A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “Then to Ephesus it is, General,” sighed Dimitrios, “but after I find my friend.”

  28

  Alexander Moves South

  On the Road to Sardis

  “The governors of half a dozen cities have offered to open their gates and welcome the army,” Hephaestion announced to Alexander as they rode south. “All they ask is that we pledge to restrain the men from looting, pillaging and taking other pleasures by force, or at least keep such activities to a minimum. We are receiving similar offers from a dozen other cities, large and small. Almost all of Lydia is falling over itself to welcome us,” he added.

  “You see, Parmenion,” Alexander said addressing the old general who rode on his right. “They were longing to be liberated, just like Aristotle used to say. The people of Asia will abandon Darius and invite me to be their lord. They know my cause is just and our mission is a sacred one.”

  “It's because they know when they are beaten,” snorted Parmenion gruffly. “Cowardly lickspittles the lot,” he chortled in disdain. “Don't let yourself be fooled by their eastern obsequiousness...”

  “That's quite a big word for you, Parmenion, isn't it” chided Hephaestion. “Where did you learn that one? You haven't been slacking off and, well, reading, have you?”

  “Keep it up, Hephaestion,” growled Parmenion, “keep it up. The day is coming when you will push me too far...and Alexander won't be around to protect you.”

  “Enough, you two, enough,” laughed Alexander. “I will not let you spoil my mood. Now, Hephaestion, have your scouts told you what has become of the Persian army...or what is left of it?”

  “Most of the levies of course dispersed and went home, and as for the Greek mercenary corps, well, those who are not dead are in shackles heading back to Macedonia.”

  “But what of the remaining nobles and their cavalry?”

  “In full retreat, my King. They are moving so fast that our scouts can barely keep up with them. They appear to be heading for the Taurus Mountains. Perhaps they plan to make a stand at the Cilician Gates.”

  “That would make sense,” Parmenion interrupted. “They could block the passage with a wall, line the hillsides with archers, and make us pay for every foot of ground. And they would have their fleet to anchor their seaward flank, so there would be nothing for us to do but bash our way forward. It will be bloody work, but, well, of course my men will be up to the task.”

  “Of that I have no doubt, dear Parmenion,” said Alexander with sincerity. “But first we need to secure Sardis, free the Greek cities of Ionia, and take a port for our own ships – and by doing so drive their navy farther to the east.”

  “That means Ephesos, Miletos...” mused Parmenion.

  “And then Halicarnassos, especially Halicarnassos,” added Hephaestion.

  “Yes, Halicarnassos,” nodded Alexander. “That is the key. That is their biggest naval base, and the biggest and most famed city in this part of Asia.”

  The three rode on in silence, the army in a long column stretching out for nearly five miles behind them, with other columns, mostly of cavalry and light troops to either flank. After a few moments, Alexander spoke up, and asked Hephaestion “have your scouts reported if Memnon went with the Persians to the Tarsus Mountains? It would be damn odd if he did...”

  “Why is that?” asked Hephaestion.

  “Because his roots are here. He is from Rhodes, but counts himself an Ionian Greek. He told me that himself when he was in exile at my father's court years ago. His estates are here, just outside Ephesos. His family is here. His...”

  “His heart is here,” Hephaestion interrupted.

  “Exactly,” agreed Alexander.

  “Which means he will not run away to the east and abandon it...”

  “No, Hephaestion. He will not give up this land without another fight.”

  “But what will he fight with,” laughed Parmenion. “His mercenaries are in chains, his noble cavalry dead or in flight and the local levies dispersed. The cities are coming over to us one by one. Where will he find an army?”

  “There are still a lot of mercenaries looking for work,” answered Hephaestion.

  “Ha!” laughed Parmenion. “And what will he pay them with? We grabbed his army's war chest on the field...or what was left of it after his own men filled their sacks with all they could carry.”

  “All he needs is one satrap to back him, and he will have plenty of money,” replied Hephaestion. He doesn't need Darius' “golden archers,” he added, referring to the gold coins issued by the royal mint. “The satraps are allowed to coin silver as they need in order to provide for their defense. Memnon will get someone to mint money, or he will borrow it on his own lands, or he will simply squeeze the nobles and cities as he can. He will have money, and that means he will have an army.”

  “If he does, it won't be a very good one,” harrumphed the old general.

  “He doesn't need a 'good' army, just one that can stand behind a stone wall. The question is, where will he make that stand?”

  “Halicarnassos,” said Alexander in a whisper, first to himself, and then again, louder, so that his generals could hear him. “That is where Memnon will make his stand. He may try to delay us at Ephesos and Miletos, but those will fall, and he knows it. No, it is Halicarnassos where he will make a final stand.”

  “The citadel there is particularly well built,” Parmenion noted. “We cannot take that by storm. We would need siege engines. Those take time – and planning. Are you certain he will find a willing patron there?”

  Alexander nodded in the affirmative. “The satrap there, Orontobates, is a slimy bastard, and a greedy one. He all but stole the post from the last satrap. He will do whatever Memnon tells him to do.”

  “That will put us deep into enemy territory,” Hephaestion noted. “We will need allies...”

  “We have one,” replied Alexander. “The queen there, Ada, is old, but she is of an ancient line of warrior queens. Her sister, Artemesia, was named after the queen who led a squadron for Xerxes at Salamis. She is a fighter, I hear, just like her ancestor. And it was her brother who was satrap before Orontobates. She has a score to settle, and has already sent word that if we agree to put her on the throne, she will help us. Ada holds the fortress of Alinda, and that controls the road to Halicarnassos. It will make a fine base to prepare the siege.

  “Yes, that is where Memnon will make his stand. Halicarnassos. Hephaestion,” he said, turning to his friend, “but first thing’s first. We need Ephesos. Send word to our navarch Nicanor to move the fleet down the coast, and to set up a blockade there. And Parmenion,” he added as he turned to the old general, “you asked me last night where we should go next? Well, now you have your answer. After we parade through Sardis, we head southwest, for Ephesos, Miletos, Alinda, Halicarnassos...and Memnon.”

  29

  The Slave March

  West toward the Hellespont

  Despite Klemes' urging that he and Dimitrios should take advantage of the confusion and exhaustion of the guards the night after the battle to escape, Dimitrios had refused to leave without Ari. Klemes grudgingly agreed, and using his status as a healer to wander among the enslaved former mercenaries, did his best to find their lost comrade. Dimitrios, however, did not enjoy such freedom. Like the rest of the Greeks captured on the Granicos, he was forced to march along as they made their way back to the Hellespont, and the ships that would take them to their new lives in Macedonia – as slaves.

  Although Alexander had ordered the Greeks shackled, as Parmenion had pointed out there were just not enough chains and other metal bindings to go around, not for 2,000 men. Dimitrios was fortunately one of those whose bonds were limited to ropes that bound him to ten other men. His hands, too, were bound, and his legs hobbled by yet more rope, tied just loose enough to allow him to march, but tight enough to prevent him from running. Only three things made the march bearable. The first was his brother's ability to sneak some extra food and water to
Dimitrios and the others with him at night. The second was the fading but still persistent hope of finding Aristophanes, and the third was his dream of escaping, not to go home, but so that he could once again stand and fight against Alexander.

  A few days into the march, Klemes finally found Aristophanes. It was his limp that caught Klemes' eye. It had taken many days to work his way through the long lines of men in search of Ari. It was not a simple task, for he had to make sure he did not rouse the suspicion of the guards. Several times he saw other men staggering along that looked a bit like Ari, but this time he was sure. Klemes continued to make his rounds. He did what he could to help men who had fallen get back up onto their feet, or to convince the guards to let him take a man out of the line to tend to an obvious injury, or staunch the bleeding on a reopened wound. He was never left alone, however, as at least one guard would always be about to make sure the man condemned to slavery would resume the march – or to cut his throat if he could not.

  This was a grim business, and a very difficult one for a man who had given his life and his soul to the healing arts. But Klemes soldiered on, as it were, sustained by the hope that he could help Ari and his brother break free one night.

  That chance came two days later, just as they reached the coast. A long line of ships had been pulled up onto the beach, to let their timbers dry out and their crews cook a meal, stretch out and get some rest. As the sun began to sink, the guards ordered the men to sit, and for a little food and water to be distributed. Nobody was going anywhere, not in the night. As the guards had done their duty in delivering their charges to the masters of the cargo ships, they were more lax than at any time since that first night. Their job all but done, they ate and drank freely, so much so that even those men who went to relieve their comrades on guard duty arrived at their post quite well lubricated with strong drink.

  “This is our chance,” Klemes said to his brother quietly, all the while drawing out a small knife to cut his bonds.

  “What about the others?” Dimitrios whispered.

  “You want me to cut their bonds, too?” answered Klemes. “That is not about to go unnoticed you know, not even with the state the guards are in.”

  “Don't worry. I've talked with these men,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the other nine men in his string, men who had been roped together with him like they were a string of ponies. “They will wait, and one by one they will slink off into the night. A few have friends out here they want to find, just as you found Ari. But I have their word that nobody will do anything foolish or rash, at least not for a little while yet. By then, anyway, Klemes, we may be grateful for anything that distracts the guards, eh?”

  Klemes grumbled something about his brother being the soldier and he being just a simple physician, but he understood the risks, and knew they had few other options – if any. The ropes cut, their hands and legs now free, Dimitrios nodded to the others and made his way with Klemes off into the dark, where they made their way around the edges of the camp until they came to where Ari was sitting.

  Themistocles of Pella held himself to be a good soldier, and a pious, steadfast, strong-willed sort of a man. To remain such, he had promised his mother long, long ago, the only wine he ever drank was so thoroughly cut with water or vinegar as to bear only the slightest resemblance to wine. Themistocles had been drunk only once, as a boy, and he did not like how it made him act, what it made him do, or how it made him feel the next day.

  As luck would have it, Themistocles of Pella was the one guard among all of those set to guard the slaves who was not at least a little drunk that night. He was also the one who was posted just opposite the clump of slaves at the far edge of the camp, right where Ari was sitting.

  “Can you take him, brother?” Klemes whispered to Dimitrios as they crouched behind a rock, not far from the sober guard.

  “Not head on, and not without making so much noise that it will rouse the camp. Perhaps if you go chat him up and distract him...

  “What do you mean 'chat him up?'” responded Klemes rather indignantly. “What am I supposed to say, 'hi, soldier, new in town?'”

  “You always have something to say, brother, about everything and anything. So what, now you are suddenly at a loss for words?”

  “Damn it, Dimitrios, I'm a physician not a philosopher! I have opinions, yes, and I am always ready to share them, but you know I am not good at starting a conversation. I need...well, you know, I need somebody else to start it so that I can, well, jump in with some witty retort or thoughtful point.”

  “So you are saying that I should go talk to him? I'm in rags, covered in dirt and dried blood, and with rope burns around my wrists and legs. I'm the very kind of person he is supposed to be guarding, the kind he is supposed to make sure stays tied up!”

  “All right, all right,” grumbled Klemes. “Wait here. I'll think of something to say to him, but I suspect I won't be able to keep up the conversation for long, considering who I will be talking to...”

  “Don't worry, Klemes, as soon as it looks like you have his full attention, I will sneak up and jump him. But be ready to help me. He's a big one, that lad, and he's in full kit, sword, spear, shield, and all. And the best thing I could find to use as a weapon is a rock. You're gonna have to pitch in.”

  “With what?” replied Klemes somewhat taken aback.

  “How about that knife you used to cut our bonds?”

  “Damn it, Dimitrios, I'm a physician not a butcher! I took an oath to save lives, not to take them!”

  “That again...All right, give me the knife,” grumbled Dimitrios. You hit him with your fists, or kick him with your feet or, I don't know, use your teeth if you have to.”

  “You want me to bite him?” asked Klemes incredulously.

  “If you get the chance, sure,” replied Dimitrios. “I am sure you'll think of something when the time comes...and that time is about now. Get out there!” he added, giving his brother a shove.

  As Klemes stumbled from behind the rock, trying to get his balance, he made quite a bit of noise – noise that attracted the attention of the guard.

  “Halt! Who goes there,” said Themistocles, in the words that every guard in history or history yet to be made has used or would use in the future when surprised at his post.

  “Good afternoon to you, soldier,” responded Klemes a bit nervously. “It's just me, Klemes, the physician, making the rounds of the camp. Must make sure the chattel – or are they cattle – are healthy enough to bother taking aboard the ships. Can't be wasting precious cargo space on men who are about to die, can we?” he added, words just stumbling out of his mouth as he slowly advanced on the guard.

  “Oye, I've seen you about,” replied Themistocles, starting to let down his guard. “The lads all get a good laugh out of you, jumping about to bandage a man here, give a bit of water to a man there...seems a waste of time, if you ask me. These men are all gonna die in the mines anyway.”

  “The mines?” asked Klemes.

  “Yeah, so I hear. They're all to be sent to the mines. Some might get lucky and go to the quarries; at least those will be able to die in the sunlight, and not in some dark, dank tunnel underground. Serves them right, though, if you ask me,” he added as he spat to punctuate his opinion. “Traitors to the cause, money-grubbing mercenaries, the lot of them. We should have just killed them all at the Granicos. Then me and my mates, we'd be with the king and the army. Meanwhile those that are with him are getting all the spoils, while we just shepherd these lambs to the slaughter.”

  So preoccupied with making his point that he was, Themistocles did not see Dimitrios sneaking up behind him – or at least he didn't see him until just before Dimitrios raised his arm to strike. Klemes knew in a flash that his brother would not get in the first blow, as the guard was already leveling his spear to skewer him. To do so, however, the guard had to turn away from Klemes – who, with an unthinking leap, jumped upon the soldier's back, causing him to stagger to keep to his feet.
That was just the opening Dimitrios needed. He charged forward, smashing the rock into the guard's face with one hand, and grabbing his spear with the other.

  The scuffle did get the attention of the slaves nearby, but it was all over in seconds. The sound of the scuffle and the movement among the slaves, however, were enough to arouse the suspicions of guards to either side, and as they came stumbling forward, their shouts woke other guards from their stupor. Within minutes the camp was in an uproar. It was just the sort of thing that Dimitrios had hoped to avoid.

  30

  Sardis

  The Citadel

  “What do you mean you sent an offer to Alexander to surrender the city!” Memnon shouted, his stupefaction at the news outweighed only by his anger.

  “What other choice do I have?” shrugged Mithrines, a veteran soldier whom Memnon had placed in command of the garrison at this key city. “You and Spithradates took the best men I had, and where are they now? All you left me with were those too old or too sick to march, and the town watch. That's not enough to hold the citadel, let alone man the walls or put up any kind of fight.”

  “Mithrines,” said Memnon in as calm a voice as he could manage, “I know you can't hold Sardis against Alexander, but if you could just slow him down for a few days...”

  “And if I do, what becomes of this city, and her people? You know the rules of war better than any man I know. If I so much as close the gates and fire a single arrow, I give Alexander cause to loot, pillage, rape, and burn the city. Surrender is the only way to spare these people from that. It is the only way I can defend them.”