The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  Attalus smiled. ‘Not at all. He’s in Termessos and they’ll never give him up; the young men of the town worship him as a hero.’

  Antigonos grunted. ‘We’ll see about that.’ He nodded to the guards. ‘Take them away.’

  Termessos stood tall on a hill, overlooking a long and wide fertile valley fed by many streams flowing down its sides into a river at the base. Tall towers sprang from the city, some for defence on the walls and others, within the town, just because their owners liked the superiority that the height of their dwelling awarded them. It was a rich town by all appearances and had not suffered, either during the original conquest nor now in the recent civil war as it had remained fervently loyal to the Perdikkans and Alketas in particular. It was before this town, in the fields ripe with a rich harvest, that Antigonos, with an army now of sixty thousand infantry and ten thousand cavalry – having augmented it with Alketas’ captured men – stood and smiled at the delegation from the town which had come out to meet him under a branch of truce, just before the setting of the sun.

  ‘So there you have the situation, gentlemen: I’ll wait here until Alketas is delivered up to me.’ He looked around at the abundance of the harvest. ‘I’m in no hurry; there seems to be plenty for my men to eat for months.’ He shrugged, his one eye twinkling with mischief. ‘Although, the longer you keep me waiting the less you will have to eat this winter; still, it’s better than me taking the town by storm, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, Lord,’ the greybeard who led the delegation said, wringing his hands, ‘and we thank you for that small mercy; but the sad truth of the matter is that our sons will not heed us, they will not give up Alketas and there is nothing that we can do to change their minds.’

  ‘What kind of sons do you have who refuse to obey their fathers?’

  ‘Disrespectful ones, Lord.’

  Antigonos mulled this over for a few moments. ‘Well, all I can say is that it’s going to be a difficult winter for you in there but I think we’ll be fine out here so don’t you worry about us, will you? I don’t think that there is anything else I can say until you teach your sons the meaning of paternal respect and so I shall retire to my dinner; I suggest you do the same and send your sons to bed without theirs.’

  Antigonos pulled a leg from whole, roasted goose and looked at his young guest, newly arrived from Tarsus, reclining next to Demetrios across the table, amazed by his news. ‘Well, it comes as no surprise, Pleistarchos, he was a broken man after Iollas died; but Polyperchon, that is intriguing. An excellent second in command with a great eye for detail, distribution or orders and supplies and handy with the accounting but by no means a leader – his voice is enough to send you to sleep.’ He nudged his old friend, Philotas, reclining next to him. ‘Just imagine him trying to give a rousing speech to the army before a battle.’

  Philotas choked on his wine. ‘You’d have to sound the reveille as soon as he’d finished otherwise the lads would miss the order to advance over the sound of their snores.’

  Antigonos laughed as he tore at his goose leg. ‘So your brother is a disgruntled man, I take it?’

  ‘It was his inheritance, not Polyperchon’s.’

  ‘It wasn’t, my lad, it was no one’s. Antipatros didn’t have the right to pass on the regency without a full meeting of all the satraps, which is very unlikely to happen now. But therein could lie Kassandros’ opportunity.’

  ‘So you’ll help him?’

  ‘I didn’t say that, lad. Firstly: what does he plan to do?’

  Antigonos frowned, looking at Pleistarchos once he had finished explaining Kassandros’ intentions. ‘You’re reclining; have you killed your boar?’

  A look of pride came over Pleistarchos’ face, not as pinched as his elder brother’s but similarly pale and with wisps of a ginger beard. ‘I did half a moon back.’

  ‘And what about Kassandros?’ Demetrios asked – he had killed his boar at the age of fourteen.

  Pleistarchos’ embarrassed silence was an eloquent response.

  ‘Few men have gone through life always seated on the couch and of those none has done anything remotely memorable, let alone seize Athens and force Polyperchon to fight in Greece. I wonder if your brother might be the exception to that. Go back to him tomorrow morning and tell him I’ll think on the matter.’

  ‘But you haven’t said no.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  ‘And if you decide to help him will you give him money, men and ships?’

  ‘That depends on the situation at the time, were I to decide in Kassandros’ favour.’

  Any more thoughts on the subject were interrupted by the arrival of the grey-beard who had led Termessos’ delegation.

  ‘So,’ Antigonos said, having heard the man out, ‘you think that if we were to withdraw in the morning then your unruly sons will follow us, leaving the older generation to seize Alketas and deliver him to me.’

  ‘We hope so; they will want to see what damage has been done to the crops and we’ll encourage them to do so, most of us going with them. We’ll leave some of the younger fathers behind and hope we get the chance to get him.’

  Antigonos could not help but be amused. ‘You going to have a generational war on your hands if this works; your sons will never trust you again.’

  The grey-beard shrugged. ‘It was ever thus.’

  I’ve done a better job with mine. ‘Very well, I’ll withdraw in the morning but on one condition.’

  ‘Name it.’

  ‘That you bring me Alketas, dead.’

  The eyes had been pecked out and the air around the corpse reeked of decay as it hung from a gibbet between Antigonos’ camp and the walls of Termessos.

  ‘How long will you leave him hanging there, Father?’ Demetrios asked as he and Antigonos rode back, under heavy escort, from trying the more vociferous supporters of the dead rebel. ‘It’s been three days now.’

  Antigonos looked up at the body; the elders of the town had been as good as their word: Alketas had been taken and murdered as the younger men had poured from the city to inspect their farms and ensure that the invaders were really on their way; more than a few tried to pick off stragglers. ‘I think it’s served as a sufficient warning to the youth of the town not to take matters into their own hands.’ He turned to the officer commanding his cavalry escort. ‘Cut it down and leave it by the side of the road.’

  ‘Father! He was a Macedonian nobleman.’

  Antigonos turned his eye onto his son. ‘He was a Macedonian nobleman and, as such, he should have known not to kill Cynnane; that’s his punishment for murdering Alexander’s sister. If the young men who worship him so in the town want to give him his funeral rites then they are more than welcome to. As for me, I’ll have nothing to do with him.’

  It was an excited Pleistarchos who awaited Antigonos in his tent, along with Philotas.

  ‘I thought you had gone back to your brother three days ago.’

  ‘I did, Antigonos.’ The youth’s eyes glowed.

  ‘I warn you, old friend,’ Philotas said, his voice grave, ‘what he has to say could tempt you into a rash course of action. And I speak as one who knows you well.’

  Antigonos looked with interest at Pleistarchos. ‘Well?’

  ‘I got back to Tarsus yesterday; my ship was waiting for me with my brother on board.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear it, but I’m sure you haven’t come all this way to tell me that.’

  ‘No, Antigonos. Just before we left, there was another ship arriving from Macedon. I recognised its passenger: Diogenes, my father’s treasurer. My brother and I followed him and his escort until we were sure where he was heading and then sailed to find you as fast as possible.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And he took the road to Cyinda.’

  Antigonos looked at Philotas, who gave a knowing smile. ‘It looks like Polyperchon is in need of funds.’

  ‘If you take them then you’ll be starting a new war just three da
ys after you won the old one.’

  Antigonos grinned. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ He looked at Pleistarchos; he was puffed up with pride. ‘Can you get a hundred men on your ship?’

  ‘It won’t be comfortable, but it’s only a day’s journey.’

  Antigonos slapped the young man on the shoulder. ‘Let’s get going then.’

  It was twilight when the mounted column finally rattled into the river port at Tarsus; in its midst were four sturdy carts loaded with crates; slaves scuttled around, lighting torches so that the lucrative business of trade could carry on into the night.

  ‘It looks like Polyperchon is planning to buy a lot of support,’ Philotas commented as the column pulled up to the ship moored next to them.

  Antipatros turned away and fiddled with some ropes, in what he hoped was a naval-like fashion, affecting not to notice the goings on so close by. ‘We’ll let them load it on board so they can’t run off with it.’

  Philotas came over to help the nautical fiddling with ropes. ‘And they save us the trouble.’

  Antigonos glanced over to a warehouse across the quay, its double doors ajar; in the light from the torches blazing to either side of it, Antigonos could just see Demetrios, Pleistarchos and his brother, Philip, waiting, with the men, for his signal.

  As the final crate was loaded aboard and Diogenes, standing on the deck, checked it off on his list, the signal came: Antigonos, the hood of his cloak concealing his features, walked down the gangplank of his ship, with Philotas, crossed the jetty and boarded the treasure ship.

  ‘Who are you?’ Diogenes snapped. ‘Get off my ship!’

  ‘I am the rightful owner of all that money,’ Antigonos replied, pulling back his hood.

  ‘Antigonos?’

  ‘That’s right, Diogenes. Antipatros made me the supreme commander in Asia and that is Asian money.’

  ‘Antipatros is dead; Polyperchon commands now.’

  ‘I know both those things and neither bothers me in the slightest; now, you can either get off this ship and try to make your own way back to Macedon or you can stay aboard and start serving a new employer.’

  ‘Guards!’ But as Diogenes shouted for help he saw that the ship was now surrounded by a hundred men, all with swords drawn; his guards were nowhere to be seen.

  ‘A bit late for that, I think. Which is it to be?’

  Diogenes swallowed and his shoulders slumped. ‘My family are in Pella; I’ll make my own way back.’ He handed Antigonos his list and disembarked.

  Antigonos whistled as his eye went down the columns. ‘Five hundred talents; that really has started a war, Philotas. Still, I was getting bored after three whole days of peace.’

  ‘What are you going to do? Invade Macedon?’

  ‘My arse I will. Why would I do that when I’ve got somebody who will be quite happy to do it for me?’ He looked around and saw who he needed. ‘Pleistarchos, Philip, come here.’ He watched them come over to him, trying to tell them apart. ‘Go back to your brother and tell him that I’ve got money, ships and men. If he wants me to lend him some of each, so that he can go to Athens and then take Macedon, he should come and see me before I change my mind.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ they said in tandem. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Oh, and tell him that it was your quick thinking that made it happen; I know he’s not the nicest of men but it won’t do him any harm to show a bit of gratitude. Now go.’

  The twins turned and headed back to their ship as Demetrios began to embark his men onto the treasure ship. ‘Back to Pisidia, Father?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then what? Deal with Eumenes?’

  Antigonos smiled, shaking his head. ‘In a way; but with a letter rather than a sword. We’ve got an opportunity here: with war coming to Europe we can use the time to take Asia. Who better to help us plan the campaign than our sly little Greek; after all, the people who don’t like us, like him, so we’ll get some interesting new friends. I’m going to write to him; Hieronymus, his compatriot, can take the letter so as he will realise that it is a genuine offer.’

  ‘What exactly are you thinking of offering him?’

  ‘To become my second-in-command and join with me in uniting Asia for the kings; he likes that sort of thing, don’t you know.’

  Demetrios considered the prospect. ‘He’ll probably take it. What about Polyperchon?’

  ‘Polyperchon will be too busy with Kassandros to stop me; and Kassandros just wants Macedon. I’ll leave Ptolemy alone and deal with Seleukos at a later date if he doesn’t submit.’ He scratched his thick beard in thought. ‘No, on reflection there’s a second letter I should be writing, and that is to the mother of all mischief encouraging her to make life difficult for Polyperchon.’

  POLYPERCHON.

  THE GREY.

  THE NEWS WAS never good; the outlook rarely, if ever, hopeful. Polyperchon looked at the pile of official papers heaped on his desk and wished it could be like the old days when Antipatros or Krateros were in charge and all he had to do was immerse himself in the detail; detail he loved: the minutiae of organisation, the thrill of a balanced budget, the checking and double-checking that orders had been passed on, were understood and being effected. And then the joy of a battle in the front rank of the phalanx; that was soldiering: order, discipline and violence. That was the life that Polyperchon had chosen, not this new role that had been thrust upon him without warning, without consent; not this having to issue orders rather than take them and then convey them; not this life of politicking, knowing that to lose would mean not just your career but your life as well. He glanced down on the Great Ring of Macedon, worn with such reluctance on his right hand. And yet I’m stuck with it; even if I gave this willingly to Kassandros, he would kill me and my son. I must spend the rest of my life trying to be what I never was; and all because of one stupid mistake.

  And it had been a stupid mistake: he had distinguished himself in Alexander’s army, first at Issos, after which he had been given a command of a syntagma of two hundred and fifty-six of his countrymen and had slowly, during the conquest, worked his way up until he had become a part of Alexander’s outer circle, just within reach of his radiance. And it was here that he had made the mistake by laughing at a Persian performing the proskynesis, the full prostration that had been the due of the Great King and upon which Alexander had come to insist upon from his Persian subjects. He had laughed at the man who had almost touched his chin to the floor, saying that he should bang it harder; Alexander had flown into a rage, dragged him from his couch and then shamed him before his comrades: he had been forced to perform the homage he had just mocked and although no one had laughed out loud, Polyperchon was well aware that there would be forever sniggering behind his back. And so, when Krateros – himself no lover of Alexander’s increasingly Persian ways – had been despatched back to Macedon to replace Antipatros, Polyperchon had been only too pleased to accompany him as his second-in-command. Had he known what it would lead to, Polyperchon had no doubt that he would have stayed out in the east and ignored the sniggering. For although towards the end Alexander had insisted upon the Macedonians performing the humiliating act so as not to differentiate between them and the conquered nations, he had been the first to do so and for that he would always be a laughing stock.

  But for that mistake he now could be perhaps Ptolemy’s adjutant or Peucestas’ quartermaster or even Eumenes’ accountant; he wouldn’t care, just as long as there was someone to tell him what to do. And that was what he was missing at that moment for he knew not how to react to the news he had just been given. ‘So that little bitch Adea was wrong, Antigonos hasn’t remained loyal.’

  Alexandros, leaning next to the window looking north to the hills, shook his head. ‘No, Father.’

  Polyperchon turned to the man standing before his desk. ‘He stole the whole lot, Diogenes?’

  Diogenes lowered his eyes, humiliated by the memory. ‘Down to the last denarius.’

&
nbsp; Polyperchon put his head in his hands, a posture that he found himself in remarkably often these days. ‘He’s declared war on me in effect and I will look stupid and weak if I do not try and fight him. What should I do?’

  Alexandros came over to the desk, dismissing Diogenes with a flick of a finger, and sat down. ‘Father, this is no time for indecision; it’s south you must go, forget about Antigonos. Yes, he’s taken the money and, no, we will never be able to draw on the Cyinda treasury again, but it’s pointless dwelling on that. The question is: what will Antigonos do with his new wealth? Now, I think the answer to that is obvious.’

  Polyperchon looked up at his son, a spark of hope. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes. Antigonos is too busy in Asia to want to come and fight over here so he’ll stay there and send a proxy.’

  Polyperchon thought for a moment. ‘Kassandros?’

  ‘Of course. Diogenes told us that Pleistarchos and Philip were there when the cash was seized; in fact he thinks it was them who betrayed the shipment in the hope of currying favour with Antigonos. Kassandros is clearly the person to do Antigonos’ dirty work for him in Europe: he wasn’t on the conquest so has no interests in Asia – or many friends, for that matter – so Europe is the obvious place for him to operate and he will need a base.’

  ‘Athens?’

  ‘Yes, Father, Athens. Antigonos will give Kassandros the troops and he will sail to Athens; we must take back Piraeus before he does so and deny him that base.’ Alexandros thumped his fist down on the desk. ‘We must deny him Greece entirely.’

  ‘How can we do that?’

  ‘All the regimes in the cities are oligarchies set up by Kassandros’ father.’

  ‘Yes, but surely that’s a good thing. Democracies are reckless; power is best kept in the hands of the wealthy as they are likely to be far more careful with policy in order to protect their wealth and increase it.’

  ‘I agree and those regimes were, as I said, installed by Antipatros; so to whom will they show loyalty if there is a war, us or Kassandros?’