Perdikkas winced at the thought of what he would have to do in order to ensure that one did not kill the other during the campaign. ‘Well, I can’t separate them, leaving one here and taking the other, as they both have to come to Pella with Alexander’s corpse; so they had better both come along now so I can keep an eye on them.’ Until such time that I don’t need them and then I’ll let Roxanna do for her rivals and then… oh, how I’ll enjoy that. ‘Are there any other questions?’
‘Just two,’ Seleukos said. ‘Ptolemy? What about Ptolemy?’
‘What about him?’
‘It occurs to me that if the whole army of Asia is off facing the whole army of Europe then the whole army of Africa is free to do whatever it likes.’
Perdikkas dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. ‘Nonsense. Ptolemy is very happy with Egypt; he’s going to do nothing to attract my attention or cause any enmity between him and me. He’ll keep out of this. And the other question?’
‘What about the Greeks? Might they not take advantage of a Macedonian civil war?’
Perdikkas smiled, triumphant, and held up a letter. ‘That would be a good point were it not for the fact that Demades wrote to me from Athens demanding that I depose Antipatros; they’re still smarting from the terms he imposed on them. They won’t do anything either whilst I’m dealing with him.’
Seleukos nodded and steepled his hands. ‘I notice that you keep on saying “I”, “me” and “my”.’
‘I mean, “we”, “us” and “our”, obviously.’
‘Do you? Do you really?’
‘Of course I do; now if there is nothing else, gentlemen, then I suggest that we get busy moving north. With luck we’ll catch up with the catafalque somewhere near Tarsus.’
‘Damascus!’ Perdikkas exclaimed, unable to believe his brother’s answer to his question as he disembarked the trireme that had speeded him and Seleukos up the coast to Tarsus ahead of the main army. ‘Who told Arrhidaeus to take the catafalque to Damascus? It’s in completely the wrong direction.’
Alketas looked blank, his eyes darting around the ships docked in the river port as if inspiration could be found in one of them. ‘I don’t know; I’d assumed that you had.’
Perdikkas grabbed his brother by the collar. ‘Assumed! Why would you assume that I told Arrhidaeus to take the catafalque south when we all know that it’s going north, back to Macedon? I even told you to expect it in Tarsus, didn’t I? So then why, when you heard that it’s going south, did you not send troops after it to discover just what the fuck was going on?’
Alketas grabbed Perdikkas’ wrist and, squeezing it, pulled it off him. ‘Because, Brother, you never tell me anything; you just give me orders, orders, orders and if I arrive in Tarsus to be told that the catafalque was last heard of passing through Damascus, I just think that you’ve changed your mind again without telling me and so I get on with the orders that you last gave me and muster the army and make sure that Eumenes, Kleitos and Neoptolemus are guarding the Hellespont. And that has all been done but do I hear you thanking me? No, all I hear is whining on about the catafalque going to Damascus.’
‘Through Damascus,’ Seleukos pointed out. ‘That’s what you just said, wasn’t it? You were told when you arrived here that “the catafalque was last heard of passing through Damascus”. Which means that it’s still going south.’
Perdikkas caught Seleukos’ train of thought. ‘How long ago did you hear the news, Alketas?’
‘The day I got here, eight days ago.’
‘It could be in Hierosolyma by now and then…’ Seleukos left the sentence unfinished.
Perdikkas slowly turned to Seleukos, his face growing pallid. ‘Does that mean what I think it could mean?’
Seleukos nodded.
Perdikkas almost staggered as if he had been belly-punched. ‘Ptolemy! The bastard; he couldn’t have.’
‘It very much looks like he has. Where else could it be going?’
‘But how did he do it?’
Seleukos looked at Perdikkas in surprise. ‘Do you think that Arrhidaeus enjoyed the way you treated him? When you gave him the blame for building the catafalque in a room where the doors were too small to get the thing out, do you think that he just let it pass? For the abrupt manner in which you dealt with him, do you think that he just said to himself: “Ah, well, that’s just his way; good old Perdikkas.”? Do you think that the first agent who approached him with an offer to hijack Alexander’s catafalque got a swift rebuttal or do you think that Arrhidaeus embraced the idea because he was so heartily sick of you?’
Perdikkas looked in horror at Seleukos and then Alketas and then back again. ‘Are you both blaming me?’
Seleukos shook his head and gave a grim smile. ‘It’s not about blame; it’s just an honest appraisal of the facts. Now, the question is: not why it happened but what are you going to do about it?’
Perdikkas held his head in his hands as if he were in severe pain. Deprived of Alexander’s body I can’t cross into Europe without it seeming like an invasion; it all rests on having it and Kleopatra. I shall write to her yet again and ask her to reconsider as well as tell Eumenes to go to see her again and press my suit. Neoptolemus and Kleitos will have to hold the Hellespont together. ‘This must be kept a secret; not a word to anyone, understood?’
Seleukos nodded. ‘Of course; if word of this gets out then our cause is considerably weakened.’
‘Exactly. We must trust that our forces in the north can hold the Hellespont whilst we take the army south, Peithon and Peucestas can follow; together we will get the catafalque back and, before we head back to Macedon, we’ll deal once and for all with Ptolemy.’
PTOLEMY,
THE BASTARD
MEMPHIS WAS A city that Ptolemy could only tolerate in the winter months; in all other seasons, it was his opinion that the ancient capital of Egypt was a blisteringly hot place fit only for mad dogs and natives. But he had made an exception this once, bringing his very pleasing new bride, Eurydike, and her delectable cousin, Berenice, south from the cool sea-breezes of partially constructed Alexandria to this baking furnace situated at the base of the Nile Delta. He had also brought Thais, for, despite the pleasures of his new wife, there were certain things that only Thais could do with the enthusiasm that was required for complete satisfaction, especially in this heat. But it was with good reason that he had made the journey, for he was about to witness the arrival of the one thing that would give him a legitimacy that his peers lacked: he was about to take custody of the mummified body of Alexander.
He smiled to himself as he processed along the Sacred Way leading from the heart of the palace past the vividly decorated Temples of Ptah and Amun, fronted by high, seated statues of the gods, towards the High Steps from which he would greet his former king. Peacock-proud in his tall-plumed helm and purple cloak and with beautiful women following him, Ptolemy had a good feeling for his new realm; it suited him perfectly, as he always knew it would. Give me another couple of years or so and I could think about proclaiming myself Pharaoh. I’d enjoy the expression on Perdikkas’ face when he hears that; I’ll wager that it’ll top the look he gave when he heard that my cavalry had intercepted the catafalque in Damascus.
Despite the dignity of his progress he allowed himself a little chuckle at the ease with which he had accomplished the thing. Arrhidaeus had been good to his word – and his, Ptolemy’s, gold – and had brought the catafalque south to Damascus where Ptolemy’s troops had joined the procession, distributed more gold to the escort, and then guided it through the city and on to the port of Tyros. Here, secured by a huge bribe to Nearchus, the satrap, five ships waited to carry the catafalque, mules and all who wished to join Ptolemy’s service, back to Egypt – not a man was left behind.
‘You sound pleased with yourself, Husband,’ Eurydike said from behind his right shoulder.
‘I have cause to be, Eurydike, although I rather think that your sister’s husband wouldn’t agree.’
‘Which one, Phila’s or Nicaea’s.’
Ptolemy thought for a moment. ‘That’s a good question; it was Nicaea’s to whom I was referring but Krateros might not approve of my actions either, despite Antipatros writing to me to ask if I would be so kind as to make a nuisance of myself on Perdikkas’ southern border. Well, I think I can say without any doubt that I’ve done my father-in-law proud.’
And now I shall do myself proud by making this a national issue; manufacture a crisis and then solve it yourself thus making yourself the hero of the nation and the one destined by Egypt’s ghastly gods to rule the kingdom. If I really am Philip’s bastard then he would also be proud.
It was to rapturous applause that Ptolemy appeared at the top of the High Steps overlooking the parade-ground, laid out by a long-dead Pharaoh for the exercising of his chariot-based army. Broad and wide it was and full of Macedonian soldiers as well as their native comrades who had been recruited as a part of Alexander’s drive to integrate the nations under his sway – Ptolemy had found the programme far advanced upon his arrival and thanked Alexander daily for providing Egypt with such a mighty army. Before him were twenty thousand men, just a third of the entire force available to him and, because of what he had done, he was sure that he would be using them in anger very soon.
Beyond the soldiery were the little people of Egypt, the farmers and the tradesmen who kept the fields tilled and the markets stocked; here they were today, in holiday mood, to witness the return of the greatest man of the age to their land. And they cheered with all their heart the man who had made it happen for Alexander’s return was a miracle decreed by the gods themselves: Ptolemy had let it be known that he had divine inspiration. He had circulated the rumour that, in Babylon, he had consulted the oracle of Bel-Marduk, the chief god of the city, as to where the king should be interred; the oracle had replied: ‘There is a city in Egypt named Memphis; let him be interred there’. Being a devout people the Egyptians fully endorsed this religious act and considered it to be also the will of all Egypt’s gods, not just Bel-Marduk. Ptolemy had merely played the part of the gods’ pious servant and he had played it to the full. Now, as the gates to the complex opened, revealing the magnificent catafalque of Alexander, he prepared himself to play the next scene with gusto. The ships that had transported his prize from Tyros, in but three days, lay tied up on the quays lining the banks of the Nile. To the east, shimmering in the heat and back-lit by the midmorning sun, lantern-sailed fishing boats plied their trade up and down the river that was the lifeblood of Egypt.
Horns rang and drums sounded; forward the sixty-four mules were goaded, pulling the precious load behind them, into the lane created between the soldiers, leading directly to the bottom of the High Steps which now filled with the priests and priestesses of the various cults in the city. All were in their finery, both male and female: high and low headdresses, long robes or short kilts, some barefooted, some elaborately shod, some heavily made-up and some clean-faced. Whatever their appearance, they all had one thing in common and that was the hymn to Alexander, composed especially for this day, that rose in their throats; a slow dirge of great dignity befitting for the mourning of one so great as he made his return to the city he had liberated from hated Persian rule.
On came the catafalque and more mournful grew the song as the priests’ ranks grew, each one adding their vocal to the chant, the women’s notes shrilling high and sad, bolstered by the mass of young boys stationed to either side of the High Steps, as the men’s deep tones carried the tune that brought tears to the eyes of many and a lump to the throats of all.
As the catafalque came closer to the foot of the High Steps, Ptolemy stepped forward, removing his helmet, and began to descend, symbolically going to greet Alexander, as if summoned, rather than show disrespect and being seen to receive him. The priests and priestesses parted, allowing Ptolemy to progress, one slow step at a time in accordance with the solemnity of the occasion, down to the ground level as the mules came to a halt with the entrance to the temple on wheels directly aligned with the bottom of the steps. Up into the catafalque Ptolemy climbed, his head bowed; the priests and priestesses ceased their hymn and there was a hush throughout the huge crowd.
All waited as Ptolemy spoke to Alexander in the name of Egypt.
Four candles burnt within, each in front of a bronze mirror set at the corners, augmenting the daylight that seeped in through the golden netting hung between gold pillars supporting the roof. Ptolemy squeezed his eyes closed and then slowly reopened them a couple of times to accustom himself to the relative gloom. As his vision cleared, Ptolemy drew an involuntary breath and then looked around the gold-encrusted interior in awe. Not only have I got Alexander but half the wealth of Babylon as well. For, although the exterior was constructed in a fortune of gold, the interior was equally as rich and even more refined; studded with precious stones of all hues. Two golden lions, with ivory claws, guarded the coffin with rubies for eyes and diamonds for teeth. Wealth glistered all about him and Ptolemy almost forgot the reason he had entered. It was with a start that he looked down through the opaque covering of the coffin onto the sleeping face of Alexander. I have to hand it to Perdikkas; he did a good job; he looks beautiful. He really is going to resent this. I’d better mobilise immediately; if I were him I wouldn’t waste time preventing Antipatros and Krateros crossing into Asia, plenty of time to deal with them once he’s dealt with me. He looked closer at Alexander’s life-like face. That’s what you would do, isn’t it, old friend? One lightning campaign and then move against the second front so fast your enemy cannot believe that it’s you. Just like when you crushed the Thracians and then arrived at the gates of Thebes so quickly that they thought it was Antipatros, not you. Ptolemy smiled at the memory as he caressed the glass above Alexander’s face with his fingertips. Why did you die so young and leave such chaos behind you?
Shaking his head, he pulled himself out of his introspection, back into the present; he had a purpose to this theatre and now was the time to perform. He turned, walked out of the catafalque and, to absolute silence pregnant with anticipation, ascended the High Steps.
‘Alexander has come to his chosen resting place and it pleases him,’ he announced, without preamble, as he reached the top and spun to face the crowd. Heralds throughout the crowd relayed his words in Greek and Egyptian; the roar of rapture spread like wind-blown fire.
Holding his hands high to embrace them all, Ptolemy celebrated with his people the return of the king. For scores of heartbeats they cried out their joy until Ptolemy felt they were ready for what he had come here to say. Appealing for quiet with as dignified a series of gestures as possible, he soon brought the crowd under control.
‘We have done what the gods and Alexander wished; no more, no less,’ he declaimed once silence reigned. With an abrupt hand-signal he stilled any cheering of this statement. ‘But in doing so we will have incurred the wrath of mere humans; people who now wish ill of Egypt. Therefore, Brothers, we must act to prevent their success. We must act to save Egypt and Alexander; we must preserve the will of the gods and keep his body here. We must take the army north and block the Nile Delta crossing at Pelusium; in short, we must prevent the invasion of our sacred land of Egypt.’
With a mighty eruption the crowd roared their approval of their new ruler’s rhetoric. On they cheered, hands waving as the soldiers punched the air with their shields.
‘Religion and nationalism,’ Ptolemy said to his women, applauding behind him. ‘A heady brew at the best of times but I think I’ve broached this cask at just the right moment.’
He turned back to the crowd, acknowledging their cheers as it slowly developed into a chant. ‘Soter! Soter!’ they repeated again and again, bringing a smile to Ptolemy’s lips.
‘They’re calling you their saviour,’ Thais said as the word became distinct.
‘So, they think I’m their saviour, do they? Ptolemy Soter, that suits me fine. A saviour can do no wrong;
when I move Alexander out of this furnace up to his mausoleum in Alexandria and make that city my capital they won’t argue with my will.’ He looked back to the crowd and, with arms open again, tried to look as pious as he could. But first we take Perdikkas.
OLYMPIAS,
THE MOTHER
‘PERDIKKAS IS STILL the route to power,’ Olympias declared.
‘Your route or mine, Mother?’ Kleopatra mused, not quite to herself, as a bejewelled pin was inserted into her hair and nimble fingers worked to secure the final tress.
‘I heard that.’
‘Good, because it’s a pertinent question.’
‘You’ll be the one marrying him, of course.’
‘Then surely I’m the one who should be making the decision; not you.’
Dionysus, the child is difficult. ‘I’m only offering advice.’
‘Biased advice based on your desire to have your vengeance on every noble family in Macedon for any perceived slight they may have dealt you in the past. Now please, Mother, Eumenes is arriving soon and I need to get my thoughts in order.’
‘But—’
‘No buts!’ Kleopatra snapped as her slave-girl held up a silver mirror to her face so as she could examine her coiffure. She patted either side of her head, ensuring that the elaborate construction was secure, gave the briefest of nods and held out her wrists for the application of perfume. ‘I need to know what has changed so much that Eumenes is back barely two months after he was last here appealing on that fool Perdikkas’ behalf. So be practical and help me, Mother; help me, not you; understand.’
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