Adea nodded, unable to say anything coherent, her world and ambitions having been shattered in such a short time and by a woman against whom, she should have realised, it had been foolish to pit herself.
But now there were more immediate priorities, such as how to extricate five hundred cavalry and two hundred infantry from the disintegrating army and take them all the way back to Nicanor’s estates to the north of Pella. ‘I’ll give you an escort,’ Nicanor said, ‘you have to get away from here quickly. We’ll both be safer that way.’
Adea looked at him quizzically. ‘How so?’
‘They’ll be less likely to want to spend their lives attacking us if you aren’t with us and I’ll be able to use my cavalry to slow down any pursuit they might send after you.’
Adea considered her options; it did not take long. ‘I’ll go.’
Nicanor detailed a dozen of his men to ride with her. ‘Ride fast and take a ship south to my brother; you will be safe with him.’
Thanking Nicanor, despite the fact that she realised that her escort were probably more like her guards, she turned to head west with no intention of taking his advice for she knew that without her husband, Kassandros would have no use for her; she was dead if she went south. There was only one direction for her to go now and that was north to the land of her grandmother, north to Illyria. I’ll wait until darkness and then slip away into the night.
Night had come fast now that the autumnal equinox had passed and the year waned. Adea lay curled up in her cloak in the darkness, no fire having been set for fear of alerting pursuers. With eyes closed she waited, feigning sleep, as the snores of her companions multiplied. One man remained on guard close by her but not so close as to seem it was her he was keeping an eye on and not intruders.
Judging the mid-point between the changing of the guard, she slipped from her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, creeping off, crouching low, in the opposite direction to the man.
‘Where are you going?’ the guard asked in a hissed whisper.
Adea paused and turned to him. ‘To have a private moment, if you must know the movements of a queen.’
The guard grunted and got to his feet. ‘Not so private as I can’t see you.’
Then you are dead. Adea shrugged and moved off. ‘Then that wouldn’t be private at all.’
The guard said nothing and followed her as she went past the horse line.
He never saw the knife as it punched through the darkness to take his throat, a hand clamping tight on his mouth so that naught but a gurgle escaped him. Down he went, knees buckling, unable to struggle as the life flooded from him.
Adea waited until the final judder became a sequence of weakening twitches; she released her grip. Working fast, she took the dead man’s sword and dagger, unhitched her horse and another and then, on foot, led them, west, into the night. It was not until she was well away from the camp that she dared mount and ride under the dim but adequate light of the three-quarter moon.
With no sound of pursuit after an hour, she reckoned it was time to turn north-west and work her way through the hills towards the course of the River Haliaomon that would take north towards Illyria. On she pressed as the moon sank, climbing and twisting through rugged terrain that was barely discernible, but gave her heart as her tracks would be nigh on impossible to trace until after first light. And so it was more than three leagues distance from her guards that the sun bathed its first light upon her as it broke over the mountains to the east and she looked down into the Haliaomon valley.
With a new confidence, Adea changed mounts and increased her pace, the new mare’s footing increasingly sure as the light grew and she followed the course of the valley. Stopping solely to water her horses in the river and let them chew on some rough grazing as she eased herself and tugged on a piece of staling bread, she carried on, keeping as northwards as the country would allow, until well after midday when she halted again to rest for a couple of hours during the hotter part of the day. It was with a feeling of hope, slowly blooming within her, that she began to scale the mountain in which the river had its source and then search for the pass that would take her over into the valley of the Eordaicus River that led down into Illyria. Much at home in this wild country, having hunted in the border lands between the land of her birth and the land of her grandmother’s blood, the blooming hope within her flowered into full-grown optimism so that the sight of horsemen up ahead at the entrance to the narrow pass leading to her destination was a relief to her rather than a cause for concern. It was not until it was too late that she realised they were not her countrymen but, rather, a unit of prodromoi, the same unit she had sent to pursue Roxanna from Macedon to Epirus, now sworn to Olympias and Alexander. They had guessed her plan and had reached the pass before her.
Adea turned to run but another troop of cavalry emerged from the hills to either side, blocking her escape. Caring not, now that her life was over, she charged directly for them, drawing her sword and shouting the war-cry of the warriors of country of her youth, now so close and yet barred from her. But her horse was tired and the footing rugged so that the charge was more of a gentle canter towards the lowered lance-points of the oncoming cavalry; such were their reach that her mare was dead and falling to the ground before her sword could reap the last blood it ever would. She closed her eyes as she tumbled onto her back, prepared for the multiple piercings that she knew would come, only to feel a blazing pain as her head struck rock.
‘Olympias knew that you would never wish to return to Macedon without the protection of your fool,’ the officer informed her with a cheerful smile, looking down into her slowly focusing eyes. ‘It was obvious that you would head for Illyria and it was obvious that you would have to use this pass. She sent us to wait here as soon as you were seen heading west with Nicanor’s escort. We’ve only been waiting for you for half a day. You did well to get here so quickly.’
Adea struggled to sit, but her arms would not obey her, numb from the bindings. ‘Untie me; I am a queen!’
‘You used to be my queen; but you are my prisoner. A very valuable one and one I must take to Pella; I can’t afford to take any risks with you escaping. My life will be over so quickly if I report back to Olympias without you.’
Olympias looked down at Adea as two soldiers each pushed her shoulders down, forcing her to kneel. Despite her humiliation, Adea would not give her captor the pleasure of outright capitulation and returned her gaze with a steady glare.
‘So, there is still some fight left in the man-woman, is there?’ Olympias mused, tapping her forefinger on the arm of Macedon’s throne.
The movement caught Adea’s attention; her eyes widened.
Olympias smiled, cold and triumphant, and looked at the Great Ring of Macedon on her finger. ‘Pretty, isn’t it? And it suits me well, don’t you think?’
Adea did not trust herself to reply.
‘The thing about rings,’ Olympias continued, ‘is that they can only be worn by one person at a time.’ She patted the arm of the throne. ‘It’s the same with thrones: there’s not enough room for two.’ She paused to consider her captive, still gazing up at her in defiance. ‘Which leads us to the question: what to do if there’s a second person who insists upon sharing what cannot be shared?’ She turned to Thessalonike, standing, as ever, just behind her. ‘What would you do with that person, my dear?’
‘I would do what has always been done to rivals for the throne of Macedon.’
Olympias nodded at the sagacity of this opinion, her lips pursed. ‘Wisdom indeed from one so young.’ She looked over to the guards standing to either side of the doors. ‘Tell Archias to bring in the usurper.’
Unable to restrain herself, Adea turned as the doors opened, to reveal, first the Exile-Hunter and then Philip, ragged and filthy, his wrists bound before him; one of Archias’ Thracians led him by a lead around his neck.
‘Adea!’ Philip cried, trying to run to her and being brutally hauled back; he choked, t
ears rolling down his grimed face. ‘Adea, they took my elephant. Tell them to give it back to me, Adea; I want my elephant.’
‘Silence!’ Olympias roared.
Philip looked up at her and whimpered, wetting himself.
Olympias glanced down at the resulting pool in disgust. ‘Is this…thing yours, Adea?’
Again, Adea refused to speak.
‘The very idea that this monstrosity was worthy to be King of Macedon is a stain upon us all. Nevertheless by some collective madness he was proclaimed king by the army assembly and who am I to go against the wishes of the army?’ Olympias’ eyes narrowed with wicked glee. ‘He shall have his kingdom, Adea, and you shall share it with him. Escort them to it, Archias.’
Through the streets of Pella Archias and his Thracians led Adea and Philip; past the sombre faces of the populace looking on in silence as the woman who had in effect ruled over them in her husband’s name was ritually humiliated. Into the agora they were taken where, at its far end, there was a new construction: a small, low building with no windows and one door with a narrow opening in it. Next to the door, Polyperchon waited.
Adea saw the two slaves with a pile of bricks and the tub of mortar waiting next to the entrance and turned to Polyperchon in panic. ‘Don’t do this; don’t. We’re friends, surely?’
Polyperchon shook his head. ‘You have done nothing for me other than make my life more difficult, Adea. I serve Olympias now; I’m happy to obey orders, I always have been, and this is one I shall enjoy.’ He opened the door, cut her bonds and pushed her through into the dark interior. Philip followed her in, unperturbed, not realising where he went.
‘No!’ Adea screamed as the door slammed shut, banging her fists upon it.
Polyperchon’s eyes appeared in the narrow opening. ‘You will be fed once a day through this hole; other than that your time is your own.’ He turned to go and then came back. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Philip dropped this.’ He pushed the toy elephant through the hole and left.
Philip grabbed his prized possession, chortling with pleasure, and then looked at his wife in confusion as she wailed to the gods both above and below. Whether or not he had heard the noise from outside, Adea did not know, but if he had he did not realise it was the sound of the slaves sealing the entrance with mortar and bricks.
Adea cursed Olympias, cursed her with all that was left of her being; cursed her not for bringing her death but for extending her life.
OLYMPIAS.
THE MOTHER.
NOW, AT LAST, was her time; now she could realise all the dark ambitions that had haunted her through waking nights. Now she would no longer be on the periphery, ignored by the men seated around a table in the far off Three Paradises. Now she would make all take notice of her and regret not having given her their full attention in the past.
Now she would make herself the centre of all things.
Olympias smiled as she stepped from her carriage, the door held open by Archias, and walked the twenty paces to stand before the tomb of Iollas, high on its cliff, overlooking the sea. It stood alone from the tombs of his forebears with one exception: that of Antipatros; for he had chosen to be close to his beloved son in death. She felt warm and that warmth was strengthened by the presence of Hyperia, guarded by two of Archias’ Thracians. Captured by the Exile-Hunter as she attempted to flee south with her two youngest children, Hyperia stood silent but, Olympias well knew, churning on the inside, for she had seen the two score of slaves, each holding a heavy hammer, commanded by another of Archias’ Thracians.
Olympias savoured the moment, refraining from giving the order immediately for the imminent prospect of vengeance was as delicious as the act itself; she saw no reason to deprive herself of a moment of her pleasure. She had time, after all, as much time as she wanted to wreak her revenge that had been so long in coming, her will driving her on like blasts of the wind.
She turned to Hyperia. ‘It’s such a shame you didn’t beg. Still, I can’t have everything, I suppose; although, why, I don’t know.’
Hyperia returned her hate-filled gaze with equal measure. ‘Everything? You have nothing, Olympias; nothing at all. You are just a husk burnt out by bitterness. Yes, you can destroy the tombs of my husband’s family; yes, you can destroy the tomb of my son; yes, you can kill me and most of my family but what will you have when you’ve done all that? Satisfaction? No; you’ll have nothing but fear because touch just one of these tombs and Kassandros will kill you.’
‘No one would dare kill the mother of Alexander; the people love me for what I brought into the world. If Kassandros were to come against me his army would desert just as Adea’s did. Besides, the Exile-Hunter will soon see to that weasel stepson of yours. Once he’s finished here, that is.’ She filled her lungs and looked to the sky. ‘I am Macedon! Me, and none other. I spit on your tombs.’ She pointed at the Thracian in charge of the wrecking party.
With a shouted order, many hammers slammed into Iollas’ tomb, shattering its marble walls almost instantaneously; another combined blow broke through the brickwork behind, exposing the casket within, in which lay the bones.
‘Enough!’ Olympias cried, stepping forward. ‘Drag it out.’ The Thracian grabbed the casket and pulled it from its resting place, dropping it to the ground. ‘Open it.’
It took but a moment to prise the lid off revealing the bones placed within.
Now I have you, treacherous son of a traitor; now you are mine. Olympias reached inside and pulled out the skull, throwing it to the floor. ‘Break it!’ One hammer blow was enough for her command. She looked over to Hyperia, who stood motionless and emotionless, watching the fruit of her body’s desecration. I’ll make you plead yet, bitch. ‘Throw the rest over the cliff!’ But it was not with the satisfaction that she had expected that she watched the remains hurtle down onto the rocks below, for Hyperia still refused to vent any emotion. Not even when the bones of her husband suffered the same fate did she cry; not one tear, not one sound as the rest of the family’s tombs suffered the same fate.
In desperation she marched up to Hyperia and slapped her, forehand and back. ‘You think you are above all this, do you?’
Hyperia did not even acknowledge her.
Another slap; another snub.
‘Very well, you’ve forced me into this; I will have your attention, Hyperia.’ She looked over to Archias, waiting by her carriage. ‘Bring them here.’
‘I know you have my two youngest children, Olympias,’ Hyperia said, her voice steady and calm. ‘And I know that you will kill them in front of me so that I will die with their deaths in my heart.’
Olympias’ smile was of naked cruelty. ‘I might have spared them had you had pleaded earlier.’
‘No, you wouldn’t have; you don’t have that in you.’
‘Mother,’ Alexarchos cried as Archias hauled him from the carriage by his arm.
Hyperia did not turn to look at her five-year-old son, nor did she turn when she heard the frightened wail of the three-yearold Triparadeisus. ‘I’ll not give you the pleasure. I’ll show them the way.’ She spat in Olympias’ face. Swift as a youth, catching all by surprise, she darted forward, sprinting the thirty paces to the cliff’s edge and launching herself high into the air, arms aloft, head back. ‘Vengeance, Kassandros,’ she cried as she fell. ‘Vengeance! Venge—’
Olympias screamed, a claw of hatred squeezing her heart; but it was too late, her moment had been stolen from her and she was powerless to bring it back. She turned and stormed back to her carriage, past the two frightened children staring with unbelieving eyes at the point where their mother had disappeared. ‘They can join the bitch,’ Olympias snapped at Archias as she stepped into her carriage, slamming the door.
*
‘You did what?’ Aristonous exclaimed in shock as they walked, heavily guarded, through the agora towards Adea and Philip’s place of confinement.
‘I reunited the little beasts with their mother,’ Olympias stated again.
> ‘And you expect the people of Macedon to accept you as the regent of your grandson if you behave like that?’
‘I expect the people of Macedon to do as the mother of Alexander tells them to.’ She looked with distaste at the crowd, forced aside by her bodyguards, staring at her in silence as she passed. ‘Whether they like me or not is irrelevant.’
‘Beware of arrogance, Olympias,’ Aristonous said, his voice sharp.
‘Beware of overreaching your station, Aristonous.’ Her tone was low and iced. ‘Leave the politics to me and concentrate on what I demand of you as a soldier; how long before your men bring me Nicanor and his cavalry?’
Aristonous composed himself before he replied. ‘They’ll be here soon.’
‘How soon is soon?’
‘Today or tomorrow.’
‘All of them?’
‘Of the three hundred or so who survived the retreat to his estates after their infantry surrendered, we’ve captured almost two-thirds, including Nicanor; the rest will probably flee to Asia, taking their families with them.’
‘Then hold their families.’
‘I do not make war on Macedon’s women and children, Olympias.’
‘You make war on whomever I tell you to, Aristonous, or I’ll stop Polyperchon from rejoining his army in the south and he can come and do my bidding; he seems far more anxious to serve than you do.’
Aristonous made no comment.
Olympias scowled but took the matter no further. ‘Have them put in the compound with their infantry when they arrive and bring Nicanor to me.’
‘It will be done.’
‘Good; now what is so important that you’ve dragged me here to the man-woman and her fool’s kingdom?’
Aristonous sighed. ‘You need to hear this for yourself and then judge whether you have made a mistake.’
‘I don’t make mistakes.’
‘You’ll be the best judge of that.’
The crowd grew thick as they neared the bricked-up cell; thicker and more vocal, the tone one of anger. And then Olympias heard a wail rise above the hubbub: ‘I am the daughter and granddaughter of Macedonian kings; I am your queen and Philip is your king and look how we are treated by a foreigner from Epirus. I am your queen.’
The Three Paradises Page 38
