Once satisfied that all was ready, Adea turned around and knelt upon the bed, buttocks raised; she pulled up her tunic and, nodding to Tychon, grabbed the pillow and closed her eyes. As Philip thrust into her without preamble, she turned her mind to the man she assumed would be the new regent, Ptolemy, and whether he would be able to protect her. Egypt, she considered, as her husband pounded away under the watchful eye of Tychon, could suit her well.
‘Although I am deeply flattered,’ Ptolemy declaimed with the risen sun glowing golden in the east before him, ‘deeply flattered, my brothers, I am not the right man to assume the regency and take on the guardianship of the two kings. We propose that Peithon and Arrhidaeus should jointly take up the role until the meeting at The Three Paradises can decide a long-term solution.’
Adea’s hands involuntarily gripped the arms of her chair and she cast a fleeting, sidelong look at Ptolemy; he was standing at the front of the dais with the senior officers around him, before the whole army, parading in rigid units, throwing long shadows. Her husband sat next to her, a fixed and vacant grin on his face as Ptolemy invited the two temporary regents to step forward and commended the choice to the army. Beyond Philip sat Roxanna with the infant king on her lap; heavily kohled, cold eyes flashing from the narrow slit in her veil, chilling Adea with the depth of their loathing as she glanced at her and then Philip. She thinks that now is her chance, Peithon and Arrhidaeus mean nothing to her. Instinctively, she reached over and took Philip’s hand and heard Roxanna hiss at the sight; she felt her Illyrian bodyguard, Barzid, move closer to her in reaction to Roxanna’s naked hatred. Antipatros will be our best hope now.
‘…and to help heal the wounds caused by Perdikkas’ foolish declaration of war against me,’ Ptolemy continued as the infant king burst into a wail; his mother’s long fingernails had dug into his arms, so consumed was she with loathing for his co-monarch next to her, ‘I have had the bodies of your dead comrades retrieved from the river and individually cremated with honour; as soon as the bones are cooled they will be collected and sent to you, their messmates, for you to deal with as you wish.’
The cheers this announcement brought briefly drowned the child’s cries; buoyed by the good feeling emanating from his audience, Ptolemy let them laud him with his arms open, embracing them all.
Adea almost felt pity for the infant as Roxanna thrust the mewling brute into the arms of the waiting nurse who acted far more maternally towards him than did his mother; indeed, she knew from a spy in the household that Roxanna only ever held Alexander when she appeared with him before the army assembly. But Adea was not the only person to observe the scene: from within the crowd of officers surrounding Ptolemy, Kassandros’ pale eyes hardened as he watched the exchange before his gaze caught hers; he inclined his head, his expression chill, and she knew that in him she had yet another who, if he did not actively wish her harm, was not her friend. With his eldest son against me, how can I appeal to Antipatros for protection? Still, judging by the way Kassandros looked at them, he is no friend of Roxanna and her whelp either; evidently of the same mind as Perdikkas. A man to watch and to avoid.
Signalling for silence, Ptolemy began to wind up his oration. ‘Finally, Brothers, I have to be the bearer of bad tidings; news of the worst degree.’ He paused as if he were trying to find the words to express the depth of the tragedy. ‘It’s no use, Brothers; I cannot sweeten the blow so I shall just say it how it is: Krateros is dead.’
A few moments’ stunned silence and then a howl of grief erupted from the army; it rose and rose as the enormity of what had occurred sunk in. Krateros, the greatest general after Alexander himself, was dead; the darling of the army, never defeated, beloved for his prowess and his willingness to share in the hardships of his men, always eating whatever fare they had to make do with, and respected for his conservative views on the diluting of the Macedonian army with easterners: a soldiers’ soldier; one whom they had known for most of their military lives.
It was with genuine surprise that Adea saw tears flooding down grizzled faces; men hardened by years of campaigning seemed to be brought low to snuffling wrecks as if they had just discovered their entire families raped with their throats cut and the loot of many years of campaigning gone.
Two veterans, well into their sixties, climbed onto the dais, tears drenching their beards. ‘Tell us how this happened,’ one shouted at Ptolemy over the grief.
‘It will give me no pleasure, Karanos.’ Raising his hands into the air, Ptolemy sought to quieten the assembly and soon the mourning was limited to stifled sobs. ‘Eumenes, Perdikkas’ supporter, refused to see sense and surrender to Antipatros and Krateros; in the ensuing battle he treacherously withheld the fact from his own Macedonians that it was Krateros whom they faced. Our great friend died at the hands of Eumenes’ barbarian cavalry.’
This was too much for men who had spent the last years crushing every barbarian standing in their path; they howled for Eumenes’ death and then for the deaths of Alketas, Perdikkas’ brother, and Attalus, his brother-in-law, as well as Polemon and Docimus, his two leading supporters, recently fled from the camp. Again, Ptolemy begged for silence. ‘It is the right of the full army assembly to pass judgement upon individuals deemed to be guilty of crimes against army. Is it your wish to pass sentence on Eumenes for his part in the death of Krateros and on Alketas, Attalus, Docimus and Polemon for their support of Perdikkas?’
The answer was unambiguous.
‘Death to all his supporters and family,’ the second veteran demanded.
‘Is this what you wish too, Karanos?’
‘It is.’
The cry was soon taken up by the entire army and its will was immovable.
Ptolemy turned to the officers standing behind him on the dais and none made to object. ‘So be it,’ he shouted, ‘a sentence of death is hereby passed upon Eumenes, Alketas, Attalus, Docimus, Polemon and all Perdikkas’ supporters and family; anyone who has the opportunity to execute any one of them may do so. Failure to carry out that duty—’
But a woman’s screams cut him short; Adea searched the crowd for their source. With clothes torn and hair awry, a woman was being dragged towards the dais. The men parted for her, hurling abuse as they did but offering her no physical violence. Closer she was hauled, and Adea could detect a look of regret passing over Ptolemy’s face for he too had recognised who she was and what the men would demand of him for she was Perdikkas’ sister, Attalus’ wife, Atalante.
‘Ptolemy! Ptolemy!’ Atalante shrieked, writhing in the grip of many hands. ‘Ptolemy, demand that they release me.’ In her mid-thirties, she possessed, still, beauty and confidence, but neither of these were now on display; nor was the hauteur which she had always shown Adea during the few dinners that they had shared around Perdikkas’ table; Adea felt the change suited her. She still resented Atalante for defying her by saving her brother, Alketas, from the justice of the mob for the killing of Cynnane, her mother. The gods laugh at me one moment and smile upon me the next.
Screaming another appeal to Ptolemy, Atalante fell to her knees, panic in her eyes as the realisation of who she was spread through the men closest to her and they crowded towards her. ‘Ptolemy, save me!’
But Ptolemy could do naught but shake his head in regret.
Adea could understand Ptolemy’s predicament. The sentence has been passed on Perdikkas’ family, men and women alike; he’s caught. He can do nothing for fear it will seem like weakness in him.
But it was as Atalante’s garments were ripped, exposing her breasts that Ptolemy could no longer be a by-stander. ‘Hold!’ he roared as Seleukos pushed through the officers on the dais to stand next to him. ‘You will not dishonour her.’ He jumped down into the crowd, with Seleukos close behind, and pulled her dress together to cover her modesty. ‘No matter that she is Perdikkas’ sister, you will not dishonour her.’
Atalante embraced Ptolemy’s legs. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
Ptolemy reached dow
n and eased away her grip. ‘Don’t thank me, Atalante, I can’t save you, the sentence is passed; but I can ensure that it is carried out cleanly and that your honour remains intact.’
Dark eyes, clouded with misery, stared up at him and a thin wail grew and then died in her throat.
I would take no pleasure in her suffering at the hands of the men, but her death is something that I’ll not regret; not after she affected to look down on me, a queen, and she being nothing but the sister of the regent – the late regent. But it serves as a warning as to just how quickly our fortunes can change in such volatile times and just where the real power lies: it’s the army that has its way now, not the generals. That is my way forward.
Between them, Seleukos and Ptolemy cleared an area around the condemned woman as the entire army cried for her blood. Adea saw Ptolemy share a questioning look with Seleukos and then shrug his shoulders as a thought occurred to him as if he suddenly saw a positive side to the situation.
Atalante caught the meaning of the gesture and it seemed to steady her for she rose to her feet and held her head high and her shoulders back. ‘Very well, if I am to be executed for the deeds of my brother then let it be done with dignity so that you can all witness how a high-born Macedonian woman can die.’ She turned to Ptolemy and pulled open her dress. ‘If you say you cannot save me then it shall be you who should carry out the sentence.’ She lifted her left breast and pointed to her heart. ‘Strike here and strike hard.’
Ptolemy’s normally relaxed demeanour slipped for a few moments as he contemplated her exposed chest. He drew his sword. ‘Hold her shoulders firm, Seleukos, so that she doesn’t flinch and I miss the mark.’
Atalante pushed Seleukos away. ‘I’ll not flinch, Ptolemy, but you’re more than welcome to have him steady your arm should your nerves at killing a woman in cold blood cause it to shake.’
Ptolemy smiled, his composure returning. ‘I’ll not miss.’
It was with a flash of burnished iron in the growing sun, the dull thud of a blade striking flesh and bone and the shocked exhalation of Atalante’s breath that Ptolemy drove his sword, up, under her ribcage, deep, through her heart to jag to a halt on the inside of her shoulder blade. Blood oozed from quivering lips and her eyes widened; she looked down at the wound as if to fully comprehend the reality of it. Putting a hand on Ptolemy’s shoulder, she let her legs give and, in stages, down she went. Seleukos placed a hand under her arm and eased her descent so that there should be no final slump. She came to her knees, rested a hand on the ground and then, with Seleukos’ and Ptolemy’s help, lay down on her side, drawing her legs up, blood now flowing free from the wound as well as her mouth and nose. In the foetal position she looked up to Ptolemy, the light now dimming within her. ‘I did nothing wrong.’ Her mouth slackened; her body went limp.
If I ever share her misfortune I hope that I will face it in such a manner. But one look at her husband showed that he had not taken the same lesson from Atalante’s execution, far from it judging by his obvious excitement. Disgusted with the man and yet feeling a strange urge to protect him at the same time, Adea took his hand and led him from the dais as Ptolemy pulled the sword from Atalante’s breast.
‘The sentence has been passed at the army assembly,’ she heard Ptolemy shout as she descended the wooden steps, ‘and once it is passed only the army can rescind it. It gave me no pleasure to execute a woman, but it is done now and through this act we have passed the point of no return; there can be no understanding now between us and Perdikkas’ followers. They will not be coming to The Three Paradises to make a final settlement with Antipatros; it is now to the death. All of them, especially Eumenes.’
Adea smiled to herself as she led her husband away, holding his wrist firmly to prevent him playing with himself, her confidence growing for she had seen her way forward. I may not have many friends at the moment but I would hazard that, soon, after talking to Karanos, I’ll have a few more than Eumenes. And then, despite Kassandros, Antipatros will have to deal favourably with me.
ANTIPATROS.
THE REGENT.
‘AND WHERE’S NICAEA?’ Antipatros asked his eldest son, having been apprised of the news from the south; the information had made him far more well-disposed towards Kassandros than would normally be the case and he smiled at him in a manner that could almost be construed as natural and easy. They sat, along with Nicanor, Kassandros’ younger full brother, and his half-brother, Iollas, under an awning looking out over the sea, on the beach at Issos, the site of Alexander’s stunning victory in which Darius, the King of Kings of the Persian empire, had been utterly defeated and forced to flee deep inland. The sun hung low in the west and around them the army of Macedon prepared the evening meal, filling the atmosphere with the smell of grilled seafood and thousands of voices.
‘Still in Babylon, Father, where I left her,’ Kassandros replied, tearing at the loaf of bread before the slave had even placed it on the table.
‘Then at least she is safe for the time being.’
‘Safe enough, yes; but technically she was condemned to death along with the rest of Perdikkas’ friends and family.’
‘I don’t think they’ll worry about her until they find Alketas, Attalus, Docimus and Polemon,’ Nicanor observed. Younger than his sibling by three years, he lacked the same wiry, lanky frame, the pinched features and surly manner and was far more pleasing to both the eye and the ear.
‘As soon as they heard what had happened to Perdikkas they knew they would be condemned; Alketas, Docimus and Polemon slipped away, but no one knows where to, and Attalus withdrew his fleet from the Nile delta and sailed to Tyros.’
‘Tyros?’ Antipatros groaned. ‘Of course he would, there are eight thousand talents in the royal treasury there; that will buy a lot of men for his ships and equip Alketas with an army if they join together. Alexander took two years to take Tyros. I don’t suppose anyone will be able to do it quicker without the help of treachery; the Perdikkans are a long way from being totally defeated even though they’ve lost their leader.’
‘And then there’s Eumenes,’ Nicanor said, equally downcast, looking nervously at his father as he brought up what he knew to be a very painful subject. ‘He may have been condemned by the army assembly but he’s still controlling Kappadokia and Phrygia since he defeated Krateros.’
‘And he makes me look a fool! But I’ll have him, the sly little Greek, and regain my honour. Whatever happens, I’ll see him dead. I’ll try sending Archias the Exile-Hunter after him, but it’s one thing assassinating unprotected exiles, it’s quite another trying to kill a general in the midst of his army. Still, he’s the best there is at his trade.’ Antipatros contemplated the humiliation inflicted on him by Eumenes for a few moments and then shook his head in disbelief. ‘Just how did a secretary defeat and kill a general as experienced as Krateros?’
‘You shouldn’t have divided your forces, Father,’ Kassandros said, almost flinching in anticipation of a sharp rebuke.
Antipatros glared at his son but said nothing. Unfortunately he’s right, with the benefit of hindsight. But now is the time for looking forward, not back. ‘How long did it take you to get here?’
‘Three days; Ptolemy lent me a ship. I was just behind Attalus’ fleet as it sailed into Tyros.’
Antipatros beamed, feeling more optimistic at the news. ‘Ptolemy helped you? The good lad; he’s proving to be a compliant son-in-law. He’ll ingratiate himself even more with me by returning Alexander’s body; what he wants with it in Egypt I just don’t understand.’
Kassandros shook his head. ‘It would be a useless demand, Father; best not to make it and avoid looking weak when he refuses you. Alexander stays in Egypt whether Ptolemy’s your son-in-law or not; he sees the possession of it as a way of establishing his legitimacy. He has no need to ingratiate himself with anyone; he was just being civil in lending me that ship as a brother-in-law should be.’
Antipatros felt his warmth towards his son-in-law
diminish. ‘Then we had better send it back to him with a strong letter reminding him that we are family and need to work together for our common good, hadn’t we?’
‘The ship’s already gone; but not back, on.’
‘On? Where to?’
‘I didn’t ask the triarchos,’ Kassandros replied through another mouthful of bread. ‘It came as a surprise to me; he literally dropped me off and then, as soon as I was on dry land, left.’
‘On, eh?’ Antipatros’ good feeling towards Ptolemy evaporated entirely. This is so tiresome; I’m getting far too old for these games. ‘The conniving bastard must be sending a message to Kleopatra in Sardis. He knows that she will write at once to warn Eumenes. Ptolemy is, as usual, playing both sides and I’ll wager that the ship will carry on to Macedon and deposit a messenger heading for that witch, Olympias, in Epirus. I’ll have a quiet but firm word with him at The Three Paradises.’
‘I’m afraid you won’t, Father, he’s not coming.’
This was too much for Antipatros. ‘Not coming! Not coming to the most important conference since Alexander died? Why ever not?’
‘He doesn’t see the need to talk about the rest of the empire when he is perfectly happy in Egypt and has no wish to leave. He told me he would be content with whatever settlement we came up with so long as it left him alone; he added that he wouldn’t want things to become unpleasant.’
‘Unpleasant! I’ll give the ungrateful bastard unpleasant! How am I meant to organise a lasting peace if we don’t have everyone who matters around the table; even Lysimachus is coming, for Aries’ sake, and he’s got no interests outside Europe at all, being quite content to spend his time subduing the northern Thracian tribes. Ptolemy has to come!’ Antipatros rubbed his forehead with a wrinkled and blotchy-skinned hand, feeling every one of his eighty years. That’s just it: he doesn’t have to come. To all intents and purposes, Egypt is an island and if Ptolemy wants to stay there then there is nothing that I can do about it. Gods, how I wish Hyperia were here; I’m in dire need of the comforts of a wife. Controlling himself, he looked back to Kassandros and Nicanor and then to Iollas, his third eldest son, leaning against one of the awning’s poles. ‘So, Perdikkas is dead, boys, and Eumenes and his other supporters have a price on their head which I’m very sure that the Exile-Hunter will be only too pleased to claim. Where does that leave us?’
The Three Paradises Page 3
