The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘The Ferryman?’ Philip froze, his eyes darting left and right, searching for his greatest fear; just the mention of his name was enough to bring the man-child back under control when being unruly.

  Adea allowed herself a quick smile at the ease with which she could now control her husband who relied upon her for almost everything and who was, in his own way, passionately devoted to her. Keeping him safe and respected was her priority, for although it was well known that he had the mind of a child he was of Alexander’s blood, his half-brother, and that was of great importance to the rank and file of the army and they honoured him as their king and looked upon him as a talisman.

  ‘Soldiers of Macedon,’ Polyperchon shouted, as the cheering for the kings died away, his voice a monotone. ‘Two days ago we gave funeral rites to Antipatros whose service to our country is beyond all reckoning.’ He raised the Great Ring of Macedon into the air. ‘I come before you, before this assembly of the army, to say that in his wisdom on his deathbed he passed the ring of Macedon onto me. I ask you, formally, to accept me as regent of Macedon and of the two kings, Alexander and Philip, who appear here before you. What say you, soldiers of Macedon?’ The final line went from a monotone to a squeak which rang clear around the parade ground and faded into silence.

  Polyperchon, his ring still raised, looked around and, visibly stunned that he had failed to receive a great acclamation, lowered his arm; a hum of muttered conversation began to rise from the assembled troops.

  Now is my chance, now I appear before them as a warrior queen. Adea grabbed her husband’s horse’s reins and walked her mount forward to come to a halt next to Polyperchon whose rage at the move was undisguised. ‘Soldiers of Macedon,’ she shouted in her clear voice, neither shrill nor deep, and with varying tone so it sounded like sweet music after Polyperchon’s dirge. ‘My husband, the king, wishes it to be known that he supports Polyperchon.’

  Polyperchon looked at her in surprise.

  ‘But it will cost you,’ Adea whispered from the corner of her mouth. ‘Soldiers of Macedon,’ she continued, ‘my husband, the king, asks that you too lend your support to Polyperchon knowing that King Philip will guide him in his deliberations. Polyperchon will consult with my husband on all matters both military and civilian and I, Queen Eurydike, shall report the discussions back to your officers. Polyperchon and my husband will have equal status. Support him, soldiers of Macedon, support Polyperchon as your regent and Philip as your king.’

  The roar was instant and booming and Adea knew that she had finally achieved her ambition of being at the centre of power as was her right as a granddaughter of Philip, the second of that name. Not for her, this time, the humiliation of failure as when she was outmanoeuvred by Antipatros, first in The Three Paradises and then on the shores of the Hellespont where he had left her with a mutinous army in her hands but without the resources to look after it. No, this time her place was secure; this time she could not be outmanoeuvred for Polyperchon now owed his position to her, she had come to the aid of the uncharismatic nonentity by dazzling the army with her flair.

  ‘What have you done?’ Alexandros, Polyperchon’s son, hissed at her.

  ‘Come to the rescue of an old man who had underwhelmed the army with a speech lacking in any charisma whatsoever.’

  ‘If you think that I’ll be consulting Philip on anything,’ Polyperchon said, ‘then you are sadly deluded.’

  ‘I don’t think anything of the sort, old man; I think that you will be consulting me, acting for the king.’ She smiled at him without mirth and then led Philip’s horse forward towards the cheering front rankers. ‘Wave at them, Philip, don’t smile; we’re playing kings, remember. Kings don’t smile, do they?’

  ‘No, Adea, they don’t; kings are gave.’

  ‘Grave, Philip; kings are grave.’

  ‘Yes, Adea,’ he agreed, doing his best to wave with gravity as Polyperchon drew level with them to share the accolade.

  The nonentity has just agreed to my terms by joining us; I’m there. She looked over to where Roxanna sat helplessly immobile in her carriage. And she must be furious as I’ve managed to relegate her son to the second tier; Polyperchon will talk for him at our meetings.

  Thus, for the first time since marrying Philip in Babylon, and taking the name Queen Eurydike, Adea felt a degree of security. No longer did it matter quite so desperately that she had still not conceived; indeed, she had now despaired of ever doing so and had reduced their couplings to just once a month leaving Philip to his own devices the rest of the time. No, now she would have power in her own right, speaking for her husband in a council, protected by the love of the army from Polyperchon trying to remove her.

  At last she was going to be listened to.

  ‘We should send Diogenes to Cilicia to meet with Antigenes and Teutamus guarding the imperial treasury in Cyinda,’ Adea said to Polyperchon, across the council table set in the centre of the throne-room. She studiously ignored Alexandros sitting – uninvited – next to his father. ‘As Antipatros’ treasurer he’ll have the respect of the two men and the letter signed by you and my husband will release all the money we need into his care; it can be transported back on the same ship that takes him over. The whole thing could be accomplished in ten to twelve days.’

  Polyperchon shook his head, clearly not convinced and trying not to look at Philip presiding over the meeting from the raised throne at the end of the table whilst playing with his toy elephant. ‘Alketas and Attalus are in neighbouring Pisidia; what if they get wind of the shipment?’

  Why does he always come up with unlikely problems; every meeting it’s the same: we can’t do this because this or that might happen. ‘The Rhodians destroyed their navy last year, they’re inland and Antigonos is either on his way to face them or is already there; they’re far too preoccupied to be looking out for a treasure ship.’

  ‘But they might,’ Alexandros said. ‘And is it worth the risk of enriching them just to get money that we could squeeze out of Greece?’

  ‘Who asked you your opinion?’ Adea barked. ‘You represent nobody; you’ve no place at this council.’

  ‘He’s my son and I asked him to be here,’ Polyperchon said, thumping his fist on the table. ‘And he’s right: they might hear of the shipment and end up stronger than they already are.’

  Adea shot a venomous glance at Alexandros, smirking at her, and then spoke specifically to his father. ‘And a storm might blow up and the ship might sink. Lots of things might happen but nothing will happen if we don’t put this in motion; we are desperately short of money here in Macedon and there are hundreds of talents in silver and gold in Cilicia so let’s get five hundred over here as quickly as possible. If the situation in Athens is as bad as you say it is then we will need cash to buy support. Who is this Nicanor of Sindus who has taken control of the garrison in Piraeus, anyway?’

  ‘He’s no friend of mine, quite the opposite.’ Polyperchon looked at his son and nodded.

  ‘According to the people I had follow him,’ Alexandros said, ‘Kassandros was injured on that hunt he went on and Nicanor’s doctor fixed him up; Nicanor left for Athens the same day and got there before the news of Antipatros’ death that we’d sent south, arrived and took over the garrison with a letter from Kassandros writing in his father’s name. That was almost half a moon ago now.’

  ‘And Kassandros, where is he now?’

  Polyperchon looked across the table at her, his eyes full of worry. ‘Once his leg was healed enough to travel in a litter he went to Thrace; he’s there with Lysimachus.’

  A shrill disturbance at the door cut short Adea’s response; all turned to see Roxanna force her way past the guards with her son, his nursemaid and two slave-girls following.

  ‘Why was I not informed of this meeting?’ Roxanna demanded.

  Adea stood and faced her rival. ‘Because you’re not part of the council.’

  ‘Keep your cunt-kissing mouth shut, bitch, I was asking the regent.’ S
he squared up to Polyperchon, her eyes blazing over the top of her veil. ‘There have been four meetings and I have not been informed of any of them. I am the mother of the king.’

  ‘One of the kings,’ Polyperchon reminded her.

  Roxanna pointed to Philip, now kneeling on the throne and hunched down, over his elephant, as if trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. ‘You call that a king? It should have been strangled at birth.’ She turned to her son, the young Alexander. ‘Here is a king; my husband’s blood flows in his veins. He should be sitting on that throne instead of that beast. And I should be at this table to speak for him.’

  ‘Polyperchon speaks for him,’ Adea shouted. ‘He’s the regent.’

  ‘And what are you, girl-lover? Are you a regent? No! And yet you sit at this table.’

  ‘I represent my husband.’

  ‘By what right?’ Roxanna’s voice was now a full-pitched screech.

  ‘By the acclamation of the army, you eastern whore!’

  It was a lightning action; a flash of blade and a spray of blood from Adea’s upper arm. Roxanna raised her hand for another strike with the dagger that had been concealed up her sleeve, but her opponent was too quick.

  Warrior-trained and skilled in the art of the blade, Adea grabbed Roxanna’s wrist as the blow came down, pushing her back onto the ground and straddling her, with her fist maintaining a vice-like grip. ‘Let’s see what hideousness you conceal under there.’ Ripping the veil from Roxanna’s face, she raised her eyes in surprise. ‘So you’re quite pretty after all; could even be my type except for the nasty scar on your face.’ She began to force the blade towards it.

  Roxanna screamed, the child howled and clutched his nurse; a stream of urine flowed down from the throne.

  ‘No, Adea!’ Polyperchon shouted, hauling her off the writhing easterner as his son secured the blade.

  Adea let herself be restrained, both arms pinned behind her, enjoying the look of terror on Roxanna’s face just before she flung her veil back over it and got to her knees. ‘You think that protects you?’ With a jerk, she leaned back on Polyperchon and lashed out with a foot. Back snapped Roxanna’s head and she crashed to the floor; blood soaking through the veil from a crushed nose. ‘Take her away before I kill the bitch.’

  The slave-girls glanced at one another, reluctant to touch their mistress whilst in such an undignified situation and burst into tears.

  ‘Guards!’ Alexandros shouted. ‘Take the queen to her chambers.’

  With little ceremony, for Roxanna had little respect, she was dragged from the room. Her howling son, clinging to his nurse, followed, with the slave-girls weeping for themselves for they feared the punishment for witnessing such humiliation, trailing behind.

  ‘So,’ Adea said, ripping off the hem of her tunic, ‘where were we before that wicked interruption?’

  Polyperchon looked at her with unconcealed surprise. ‘You want to carry on the meeting after that?’

  She pressed the rag onto the wound on her arm; despite all the blood, it was not deep. ‘Of course; the business of government must go on despite that eastern wild-cat.’ She sat back down at the table. ‘So, Kassandros has left Macedon and is now in Thrace with Lysimachus, his brother-in-law; is that right?’

  Polyperchon had to shake his head to realign his thoughts after the brief but violent interlude. ‘Yes, that’s correct.’ He sat back down.

  ‘He’s in open rebellion, then?’

  ‘No, not yet, but I’m sure he’s thinking about it; he sent his brothers to Ptolemy and Antigonos. He is looking for support.’

  ‘Another brother-in-law and the father of the third one; he’s appealing to family ties and perhaps will be successful with at least one of them. All the more reason for us to get some money over here.’

  Polyperchon sighed, beaten by her sheer persistence. ‘Alright, we’ll risk it.’

  Adea smiled, still holding the rag to her wound. ‘Good. I’m glad we’re in agreement, Polyperchon. And don’t worry about Alketas and Attalus, Antigonos will be keeping them fully occupied.’

  ANTIGONOS.

  THE ONE-EYED.

  ‘THEY’RE HOLDING A pass to the east of Termessos, by a little town called Cretopolis,’ Demetrios reported, wiping the dust and sweat from his face with a cloth. ‘It’s a very good position – at least it would be if they were formed up.’

  ‘Alketas still has his army in camp,’ Antigonos said, more out of hope than surprise.

  ‘Yes, Father, he doesn’t know that we’re here yet.’

  Antigonos chuckled, rubbing his hands together with more vigour than normally the case. ‘We’ve done it. How far away is this pass?’

  ‘Just over a league, a little bit south of west. There’s a negotiable slope on the northern side; we can attack from there with the advantage of the higher ground.’

  ‘Good lad, Demetrios, I’ll make a general of you yet.’ Antigonos looked at the sun. ‘We could be there in an hour which would leave a couple of hours of daylight; just enough time. Best go now rather than wait for dawn and run the risk of their scouts coming across us in the night. I’ll lead with the phalanx and you can use the cavalry in conjunction with the elephants to repulse any counter attack as we advance down to them; that’ll give them a nasty surprise.’

  Demetrios looked at his father, aghast. ‘Using elephants on fellow Macedonians? It’s one thing using them against fortifications, but against lads in the field?’

  ‘I know it’s never been done before but this is war, Son, and the quicker we get it over with the better. If Eumenes can be brought to terms then this could be the last battle of the struggle.’

  But even as he said it he knew that it would be an awful disappointment were it to be so. He loved war and he had thoroughly enjoyed himself during this particular one: phalanx against phalanx, the sheer joy of it. But he also needed to win; it would be pointless prolonging the conflict by deliberately losing a battle and to this end he had forced-marched his army from Kappadokia to Pisidia in just eight days, covering between twelve and fifteen leagues a day. It had been a favourite tactic of Alexander’s and now he, Antigonos, had used it successfully, for here he was an hour’s march away from his enemy who thought him to be far away in the east.

  Gods, this will be good.

  ‘No horns,’ he ordered as he gave the command for the army to move off. ‘Not until we get there.’

  ‘It’s like poking an ants’ nest,’ Antigonos observed with a laugh, over the trumpeting of his elephants. ‘And they were just settling down to the evening meal, by the smell of it.’ He looked down the hill into Alketas’ camp, astride the main pass leading from the uplands of Pisidia down to the rugged coast of Pamphylia; it was full of tiny figures running around, terrified by the din of the elephants that had suddenly appeared above them. The surprise was perfect and the shouts of the officers rose on the breeze as they desperately tried to get their men formed up in their units. But it was too late; Antigonos’ army had the higher ground and it was already formed up. With a simple gesture of his hand, Antigonos signalled the advance and the great phalanx moved forward at a steady pace, down towards the enemy, screened by archers and slingers and flanked by peltasts.

  Alketas had many faults but he could never be accused of being a coward: to buy his phalanx time to form up he led his cavalry, three thousand strong, and skirmishing foot, straight at the oncoming mass of infantry in an attempt to frustrate the advance. Up the horses surged, their chests swelling with the effort of the incline as their riders bellowed their war-cries, urging their mounts to greater efforts. The hiss of the first volley rose in the air and the sky darkened with arrows but still Alketas led his men on.

  But this was what Antigonos had been waiting for: once Alketas was closer to him than he was to his own phalanx he gave Demetrios the pre-arranged signal; his herd of twenty elephants trumpeted again and lumbered on down the hill, light infantry screening them and cavalry to either flank – the horses h
aving by now been accustomed to the alien smell of the great beasts. Gathering speed with the incline, the animate war-machines closed quickly upon the enemy infantry, still in considerable disarray. Faced with being cut off from his phalanx and then surrounded, Alketas turned his cavalry about and swarmed back down the hill. It was within moments of disaster that he managed to regroup; but it was disaster postponed, and not for long at that, for Antigonos’ charge came home into a disorganised phalanx whose unprotected flanks had felt the wrath of an elephant engagement, leaving many mashed, mangled and impaled. They had no choice: they sat down in surrender, like a wave going from the left flank, mauled by the elephants, all the way across the ten thousand man formation to the untouched, but soon to be overwhelmed, right.

  ‘Attalus, Docimus and Polemon,’ Antigonos said, addressing each of his prisoners brought, in chains, before him in his tent. ‘I wish it were in better circumstances that we are meeting but unfortunately you are to be considered rebels under sentence of death.’

  ‘We’re not rebels,’ Attalus insisted. ‘We’re loyal to my brother-in-law, Perdikkas, who was foully murdered by Antigenes, Seleukos and Peithon; they’re the rebels, not us, for killing the man to whom Alexander gave his ring.’

  ‘Well, Antipatros currently wears that ring, although not for much longer I should guess. But because the political situation may well change imminently, I’m minded to spare your lives for the moment and wait to see if there cannot be some sort of rapprochement; until then I shall keep you confined in Celaenae. Now, I suppose it’s useless asking you where Alketas is?’