The two ambassadors blanched but said nothing.
Seeing their discomfiture, Alexandros hastened to reassure them. “There will be no purges, once my soldiers take control of your cities. So, all you need to do is hang on for dear life till we get there.” He laughed at his own joke.
The ambassadors didn’t join in the general merriment.
“And as far as the tribute is concerned, you’re absolutely right. From this moment forward, not an obol will go to the Persian emperor. And of course, we Macedonians do not ever extort tribute from our fellow Greeks. So, your days of paying tribute are over.”
The ambassadors nodded, pleased to have achieved at least this one concession.
“How much was each of your cities paying in tribute, by the way?”
The ambassadors told him, exaggerating a little perhaps, to emphasize their former plight.
Hearing the two figures, Alexandros lit up with pleasure. “What an absolutely marvelous coincidence! As you both must appreciate, all member cities must pay dues to the Hellenic League. The benefits of League protection don’t come free but, trust me, they’re well worth the cost. As luck would have it, the dues that your cities will have to pay from this moment forward are almost exactly equal to the tribute you’ve had to bear so patiently heretofore.”
The ambassadors stared at him numbly.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some other matters I must see to. And again, I am sorry I can’t get down to give you a proper welcoming hug.”
Hephaistion put a hand on each of their shoulders. The two ambassadors, recovering themselves, bowed deeply and backed out of the room.
“Well, that went well,” Alexandros laughed when they were gone. “Who’s next?”
“We have no further ambassadors waiting at the moment,” Hephaistion informed him.
“In that case, let’s get out there and round some up. Parmenion, this is where you come in. Take the Thessalian cavalry, plus two brigades of allied infantry, but leave all of our Macedonians with me. I’ll need them soon enough at Miletos. Your job is to liberate all the remaining cities of Ionia, aside from Miletos. If they come over voluntarily, great. If they don’t, it’s your job to persuade them to change their minds. I don’t want any massacres and I don’t want any purges. We don’t want to destroy our own property. But, most important, we don’t want Ionia reverting to the Persians by next spring. Got that?”
“Yes, sire.”
“And in the meantime, we need all the treasure you can seize. The boys and I are going on to Miletos as soon as we’re finished here. And if necessary, we’ll move on from there to Halikarnassos. So, let’s keep in contact. I can send you reinforcements if you need them and I want you and your men available, if we run into trouble at Miletos or Halikarnassos. Any questions?”
“No, sire. I understand. I know what we’re trying to accomplish and I’ll carry out your instructions to the letter. And thank you for reposing your confidence in me.”
“I know you’ll do a great job, Parmenion. Because if you don’t, I’ll find somebody else who will.”
“But sire,” Parmenion started to protest.
“Just a joke, old man. Relax. May Tyche look kindly on your endeavors. And send me frequent updates. I want to know everything that’s going on, every step of the way. And don’t forget to forward all tribute and treasure you collect as soon as possible.”
“I understand, sire. Same as always.”
“And one more thing. Get a message out to the fleet in the harbor. I need to speak with your son.”
“I’m here already,” Nikanoros spoke up from one of the couches. “I figured the fleet could manage without me for a day or two, once it was obvious the Persian garrison had run away.”
“Sorry, Nikanoros; didn’t see you there. This posing is getting to be a pain in the ass. Hey, Apelles, how is that picture coming?”
“We’re getting there, sire. Just sit still, please.”
At that Alexandros jumped off his horse. “Enough already. Let me see what you’ve got.”
We all crowded around the easel. The painting was unfinished but the central figure of Alexandros, sitting on his steed, was done. It was a remarkably good likeness, especially in light of the speed with which the artist had executed it.
“I don’t like it,” Alexandros announced, as soon as he laid eyes on the unfinished picture. He snatched it off the easel and started waving it around. “Does anybody like it?” No one was willing to venture an opinion, except Boukephalas, who whinnied.
“Your horse is a better art critic than you are, sire,” Apelles quickly noted.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure what would happen next but Alexandros broke into boisterous laughter. The rest of the company quickly joined in.
Alexandros struggled to catch his breath. “Well, in the case, you’d better ask Boukephalas to pay your fee.” He finally stopped laughing. “If you expect me to pay, you’d better redo this picture.”
An extended conference between the painter and his subject ensued, during which the subject clarified his expectations. The painter assured him that he now understood the subject’s wishes and the subject resumed his seat on the art critic’s back.
“Nikanoros, I’ve received new intelligence this morning from our friends down the coast. The Persian fleet has been observed sailing north, presumably toward Miletos. You have to get your ships down there, fast! We’ve gotta beat them to the harbor and then maintain a blockade of the city. Otherwise, our siege of Miletos’s got no chance.”
“But sire, the Persians have three times as many warships as we do,” a voice spoke up from the room.
“Parmenion, are you still here? I thought I’d sent you to organize your forces.”
Parmenion only shook his head. He was finally beginning to realize there was no talking sense into his young king, once the king had made up his mind.
Nikanoros came to his father’s rescue. “We can do it, your majesty. Come on, father, let’s get going.” And with that, they were both out of the room.
Many other details required attention. It was getting late in the afternoon by the time Alexandros had finished appointing (or reappointing) officials to administer Ephesos once we were gone and mapping out our strategy for the coming days.
The next time he alighted from his horse, the painting was done. When Apelles handed him the second version of the portrait, Alexandros would not let go of it. “It’s perfect,” he cried. “A masterpiece.”
I couldn’t wait to see it for myself. It was indeed an extremely workmanlike portrait. Alexandros was still seated on Boukephalas but now he was no longer wearing armor. Instead, he was clothed in the flowing robes of Zeus. The helmet under his left arm had been replaced by a chubby, wiggly baby Hermes and the sword in his right hand had become a lightning bolt.
“It’s perfect,” Alexandros repeated. “Hephaistion, pay the man his fee!”
Hephaistion nodded, not bothering to ask where the money was supposed to come from.
*******
I felt a nudge in my ribs. “You’re needed outside,” a voice whispered from behind. “Follow me!”
By the time I turned to see who it was, the man was already walking briskly toward the door. He wore the standard armor of a cavalry officer and, although I didn’t recognize him from the back, I shrugged and followed. Just then, Alexandros cracked another joke at poor Apelles’s expense, causing a momentary uptick in the already boisterous hubbub enveloping the large room, making it unlikely that anyone noted my departure. I wonder, what is it now?
No sooner had I cleared the doorway than the world turned dark and dusty, as a result of a filthy feedbag being thrown over my head. Simultaneously, a number of hands grabbed my arms and torso. Someone embraced me from behind, placing the edge of a dagger against my carotid artery just below the Adam’s apple. “You’ll bleed out like a sacrificial lamb if you make a fuss.” The timbre, the cadence, the sibilance were unmistakable.
“Aristandros,
my old friend!” I tried unsuccessfully to keep my voice light and jovial. “I knew you’d pull something like this.”
“Well, in that case your powers of clairvoyance are almost as good as mine. What do you think will happen next?”
Chapter 8 – Miletos
They must have bonked me on the head because the next thing I remember was awakening, underground, with a tremendous headache. The bastards buried me alive. My first reaction was surprise. Greeks didn’t bury people alive, even people they were trying to kill. I was also surprised to be breathing; laboriously but gloriously breathing. Must be an air pocket.
I tried to claw my way out. That’s when I realized I was all tied up. A thick, coarse rope wound its way all the way up my legs, binding them together, and then continuing up my arms and torso, pinning my arms against my body. I could wiggle my fingers, though, and the dirt in which I was entombed felt funny, more straw than soil. A then something truly scary happened – my grave moved.
In fact, once it started to move, my grave kept bouncing and lurching along, shifting the burden pressing down on my chest from side to side. There were also the usual sounds associated with a heavy wagon making its way down a rutted path. Hey, I’m not buried alive! I’m just being shipped along, trussed up like a pig ready for roasting, covered by a big load of hay. It was the happiest thought I’d had since I realized I wouldn’t be getting killed in a pankration match.
A short while later, we stopped and I could feel people scrambling atop the hay pile, trying to dig me out. Eventually, I was disinterred and carried up some steps into a nice, cool, echoingly quiet building, where I was unceremoniously dumped on a rock-hard surface. Too bad more of that straw didn’t stick to my butt.
Someone raised me to a sitting position and pulled the feedback off my head. I found myself looking at the crotch and skinny legs of an enrobed old man. I shifted my gaze upward. Aristandros’s viperous visage came swimming into sight. He smiled at me brightly. “I trust you found your transport comfortable enough, Metoikos. We certainly meant you no harm but we couldn’t afford to make a scene with all those people around. It’s much more private here.”
I glanced around. I was sitting in the naos of a small, plain temple, facing the entryway, which was also apparently the only source of illumination. Two armed men, with their backs to me, stood guard, making sure no inconvenient worshipers intruded. A dozen additional soldiers lined the walls, facing me. I recognized most of them. They were fellow cavalrymen, although none had served directly under me.
I wonder whose temple this is? The cult figure must have been positioned directly behind me, so I had no clue. C’mon, focus! I forced myself to look back at Aristandros. “Get me to my feet, you charlatan, so I can spit in your eyes!”
“Now, now. Let’s try to be civil. These men simply want to hear one of your historical disquisitions. I told them that you, despite being a foreign fart, know more Greek history than any man alive.”
One of the cavalrymen leaning against the wall bestirred himself. “Yeah, how come you know so much?”
“I know you, don’t I? What’s your name, soldier?”
Aristandros, worried about losing control, took over. “You’re here to answer our questions, not the other way around. We know you’re a Persian spy. We’re just trying to find out your accomplices before we put an end to your snooping.”
“Why would you think I was Persian?”
“There he goes again, responding to a question with a question,” Aristandros said. “Definitely a spy.”
“Because Persians have all that book learning and stuff,” another cavalryman interjected. “That’s why they’re such lousy fighters.”
I laughed. “They are lousy fighters, that’s for sure. But don’t be so damn insecure. They don’t know any more history than you do. Just the opposite. There’s no Persian Homeros or Herodotos or Xenophon. They’re barbarians, remember?”
“Who in Haides are those people?” This from another soldier. “I’ve heard of Homeros but the other two?”
Aristandros stepped in again. “Enough chit-chat. Are you ready to tell us your fellow traitors in the ranks or should we start breaking bones right now?”
I tried to get to my feet but the ropes made it impossible. “Listen, you overgrown sphincter! If there’s a traitor in this room, we all know it’s you. The rest of us have been fighting and risking our lives since this war began. What have you been doing? Slaughtering defenseless animals and poking around in offal.”
That’s when he kicked me in the jaw. For an old man, he had surprisingly good balance and plenty of power left in his leg. “That’s enough! He’s just playing for time. He’ll never reveal anything. Let’s kill him right now.”
His blow had caused me to topple onto the stone floor. Before I could gather myself, the slimy seer pounced, butcher knife in hand, ready to cut my throat. I managed to roll to my side, throwing him off temporarily.
Aristandros scrambled to regain his perch on top of me. “C’mon, men. Hold him steady! The gods prefer us to finish our sacrificial animals with a clean cut.”
Finally, I’d had enough. “I’m not an animal!” I roared. “I am the king’s bodyguard! The next man who touches me will die by the king’s own hand – I guarantee it.”
None of the men moved.
“What’s the matter with you? You gonna let this old charlatan bamboozle you?”
“He’s not a charlatan,” a hesitant voice rose from a corner. “He’s brought us victory after victory.”
“He’s brought us diddlyshit. It’s your arms and your valor that’s brought us victory. Now, get this maniac off of me and untie me right now!”
The men hesitated. Aristandros, in the meantime, grabbed my hair and yanked my head back to give himself space to operate.
“Cavalry squadron coming!” one of the guards standing at the door called out.
“If you free me now, I give you my word no one will ever find out what happened. We’ll chalk it up to horseplay.”
The men physically lifted the aging soothsayer from my torso, stood me up, untied me, and brushed off the remaining straw. And I kept my word. No one ever found out what had almost happened. On the other hand, I also resolved to prevent Aristandros from ever attempting to do it again.
*******
Not all the cities of Ionia welcomed liberation as eagerly as Ephesos, Tralles, and Magnesia had done. In Priene, for example, the citizenry voted to lock the city gates and keep them locked as long as there were any elements of the pan-Hellenic army roaming the countryside. Presumably, they counted on their town being too insignificant to warrant a detour by Alexandros. And indeed, Alexandros didn’t take the time to besiege Priene; however, he did order Parmenion to do so. The old general carried out his orders. The city walls were breached; all visible opposition hunted down and destroyed; and a Macedonia garrison left behind. Priene became a part of the Hellenic League and its voluntary contribution was set at a level significantly higher than the tribute it had been obliged to pay to Dareios. On the other hand, Parmenion also managed to restrain his troops, so there was no generalized pillage, rapine, or slaughter. (Perhaps a small touch of looting may have taken place.) Finally, when Parmenion’s report mentioned a shrine to Athena under construction in the city, Alexandros dispatched some captured Persian armor for display in the sanctuary, a small donation to the building fund, and one additional order: When the citizens came to visit their newly constructed temple, they were greeted by an inscription on a column flanking the entrance that read: “King Alexandros built this temple to Athena Polias.” This time, Alexandros hadn’t asked the temple priests for their consent.
And then there was the case of Telmessos, where the citizens, relying on a small but well-armed Persian garrison, securely entrenched on the akropolis, refused to negotiate with the Macedonian envoys.
Alexandros took a particular delight in the obstinance of this small city. “I should’ve known,” he said to Aristandros, u
pon receiving his envoys’ report. It’s exactly what I would’ve expected from your home town. Aristandros, you’re a worthy native son of Telmessos.”
Aristandros was mortified, which made Alexandros amused and the rest of us delighted. I hope he nails the old charlatan’s ass to one of his divination rods, I thought but kept my mouth shut.
“I’m so sorry, sire,” the old seer protested. “My fellow Telmessians are incredibly blind to the will of the gods but I think I have a way to make them see the light.”
“This I’ve gotta see,” Kleitos muttered.
Aristandros ignored the interruption. “I still have friends in town. Leave it to me, your majesty. I’ll have the problem solved by dawn. Just have a small commando unit ready to go upon my signal.”
This was too much gall for Philatos. “Nobody’s going anywhere on a diviner’s signal. We still have military officers in charge of this army, last I heard.”
Alexandros clapped a calming hand on his shoulder. “Just hold your horses. Let me talk to Aristandros in private.”
In the event, Perdikkas was put in charge of the commando unit, which captured the Telmessos akropolis shortly after dawn. Perdikkas had received his signal from Alexandros, who had acted as soon as Aristandros gave him the nod. And Aristandros had nodded as soon as he saw the beacon flare up on the akropolis. The signal beacon had been lit by one of the dancing girls hired by Aristandros.
The dancing girls had made their way up to the akropolis the previous evening, claiming it was their religious duty to celebrate some festival or other on the hilltop that night. The Persian commander rescinded his standing order against admitting any outsiders to the akropolis upon learning the celebrations included not only feasting, drinking, music, dancing, and chanting, but also a round of ritual coupling. In fact, believing it would be good for morale, he encouraged his soldiers to participate in the festivities. The soldiers didn’t need to be told twice.
In due course, after all the food was eaten, and all the wine imbibed, and all the dancing completed, and all the women’s garments removed, and all the soldiers paired off with the worshippers, the commander chose the comeliest celebrant for himself. At which point, the women tugged apart their flutes to reveal hidden stiletto blades, which they used to stab the soldiers repeatedly, aiming their thrusts, acolytes of Eros that they were, for the hearts of their partners. After their work was completed, one of the dancing girls lit the beacon to send a signal to Aristandros. Perdikkas’s commandos didn’t encounter any resistance when they reached the akropolis. And the rest of us learned another important lesson about the visionary powers of Aristandros the Seer.
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