The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘At least listen to what I have to say, Kleopatra,’ Eumenes pleaded. ‘You saw my army parading before the walls of Sardis this morning; you saw the professionalism of my Kappadokian cavalry as they went through their evolutions; you heard the spirit of my Macedonian phalanx as they cheered you, and hailed you as the sister of Alexander; you saw what power I have behind me, did you not?’

  Kleopatra, now in her mid-thirties but still retaining the bloom of beauty that both she and her brother had shared, flashed angry blue eyes at him as she looked down from a dais; she dismissed the speech with a wave of her hand. ‘I saw a force that numbered less than fifteen thousand; Antipatros is marching north with almost twice that number and Antigonos is heading east to circle around you, trapping you with almost the same total. Nicanor has taken your old satrapy of Kappadokia; you have nowhere to go now. You don’t stand a chance, Eumenes. I’ll not ally myself with you, an outlaw, and go down with you; not even for old friendship’s sake.’

  Antigonos is heading east to get around my flank; that is unwelcome news but the last thing I should do is appear desperate to her. ‘Kleopatra, you are coming to the end of your child-bearing years, the two children you had with Alexander of Epirus can have no claim to the Macedonian throne so if you wish for Alexander’s line to continue through you it must be with a suitable Macedonian husband. But there is no one left, Antipatros has seen to that by marrying one of his daughters to Ptolemy, the most eligible. Who else is there now? The only remotely feasible candidate after Ptolemy was Lysimachus and Antipatros took him out of the running by marrying Nicaea to him. Phila went to Demetrios should you consider the younger generation; the old man has covered all your options. Admit it, Kleopatra, you will sit here fading until it is time to make the last journey.’

  ‘That journey will come sooner than you think if I were to ally myself to you; I can’t marry you, you’re a Greek.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to marry me!’ Eumenes’ voice had risen considerably; he paused, took a sip of the chilled wine at his elbow and gave a deep breath. ‘You and I are both second-class people in the Macedonian world, Kleopatra: me because I’m a Greek and you because you’re a woman. We stand no chance to influence matters on our own, but together? Together we can have power. Antipatros has been named regent of the two kings although Antigonos has custody of them to keep them with the Royal Army in Asia. But by what right? Answer me that? If you were to stand up and claim the regency as Alexander’s sister then your blood would outdo your sex. It would be impossible for Antipatros to resist the claim especially because it would be backed by force, my force and the size of it won’t matter for who would go against an army that stood for Alexander’s sister and the kings?’

  Eumenes could see that the force of his argument was working on Kleopatra; her expression mellowed as she considered the proposition. Now I’ll give her the harsh reality of her situation. ‘Your mother is constantly plotting against Antipatros; what’s to stop him coming here on the way back to Macedon, forcibly removing you and taking you with him as another prop to his legitimacy and to make it seem that Olympias is so desperate for power that she would even plot against her own daughter? Who knows, he might even manage to force you to marry that pimply son of his.’

  ‘I’ll never marry Kassandros.’

  ‘Never is a very long time but you don’t have much of it left; at least the offspring of a union between the sister of Alexander and the son of his regent would have credibility and who knows how desperate you might become as your body draws nearer to the change?’

  ‘Never that desperate.’

  ‘Can you be certain? At least you would know that your son would take the throne; he would be chosen over the half-breed. You and I both know how conservative your people are.’

  ‘I would never have anything to do with any of Antipatros’ family, especially not one who is rumoured to have killed my brother.’

  ‘Then do it, Kleopatra, claim the regency. Claim it and in one blow we defeat Antipatros and bring the empire back into the hands of the Argead dynasty for real and put an end to this sham whereby Antipatros holds all the power by proxy; he has not long to live and then what then? Will the regency become hereditary and Kassandros assume full power? Is that what you want?’

  Kleopatra considered Eumenes for some time; he shifted under her gaze but never took his eyes from hers. I’ve done all I can; it’s down to her to make the right decision.

  ‘No, Eumenes, it’s not what I want but, nevertheless, I won’t claim the regency.’

  Eumenes could not stop his face from falling. ‘But why not?’

  ‘Because what you said will come true, my mother would see to it that it does, constantly dripping poison into my ear: I would be tempted to act as regent not for the two kings but for my child, whoever I chose to conceive it with. I would necessarily become the murderer of my half-brother and nephew. I dare not put myself into that sort of temptation. No, Eumenes, I shall stay here and grow old; I shall send for my two children from Epirus and they shall bring me consolation and I shall resign myself to the fact that I shall never marry again.’

  Eumenes was finding it hard to believe what he was hearing. How can she just throw away the chance of real power and the opportunity to ensure that the true Argead line survives?

  ‘No, Eumenes,’ Kleopatra said, holding her palm towards him. ‘I know what you’re thinking and I won’t be persuaded. Go now and do what you will, but don’t involve me in your plans; you have made me see the futility of my situation. Now I must acknowledge the fact that Antipatros has beaten me.’

  It’s pointless to argue further. ‘In that case I’ll keep my army out on the plain outside the town and wait for Antipatros; they’ll fight better knowing that the sister of Alexander is within.’

  ‘No, Eumenes, just go. Take your army far away from here; I want none of it.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Go!’

  ‘She would not let herself be persuaded,’ Eumenes said to Xennias as they walked down the steps of the palace; their companion cavalry escort waited with the horses in the bustling agora below. ‘She seems to have given up hope, resigning herself to fading into obscurity.’

  ‘Did you try to induce her with money?’

  ‘Thank you, Apollonides,’ Eumenes said as he took the bridle of his horse from the young commander of the cavalry escort and mounted. ‘Kleopatra doesn’t do anything for money, Xennias, that’s something that everyone knows. Her honour is in inverse proportion to her mother’s. In fact you could almost say that she was fashioned to cancel out Olympias’ deeds.’ Eumenes smiled at the thought. ‘And I like both of the ladies very much, but for very different reasons.’ He kicked his horse and led his men through the busy agora, market day being in full progress; the crowds parted for them, well used to the behaviour of soldiers when impeded. ‘But this time I’m afraid to say that the shadow of Olympias has ruined my plans; the daughter knows the mother only too well.’

  ‘Do we stay here or move on?’ Xennias asked as they left the agora and clattered down the Sacred Way, lined with the elegant two-storeyed buildings of the rich merchant class, towards the east gate at its end.

  Its hiss was just audible but the impact of the arrow in a wooden shutter just to Eumenes’ left was violent and reverberating, as were the cries of two of the troopers punched from the saddles by better-aimed projectiles.

  ‘On!’ Eumenes cried, kicking his horse, leaning forward his head on the left side of the beast’s neck.

  Three more shafts thumped in from above, taking down two horses and a trooper.

  Eumenes felt his mount accelerate, aware in its equine mind of danger closing in. Behind him, the pounding of the surviving escort’s hooves on stone echoed off the buildings, magnified out of all proportion in such a confined space. His horse shuddered, mid pace, and gave a bestial shriek but pressed on at great speed despite the arrow now buried in its rump. But speed suddenly ceased to be the issue as, up ahead
, four men spanned the street; fox fur hats adorned their heads, blending with their long beards of the same hue, almost obscuring their faces. Knee-length leather boots they wore as they stood, foursquare, on the road, brandishing the long-handled, curved-blade weapons that, Eumenes knew, could slice a man in two: the rhomphaia.

  A quick look over his shoulder showed Eumenes the four archers jumping down from their vantage places, drawing their sleek weapons from sheaths down their backs; with no alleys to either side in this stretch of the street there was no way out. The Exile-Hunter had chosen his ambush site well. There was nothing for it but to press on and chance that barrier of honed iron knowing that a rhomphaia would hardly notice a horse’s leg.

  ‘“And in full charge he ran at Diomede, and he at him,”’ Archias declaimed from the Iliad, spinning his rhomphia in the air, catching it with two hands over his right shoulder and then springing into a reckless sprint, his hair flowing out beneath his cap and a wild grin of pure pleasure on his round, almost boyish, face. His three companions, roaring in their own guttural language, followed with equal enthusiasm.

  He’ll jump to his left as his rhomphaia is to his right. It was now strength against agility. Eumenes urged his horse, his equine battering ram, directly at the charging Archias. But a horse, even at full speed, is of little threat to a small, dispersed force of infantry; such is their agility. At the last moment, as Eumenes swerved right in anticipation of Archias’ move, Archias jumped to his right, reversing his weapon in a flash and skimming it down into the path of the beast that thundered on despite leaving its left foreleg behind. Down it crashed, screeching, blood spurting from the fresh-hewn stump that worked on as if it were still a whole limb.

  Eumenes jumped clear, hitting the ground, rolling into a ball, his momentum taking him a dozen paces down the road, as his men crashed through the three Thracians in a swirl of hissing blades; two more horses came down, the rider of one sharing in his mount’s sudden amputation, both man and beast flung wailing to the floor.

  Speed now was paramount; Eumenes leaped to his feet as soon as his motion slowed, drawing his blade in one fleet action. But Archias was already bearing down on him, striding with purpose, calm in his savage intention.

  ‘“Caught in a tide of death from which there is no escaping,”’ Archias quoted again, this time from King Oedipus, Eumenes recognised, as he held his rhomphaia, two-handed, towards Eumenes.

  Eumenes backed away from the fearsome blade, keeping his sword pointing towards it. I’ll be lucky to come out of this with a single limb unless I think of something. And then he tripped; onto his arse he fell, the stone that his right heel had hit rolled back with him and it was by an unconscious instinct that he grabbed it. It was just a flick of the wrist but done so fast it was as if the stone had left a sling. Straight it went, blurred by speed; the crack of bone and the sharp exclamation of pain seemed to be detached from the chaos around; Archias’ backwards, archedspined fall, arms flying up, launching his blade skyward, all happened in very slow time.

  The Exile-Hunter crumpled to the ground as Xennias raced up to Eumenes, his mount still possessing all the limbs it had come into the world with. ‘Up,’ the Macedonian shouted, reaching down.

  ‘But he’s still alive!’

  Xennias was not interested and grabbed his general under the arms, lifting him bodily as he sped away with Apollonides and the few remaining survivors racing after him.

  ‘He’s still alive,’ Eumenes shouted again.

  ‘And just be thankful that you are too; and in one piece.’

  At the gate Xennias put Eumenes down so that he could mount up behind him. He looked along the Sacred Way and saw Archias staggering to his feet, all seven of his Thracians gathering round him to help him up. He pushed them away and stood firm. Looking to Eumenes, he raised his hand in greeting. ‘And fate? No man alive has ever escaped it – I tell you, Eumenes, it is born with us the day we are born.’

  With that, he turned away and Eumenes knew that he had not seen the last of Antipatros’ assassin.

  ANTIPATROS.

  THE REGENT.

  ANTIPATROS THUMPED THE tent pole in frustration. ‘Seven months! It’s been seven months that you’ve been chasing him, Archias, and the sly little Greek is still in one piece and still leading a rebel army. I thought you were meant to be the best.’

  ‘“But the gods give to mortals not everything at the same time,”’ Archias said, totally unconcerned by the anger in his patron’s voice.

  ‘Fuck Homer and fuck all tragic playwrights whilst we’re about it. You’re meant to be an assassin, not an actor anymore; if you want to go back to the theatre then give me the money I paid you upfront and get going and I’ll get someone else to do the job.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Antipatros,’ Archias said, his face hardening. ‘I’ll get him. But what you have to understand is that he wintered in Kappadokia; I don’t know if you’ve ever been there but in winter nothing happens because of the snow. He didn’t move around in the open and we couldn’t get to him, so I waited until he came out and took him on the first occasion that he wasn’t surrounded by fifteen thousand men.’

  ‘Well, you missed.’

  Archias’ smile was cloyingly sweet. ‘And I won’t next time. I’ll fling a spear myself and leave the rest to Zeus.’

  ‘Forget about divine help and aim the spear yourself properly. And make the next time soon because, according to my spies, he’s now two days away from Sardis heading back east again. Why you are even here now and not following him is beyond me. Really, Archias, I think you’re losing your touch.’

  ‘There’s nothing alive more agonised than man, of all that breathe and crawl across the earth.’

  ‘Oh, stop it! Get out of my sight and go to work!’ Antipatros watched the Exile-Hunter stalk from the room as he tried to calm his breathing. Why does that little Greek plague me so? He should have been dead last year and Krateros should still be alive. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Would that he were still, then I wouldn’t have the problem as to whom I leave the regency. I don’t have much longer left to me; any fool can see that. Oh, Krateros, you would have been the perfect successor; Alexander even named you himself. Kassandros could never have argued with my choice if you were it. But wishing for what could not be was a thing of the distant past for Antipatros and he quickly dismissed the thought from his mind as futile. It was with a weary sigh that he went to address the real reason he had come to Sardis.

  ‘I had no choice but to see him,’ Kleopatra asserted. ‘Whatever he’s done, he’s an old friend. I told him that he shouldn’t have come and then I listened to what he had to say.’

  ‘And what was that?’ Antipatros asked, wrinkling his nose at the sharpness of the ice-cool sherbet.

  ‘I will not betray a confidence.’

  ‘He’s an outlaw, he can’t have confidences.’

  ‘That may be your opinion but it isn’t mine.’

  Antipatros examined the drink in its glass tumbler of various shades of green. ‘Do you really like this Asian muck?’

  ‘I do; I find it very cooling.’

  Antipatros grunted and placed his glass back down onto the table. ‘Kleopatra, as you know, I had tremendous respect for your father and brother, as I do for you. But I have to question your motives when you grant the empire’s most-wanted man an interview, refuse to tell me what was discussed and, more to the point, did not detain Eumenes when it was within your power to do so. Whose side are you on?’

  Kleopatra’s smile widened and she laughed through her nose. ‘Sides, Antipatros? I wasn’t aware that there were sides. As far as I’m concerned we are all on the side of the Argead dynasty; it’s just that there are different thoughts on how that is best supported.’

  ‘Don’t try to be clever with me, Kleopatra.’

  ‘Why, because a woman should just sit demurely and do what she’s told?’

  ‘You know perfectly well that I have more respect for women
than to think that. Eumenes has been outlawed by the army assembly for his responsibility for the death of Krateros. You should have detained him.’

  ‘I should have done no such thing. But I did tell him to leave and take his army with him; he was going to wait for you here on the plain.’

  ‘Again! Why did you do that? I would have welcomed the chance to settle it once and for all. He’s the reason why this war drags on.’

  ‘He’s not! It’s you, Antipatros,’ she snapped, pointing a finger at the old man, ‘it’s you who could stop all this by granting him a pardon for something that only happened because he was defending himself. This could all stop now if you wanted it to. But, no, you don’t want it to, do you? And would you like me to tell you why?’

  Antipatros ran a hand over his bald pate. ‘Not really, but I suppose I have no option but to hear it.’

  ‘Because you can’t bear it that you and Krateros made the classic mistake of dividing your forces, thereby letting a Greek get the better of two great Macedonian generals, killing one into the bargain. Eumenes’ very existence is a reminder of your incompetence; you think that his death will bring back your self-respect.’

  Antipatros waved her theory away. ‘Eumenes is an outlaw.’

  ‘Because he killed a Macedonian in open battle; whereas you, Antipatros, you do similar things but in a different way and yet you are not an outlaw.’

  Antipatros frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Kleopatra clapped her hands; a buxom woman bustled in with a scroll case. ‘Thank you, Thetima,’ Kleopatra said, taking the case, opening it and pulling out a tightly wound scroll. ‘Are you a literary man, Antipatros? Did you ever read Voyages with Alexander by a Greek named Onescritus?’