Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon

by Peter Messmore

  Fall eroded into winter, with only indecisive skirmishes between the two massive armies and their supporters. The Greek allies chose to fight a defensive war, feeling that Philip could not stay long in hostile territory so far from home. Although many Athenians urged it, Demosthenes opposed any naval expeditions being sent northward to attack Macedonian ports and supply lines. He wanted the powerful Athenian navy in the Corinthian Gulf to check Philip, and also in the Propontus to protect the vital grain shipping routes. His blocking action was a military blunder of immense proportions.

  While Philip's diplomats conducted diversionary peace discussions with Thebes and Athens, the king sent his main army to the extreme western end of the Corinthian Gulf. There he took the critical city of Naupactus. Macedonian forces now controlled the entry point to the Corinthian Gulf. A larger, more concentrated Athenian naval force might have prevented this action, but Philip continued to force Athens and her allies to fight a defensive land war. They were playing into the hands of the king who commanded the most efficient land army in the ancient world.

  Two days before the great battle of Chaeronea, an eagle flew down from its high nest on Mount Akontion. It winged its way majestically across the wide plain that had been formed by the ancient path of the River Cephisus. Quickly it traversed the valley and started a high, soaring ascent as it encountered the fast rising winds that swept up the sides of Mount Thurion, the opposing mountain on which the town of Chaeronea was built. The eagle usually saw small game that it could swoop down on, grasp fatally with its talons, and carry back to its waiting young. But there were no rabbits or rodents to be seen today. Only small groups of men, each at opposite ends of the flat plain, were visible to the predator. Both groups were distant from each other. Their activity had frightened away the valley's normal game and the eagle flew off to hunt in an adjacent valley.

  When the eagle returned the next morning, the first contingents of Greek allied armies were already beginning to erect their tent camp at the plain's southern end. Once again, it left the valley and began its search for food away from the gathering humans.

  The Athenians and Thebans had, for months, been maneuvering Philip into a battle at Chaeronea. The battlefield had been carefully chosen. Brilliantly selected for defense, the plain was their best opportunity to stop and defeat the invading barbarians. The defensive position also provided for a retreat route over the pass of Kerata into the town of Lebadea.

  Philip knew and understood their tactics. For weeks he had avoided major conflict to prepare for what could be a Macedonian defeat. The contingency of defeat and retreat was something that always had to be considered, and the king did as much as he could to give his army an escape route. He didn't think, nor did he feel, that such contingencies would have to be used.

  Both opposing armies had sent advance scouts to the Chaeronea plain. Although they could clearly see each other, they didn't interact. Each scout group had engineers in its number. These men drew maps of the plain, the Cephissus River, and two opposing mountains. Others examined the plain’s soil composition and firmness. One man in each opposing group made a detailed map of trees and rock outcroppings. Several examined the many small streams that flowed into the Cephissus from both ends of the valley. These activities took most of the morning. Then both groups left, and returned to their encampments to report to their generals.

  The Athenians and their allied army, though still not at full strength, stretched from Chaeronea to the River Cephissus. Soon, they would number over thirty thousand heavily armed hoplites and cavalry. Any group wanting to pass south to Thebes would first have to go through it.

  The Thebans, who were given land command in the agreement that Demosthenes negotiated, ordered the Greek allied line. Three hundred members of the elite Sacred Band, camped next to the River Cephisus, held the extreme allied right. Theagenes commanded the band.

  Mercenaries and hoplites from the lesser Greek poleis, the Achaeans, the Corinthians, and the Phocians occupied the allied center. The Athenians, led by Chares, Lysicles, and Stratocles occupied the allied left, extending right up the sides of Mount Thurion and into Chaeronea itself.

  Late that same day, advance elements of an equally large Macedonian army began arriving at the northern end of the plain. Philip, influenced by reports from his Athenian spies, learned of the Greek deployment several days before the battle. The king decided that he would occupy the Macedonian right, opposite the Athenians. He would begin the battle there, protected by three thousand of his crack infantry—the king's shield bearers. They formed only part of Macedon's vaunted phalanx. Thousands more phalangites, the king's foot companions, occupied Philip's center. Both units made up Greece's finest infantry. Closely tied to the king, these churlish former hunters and peasants were dual-purpose fighters. First, as a monolithic phalanx, they presented to an enemy an unassailable formation, protected by, the famous Macedonian spear, the sarissa. The sarissa was of varying lengths, depending on where its user stood in the ranks. The first four rows of phalangites, more heavily armored than middle and back rows, held pikes over twelve cubits long with both hands. As the phalanx encountered the enemy (either defensively, as was its first function, or offensively, when the tide of battle had turned in Macedon's favor), these spears protruded far ahead of the men in the first row. Fighters in remaining rows held somewhat shorter sarissas, either angled forward or held vertically above the massed group to block incoming enemy arrows and spears. When a battle progressed to where both armies were at extreme close quarters, the sarissas had served their deadly purposes. They were then thrown down and the phalangites used their short swords to dispatch a nearly defeated enemy.

  These phalanx formations demanded rock-hard discipline to function properly. It had required months of drill and years of battle experience to hone the fighters into a lethal fighting force. The massed shield bearers and foot companions could retreat in an orderly manner, pivot sharply on the king's command, hold in place, and then begin a deadly advance when its defensive holding function had given the waiting cavalry the opening that it needed.

  The companion cavalry occupied the extreme left of the Macedonian line, for the first time under the command of eighteen-year-old Prince Alexander. He positioned his two thousand horse cavalry next to the Cephissus. The companion cavalry was the offensive strike force of Philip's army. It was made up almost exclusively of fathers and sons of Macedonian aristocracy. They rode, stirrup-less, the small horses bred on the vast equine estates of Thessaly. Each carried a long cavalry spear, the xyston. It wasn't as long as the sarissa, for that would hinder the cavalry's wild charge. Since the xyston often broke with first use, it had two spear points on each end. Slung under each cavalryman's arm on a leather strap was a short sword. It was used when the spears had served their purpose or had been shattered uselessly.

  By nightfall, the two battle lines, each angled sharply, were nearly formed. At their closest points, near Chaeronea, they were less than eight stadia apart. The opposite ends of both slanted lines were more than double that distance.

  Shortly after sunset, the evening before the battle, King Philip commanded his staff officers to come to his tent. It was set up behind a small hill, well behind the Macedonian lines. When he received word from his Royal Page attendant that the officers were gathered, the king left the inner tent area that was his private quarters. Limp-walking as fast as he could go, he joined the nearly thirty men who awaited him in the tent's outer area that served as a war room.

  When Philip entered, he recalled the same kind of place where he had learned about battle when he was a hostage under Epaminondas decades ago. Tables were everywhere. They held maps, charts and diagrams of the Chaeronea plain. A clay model showing every river, stream and the two major mountains surrounding the battlefield rested on a central table. "Tomorrow the gods will smile on Macedon!" the king projected. "Olympias and her priests have arranged it."

  Every officer, except Alexander, roared with laughter. He sto
od out among the rough, middle-age commanders as he etched a stern frown on an insolent face.

  "No one needs any more explanation of our battle plan," Philip said after the laughter subsided. "Although the Greeks chose a good position to defend, it has advantages for us. The plain is flat, with few hills—an essential requirement of our phalanxes. These Greeks have yet to meet the full power of our sarissas. After they engage us and are held by our phalanxes, we'll introduce our cavalry."

  Alexander moved closer to his father as his unit was mentioned. He had waited all his life for this moment, and he would not fail. His father had honored him with absolute command of the army's offensive arm, the Royal Companion Cavalry. He understood the import of what had been laid on his young shoulders. The comment about his mother could wait. Tomorrow he would fulfill his destiny.

  "Alexander, you must show patience as the battle develops. The entire battle plan depends on it. I'll oppose the Athenians using their inexperience and battle anxiety to lure them into our trap. The fools have only citizen hoplites in their line. They’re only occasional warriors who have not fought a major battle in twenty years. My Shield Bearers are now closest to them. The battle will begin there." The king pointed to map and model positions of the plain. "At first contact we'll begin a slow, ordered retreat, making the Athenians think that we're on the verge of a rout. They should then lose control of their line and begin an undisciplined charge. We'll continue the withdrawal until I see a gap develop in their center. Know in advance, however, that the Sacred Band will not break formation and follow the Athenians. They're too good for that. Alexander, when you see the center break, launch our cavalry into it. This will be my signal to order the phalanx counterattack. If everything goes as I've planned, we'll encircle the Greeks, wrap up the wings, and the battle will be ours."

  "Only one question," Alexander said. "Will we use the usual trumpet signals throughout the battle?"

  "Only in the beginning. This will be one of the largest battles ever fought. Sixty thousand fighting men will easily mute the loudest trumpets. Once the killing starts, only hand signals will be used. Everyone knows them, so that won't be a problem."

  Philip directed each commander to meet in smaller groups with Alexander, Parmenio, and Attalus to review again each unit's order of attack. He then left his officers for his inner private tent and a bath. Three stunning adolescent girls had been collected on the way to Chaeronea, and the king intended to enjoy himself before tomorrow's killing.

  When Macedon's top commanders concluded their war council, Alexander left with Hephaestion. They were given their horses by slaves and started to walk along the Macedonian battle line, leading their mounts. Across the plain, in the distance, they saw enemy fires. Both young men were quiet as they made their way toward the king's Shield Bearer positions.

  "Will you sleep tonight?" Hephaestion asked.

  "I don't know," Alexander responded. "I doubt it."

  "I want to see the faces of our soldiers before we retire, Alexander. We'll never see many of these men again."

  "They may never see us again." It was the first time his friend and lover had ever heard him express fear. That same fear, although unspoken, was also eating at Hephaestion.

  They arrived at the Shield Bearers’ encampment. Most of the men in the unit were Philip's hardened battle veterans. Many were in their fifties and early sixties. Nearly all were asleep, but some stood around a too warm-for-summer campfire. Alexander and Hephaestion greeted the men and studied their calm. Most were helmetless. A few still wore the light blue Phrygian helmet, an adaptation of the helmet worn by infantry in a province of the Great King. Their enormous shields were stacked against rock outcroppings, their short swords carried loosely at their sides. A similar scene appeared as the pair made their way to their line's center.

  Practically all the experienced foot companions were asleep, but some lay on the ground, their heads resting on their hard blue helmets. A few sang songs. Some told ribald jokes to their comrades. Most, but not all, of the songs and jokes had to do with death and battle.

  Alexander stopped by group of soldiers, where a fifty-year-old Shield Bearer was beginning a joke. “Theagenes and Demosthenes were having dinner one night,” the man began. “A slave came up and asked Theagenes what he wanted. Theagenes said, ‘Bring me veal.’ ‘What about the vegetable?’ the slave asked. Theagenes looked at Demosthenes and said: ‘Oh, he’ll have the veal too,” cracked the old man.

  The gaggle of soldiers roared at the joke, as did Alexander and Hephaestion. Alexander wanted to tell a good joke he had once heard from Aristotle, but he never considered himself good at it. He always seemed to ruin the joke with a botched last line. Instead, he bid the soldiers goodbye and left.

  The pair arrived back at their companion cavalry unit. Slaves were finishing the horse grooming and feeding for the night. Only a few of the companions were asleep in their tents. Many were bragging about tomorrow's anticipated exploits; how they were going to ride straight through the Thebans and not stop until they had reached Attica.

  Giving their horses over to their handlers, Alexander and Hephaestion retired to the prince's private tent, pitched under an enormous oak, beside the River Cephissus.

  Dawn came. Both armies had long been in their positions. No more planning or councils of war would alter what was about to happen. Trumpet signals could be heard from both sides as commanders began to move sixty thousand men forward.

  Demosthenes, in the Athenian hoplites ranks, was breathless. He knew that when the fighting started, his reedy arms and spindly legs would be no match for the burly enemy that he could just make out. He made an excuse to get into the back order of hoplites. If victory were imminent, he could easily move forward. Defeat would find him one of the first on the retreating road to Lebadea.

  Just before the two closest units of Athens's and Macedon's infantry closed the gap, there was a near absolute silence that swept the plain. It entered the bones of every fighter on both sides and caused him to think. It was the last time that morning anyone but a few of both sides’ top commanders would think. Madness and terror would soon descend and superficially civilized men would become near animals. This was how nations had always solved their disputes.

  Because of the slanted lines, it was the Athenians and the Philip’s Shield Bearers that first collided. While the killing progressed there, the middle and extreme left and right ends of both lines advanced. Philip, sensing Athenian aggressiveness, ordered his sarissa-bristling Shield Bearers to retreat. It was done without panic or even much loss of life.

  The Athenian General Stratocles, sensing Macedonian weakness, then shouted an emotional command to his citizen hoplites. "Come on," he screamed, "Drive them back to their Macedonian Hell-hole!"

  The Athenian left began an uncontrolled assault toward Philip's withdrawing forces, yelling victory slogans and epithets about barbarians as they ran. The center of the allied line, sensing a victory-producing breakthrough, began a slow fighting drift to its left to pursue Philip's apparent collapse.

  As the king had predicted, only the Sacred Band held its position. Philip continued his withdrawal up a small hill and only stopped when his Shield Bearers had their backs against a small stream.

  Now was Alexander's moment. As his father had planned, as Epaminondas had taught Philip while he was a Theban hostage, the allied center gapped. At first it opened only to be closed by distraught mercenary captains. At last, Alexander saw an opening that he knew would not close quickly. Three fourths of his companion cavalry launched a triangular wedge of charging horses into the breach, with Alexander at its apex. Remaining Macedonian cavalry charged along the banks of the Cephisus to flank and attack the still in place Sacred Band. The allied line was broken.

  Philip, seeing his son's breakthrough, ordered his Foot Companion center and the Shield Bearer phalanxes to attack. This defense-to-offense shift was accompanied by the terrorizing sound of the Macedonian battle cry. It was an appeal for
protection to their god of war, Enyalios.

  The Athenians were driven back with devastating swiftness and great loss of life. Soon, a thousand of them were killed and two thousand taken prisoner.

  Alexander's cavalry broadened the gap and began devastating the enemy forces they found there. Horses were falling under his comrades, but the killing continued. When the center resistance was all but eliminated, the prince directed his forces to split and roll up the enemy wings. One half met his father's phalangites and encircled the Athenians. He led the other half around the still fighting Sacred Band and joined forces with elements of his flanking cavalry.

  "Surrender, Theagenes!" he shouted to the commander of the Thebans. "You've fought bravely! We don't want your annihilation!"

  "We'll die where we stand!" the Theban yelled back. He put his men into a tight box defensive formation.

  Alexander gave the command to attack a force that had been reduced to less than half its original number. As the nearly defeated remnants of the allied forces fled toward the Kerata Pass, the Thebans fought on. Two hundred and fifty-four of them were killed where they stood, true to their life-pledge. Forty-six were taken alive, surviving only because of wounds that prevented them from continuing the fight.

  With the Thebans eliminated, Alexander and his horse companions wheeled to pursue the allied forces who tried to flee, but were held back by King Philip.

  "We've won. There's no need to humiliate the survivors," the king shouted in anger. "Unification against the Persians is our new goal. There's been enough Greek killing. Survey the battlefield and remember this day. You've won a great victory for Macedon, Alexander. Study at what cost it's been achieved."

  At the head of a group of fleeing Athenian hoplites was Demosthenes. He had forced his way to the front of the Athenian line during the initial charge into what appeared to be a retreating Macedonian force. But when Philip ordered the phalanx counterattack, the orator was one of the first to flee. Out of breath, his back to the battlefield but not daring to stop, he felt his cloak pulled from behind. "Don't kill me, take me alive," he cried hysterically. Then he saw that a small thorn bush only entangled the cloak. He threw off the garment and continued his breakneck run up the high road toward Lebadea.