Alexander the Great

by Jamila Gavin

  The coast of Asia drew closer. Before them was the Harbour of the Achaeans – named after the Greeks who landed there to fight the Trojan War. Alexander’s eyes burned as he imagined the Achaean warriors preparing to leap ashore to fight the Trojans. Beyond the sand dunes and low hillocks, lay a flat, bleak plain stretching to where ancient Troy had stood as a vast city fort extending over hundreds of acres, with palaces, temples, towers, walls and citadels.

  Alexander put on his suit of armour and took up his spear. He must be the first to touch Asian soil. As the boat came nearer to land, Alexander hurled his spear onto the shore. This was the first blow against the Persian Empire. Now the war had truly begun.

  The Persians had a massive fleet of ships, yet not one of them was there to stop Alexander. Perhaps they thought he was too young, too weak, too poor to pose any threat. It was generations since the Greeks had won a battle against the Persians. Perhaps King Darius thought he was just an upstart, who could be swatted away at will, like a troublesome fly. But in Alexander’s mind this was not just a war about empire. This was about destiny. He was a young man convinced that his destiny was to be a hero who would be remembered alongside all other heroes, and when the stories about him came to be written, they would speak of Alexander in the same breath as Hector, Rostam, Gilgamesh, Krishna and Achilles – especially Achilles.

  The legendary city of Troy which Homer wrote about had long since been laid waste by wars and earthquakes. All that remained was a small village among the ruins of walls, palaces and ancient tombs spread over a vast area. Alexander’s first act on reaching Troy was to search out the tomb of Achilles, so that he could honour his hero, while his best friend, Hephaistion, paid homage to Patroclus.

  That night in Troy, lying in his tent, Alexander reached for his beloved copy of Homer’s Iliad, and read about the dreadful but glorious battles between the Greeks and the Trojans.

  ACHILLES’ DESTINY

  It so happened, over a thousand years ago, that Helen, the beautiful wife of King Agamemnon of Greece, had been stolen away by Paris, Prince of Troy.

  With furious heart, Agamemnon had rallied together a fleet of a thousand ships and the finest warriors to go and fight the Trojans and bring back Helen. Among them was Achilles, the greatest champion among the Achaeans. Achilles was keen and ready to go to war, but his mother, Thetis, did everything she could to prevent her son leaving. “Your life will be brief. If only you could be free of cares and sorrows now, for you will not last long, o child of mine, short-lived among men, and to be so pitied.”

  But Achilles knew it was his destiny.

  There was only one other warrior who could be compared to Achilles, and that was his enemy, the noble Hector, son of King Priam of Troy and Queen Hecuba.

  The bards sang of Troy, and of the bravery and courage of both sides. Fortunes swung with the whim of the gods, first this way, then that, without any clear notion as to who would win. Then Achilles had a quarrel with his own king, Agamemnon, and was so furious with him that he withdrew to his tent and refused to fight. From that moment, the Greeks began to get the worst of it, and it seemed the Trojans were winning.

  The Greeks were in despair and felt abandoned by the gods. If only Achilles would come out and fight. At last, Achilles’ dearest and most beloved friend, Patroclus, went to him in his tent and begged him to come to the rescue; so many of his comrades had died. But still Achilles was sulky and adamant. Then Patroclus remembered how even the sight of Achilles’ armour brought terror to the enemy and made them flee, so he asked Achilles if he might wear his armour and carry his shield.

  “Give the Greeks some gleam of hope.

  Give me the armour from thy shoulders.

  Give me thy mail to wear,

  So that the Trojans, at the sight of me,

  May think I am Achilles, and may pause

  From fighting. Then the warlike sons of Greece,

  Tired as they are, may breathe once more, and gain

  A respite from the conflict.”

  So Achilles gave Patroclus his glittering mail. Patroclus put it on and led the Greek warriors into battle.

  Everyone knew Achilles’ armour. How often it had struck dread into the heart of his enemies. Achilles was so savage and merciless in war, that even his friends were horrified. At the sight of his fearsome armour, the Trojan soldiers wavered. Achilles was back, they thought, and they feared for their lives.

  But suddenly, Hector appeared; glorious heroic Hector, Hector the Horse Tamer. Patroclus found himself face to face with this mighty Trojan hero. He was like a boar facing a lion. Hector raised his spear, aimed, and struck the death blow. Patroclus crashed to the ground, dead.

  The Trojans cheered. “Hector has killed Achilles! The war must be over. The Trojans must be the victors.” But when Hector stripped away the armour, he saw not Achilles, but Patroclus.

  When Achilles heard of the death of his best friend, he was distraught with guilt and fury. He raged and wept, and descended into such dark despair that everyone feared for him. His mother, Thetis, goddess of the ocean, arose from her cave beneath the sea and came to comfort him. But Achilles told her, “I must avenge my friend’s death and kill Hector,” even though he knew that it was prophesied that he himself would die soon after Hector.

  Desperate to keep her son alive as long as possible, Thetis entreated him to wait a day while she obtained a new suit of armour for him, and she sped away to the god Hephaestus – the Divine Armourer.

  While he waited, Achilles leaped upon the city wall and bellowed a dreadful heart-rending cry, which utterly terrified the Trojans.

  Meanwhile, silver-footed Thetis arrived in the radiant, bronze-constructed, imperishable and starry dwelling of Hephaestus, and set him to work straight away to make her son a suit with armour of divine qualities.

  Thetis returned the next day bringing marvellous weapons, and a suit of armour which only a god could have forged. Achilles put it on, and sprang into his chariot, yelling hoarse war cries. With deadly sorrow and hatred burning in his eyes, he went in search of Hector.

  At first Hector fled, but Achilles taunted him for his cowardice. At last Hector stopped. He turned and faced Achilles, suddenly brimming with reckless courage. The two warriors fell upon each other with thundering blows. Their struggles churned up the dust, so that the two men disappeared, and all that could be heard was the clash and thud of blows, and metal against metal.

  At last action ceased. There was a terrible silence. Who was the victor? As the dust settled, the watchers saw Achilles binding Hector’s body to his chariot.

  Maddened by grief, Achilles was pitiless in victory. Nine times, he galloped round the city, dragging the corpse behind him, before the very eyes of Hector’s horrified parents. Finally, he abandoned it near the funeral pyre of his beloved friend, Patroclus. Grief-stricken, Hector’s father came to Achilles to plead for the return of his son’s body. Achilles was moved by the old king’s dignity in sorrow, and finally allowed the hero’s body to be removed for proper death rites.

  With Hector dead, Achilles knew that he too was doomed to die and that the Fates had almost finished spinning the thread of his own life. He plunged back into battle, leading his men towards the gates of the city, known as the Scaean Gates. There he was glimpsed by Paris of Troy, Paris who had caused the war by stealing Helen, and who was still unwilling to return her to her husband, Agamemnon. Paris now took up his bow and aimed at Achilles. He let fly his arrow. O fatal arrow, how surely did it speed on its deadly path; not to strike Achilles’ god-given armour, nor his shield of bronze, but the one part of him uncovered by his sandal.

  Achilles’ heel was pierced; the heel his mother had held when she dipped him into the sacred life-giving waters of the Styx; the heel which was unprotected; his weakest spot.

  And so the prophecy came true. Achilles died beneath the walls of Troy, and his ashes were placed in the same urn as those of Patroclus.

  For Alexander the story was as fres
h as if it had happened yesterday. Inspired, he went to the temple in Troy, and took possession of a suit of armour which was known to be Achilles’, and also took down Achilles’ shield, which had been hanging there since the Trojan War. From then on, this armour travelled with him everywhere – even as far as India. It was an inspiration, and sometimes he wore it to give him courage, reminding him of those ancient heroes.

  O heroes! Remember that battles don’t just bring glory, but also heart-rending sorrow which comes with the deaths of comrades.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PERSIA: ON ENEMY SOIL

  Alexander was now on Persian territory, which had once belonged to Greece.

  The Persians worshipped a god called Ahura Mazda. He was the god of the sky, sometimes appearing like a sun with wings, at other times as a bearded figure, accompanied by winged lions, scorpion men and bulls with men’s heads. The Persian emperor, Darius III was worshipped as Ahura Mazda, their supreme god on earth.

  Over generations, Persian rule had been unassailable, their wealth unimaginable, their resources seemingly endless. The Persians had beaten the Greeks many times. What did it matter if Alexander had crossed the Hellespont with his army? Darius didn’t stop him. Perhaps he would send a modest army to deal with Alexander in his own good time.

  With very little challenge, Alexander continued his campaign through Lydia, along the rocky Aegean coast, conquering the small coastal towns with ease, riding up and down beside his troops, the white plumes of egret’s feathers fluttering on his helmet.

  But where were the Persians?

  One day in mid-May, a small cloud of dust heralded the return of a scouting party. They came galloping into camp with news! A Persian army had secretly been massing and was waiting for them on the other side of the River Granicus.

  A shiver of excitement ran through the men. This was the moment Alexander had been waiting for; the moment when he would meet his mighty, ancient enemy face to face. At last, he could prove to the world and himself that neither the Persians nor death held any fears for him.

  THE BATTLE OF GRANICUS

  It is still spring in the year 334 BC.

  Thousands of camp followers have settled themselves down, preparing for the battle to come: putting up shelter, foraging for food, filling water pitchers, lighting fires and cooking meals. The air is resounding with voices, music and war dances.

  On the western banks of the River Granicus, Alexander’s troops had pitched their tents; they concentrated on sharpening their weapons, grooming their horses and checking their body armour. On the east side of the river, the Persians were doing the same.

  The two armies of the Greeks and the Persians faced each other across the swift flowing waters. Both saw problems, and decisions needed to be made. Each weighed up the odds and consulted the oracles.

  For the Greeks, the first problem was that Alexander, “Ruler of the Greek Empire including Athens”, was a Macedonian and not a Greek. This angered and alienated many Greeks, and thousands of them had already joined up with the Persians to fight against him as mercenaries.

  For the Persians, on the other hand, the general of the Persian army was a Greek called Memnon, and when it came to fighting the Greeks, the Persians didn’t always trust him.

  King Darius hadn’t taken Alexander seriously. After all, the eminent Athenian orator, Demosthenes, had dismissed him as a simple-minded boy and a buffoon. As far as Darius was concerned, he was a young upstart, with little experience, so he only sent 35,000 men to fight at Granicus, whereas Alexander had an army of about 50,000.

  Darius’ army was drawn from the colonies of the Persian Empire; Bactrians, Medes and Greeks, from the Caspian and Oxus to the mountains of Cappadocia. They wore very heavy metal armour, whereas Alexander’s soldiers wore light body armour and carried light arms such as javelins and wooden lances. The Persians thought they would easily be defeated.

  But Memnon had heard enough about Alexander to be wary. He advised his superiors to carry out a scorched earth policy first. “Alexander doesn’t carry provisions but lives off the land,” he said, “so burn the fields, and starve the Greeks into defeat.”

  But they didn’t trust him, and Memnon was overruled, his Persian masters deciding to fight straight away.

  Alexander too was keen to fight, but Parmenion and the other generals looked at the situation and were pessimistic. Even though they had more men, the Persians had the best position on the far side where the banks rose steeply, and the river ran deep and fast. They argued with Alexander.

  “This could be a death trap. It’s a dangerous place to cross.”

  “If I’ve crossed the Hellespont, I can cross the Granicus,” retorted Alexander.

  “Moreover, it’s the month of Daisios,” they reasoned, “and Macedonians never fight in that month.”

  “Well then, we’ll change the calendar,” said Alexander, and he changed it to the month of Artemisios.

  “But look at the Persians,” pleaded his generals, “they are heavily armoured. The horses and their riders have metal sheets to protect their legs and flanks; the horses wear headpieces and breastplates and their riders, metal-plated armour combined with a metal helmet. They will be protected from strikes and blows.”

  “All the better,” said Alexander. “With all that weight, the Persians will move slowly and heavily, and be unable to manoeuvre quickly.”

  He was right. With their lighter helmets and breastplates, Alexander’s men could move swiftly and were more agile with their javelins, and especially with their wooden thrusting lances – the sarissas – which Philip had taught Alexander to use with such devastating effect.

  So Alexander brushed aside the worries of his generals. He was impatient, and wanted to attack immediately. But again his generals shook their heads reluctantly. “No, no. You can’t fight straight away,” they said. “The men need time to get into battle lines; they are tired from walking ten miles a day; it is late afternoon and nearly dark. The Persians never fight before sunrise.”

  “Good, then I’ll attack before sunrise!” cried Alexander.

  The Persians had camped where the river was deepest and most speedy, and the banks were steep and muddy. They rested for the night, thinking this would be an easy victory. They assumed that Alexander, on the far bank, would attack from the front, and were sure that his men would flounder in the slithery, slippery conditions.

  But Alexander was not just stubborn, he was cunning. He knew how to make the enemy think one thing, while he did another. As soon as the sun went down, he took a contingent of cavalry under cover of darkness, and crept silently along the riverbank until he found a safe crossing over to the eastern shore. They crossed the River Granicus and bivouacked quietly. Just before daylight, with terrifying war cries, Alexander and his men charged into battle, attacking where the enemy least expected it, from behind.

  Too late, the slumbering Persians tried to cover their backs and still face the Greeks opposite on the western shore. But the Greek soldiers, with their long sarissas, formed a phalanx to cover their comrades crossing the river, while Alexander’s cavalry came galloping in from behind.

  There was confusion among the Persians. A fierce battle in the water ensued. The Persian soldiers slithered down the muddy banks and, weighed down by their heavy armour, floundered about, unable to crawl back.

  Hundreds drowned in the river or were hacked to pieces. The rest retreated onto the eastern plain. With joy, Alexander went after them with his cavalry.

  The Persians reformed and spread their cavalry out as widely as possible along a front line, while holding their infantry in reserve. Visible to everyone was Alexander in his magnificent armour, his blazoned shield and his distinctive helmet.

  By now, all of Alexander’s columns were across the river, and he deployed them into battle formation. Again, he used trickery. The Persians thought that he was preparing to attack them on the right wing, so they quickly transferred some of their best troops from the centre to
deal with the threat. This was exactly what Alexander had predicted. He went into a classic “pivot attack”. His left wing formed the axis as his men charged in a wedge formation. He pretended to head for the left wing instead of the right, but then suddenly swung his wedge into the weakened centre. Meanwhile, Parmenion fought off the contingents of Medes and Bactrians on the left flank.

  There was a pitched battle.

  The air rang with the clash and crash of metal on metal; horses heaved and reared, javelins flew, scimitars sliced, blood flowed.

  Alexander’s spear was broken on the first assault. Demaratus of Corinth tossed him his own. Now Alexander charged towards Mithridates, son-in-law of the Persian King. Mithridates hurled his spear at Alexander with such force that it pierced the shield and struck the cuirass behind. Alexander flung it aside and then thrust his spear deep into the Persian prince’s breastplate. The breastplate held, but Alexander’s spear snapped in two. Mithridates went for his sword, but Alexander hurled his broken spear into his opponent’s face. He didn’t see another enemy horseman pounding up behind him with a flying sabre. The horseman struck Alexander’s helmet with such force that it penetrated his scalp through to the bone. Alexander swung round and killed him, but slid from his horse, swaying and stumbling about with dizziness.

  Out of the dust swirled another Persian. He galloped up with swinging sword and was about to deal Alexander the death blow, but Alexander’s friend and foster brother, “Black” Cleitus, saw what was about to happen, and struck first, severing the attacker’s arm. Alexander managed to clamber back onto his horse, and the battle raged on.