The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  And as he watched rank upon rank of his seven thousand infantry embark upon the transport fleet, twelve days later, to be ferried down the Euphrates, keeping pace with the cavalry upon the shore, Seleukos reflected upon the wisdom of that toast and Ptolemy’s observation afterward. It was now clear to him that Eurydike’s pregnancy had made Ptolemy consider his position in a dynastic way; indeed, he had even used the word. Up until now Seleukos had been thinking only in terms of his coming to power in Babylon and then expanding that base both to the east and the west; his ambition had been solely focused upon area with no consideration for time, other than the natural wish for his own longevity. Ptolemy, however, had grasped the full implication of taking power: dynasty. That being the case, Seleukos realised that, having but one son, Antiochus, and one daughter, he should now think about getting Apama pregnant again; sons and daughters, especially daughters, could be very useful diplomatic currency; if a dynasty was to survive then its seeds needed to be spread far.

  It was with the growing and sobering realisation that what he was embarking upon was not just a power grab by a single man for his own lifetime but, rather, the beginning of a journey that would propel his descendants into history when the record of the time was written, that Seleukos gave orders for the fleet to sail the following morning. As he did, he knew that, whatever came to pass, it was to Ptolemy that he would always be grateful. Whether or not they eventually came to face each other with arms, Seleukos would always know that his portion of Alexander’s empire and that of his heirs had come to him through Ptolemy’s good services.

  PTOLEMY.

  THE BASTARD.

  ‘OF COURSE IT was the right thing to do,’ Ptolemy said, standing at the starboard rail of the quinquereme, gliding slowly through the blockading fleet outside Tyros.

  Thais looked at him, far from convinced. ‘But if you give Seleukos access to the sea then he immediately becomes a rival.’

  ‘That might be so but, at the same time, he is also a buffer.’ Ptolemy paused to admire the forty warships patrolling up and down in squadrons of eight beyond the great harbour mouth, barred by a chain of prodigious-sized links. They were far enough out to sea for it to be a clear blue rather than the sludgy greyish-green of the port water; with no wind, the surface was so still as to reflect the towering sea-walls of the city that had taken Alexander two years to subdue. It was an impressive sight, the fleet before Tyros, and it had the gratifying effect of keeping Attalus’ navy bottled up for the past half-moon as well as preventing any shipping from entering the town with fresh supplies – the landward access having been cut off by Ptolemy’s besieging army. Attalus, however, was cooped up inside entirely of his own volition: upon his arrival at the blockade, the previous day, Ptolemy had offered Attalus free passage north with his fleet provided that he leave his army behind and the treasury full; he had declined the offer, a move that had neither surprised nor concerned Ptolemy.

  Ptolemy brought his mind back to Seleukos and his long-term strategy. ‘Think about it, my dear, if Seleukos holds all the land from Babylon, up the Tigris and Euphrates and then across to the north Syrian coast, then I have only one neighbour to deal with. He has the problems of Antigonos to the north and whoever else manages to carve himself a slice of empire to his east; for any of them to get to me they first have to go through him. Cyprus protects me by sea and Seleukos by land; you could say I’ve wrapped myself in Seleukos and Cyprus. Of course, he didn’t see what I was doing and I believe he is charmingly grateful even though it is I who should be thanking him for all of my battles that he’ll be fighting whilst I lie back in your arms and watch.’

  Thais smiled up at Ptolemy, linking her arm with his. ‘And I wrap myself in you, which must make me the safest person alive.’ She nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder.

  Ptolemy felt a surge of well-being within; he placed his arm around the woman whose love he cherished above all others. Life seems to be treating me far too well. He held his thumb between his fingers to ward off the evil eye. Don’t think such things; that’s when it can often start going so very wrong.

  And so it did: with a speed that surprised even the most experienced of the triarchoi in Ptolemy’s fleet, the great chain across the harbour mouth loosened with a series of sharp metallic reports, splashing into fetid harbour waters. No sooner than there was adequate draught above it as it sank, the first of the triremes appeared, timed to perfection, already at attack speed, the shrill pipe of its stroke-master piercing the clanking of the chain’s descent. Two more ships followed in short order and then four more surged through the opening, now free of its constricting chain; another four followed, and then four more and more.

  Taken completely by surprise, the Ptolemaic fleet scrambled to form into line of battle from the loose patrolling in squadrons of eight. Accelerating now to ramming speed, on came Attalus’ lightning attack, spear-headed and long-shafted as yet four more triremes, line abreast, sped from the emptying harbour, fire arrows bursting from each in arcing streaks of flame-trailing smoke.

  Ptolemy closed his eyes rather than watch the chaos of his fleet caught mid-manoeuvre as ship fouled ship, entangling oars and cracking on hulls. But it was the hollow boom and screeching of wood torn through by metal that forced him to open his eyes to behold the lead attacking ship rip into the broadside-on hull of a quinquereme half again its size. Smashing oars aside as if they were naught but dry twigs, the stout copper-headed ram thrust into the ship’s hull with the urgency and ease of a voyage-weary sailor taking a dockside whore already greased and slack from many couplings.

  The screams of the stricken crew rose above the wrecking of their vessel as the counter motion of the two ships tore at the wound, splintering it open still further so that the sea surged in with the force of a mountain waterfall in the thaw. Down came the fire arrows, like a burning, staccato hail spewed by a raging volcano, slamming into the decks of the closest squadron or splashing, hissing and steaming, into the sea. And thick and fast they fell, for Attalus was leaving Tyros with his whole army as well as his fleet; the decks of each of the ships in the haft of the formation were crammed with men, now all bow-armed, with fire pots scattered throughout their ranks to ignite their massed volleys and it was with haste that they released them as they knew, to be sure of escape, overwhelming force was required.

  And overwhelming it was as the next two ships, with thunderous impacts, struck triremes with decks already ablaze to either side of the first casualty, now listing as its tormentor withdrew, oars backing, from the ghastly rent in its side. Rowers slithered out of oar-ports, chancing the open sea rather than being taking down by their ruined vessel; deck crew and marines leaped overboard to fight their crewmates for flotsam or jetsam to keep afloat as others grasped one another in a mutually destructive attempt to embrace life, sending them both, thrashing, below.

  With awe and respect did Ptolemy watch the breakout as the ranks of four ships following the initial assault triremes split, two to either side, and raced through the Ptolemaic formations now backing off to avoid the burning deluge; none of the surviving five ships from the first squadron of eight had escaped the flames and their crews rushed with buckets to extinguish fires before they could take hold of the bone-dry decking caulked with pitch and horse hair; such was their concern with their task that none made any attempt to block the fleet as it fled north; indeed, the remaining four Ptolemaic squadrons moved out of its way as none could withstand such condensed and constant volleys of blazing missiles.

  And thus Ptolemy watched as his quarry escaped, taking his full force with him.

  ‘Shall we give chase, lord?’ the triarchos shouted above the din of battle.

  Ptolemy did not hear him at first but eventually responded to the repeated question: ‘No, let them go.’ His voice had a weary lilt to it, he looked down at Thais with a rueful smile. ‘One must always see the positive of a situation, my dear. I offered to let Attalus go north to join with Alketas, should he wish, with just
his fleet on the basis that the two of them would make more trouble for Antipatros to be kept busy with and I would gain Tyros, another few thousand men and a considerable amount of money. However, now he’s gone taking the men and money I had hoped to gain, the positive side to it is that he will be an even bigger nuisance to Antipatros who will now be far too busy to argue with me about Tyros, which,’ he indicated to the empty harbour mouth hazed in smoke from many burning vessels, ‘as you can just about see, I still have gained. Let’s go and see what Attalus has left me.’

  ‘Nothing’s in there, lord,’ the keeper of the treasury said, bowing and wringing his hands and keeping his eyes averted. ‘He forced me to remove everything overnight and load it onto his ships.’ He gestured to the open door of the vault, deep within the heart of the citadel.

  Ptolemy pushed past the man, annoyed by his obsequiousness. He walked into the vault, twenty paces square, lit by a dozen flaming torches whose smoke blackened the ceiling; he paused and looked around the empty shelves and then bellowed with laughter.

  ‘What is it?’ Thais asked, running to join him.

  Ptolemy’s laughter continued as he pointed down to the floor. ‘Such generosity!’ There, in the exact centre of the room, lay a single gold coin. ‘Attalus can now argue that he did not take the entire contents of the treasury with him and he split it with me.’ He bent to pick up the coin and held it up to Thais’ face. ‘It’s one of the pieces that I had minted with Alexander’s face on it a couple of years ago.’

  She took it from his fingers. ‘The first time that a mortal had ever appeared on a coin; it made you look as if you were his rightful heir, a masterful stroke.’

  ‘I thought so too. Seeing this now, I wonder whether I should go one step further.’

  Thais frowned and then nodded with slow comprehension. ‘Of course: put your own head on a coin; that would really advertise you to the world as being the master of Egypt.’

  ‘It would indeed.’ He mused for a few moments. ‘The question is: would it be seen as an act of provocation that would finally goad Antipatros into turning his attentions away from Eumenes, Attalus and Alketas or would it just be a clear signal that Egypt and I are now independent.’

  ‘I think, my love, that it would be best to let it lie for the time being; leave Antipatros alone to deal with his problems in the north and then return to Macedon to die.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right, there’s plenty of time for coinage after the old man has gone and I consider assuming the title of Pharaoh. Besides, we’ve yet to see what his next move will be in the propaganda war now that he will have definitely read The Last Days and Testament of Alexander.’

  ANTIPATROS.

  THE REGENT.

  ‘IT WILL BE added to the end of The Royal Journals, which I intend to have published once they have been collated,’ Antipatros said, handing a scroll to Kassandros, ‘completing the story of Alexander’s conquest with an eye-witness account of his death.’

  Kassandros perused the document, his lips mouthing the words as his eyes scanned the letters. ‘I don’t see how that helps.’

  Suppressing an urge to sigh in frustration, Antipatros took the scroll and pointed to the relevant lines. ‘Here it says that Alexander did not have a sudden, stabbing pain but rather made a gradual descent into the fever and finally into unconsciousness before he died.’

  Kassandros scratched the back of his head. ‘But how does that imply he wasn’t poisoned?’

  ‘Because it didn’t just suddenly happen.’

  ‘But he still died and people will still blame us for it because of the lies in The Last Days and Testament of Alexander.’

  Antipatros stared at his son. ‘Are they lies, Kassandros? I don’t know. What I do know is that I didn’t order you to poison him but that doesn’t mean that you didn’t.’

  Kassandros looked away. ‘Of course I didn’t.’

  He can’t meet my eye as he lies to me. Still, it’s best that I don’t force the issue; what do I gain if I make him admit it? ‘Perhaps, therefore, to make that abundantly clear we should add that you arrived after Alexander first fell ill; that way there can be no dispute that you were responsible. I’ll have the clerk redraft it and then we can have the whole thing published and circulated as widely as possible and put a stop to those filthy rumours once and for all.’ Antipatros waited for a reaction from his son but was disappointed. He doesn’t care what people think; well, I suppose that’s a strength rather than a weakness. He rolled up the scroll and laid it down on the table between them before getting on to the real reason for Kassandros’ visit to his camp at Sardis before he, Antipatros, began his journey home to Macedon. ‘How’s the war against Eumenes going and how is Antigonos behaving himself?’

  ‘It’s bad news and bad news, Father.’

  Antipatros heaved a sigh. Why is it always bad news? ‘Give me the least bad first.’

  ‘Eumenes moves so quickly through the hills and mountains of the interior of Phrygia, and because he has been made an outlaw he feels that he can behave as one: plundering towns, selling their populations into slavery—’

  ‘What! That is outrageous; you can only do that on enemy territory, not here, within the empire.’

  It was Kassandros’ turn to suppress a sigh. ‘Don’t you understand, Father? Because he’s been made outlaw, everywhere for him is enemy territory; he doesn’t care. All that matters to him is to keep his army together and if that means taking what he wants when he wants it to pay his men, then so be it. He doesn’t have access to the treasuries as do you and Antigonos, so what do you expect?’

  ‘I expect him to be caught and executed. We’ve put a price of a hundred talents on his head, for the love of the gods, we’ve publicised the fact heavily; why have none of his men betrayed him?’

  ‘Because he’s a sly little Greek. When he heard that his troops had been reading your leaflets he convened an army assembly and told them that it had been him who had circulated them as a test for the army; he told them that they had passed admirably and thanked them for their loyalty.’

  ‘The sly little bastard. And they believed him?’

  ‘Yes. He said that it could not possibly have been you and Antigonos who offered the bounty as you were far too intelligent to do that, knowing that any general who offered bounties would be creating a weapon that could be turned back against himself.’

  Antipatros lifted his hands to the air in exasperation. ‘The gullible fools.’

  ‘The gullible fools voted immediately that he should have one thousand extra bodyguards in case someone takes the test seriously.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why the Exile-Hunter hasn’t finished him yet, he’s guarded too well. Have we heard from him?’

  ‘Archias hasn’t been seen since you last spoke to him and he left Sardis; there is a rumour that he and his men were seized and taken off, but by whom and to where is unknown. What is for sure is that he is not chasing Eumenes anymore.’

  Antipatros drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Gods above and below, I want Eumenes dead.’

  ‘Yes, especially as he has just taken Celaenae.’

  ‘The capital of Phrygia!’

  ‘Yes, Antigonos left his capital undefended.’

  ‘What’s Antigonos doing? Why isn’t he hunting him down?’

  ‘This is the point, Father. In answer to your second question, Antigonos is hunting Eumenes, but he’s doing it badly and I believe he is doing it badly on purpose. He’s one of the most experienced generals in the army and yet he makes the basic error of leaving his capital wide open to the enemy.’ Kassandros hunched his shoulders in disbelief. ‘Of course he knew what he was doing and of course he feigned surprise when he heard that Eumenes had walked in; but really? No, he knew what he was about.’

  Antipatros frowned. ‘What was he about?’

  ‘He was about making you look stupid and impotent.’

  ‘But he’s the one who has had his capital seized.’ Wait a moment; oh, I see
. Antipatros groaned and put a hand to his forehead. ‘Of course, the cunning old dog. He makes a great show of running around the country trying to corner Eumenes, but never quite managing it – on purpose, no doubt; he’s so stretched that he can’t even spare troops to garrison his own capital such is his keenness to stop Eumenes stealing estates and looting towns and, meanwhile, what am I doing? I’m still here in Sardis preparing to go home, looking to the common man as if I’m doing nothing even though I’m trying to keep an empire together and running, if not smoothly, then at least with some semblance of efficiency.’

  Kassandros nodded. ‘Whereas Antigonos is seen to be darting around the countryside at least trying to do something about the Greek and, meanwhile, Eumenes ravages the land, causing untold suffering to the population.’

  ‘Who see me as nothing more than a spectator to their suffering, when, by rights, as regent I should be out there doing something.’

  ‘Precisely, Father. And what with that idiot Asander’s complete failure to remove Alketas from Pisidia and Attalus reportedly on his way to Rhodos with his fleet, which would give him a formidable base, people are starting to wonder what would happen if Eumenes could persuade those two to join forces with him. And that’s not the worst of it.’

  Oh, not more bad news. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Over three thousand men under Antigonos’ command have deserted; it may be that they are imitating Eumenes and have decided that banditry is profitable during times like these.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But their commander, Holcias, has been suspected of having sympathy for the Perdikkan cause.’

  ‘What’s Antigonos doing about it?’

  Kassandros shrugged. ‘He sent Leonidas, one of his officers, to join them as if he too has a grievance; the plan is that he will gain the deserters’ confidence and then betray them. In the meantime, Antigonos is keeping between them in Kappadokia and Eumenes in Phrygia so that they can’t go over to him.’