Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Alketas,’ Perdikkas called a moment after his brother and Seleukos had left the tent.

  ‘Yes?’ Alketas replied, putting his head back through the opening.

  ‘Do you think I was right to do that?’

  Alketas walked back in and shrugged. ‘It’s done now. What I wonder is: why was it done and I think I know the answer.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You want Kleopatra to be in your debt.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘You’re planning to marry her even though you’re going to marry Nicaea, aren’t you?’

  ‘Kleopatra will make me king.’

  ‘Then marry her now.’

  ‘That will make me Antipatros’ enemy.’

  ‘And marrying his daughter then repudiating her won’t?’

  ‘Marrying his daughter, getting her pregnant and then taking a second wife will secure both him and the crown.’

  ‘That sounds like one of Eumenes’ ploys.’

  ‘It’s not, actually; it’s all my own. And I know for a fact that it’s one that the sly little Greek would not approve of, so, seeing as he’s away in Armenia, he won’t have to find out until it is done.’

  EUMENES, THE SLY

  WHAT HAD SURPRISED Eumenes the most was how much he had enjoyed the campaign. The years of acting as secretary to, firstly, Philip and then Alexander, had kept him away from the field and it was not until Alexander’s last year that Eumenes had been entrusted with a command; even then it had been for small-scale, supporting actions. Now, however, he was operating independently and all tactical decisions were his own to make; and that had been what he had relished the most for he seemed to have a natural talent for soldiering.

  ‘Parmida,’ Eumenes said as he and the commander of his Kappadokian cavalry surveyed Carana, a small walled town high up the Euphrates, just five leagues from its source, ‘you take half the men, cross the river and skirt around the town to the north and I’ll come round from the south with the rest. We’ll send patrols out ahead to spring any ambushes. I’ll see you on the other side. If there’s no sign of any military activity we’ll accept the town’s surrender and then move on down the river safe in the knowledge that there is no threat to our rear, and head home to Kappadokia.’

  ‘If it is your pleasure, general, then so be it,’ Parmida replied formally in heavily accented Greek.

  ‘It is my pleasure and it will be made doubly pleasurable by the knowledge that Neoptolemus will be spitting with rage and jealousy that we’ve manged to achieve in three months what he failed to do in six.’

  And so it was with a warm feeling that Eumenes led two hundred and fifty of his cavalry on a reconnaissance of the southern reaches of the town, for this was the last community that had expressed any hostility to Macedonian hegemony and it had unconditionally offered its surrender. One by one the towns had surrendered to Eumenes as he had led his Kappadokians around Armenia with a speed that caught all by surprise. The process had been made far simpler by the fact that the Armenians had not been united and had proved to be, instead, a collection of feuding petty-lordlings who could be dealt with individually, the relatively few men he had in his command being sufficient. He had been unable to get more troops as Neoptolemus had flatly refused his request as he sulked in Amida, the town astride the Royal Road in the south of the county, cursing his mutinous, still unpaid, men who continued to refuse to fight for him.

  But Eumenes had not needed reinforcements as speed had made up for paucity of numbers and Neoptolemus’ jealousy had grown with each of his successes as his plan to hamper him by denying him troops backfired. And now Armenia was brought back within the Macedonian sphere of influence with the Armenian satrap appointed by Alexander, Mithranes of the royal Orontid House, installed back in the capital, Armavir.

  Riding the rough country had become a joy to Eumenes and as he skirted around the south of Carana, overshadowed by Mount Abus’ snow-capped peak, he almost regretted that the campaign was coming to a close and that he would be returning to mainly administrative tasks back in his own satrapy. The half-circuit complete, Eumenes drew up his men in front of Carana’s western gate as Parmida led his troops splashing across the Euphrates, no more than ten paces wide at this high point.

  ‘Anything, Parmida?’ Eumenes called, admiring, as always, his high-helmed men, splendid in their embroidered tunics and trousers and soft-leather boots and with intricately decorated javelin holsters hanging from their saddles.

  ‘Nothing, general; I think we can take them at their word that there are no soldiers in the area.’

  Eumenes pointed at the town’s gates. ‘Go and tell them to open up, then.’

  It was with a holiday atmosphere that Eumenes led his cavalry into the town and received its surrender and pledge of loyalty to Mithranes; people lined the streets, waving and cheering as if they had never supported the rebel lord, Arakha, whose impaled body they proudly displayed in front of what had been his palace – his many wives and children had shared his fate, their skewered corpses surrounding his.

  The messenger arrived soon after Eumenes had finished a speech praising the people of Carana for their heroic and selfless despatching of the rebel and so many innocent women and children.

  Making his excuses to the local dignitaries, Eumenes walked away from the grisly array of bodies. He looked at the seal and did a double-take. Olympias! What does she want, I wonder? He broke it and then unrolled the scroll and read:

  Eumenes, you are one of the few people whom I can trust as you have always showed loyalty to my son and his father before him. My offer of marriage of my daughter, Kleopatra, to Perdikkas, made after our arrival in Sardis, has been received with lukewarm enthusiasm and now I hear that Nicaea, the daughter of that toad Antipatros, has arrived in Tarsus and is beginning the overland journey to the Euphrates and thence on to Babylon where she will marry him. Perdikkas has made Kleopatra the satrap of Lydia, much to Menander’s disgust, as a signal that he favours her and yet he continues along the path of marriage to the daughter of a mere regent. If this wedding does take place then my offer to Perdikkas is void for I will not bear the shame of my daughter being a second wife. Nor will I allow Kleopatra to accept him if he repudiates Nicaea; a man who can do that once could easily do it again when expediency calls. I would be grateful, my dear Eumenes, and deem it a personal favour if you would travel to Babylon and explain my position to him face to face. If he and Kleopatra are to claim the throne of Macedon together it must be now; if not, it is never.

  There is one other very interesting development that I thought you should know: my spies inform me that shortly after Nicaea arrived in Tarsus and her sister Eurydike departed for Alexandria in Egypt, another ship came from the north; in it were two women and around seventy Illyrian warriors. They sold their ship and used the money to buy horses and engaged a guide to take them overland to Babylon once they found out that Perdikkas had headed back south. The women are believed to be Alexander’s and Kleopatra’s half-sister, Cynnane, accompanied by her daughter, Adea. It is thought that they are travelling to Babylon so that Adea can marry the idiot now known as Philip, the third of that name. I believe this to be true as it is what I would have done had I been in Cynnane’s situation. You must prevent this and I do not care how. Olympias.

  Eumenes looked up at the sky. It’s not often that I see things in the same way as Olympias. He took a deep breath, then reread the letter. ‘Parmida!’ he shouted as he finished.

  ‘What is it, general?’ Parmida asked, coming up to him.

  ‘Tell the men to mount up, we’re leaving immediately.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Down river until it becomes navigable; I need to get a ship and be in Babylon as soon as possible.’

  But as soon as possible turned out to be eight days sailing or rowing day and night, despite the fact that he commandeered the fastest vessel he could find in Melitene, the town guarding the Royal Road as it crossed the border between Armenia and
Kappadokia. But eight days he hoped would be quick enough as he watched the huge blue-tiled walls of the great city, astride the Euphrates, grow closer, for he knew that he would not be too far behind Nicaea and well ahead of Cynnane and Adea seeing as, according to Olympias, they would by travelling overland all the way.

  Through the harbour gate Eumenes’ ship glided, dwarfed by looming walls, centuries’ old, leaving the main course of the river behind it. With a brief suggestion to the harbour-master as to where he might like to look for his docking fee, Eumenes made his way through the bustle of the quayside and surrounding streets, to the palace complex. His sudden appearance out of the north caused the commander of the guard to gape in surprise as he stepped through the opened gate. ‘I wasn’t told to expect you, sir.’

  ‘Where’s Perdikkas?’ Eumenes demanded, caring not what the man did or did not expect.

  ‘He’s in the throne-room.’

  With a curt nod, Eumenes headed across the expansive central courtyard as fast as his short legs could go without breaking into an undignified run and resisting the temptation to stop and look at the glorious catafalque, parked beneath a voluminous awning, ready to transport Alexander’s mummified corpse back to Macedon.

  It was into a sombre atmosphere that Eumenes walked as he entered the throne-room, through the doorway that had been much enlarged. Although crowded, very few people moved as all attention was focused upon the solemn ceremony taking place. It was at the very moment Perdikkas, standing next to Alketas and a smug-looking Kassandros, removed Nicaea’s veil and kissed her, thus completing the marriage ceremony, that Eumenes could see what was going on. ‘You fool!’ he roared, breaking the mood of the chamber. ‘You massive fool, Perdikkas, now you have lost every last hope of keeping the empire united.’

  Perdikkas looked up in shock at the outburst to see the small Greek whom he thought to be hundreds of leagues away. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Trying to prevent you from doing what you have just done and also to warn you of a huge danger approaching.’

  ‘What danger?’

  ‘Not in front of all these people, Perdikkas, outside.’

  ‘Cynnane?’ Perdikkas’ eyes narrowed, puzzled. ‘But I thought she’d returned to her mother’s native Illyria.’

  Eumenes struggled to keep his voice level as they walked out into the palace courtyard. ‘Things change, Perdikkas, as even you really must have noticed by now. Cynnane has come to Asia and is on her way here to marry her daughter to King Philip.’

  ‘Well, I won’t let her.’

  ‘No? Not even when the army demand that Alexander’s half-brother takes his half-niece as a bride and thus ensure a real Argead heir – assuming that the union bears fruit, that is.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them and persuade them that it won’t be the best course for the empire.’

  ‘Do you think the common soldier would understand that Adea marrying Philip will create another rival to both you and Antipatros, thus bringing the likelihood of war even closer. No, Perdikkas, they won’t; they will just see Alexander’s bloodline being thickened and, believe me, they will like the idea of that, because one day the hope is for a second Alexander.’

  Perdikkas contemplated this as they approached the catafalque. ‘Then I have to stop her from getting here; kill them both, I suppose.’

  Oh, the military mind at its finest. ‘Perdikkas, try to keep your stupid ideas to just one a day; and I would say that you’ve used up your quota already for today by marrying the wrong woman. You can’t go around killing off Alexander’s family without the army ripping you bodily apart with its bare hands. Give me some men and I’ll go and find her, take her back to Tarsus and put her on a ship.’

  Perdikkas shook his head. ‘No, Alketas can do that; I need you to go to Sardis.’

  ‘It’s too late, Perdikkas; Kleopatra won’t marry you now.’

  ‘She has to in order to keep Alexander’s legacy together.’

  ‘I know and, believe me, it’s what I want too; that’s why I advised you to marry her in the first place. Olympias wrote to me to say that if you went ahead with the marriage to Nicaea then her offer was void.’

  Perdikkas looked surprised. ‘Kleopatra wrote the same to me.’

  Eumenes could not believe what he had heard. ‘If you knew that, then what possessed you to go through with the wedding to Nicaea?’

  Perdikkas looked at Eumenes as if he were unable to grasp the obvious. ‘I need Antipatros as much as I need Kleopatra if I am to unite the empire.’

  It’s pointless arguing in the face of such stupidity; all I can do is try, for Alexander’s sake, to fix what this idiot has broken. ‘Very well, Perdikkas; you send Alketas to turn Cynnane back and I’ll travel to Sardis to see if I can possibly change Olympias’ and Kleopatra’s minds.’

  Perdikkas clapped Eumenes on the shoulder. ‘If anyone can, you can, my sly little Greek.’

  ‘Less of the “little”, Perdikkas; less of the “little” and more of the “sly”,’ Eumenes mumbled as he stopped to admire Alexander’s catafalque.

  ‘It begins its journey tomorrow,’ Perdikkas said with unmistakable pride in his voice. ‘It’s going overland along the Euphrates, leaving it at Thapsacus and crossing to the sea, I hope it’ll be there by spring; from there it goes up the coast to Tarsus, then on to Sardis and then up to the Hellespont where I plan to join it with my two brides for a triumphant return to Macedon, late summer, there to claim the regency over the whole empire and expect to be offered the crown.’

  The man’s delusional. ‘I’ll watch it leave Babylon and then start my journey back up the River to try to clean up your mess.’

  The entire population of Babylon turned out to watch Alexander’s body take its leave of the city, the following morning at the second hour. In their tens of thousands they thronged in the broad streets, lined with the villas of the wealthy, leading from the palace to the North Gate as the sixty-four mules hauled the elaborate vehicle by to the accompaniment of the jangle of many bells and the protests of the beasts as their minders goaded them with sharpened sticks. At the head of the procession rode Perdikkas with King Philip and Arrhidaeus, the designer of the catafalque who had been charged with accompanying it all the way to Macedon; with him went two ilia of two hundred and fifty Companion cavalry.

  Eumenes, riding behind Perdikkas with Alketas, Kassandros, Seleukos, Attalus and Antigenes, was obliged to give Perdikkas grudging respect for the beautiful job that had been done in creating the catafalque. Within it, Alexander’s body lay in a sarcophagus with a curved top made of small glass pieces, held together by lead; refracted, he was visible to all who stared down on it in wonder. Lying on a bed of preserving herbs and spices, with his blond hair arranged neatly on the pillow and eyes closed, he looked to be gently sleeping; one could not help but whisper in his presence for fear of waking him. His hardened-leather battle cuirass, with a rearing horse inlaid in silver on each pectoral, had been buffed to a sheen and his hands clasped the sword laid on his chest. Eumenes had been moved to tears as he gazed down on the man who had achieved more than anyone had or would; kissing the tips of his fingers he had laid them on the glass above Alexander’s forehead.

  And so Alexander commenced his final journey; as the procession left Babylon, and they watched it disappear into the distance, Eumenes turned to Perdikkas. ‘How will you know when it reaches the Hellespont?’

  ‘I have told Arrhidaeus to send couriers back every ten days to keep me notified of its progress. It’ll be slow but it will get there.’

  Eumenes looked at the fortune in gold and silver rumbling up the dusty road and wondered if he would have given a larger guard than five hundred men.

  ‘You should be leaving,’ Perdikkas said, breaking through Eumenes’ train of thought. ‘I need Kleopatra’s consent as soon as possible.’

  Eumenes sighed at the virtual impossibility of the challenge and the political necessity that it should be achieved. ‘Very well, Perdikkas
, hopefully you’ll have some news from me in a month or so. In the meantime, don’t let Alketas do anything stupid with Cynnane and Adea.’

  ADEA, THE WARRIOR

  THE DAYS HAD blurred into an endless procession of barren land interspersed with mean mud-brick villages as the guide had led Adea, Cynnane and their mounted escort across the desert, from the coast to the Euphrates. Now that they were following the course of the river, the vegetation had become more verdant despite the fact that winter was upon them; in these southern climes winter held no fear for the traveller, indeed, it was their friend. Even with the passing of the winter solstice the sun still burned down on Adea’s head and sweat dampened her tunic as the column moved south at a slow walk to conserve the horses’ energy as they had insufficient money for spares – and not nearly enough for a river transport for seventy.

  By day they travelled and each night they camped on the Euphrates’ bank, dipping wearied limbs in the water as their tired horses drank their fill. But although it was slow, progress was made every day; they had now passed through the satrapy of Assyria and on into Babylonia, ten leagues from the river-port of Is and just fifty from Babylon itself. And it was here, just past the border, that the sight that Adea had been dreading appeared.

  ‘How many this time, Barzid?’ Cynnane asked, shading her eyes and looking at the line of cavalry that barred their way a thousand paces ahead of them.

  ‘The same as the last time: two hundred, perhaps two hundred and fifty.’

  ‘And this time we are only seventy and have no spare horses.’ Cynnane turned to her daughter. ‘Death is a better option than being turned back here; I think that it’s time we appealed to the soldiery of Macedon and won their hearts.’

  Adea felt her stomach clench at the thought of public speaking, knowing that her skills lay far more with the physical rather than the rhetorical.

  Cynnane smiled at the look of unease on her daughter’s face. ‘I’ll do the talking; you just sit next to me and look the part.’