea. I know nothing of horses. And now, if you will excuse me, I have other patients who are waiting for me.’
Philotas could not think of anything else to ask the doctor and let him go. Back in the atrium he met up with his men, who in the meantime had searched the house.
‘Well?’
‘Nothing. There’s no sign of him. If he has been here, he certainly left some time ago, or he is h
idden somewhere we can’t think of, unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless we set this place alight – if there are any rats hidden away they would have to come out at that stage, don’t you think?’
Barsine bit her lip, but she said nothing. She simply lowered her eyes so as not to meet the gaze of her enemies.
Philotas shook his head in disappointment. ‘Let’s just leave it and clear off – there’s nothing here of any interest to us.’ They left, and shortly afterwards the galloping of their horses faded into the distance, followed by the barking of the dogs. When they were three stadia away, Philotas pulled on the reins of his mount.
‘Blast! I bet right now as I speak he’s crawling out of some hole and he’ll be speaking peacefully with his wife. A beautiful woman . . . beautiful, by Zeus!’
‘I don’t understand why we didn’t grab her and . . .’ said one of his men, a Thracian from Salmydessus.
‘Because she’s too rich for your palate and if Alexander were ever to find out he’d cut your balls off and give them to his dog for supper. Indulge yourself with the camp whores if you really don’t know where to put it. Let’s go now, we’ve been riding around for too long.’
At that very moment, over on the other side of the valley, Memnon was being transported towards another refuge on a stretcher suspended between two mules, one behind and one in front.
Before crossing through the pass that led to the Vale of Ephesus and the city of Azira, he asked the mule driver who was leading the first animal by its halter to stop. Memnon sat up and turned his head to look back at the lights of his home. He could still smell the perfume of Barsine’s last embrace.
10
THE ARMY MOVED SOUTHWARDS with the wagon and mule trains, in the direction of Mount Ida and the Gulf of Adramyttion. There was no longer any reason to stay in the north because the capital of the satrapy of Phrygia had been occupied and was held by a Macedonian garrison.
Parmenion had returned to assume deputy command of the army while Alexander retained control of all decisions regarding strategy.
Alexander (Vol. 2) Page 6
