Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘And what if we don’t want to stay there?’

  ‘Then you will die here.’

  Philo considered his options as the sounds from outside grew more heated. ‘What will you pay us?’

  ‘The normal rate plus your lives; so a great deal is the answer.’

  Screams rang out from close by. Peithon again cocked his head and this time decided to investigate. Philo and Letodorus followed him out into a camp studded with flaming torches and fires in whose light hundreds of figures struggled. Philo’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the gloom and paled as the massacre became apparent. ‘Stop them, Peithon. That is nothing but murder.’

  Peithon looked, astounded, as his Macedonian troops lay into the unarmed Greeks with whatever weapons they had to hand. Swords, knives, spears or javelins, they cared not for all killed equally well and it was upon killing that they focused. ‘I didn’t order this. What do I have to gain by it?’

  The look in Peithon’s eyes made Philo believe him; he watched in horror as throats were slit and bellies pierced; one veteran shrieked as both hands were severed as he raised them to ward off a blow to the face; another sat on the ground staring down in horror at the pile of slimed intestines in his hands until a sweep of a blade sent his head spinning, spiralling dark drops of gore in the torchlight. Here and there small groups of Greeks had joined together to mount some form of resistance but as they had all been disarmed these efforts were doomed to failure and they were cut down without mercy, hacked and stabbed by the very men they had been sharing food and drink with only a short while ago.

  And it was through this murder that there strode a body of men, all heavily armed and using their shields to protect the officer, swaggering with a tall plume on his helm and a fine cloak, in their midst. On they came towards Peithon’s tent, pushing aside all who got in their way.

  ‘Seleukos,’ Peithon said, almost under his breath, as the officer approached him.

  ‘Yes, Peithon,’ Seleukos said with a charming smile. ‘It really is and aren’t you so pleased to see me?’

  ‘Did you order this?’

  Seleukos looked around as if he were trying to ascertain exactly to what Peithon referred. ‘Oh, you mean the justice being meted out to the deserters. No, Peithon, I didn’t order it, I just reminded a few of the officers of their duty to the kings and to Perdikkas; I think they must have been the ones who ordered it. It’s just as well that they did as I would have hated you to make the irrevocable mistake of bringing scum like this into your army.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Don’t try to deny it, Peithon, you haven’t got the intellect to lie convincingly; you’re a plain speaker. Always have been and always will. Now, this is the deal: we kill every one of them…’ He paused as he looked at Philo and then Letodorus. ‘Except, perhaps, these two here; Perdikkas might well like a quiet word with them. And then you replace the eastern garrisons with your men and take what’s left of your army back to Ecbatana; I’ll return the troops that Perdikkas lent you back to him in Kappadokia. You will then stay in Ecbatana and behave yourself, doing whatever Perdikkas needs you to do and, if you’re a very good boy, Perdikkas might one day forgive you for trying to steal the east from him. Don’t deny that was what you were planning to do.’ He turned to Letodorus and made a great show of recalling his name. ‘Letodorus! Is that not so, Letodorus?’

  Letodorus was eager to be of help to the new master of the situation. ‘Yes, Seleukos; he told us that he wanted the whole east for himself.’

  ‘And how much was he willing to pay you?’

  ‘You would have to ask Philo that, as he was the one negotiating with him since I had refused the offer categorically.’

  ‘You lying bastard!’ Philo shouted. His fist lashed out into his erstwhile second-in-command’s face, crushing the nose; such was his anger at the betrayal and murder of his men even now going on around him. He dived at Letodorus, one hand grabbing his throat and the other the hilt of his sword; his momentum pushed them both to the ground, struggling in a tangle of limbs. Squeezing tight his grip on the throat, Philo yanked at the sword, pulling it free and, with one swift jab, rammed it up under Letodorus’ ribcage. Blood slopped from Letodorus’ mouth and a look of pain and surprise contorted his face.

  It was the last thing Philo saw.

  KRATEROS,

  THE GENERAL

  KRATEROS LIFTED HIS new wife’s veil, pushing it back over her head, and, intoning the prescribed words, completed the transfer of Phila, attended by her sisters, Eurydike and Nicaea as well as her cousin, Berenice, from Antipatros’ family into his own. The old regent and his wife were the first to offer their congratulations as Krateros displayed his bride to the crowd of dignitaries witnessing the wedding in the cavernous great hall of the royal palace in Pella.

  ‘I hope you father many sons on her,’ Antipatros said to his new son-in-law with a knowing smile. ‘If she takes after her mother then she’s fertile ground.’

  ‘Father!’ Phila exclaimed, her cheeks reddening. ‘Don’t talk in such a way in front of our guests.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as if you’re a virgin,’ Eurydike muttered, causing Nicaea to snort with suppressed laughter, covering her mouth

  ‘Shame on you, Husband,’ Hyperia admonished, pretending not to hear her second eldest daughter’s remark. ‘That is not the sort of talk for a wedding.’

  Antipatros slapped his wife soundly on the buttocks, causing her to cry out in outrage – but not without a little twinkle in her eye, Krateros could not help but notice. ‘Nonsense, my dear; that’s exactly how to talk at a wedding, it’s all about procreation and the fun we have doing it and all this talk of it has put me in the mood, so stand by for boarders directly after the wedding feast.’

  Krateros laughed despite himself and received a sharp dig in the ribs from Phila; he composed his countenance into one of sombre dignity. ‘I pray that our alliance will prove equally productive for both our families.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ Antipatros replied, looking down out of the corner of his eye at his wife’s breasts.

  ‘As a sign of the mutual trust that is now between us and also as a mark of respect of a son for his father, I place my army and navy, when Kleitos returns, under your leadership in the forthcoming campaign against the Greek rebels; I also offer my services as your second-in-command.’

  This got Antipatros’ attention; his wife’s breasts momentarily forgotten, he looked at Krateros with gratitude. ‘You, at least, understand that working together is best done not by committee but with a hierarchy in place. That is a very generous gesture that will make teaching the Greeks a lesson far easier for both of us.’

  It avoids civil war and will make me commander of your army, and what’s left of Leonnatus’ and mine when you die, in the next couple of years, old man, whatever your son, Kassandros, might think. ‘That is my wish.’

  ‘Order is what we need, with a strong and clear line of command.’

  ‘I agree, which is why I’ve made the offer. The main problem that Perdikkas has is that most of our colleagues have refused to submit to his will; so I’m hoping that if I put myself at your disposal that’ll send a signal to other commanders that there is no shame in serving worthy men and we might attract a few more to our banner.’

  Antipatros immediately understood the implication. ‘Forge an alliance against Perdikkas? But I’m soon to send Nicaea to him to be his wife.’

  ‘Which will put him in the same position as me; look at what I’ve just done.’

  ‘But he would never put his forces under my control.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but he will see the respect in which I hold you and realise that if I’m willing to submit to you but not him then others may well do the same if he carries on trying to make himself the new Alexander.’

  ‘In other words there’ll be less chance of war if he just marries my daughter and minds his own business.’

  Krateros inclined his head. ‘Exactly. I think th
at most of us can now see that there will never be a united empire again and that the best that we can hope for is that it splits into its constituent parts with as little blood-loss as possible; only that way will we have a chance of holding what we have and keeping the tribes to the north and the east from trying their luck.’

  ‘And so I settle for Macedon with you as my heir apparent?’

  ‘Father-in-law, let’s discuss that at the wedding feast.’

  The male guests were in bullish mood as, led by Nicanor and Iollas, they toasted, once again, the sexual prowess of the groom and, despite all knowing that it was not the case, the purity of the bride; slaves scuttled around the tables refilling cups and bringing out yet more courses on platters and in bowls, beautifully decorated with athletes, gods and warriors.

  Krateros, for the first time since leaving Cilicia, allowed himself to get drunk, not worrying that it may affect his performance on his wedding night; with Phila segregated with the rest of the women in a dining area of their own, there was no one to gainsay him. And besides, she was well aware, by now, of his prowess.

  With it being almost a year since Alexander’s death had rocked the world, Krateros felt a relief that he had swallowed his pride and sided with Antipatros, a man of proven political adroitness who would prove a useful ally against Perdikkas. With Leonnatus out of the way, a piece of luck he could never have wished for, he, Krateros, was the obvious choice to take over as regent of Europe after Antipatros’ death; and, unlike kingship, eligibility for the regency was not hereditary; Kassandros would have no claim to his father’s position. Yes, all in all this is a very smart move; what’s a little dent to the pride when I’m positioning myself for the long-term goal of control of the west; let Perdikkas keep Babylon and the east; Eumenes is most welcome to Kappadokia and no one will ever manage to shift Ptolemy from Egypt. No, I’ll settle for this. He raised his cup and drank a toast to himself, relishing the prospect of the coming campaign and the chance to get some real soldiering done again, free, in the main, from politics now that Antipatros would shelter him from its reach. And what is more, it will be Greeks who I’m fighting and not my own kind.

  ‘We’ll leave Polyperchon here in Pella as acting regent with Nicanor in command of the garrison, when we go south,’ Antipatros slurred, ‘between them they’ve got the ability to beat off Aeacides if the little bastard tries to flex Epirus’ muscle again. Although, now that witch Olympias has disappeared, I doubt he will with no one to stiffen his cock for him.’

  ‘Have we heard where she ran to?’ Krateros asked, allowing his cup to be refilled yet again.

  ‘Buggered if I know. She can stay lost for as long as she likes for all I care; it’s one less problem to cope with.’

  Krateros lifted his cup. ‘Here’s to having no problems.’ He downed the wine in one and the rest of the revellers joined him.

  He did, however, have one outstanding problem: now that he had laid claim to Hellespontine Phrygia after Leonnatus’ death, he wished to know the minds of Antigonos and Menander, the rulers of two of the satrapies bordering it. Lysimachus, the ruler of the third, had let his army pass through his territory of Thracia without charging too exorbitant a price for the forage it required; Lysimachus himself had even joined him for dinner as he waited on the northern side of the Hellespont for his army to be ferried over. Here it had become apparent that the satrap of Thrace had no designs on expanding his territory to the south but, rather, was concentrating his efforts on subduing the wilder Thracian tribes to the north. They had parted with gifts of friendship but Krateros had not been fooled for he knew that should Lysimachus be successful then he would have a potentially huge army of his wild, new subjects; he was a man to be watched in the future.

  But what of Antigonos and Menander? And Assander in Caria, for that matter? Would they be content for him to quietly grow his power? Would they see what his real long-term objective was now that he had manoeuvred himself into Antipatros’ favour? He had little doubt that they would, but would they take action?

  His musing on the complexities of gaining power were broken into by a rumpus at the door as yet another toast was drunk. ‘Where is he? Where is he?’

  Krateros knew that voice only too well and when the three-pronged tip of a trident came through the door there was a cheer from all present.

  ‘Krateros!’ Kleitos called across the room. ‘I’ve come to give you the best wedding present yet.’ He paused to strike what he considered to be his most god-like pose, trident raised over his head and one hand on his hip. ‘Two days ago I defeated the Athenian navy at Amorgus in the Cyclides as they tried to secure the strait; all their vessels are either destroyed or captured. There is nothing between here and Piraeus.’

  That report brought the biggest cheer of the day; it was the news that all had waited for.

  Antipatros turned to Krateros as both their cups were recharged. ‘I think you might just have time to get my daughter pregnant before we march south.’

  ‘Indeed; but first some more wine,’ Krateros said, raising his cup. ‘To the fleet and Kleitos.’

  The fleet had shadowed the army down the Thessalian coast, speckling the azure summer sea, sails filled with northerly breeze and accompanied by squadrons of gulls feasting on the trail of detritus cast in its wake. But, unlike the previous time the Macedonian army had marched south, there was nothing to fear from the sea; the fleet’s presence was purely to keep the army, fifty thousand strong and comprised mainly of infantry, supplied so that it wasn’t slowed down by a lengthy baggage train. Speed was now the key; speed in order to catch the rebels before they heard that Antipatros had marched south.

  And speed had proven to be an ally as Krateros, Antipatros and Magas listened to the commander of the light cavalry unit freshly returned from scouting inland. ‘A shit-hole that goes by the name of Krannon, sir; it’s about six leagues due west from here. It’s home to about a couple of dozen old men, a few hags with half a dozen teeth between them and the communal goat that the men take turns with; all the young lads are with the rebels and the young women are servicing them – you know how fond they are of their sisters and cousins around here?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Antipatros said, waving a hand, disinterested in the scout’s many observations on local practice. ‘So what is there at Krannon for Antiphilus and Menon?’

  The scout, tanned leather for a face and breath powered by raw onions and garlic, took off his broad-brimmed sun hat and scratched at a scabby, bald pate. ‘Well, it ain’t for the agriculture, that’s for sure; most of the farms are overgrown because of the war. However, the ground does suit us: apart from the hill where they’ve camped, it’s flat.’

  ‘Flat?’

  ‘Yes, sir, flat.’

  Antipatros tossed the man a coin and dismissed him.

  ‘We’ve caught them out in the open,’ Krateros said as the scout left the tent.

  Antipatros was not so sure. ‘Have we? Or are they trying to make us think that we have?’

  ‘Either way, if we can get there by tomorrow late afternoon we could face up to them and have it done once and for all.’

  ‘If they come down from their hill,’ Magas said, ‘the lads don’t like to fight uphill if we can help it.’

  Krateros shook his head. ‘If we catch them on that hill then they’ll have two choices; try to withdraw in good order, in which case we harry them all the way to Thermopylae and trap them there, or they come down and fight because if they stay on that hill they’ll starve, we’ll see to that.’

  Antipatros sat down with a sigh. ‘The flat ground will be good for their cavalry.’

  ‘Most of it is Thessalian light javelin skirmishers, just a quarter of it is heavy and all of it javelin-armed, no lancers at all; even if they have retained the five thousand that deserted you they’re no match for our two thousand heavy lancers and one thousand lights. If we can tempt them into doing something rash and neutralise them, then it’ll be a straightforward infantry sloggi
ng match, the sort the lads love.’

  ‘I hope so. Anyway, do we have a choice in the matter? Not to engage them now would just mean the campaign will drag on until the harvest and then we’ll start getting disgruntled men.’ Antipatros paused for a thought. ‘Mind you, so will they; and their men are more likely just to go home.’

  ‘Don’t take the risk. Remember, a lot of them are mercenaries without farms and a harvest to get in.’

  Standing, Antipatros slapped his thigh, his mind made up. ‘You’re right. Magas, have the men issued with two days’ supplies; we’ll march at an hour before dawn and we’ll march hard and fast. Krateros, I want you to command the cavalry and I’ll see to the infantry. We’ll deal with them quickly.’

  But it was not to prove so easy and Krateros was growing weary; the only orders he had issued to his cavalry command for the previous eleven days were to form up in the morning, the lancers just to the rear of the right flank of the phalanx, and the lights slightly in advance of its left flank; and then, six hours later, he would dismiss them back to the camp, the rebels having, once again, refused to come down from their hill and do battle.

  ‘I don’t blame them,’ Antipatros said, yet again, as his senior officers met in his tent after another day standing on the plain waiting for the rebels to break camp and face them. ‘We outnumber them by fifteen thousand, if our spies are to be believed; I wouldn’t come out against such odds.’

  ‘They’ll have to soon,’ Krateros said, wiping the dust from his face with a towel. ‘We’re being provisioned by our fleet but they have nothing. We’ve cut their supply line and it’s apparent that none of the messages they sent, asking for reinforcements, are being responded to; no one’s coming to their aid and the longer this goes on, the more they’ll haemorrhage men.’

  ‘Then why don’t they surrender?’ Magas asked, slumping down onto a chair.

  ‘Would you without a fight?’

  Antipatros rubbed his temples. ‘We’ll try to get them to commit to a fight one more time tomorrow.’