by Max Overton
The main body of the army arrived soon after, taking up positions to form a vast square, into the centre of which straggled, over the next few hours, the immense baggage train of the court and associated camp followers.
Innumerable campfires erupted from the barrack lines and local grazing herds fell beneath axe and knife to feed the throngs. Tents were erected, latrines dug and the infrastructure of a minor city on the move set up. By nightfall the camp prostitutes were ministering to the needs of the soldiery, several infants were birthed and two separate murders discovered. Both assailants were summarily dealt with, their corpses mourned briefly by interested parties then cremated.
Alexander arrived several hours later, the quiet of the sleeping camp roused into a flurry of activity once more by the mere presence of the king. He washed fastidiously, removing the grime and blood of a successful hunt, changed his clothing, and immediately started a round of consultations with his generals and advisors.
A young squire roused Nikometros from his bed and, bidding a hurried farewell to Tomyra and his infant daughter Starissa, he hurried to the tent of the Chiliarch.
Perdikkas looked up when Nikometros entered. "Ah, Nikometros," he said. "I'm at my wits end. The king will receive the embassies tomorrow morning...this morning," he grimaced. "And now he wants every embassy escorted by a staff officer. Can you organise that?" Without waiting for a reply he turned to one of the court eunuchs and started issuing a string of commands concerning the reception tent and the furnishings.
Nikometros saluted and turned to one of the scribes writing at a nearby table. "You have a list of the embassies?"
The scribe broke off with a mutter of annoyance and handed Nikometros a sheet of paper. He scanned the list with a feeling of dismay. "All of these? There must be twenty or more. Where am I going to find twenty officers...and interpreters too, at this late hour?"
The scribe bestowed a smirk on the staff officer before bending to his task once more. Nikometros gave the man a sour look and hurried from the tent. Outside, he caught sight of Timon and Tirses and beckoned them over, rapidly explaining his problem.
Timon scanned the list. "Tirses and I can take the Scyths at least. I can explain procedures while Tirses can translate if there are any problems." He ran his finger down the names. "Bit tougher for you, Niko. Beggin' yer pardon but you aren't especially good at languages...ah, here. This lot will have had contact with the Greek colonies in Sicily and Italy. Romans...some minor tribe, so I hear, but warlike. With luck they'll speak a bit of Greek."
Nikometros nodded. "I thought also Bydos and Komon. They may know of others."
"No problem, Niko. I'll get back to the barracks and have a word with them." Timon glanced across the camp at the hurrying figures of soldiers and servants. "There's somebody else who may be able to help. Ho, Seleukos, sir, over here!" he called.
Seleukos sauntered over, his expression wary until he recognised Nikometros. Apprised of the situation he too scanned the list of embassies. "No great problem," he grinned. "I know a group of young officers keeping their heads down in the mess tent, hoping to avoid extra duties. This will be just the thing for them."
Nikometros moved through the camp toward the foreign embassies on the western fringes. The camp was awake and bursting with anticipation. Babble in a dozen tongues surrounded Nikometros as he walked. Macedonian troops, once the mainstay of the army, were less common now. Twelve years of warfare and attrition through battle and the manning of a myriad garrisons sprinkled through the conquered lands led to a lessening of their influence. Foreign eyes watched Nikometros - Persian, Mede, Egyptian, Hindu and a hundred lesser tribes. His hand strayed to his sword belt and he quickened his step.
The Roman embassy consisted of twelve tents, neatly arrayed in three rows of four and surrounded by a rough palisade of cut saplings. Two soldiers stood at the gate with long spears crossed to prevent entrance. A third man stood behind them and to one side. The light of a torch thrust into the soft pasture flickered and swayed. He strode forward with an upraised hand, shouting some unintelligible phrase.
"My name is Nikometros. I'm on the king's staff. I would like to talk to the ambassador." Nikometros waited but no sign of comprehension passed over the Roman's face. He cursed silently and tried again, using the Greek dialects more in use among traders rather than the classical style of his first attempt.
The Roman grimaced. "Why is it no one can speak Latin?" He sighed and beckoned Nikometros closer. "Well, Greek it must be then, but you have an atrocious accent."
Nikometros ground his teeth but repeated the introduction.
The Roman looked him up and down slowly then said, "The tribune Marcus Gracchus is asleep. Come back tomorrow." He turned on his heel and walked back to his spot by the torch.
"Tomorrow, my king will meet with your tribune," Nikometros grated, "It would be better for all concerned if the proper formalities were observed."
The Roman turned back and stared at Nikometros, considering. After a moment he nodded. "Wait here." He pushed through the gate and disappeared into the camp. Minutes passed.
Nikometros waited with growing impatience, walking up and down in front of the guards. Their eyes followed him ceaselessly, profound suspicion on their faces.
The gate creaked when the Roman officer emerged. He snapped a command to the guards and they came to attention, drawing their spears apart. He marched up to Nikometros. "What is your name and rank? I must know this if I am to present you to the tribune."
"My name is Nikometros, son of Leonnatos. I am a colonel on the staff of General Perdikkas, currently acting directly on my king's behalf."
"Very well, follow me."
"And you? Whom am I addressing?"
The officer turned. "Caius Valerius Gracchus. My rank is Praefectus."
"Gracchus?"
"The tribune is my uncle. Now if you will follow me."
Caius marched into the camp with Nikometros following. He walked between the rows of tents to a slightly larger one in the centre row. A single guard stood at the entrance and, as they approached, he swept the tent flap aside for them to enter.
The inside of the tent reflected an austere lifestyle. A narrow truckle bed occupied a far corner, the bedding rumpled and drooping to the bare ground. One small chest and another large one lay open in the other far corner. In the middle of the tent sat a lean, dark-complexioned man with short-cropped black hair. He sat on a folding stool behind a plain wooden table strewn with papers. Two oil lamps cast a flickering light over his plain linen tunic and purple-lined cloak.
Caius came to attention in front of the seated man and saluted by thrusting out his right arm then making a fist and bringing it sharply to his chest. He rapped out an introduction in Latin. "Tribune Marcus Gracchus, envoy of the senate and people of Rome--this is Nicomatrus..." Nikometros winced as another person murdered his name. "...Colonel on the staff of imperator Perdicus." Caius then turned toward Nikometros and, in a quieter voice, made the same introduction in Greek.
The tribune acknowledged his nephew's salute and introduction with a brief nod then gestured to a nearby stool. "Be seated Colonel Nicomatrus. How may I be of assistance?"
"Forgive the late hour, tribune," replied Nikometros. "I bring news that King Alexander will receive your embassy in the morning."
The tribune inclined his head in acquiescence. He contemplated Nikometros for a few moments. "I find it curious that a senior staff officer should call to deliver that news."
Nikometros smiled. "My duty was to organise the details for all the embassies. I chose to come to yours."
"Why?"
"You are direct, tribune. In truth, I've heard tales of the Romans. I wished to see for myself."
"And what did you hear?"
"That the Romans are disciplined and brave in war. I have at least seen the discipline."
Tribune Gracchus stared at his visitor, his face expressionless. "You think to see us at war?"
Nikometros
smiled again. "Gods, no. Unless as allies. I sincerely hope that lasting bonds of friendship will be forged between our peoples tomorrow."
Gracchus shrugged. "I shall convey my report to the Senate. They will decide whether there is peace or war."
"Senate? I'm not sure I understand what that is. Is it the title for your king?"
"We have no king," said Gracchus with a sneer. "We exiled the last of them over a hundred years ago. We Romans rule ourselves, guided by the wisdom of the leading families."
Nikometros nodded. "I know the concept, though Macedonia has always been ruled by kings. Some of our neighbours to the south, such as the Athenians, rule by majority vote. They call it rule by the people, by the demos--democracy."
"A rabble," replied Gracchus. "The Athenians allow the least of men a say in the business of the state. We Romans at least limit it to those who have a stake in the future, the landowners."
Nikometros inclined his head but said nothing. After a few moments he turned the subject back to the preparations of the coming day. "The morning will start with sacrifices to the gods of all nations. Then the embassies will be called. I believe, if there is no complication, Rome will be called at about the noon hour."
"Why are we to be kept waiting? Do you think to insult us?"
"No, tribune, I assure you. There are many embassies and some must go first. There is no insult intended."
Gracchus grimaced, a sour look on his face but he nodded curtly. "Very well. Go on."
Nikometros hesitated. "Protocol has become quite complex since Alexander conquered Persia. He seeks to meld all the nations of the empire."
Gracchus raised an eyebrow but kept silent.
"The nations of the east and to the south will be required to do the prostration," went on Nikometros. "However, he has allowed a dispensation for the kingdoms of the west. Simple honours due to a king will be sufficient."
"We have no king," reminded Gracchus stiffly. "What constitutes 'honours'?"
"You advance when announced to a designated spot before the great throne, greet the king formally--I have the proper phrases--then drop to one knee and bow the head. Alexander will give you permission to rise. You do so and move to the prepared seating, where he will talk with you briefly. When you are dismissed you rise, bow, step back three paces then turn and walk away." Nikometros smiled. "I would be happy to practice with you if it will help."
Gracchus flushed and looked away, his nostrils flaring. "Your king asks too much of a free man of the Roman republic. I will depart without meeting him."
Caius coughed and stepped away from where he stood by the tent entrance. "Tribune, you must stay. It is imperative you discuss the Italian colonies..."
Gracchus waved him silent.
Nikometros frowned. "I really wouldn't advise departure, sir. It's no great thing, surely? You must have known an audience with Alexander would involve formalities."
"Formalities, yes," growled Gracchus. "I expect to deal with an honourable person respectfully, but it goes against my nature to fawn over a man who wields power by virtue of his birth. I respect only elected leaders."
Nikometros stared at the angry tribune, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "The kings of Macedonia are actually elected. Oh, it's true Alexander assumed the throne on the assassination of his father, Philip, but he could only be formally crowned after the army voted to accept him. If there had been another worthy contender, they may have voted him out."
"Truly?" asked Caius. "I never knew this."
"And if it's respect you look for then examine the last twelve years. Alexander has conquered every people he met. His military skill is without equal, yet he treats his former enemies with honour and justice. Surely his achievements allow a measure of respect when meeting him on a formal occasion?"
Gracchus thought for several minutes and then nodded slowly. "You have these required phrases?"
Nikometros drew a paper from the pouch at his belt and passed it across.
Gracchus took it and opened it out, tilting it to catch the flickering light from the oil lamps. "I will study it. You will have my decision before the audience. Now, Praefectus, see our guest out."
Nikometros got to his feet and saluted. "Until the morning, tribune." He turned and left the tent, Caius on his heels.
They walked in silence until outside the camp, when the young Roman put his hand out to delay Nikometros' departure. "My uncle will think on what you said, prattle about free Roman virtues awhile, but he'll be there tomorrow, Nicomatrus." He smiled. "For myself I wouldn't miss it. I've always wanted to see Alexander and the Macedonian army up close. I greatly desire to study how your army fights."
Nikometros grinned and clasped the Roman's arm. "Perhaps you can persuade your uncle to let you stay until the Arabian campaign. Then you'll see how we fight."
"We shall see," nodded Caius. "Until tomorrow then, Nicomatrus." He saluted, turned on his heel and marched back into his camp, leaving Nikometros to complete his preparations in the first cold light of the new day.
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
"Give us a song, Dienekes!"
The roar of drunken voices died down somewhat as a young man, naked to the waist and whose trailing chiton showed the marks of a less than steady hand on the wine cup, staggered to his feet. Lurching into the open space between the couches, he swept back long black hair and stared owlishly at the assembled feasters.
"Very..." he belched, "...well. Whash it to be? Shumfink shtirring or just a drinkink song?"
"Dionysos at Delos!"
"The Fall of Troy!"
"A love song..."
"Forget the song, bring out more wine..." bawled a young officer. With a laugh he hurled a crust of bread at Dienekes. His friends pulled him back down with renewed shouts for a song.
"Something bawdy!"
"Ask the king..."
Eyes turned to the reclining figure of Alexander. Though his skin was flushed and hair tousled, it was hard to detect any signs of drunkenness in the king, despite the quantities of unwatered wine drunk in the course of the evening. He rose up on one elbow and looked at the figure of Dienekes swaying in the middle of the vast state pavilion. His eyes unfocused for a moment then he clearly spoke into the silence. "Give us the passage from the Myrmidons," said Alexander. "Where the news of the death of Patroklos is brought to Achilles."
Dienekes opened his mouth then closed it with a snap as he recognised the significance of the passage. He looked around at his audience, licking his lips in agitation. Catching the eye of Ptolemy, who reclined beside Alexander, the young man raised an eyebrow in supplication. Ptolemy nodded and Dienekes shrugged, cleared his throat and drew a deep breath. The voice that emerged from the young man's throat was pure and controlled; no hint remained of his drunken slurring or unsteady limbs. He launched into song at the point where the news is first brought to Achilles, brooding in his tent outside Troy, that his friend and lover Patroklos had been slain by prince Hector.
All eyes turned toward the king, awaiting his reaction. Alexander, however, sank back down onto the couch and closed his eyes, a gentle smile on his face. Ptolemy leaned across and murmured in his ear, eliciting a nod. Seen only by those closest to him, a single tear ran down Alexander's cheek.
Nikometros sat to one side of the pavilion, some distance from the raised couches of Alexander and his senior officers and friends. Not as drunk as he had hoped to be at this point in the festivities, he kept a morose eye on his Roman companion.
The young praefect, Caius, sat upright on his couch, his back militarily straight and his face set in an expression of mixed horror and disgust. "This cannot be happening," he muttered beneath his breath. "Are these the conquerors of the world?"
Nikometros tipped his cup back again, savouring the rich dark wine. "Come now, Caius. Do you mean to tell me you Romans never feast and drink?"
Caius turned and regarded his tipsy companion. "Of course w
e do, but a feast of celebration is not an occasion for heavy drinking." He leaned forward, dropping his voice. "Unwatered wine, Nicomatrus, unwatered wine. It's madness to consume it in such quantities." He glanced around the pavilion, his eyes roaming over the dozens of scattered couches and their drunken occupants. "I notice your Persian guests absented themselves early, before the heavy drinking started."
Nikometros shrugged. "The Persian nobles can drink with the best of them but they seldom like to drink with Macedonians. Perhaps they don't like to reveal their inner selves in public."
"I don't blame them. This display borders on madness."
"Hush!" Nikometros' eyes flew wide and he gripped the young praefect's arm. "Keep your voice down. Allow the king some measure of relaxation after his last campaign."
Caius released his arm gently but firmly. "Agreed, Nicomatrus, but at least drink something less dangerous. I'm told you have very refreshing fruit drinks here in Persia. Why not them, or mixed with some wine if you must have it?"
Nikometros shook his head. "The water in the plains is dangerous. Men who aren't used to it die of the bloody flux. I nearly did so myself two years back. Even watered wine can bring disease. That's why the king drinks strong wine." He smiled, his eyes and ears drifting back to the song and the royal audience. "Besides," he added. "Macedonians are used to it. Most of us have imbibed since childhood."
Caius grunted. "If you say so." He tossed his head toward the singer and the rapt audience. "What's the significance of the song? Everyone seems shocked at Alexander's choice."
Nikometros looked around carefully then lowered his voice. "Alexander's boyhood friend and lover Hephaestion died recently. He always compared their friendship to that of Achilles and Patroklos."
Caius made a moue of distaste. "I was forgetting you Greeks had a taste for other men."
"Not all of us." Nikometros paused. "Besides, even I can see the point to it. A soldier cannot always marry so what better object of affection than the man fighting alongside you? The man who may save your life, if you mean something to him?"
