I was suddenly jostled out of these contemplations by the individual sitting to my right “You are not from here are you? Just passing through?” He was of similar age and build as I, with noticeably mainland-Greek features.
“Just passing through,” I stutteringly responded, being caught off guard by the stranger.
“Joining the army?” he asked.
I became defensive by this unexpected attention and did not wish to indulge his curiosity further, yet was compelled to nod in the affirmative due to his intense gaze. He handed me another cup of wine, “It’s on me, friend; my name is Stephanos. I am here to join the Greek armies as well. My companion and I have travelled from Athens, but he has grown very ill and has been bed-ridden for several days. This has both stalled our journey and lessened our purse.”
“If you are from Greece, why have you not joined the army of Antipater?” I asked.
“Antipater has routed most of the Greek uprisings in the Lamian War and defeated the armies of my city,” Stephanos explained. “My father and brother were both killed by Antipater’s forces several months ago. My companion and I refuse to fight for his cause and travelled east to join the army of Lord Regent Perdiccas, Antipater’s rival and protector of the true successor to Alexander’s throne, Alexander IV. If you travel alone friend, you should join your fortune with ours.”
“Why do you make such offering to a stranger?” I asked.
“This city is dangerous for foreigners. I have lodged here for seven days and can attest to its perils. My companion’s condition worsens and I fear I may be alone by next moon. I only suggest we join common cause to a goal we both share.”
“And what are the benefits to me if I accept?” I asked sarcastically.
“Well, I can at least show you the best places to screw in this town,” he answered with a smile.
“My name is Andrikos of Ilandra, lead the way friend.”
Stephanos was the first Greek I met that experienced Greek civil strife since Alexander’s consolidation of the Greek mainland. He was also the first Greek I met that fostered animosity towards another Greek faction within Alexander’s former empire for personal reasons. While I suffered through countless impassioned arguments on world politics from my uncle and his associates, Stephanos spoke with a genuine fervour and clarity that intrigued me. He explained how Antigonus, ruler of Asia Minor, had refused Lord Regent Perdiccas’ order to secure Cappadocia on behalf of General Eumenes and allied himself with Antipater and Craterus against the Regent. Perdiccas now sent Eumenes and Neoptolemus, former general of Alexander and current Satrap of Armenia, to confront all elements hostile to the two Kings of the empire in Asia Minor.
“How can a former secretary of Alexander defeat Craterus and Antigonus?” I asked, recalling the numerous deliberations of my uncle’s comrades.
“You know my motives for joining this fight. Antigonus is in his sixties and Antipater in his seventies. Both old men are in Greece. Eumenes retains a larger force than Craterus and thus holds the advantage in Asia Minor. Despite his history as a secretary for both Philip II and Alexander, he also held command in India and conducted himself with skill and honour.”
I didn’t pursue the issue further. It was clear I did not hold the level of knowledge regarding world events as Stephanos and I did not wish to further convey my ignorance. We continued drinking heavily, with Stephanos toasting to this general and that battle of the Lamian War- all names I had never heard before. We made our way to a brothel where the women were of decent appearance and the accommodations comfortable. I soon found Sardis’ companionship to be costlier than the average Ilandran fare but did not want to insult our new acquaintances and grudgingly agreed to the transaction. Stephanos and I were brought upstairs after our party of four indulged in copious amounts of wine. Stephanos was by now severely drunk and had pulled off his tunic and threw his woman over his bare shoulder as we walked to the designated room. As we entered, Stephanos carefully threw her down on a bed, turned to me and stated he was happy to have met me and that he never trusted anyone he had not shared women with. This was a strange measure for trust but I certainly understood the sentiment.
We did not have enough money for an extended stay, nor did I want to fall asleep in an unknown brothel. I suggested we stay at my room since we would surely disturb his infirmed companion in our inebriated state. Stephanos agreed but cautioned that while he had paid the owner of their room more money to ensure his companion was looked after, he did not want to leave him alone for such an extended time; thus he instructed we would rise early and see him first thing next morning. Stephanos and I established a rapid bond that evening spurred by drink, women, and similar dispositions. I agreed to his plan and fell quickly to an alcohol-induced sleep after returning from our revelry.
I was roused next morning by my dishevelled new companion, who urged me to wake and accompany him to his room. We apparently slept later than he planned and he was eager to depart. “I am meeting the surgeon at our quarters this morning,” he informed me, pulling me out of bed. My feet hit the floor and I immediately realized I was still drunk. We splashed water on our faces, drank from the bowl provided to me by my room’s proprietor and began our journey. The streets contained more squalid images than Ilandra’s sordid neighbourhoods and the urchins occupying its filthy thoroughfares were certainly more aggressive to passers-by. A foul odour permeated the crowded streets and alleys on our short journey. The atmosphere certainly put me in a defensive posture and we were physically pulled on several occasions by destitute locals trying to take advantage of confused foreigners. On one instance, Stephanos struck a decrepit man across the brow and roared, “Do we look any better off than you swine?”
The smell was beginning to turn my stomach when we finally arrived at Stephanos’ quarters. The structure was not noticeably more sanitary than the streets outside but it was dry and the doors had sturdy locks. We entered Stephanos’ chamber and were greeted with the rank smell of death, causing me to partially gag. “This is Isocrates,” Stephanos announced stoically. Isocrates looked as though his soul had faded, leaving his feeble body reciting the machinations of life out of habit.
The surgeon had already arrived and looked up at Stephanos, shaking his head and making the prognosis, “Its pneumonia; he will die tomorrow.” Stephanos sombrely paid the surgeon a coin and received information on funerary arrangements. He and I remained at Isocrates’ side the remainder of the day.
The following day saw the surgeon’s prediction fulfilled and I assisted Stephanos with Isocrates’ body. He wrote a compassionate letter to the deceased’s mother and announced, “I will make preparations for enlistment tomorrow. Tonight, let us drink to his memory.” That evening was a more sombre affair than our previous venture and the following morning we enlisted to a training outfit marching east to swell General Eumenes’ ranks.
Chapter 10
Stephanos and I met outside the city gates at the appointed early morning hour three days after enlisting. My internal fears intensified in the days leading up to this morning, but the poise displayed by Stephanos’ determined motivation steadied my outward appearance. His confidence was infectious and I was glad to have met him when I did.
We were to travel east to meet General Eumenes’ army in Cappadocia, where he had been appointed Satrap. The march was to be approximately five hundred miles following the Royal Road and we were to be trained along the way; picking up additional recruits from the major cities we passed through. Fifteen men were waiting at the gate with no sign of anyone taking charge. We loitered for an hour until a group of four men approached our throng. As they neared, I realized this contingent of men were the most impressive, battle-hardened soldiers I had ever seen. Their arrival quieted our chatter as everyone appeared to draw the same conclusion about these demigods.
“Line up!” the largest of them shouted. “Is every man here enlisting?”
Several ‘yeses’ were muttered by the group.
“Answer the question!” one of them roared from behind our meagre line and struck a recruit in the back, causing him to fall down and gasp for air. “Get up!” the same brute screamed as he forced the man back to his feet.
“Is every man here enlisting?” the largest of them shouted again.
“Yes!” we yelled emphatically.
“Then form a proper line!” he ordered.
Our gaggle pathetically attempted to assemble ourselves into an orderly formation but again failed. One of the brutes now stood in front of the feeblest and most out of place among us and struck him in the stomach with such force that he keeled over and vomited. The brute then threw him into the vile puddle and pulled him back to his feet.
The largest then addressed us. “You little shits better unfuck yourselves quickly or you won’t make it to Cappadocia. I don’t care about your personal sob stories and how this is your last resort. I don’t care if you think you’re some hardened criminal running from your home town. I don’t care if you think you’re the next Alexander searching for honour and glory. I don’t care if you grew up in squalor. I don’t care if you’re a deranged maniac lusting to kill. I don’t care if you have families. I don’t care if you think you’ve had some training in combat. I don’t care if you’ve killed someone. I don’t care if mummy and daddy didn’t love you. I don’t care if mummy and daddy sent you to a school and now you think you know something. I don’t care if you’re dumb as a sack of bricks. The only thing I care about is providing an army with trained men who are worth a damn so I can get paid.”
“My name is Agathon,” he announced. “And what you dogs need to understand is that right now your bodies are pathetic and your minds are weak. You’re scared. You’re useless. You’re cowards.” He paced as he delivered his warm greeting and now stopped in front of the unfortunate recipient of the stomach blow, who now had pieces of vomit soiling his appearance. “Look at you, you’re a disgrace! Are you Greek?”
“Y-yes,” he muttered.
“Answer me like a man damn it!” Agathon screamed. His face was so close to the unfortunate soul that saliva was flying from Agathon’s mouth into his face.
“Yes!” he yelled in exasperation.
“You’re a humiliation to our race and to everything Alexander accomplished. If he’d had an army of emasculated pussies like you we never would have crossed the Granicus. I will be shocked if you’re alive in three months.” Agathon struck him again in the stomach, which brought him to his knees. This time Agathon allowed him to remain in his pool of vomit writhing in pain. This exchange terrified me. Agathon held the most intimidating presence I’d ever seen- more so than Meric. It was impossible that he would find merit in my appearance and I thought it only a matter of time before I too was writhing in my own vomit.
Agathon continued pacing and stopped in front of a capable looking man in our line. Surely Agathon could not find fault with his appearance. I was wrong. “Look at that embarrassing piece of shit on the ground!” he ordered the unsuspecting recruit. The man looked at the unfortunate soul and let out a small smirk from the side of his mouth. “I think you’re going to be dead even before him,” Agathon continued. “You have an arrogant look on your face yet I see a pathetic nobody standing before me. Am I right?”
“No,” replied the man deliberately.
“We’ll see about that,” Agathon answered, annoyed the recruit did not give him more material to work with. This exchange further unsettled me because I had already made the assumption that the recruit was superior to me in appearance, and thus in many other facets, yet he too was provoking Agathon’s ire. None of us was safe from this man. I later learned the recruit’s name was Bacchylides.
“I will tell you the two traits you will need to survive our little journey and become worthy of taking your place within the Royal Macedonian Army,” Agathon continued. “Work hard and do as you’re told. This sounds easy enough, but some of you will choose not to heed my words and will suffer for it.” I certainly did not plan to be one of them.
“My men and I are all Macedonian veterans of the great conquest under Alexander. I fought at Gaugamela and at the Jaxartes River. Callisthenes fought alongside me at the Jaxartes and continued on to India and the Hydaspes River, returning with Alexander to Babylon. Telemachus and Lasthenes crossed the Granicus with Alexander and fought at the siege of Tyre, the Battle of Issus, and at Gaugamela. These men have accomplished feats of courage and soldiery that none of you will ever amount to.” I certainly believed the latter statement, for these men appeared vastly superior to me in every way.
Agathon and Callisthenes were clearly the younger of the four. Their mannerisms and confidence reminded me of Leandros returning from the east. Maybe they knew him. Agathon was the apparent leader of the group. He was several inches taller than me, about twice as wide, and probably eight years older. His body bore multiple scars from sword cuts and arrows. His skin was weathered and worn, with pronounced sinews and veins. Everything about him emanated strength and he instantly became a goal to strive for in my mind. I wanted to speak with his command; I wanted to act with his confidence; I wanted to instill fear in men as he did within me.
Callisthenes was smaller in stature but also maintained an imposing demeanour. He was about two inches shorter than I and of the same width. His body resembled a bronze cuirass forged through years of hard campaigning. His face contained sharp features and portrayed a sadistic expression when set to purpose. He took pleasure in his corrective duties and I prayed my dismal appearance did not spark his interest.
The other two men were clearly older but no less threatening in appearance. Their bodies were rigid yet beginning to succumb to age. Their faces forcefully told of a life wrought with hardship, violence and heavy drinking. Their delight in administering pain had luckily waned with maturity and they remained in the background while Agathon and Callisthenes performed their cruel routine.
“From now until you are delivered to the army, your lives will consist of marching, drilling, and carrying your sarissa.” Agathon paused while Telemachus brought him an example of the deadly spear. He handled the mammoth instrument with unbelievable ease and dexterity. He held it straight up, then lowered it to the ready, then thrust it forward and back with incredible skill. “If you cannot master this weapon, you will be worthless to the phalanx and relegated to the baggage train with the servants and whores. You!” Agathon shouted, looking at Stephanos. My proximity to his target made my stomach kick with terror. “You! Step forward!” Stephanos obeyed and took two steps in front of our line. “Closer you coward! Take this weapon.” Stephanos deferentially approached our caretaker and grabbed the pike. He immediately dropped the weighted end to the ground. Agathon’s face resembled that of someone witnessing a shocking heresy. “What are you doing! If you drop your sarissa in combat you will screw everyone behind you which may lose the battle! Pick it up!” Stephanos repositioned his grip, picked the spear off the ground and lost control of its momentum, letting the fearsome warhead at the end of the eighteen foot pike almost touch the ground before gaining proper control. No one made a sound in the line. All breathing ceased. This ineptitude was too much to bear for Callisthenes, who ran at Stephanos like a rabid dog, knocking him to the ground, and repeatedly striking him in the face while Agathon addressed the line. “If you drop your weapon to the ground, you are killing the men in front of you doing the fighting! Your spear point supports your mates. When you drop your point you are a worthless pile of shit unworthy of surviving the battle.” Turning to Stephanos, he exclaimed, “I should kill you myself and have you trampled by this pathetic formation this instant!”
I wanted to run out and help my new companion but did not have the courage to do so. I willed the maniac to stop but my urging fell on an unwilling participant. Agathon must have been the unintended recipient, however, since he looked directly at me and decided I would be next on his parade of torment. “You! Pick up that sarissa!” I ran over and waveringly held it
in a semi-vertical position. Luckily, my presence took Callisthenes’ attention from Stephanos, who recovered back in the line. He approached me, exhibiting such a look of disgust on his face that I dared not look him in the eye. He pushed and pulled the sarissa, which overpowered my feeble grip and brought the point into the ground. He punished this dishonour with a strike to my stomach, which knocked the breath from me and caused me to hunch over the spear. It took my entire constitution to keep the weapon in my grasp. This rare feat absolved me from further trauma and Agathon again addressed the line. “You don’t let someone grab your fucking pike and pull you along with it! If someone is close enough to grab your spear, they should already be dead!” Now looking at me, Agathon ordered me to thrust the pike forward to which I clumsily complied. “That dismal thrust wouldn’t kill a Persian eunuch,” Agathon informed the line. “Give Callisthenes the sarissa and get back in formation.”
Our battered line had suffered this morning and everyone’s spirits were down. Agathon now gave final instructions. “Remember how you feel this morning. If you work hard and do as you’re told, in a week you will never feel this way again.” We were all given a dull, heavy wooden sarissa to begin our march east along the Royal Road. Our handlers ensured we kept proper spacing and held our spears upright and straight. At random intervals, the old men yelled out an order to lunge our pikes forward in a battle thrust and recover them upright quickly. Agathon and Callisthenes circled us like vultures atop their horses and screamed at and whipped those who performed the drill inadequately. The sun now bore down on our fragile line and beads of sweat meandered their way down my face, causing irritable itch and discomfort that could not easily be relieved due to both hands being required to hold my sarissa. I began feeling blisters forming where my toes and heel rubbed against the leather of my worn sandal. Towards the middle of our first day, my lower leg muscles were sore and tight to the point of swelling. This swelling hindered adequate blood flow to my feet, which induced an uncomfortable tingling numbness. Towards the end of the first day, my thigh muscles could barely raise my legs up to put forth each step. My lower back ached and my arms were past the point of muscle fatigue and frequently spasmed.
By the Sword Page 9
