A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “So, Parmenion, what is this about the gods, and a promise of victory?”

  Parmenion had yet to calm down, or to regain his breath let alone his composure, and excitedly relayed all he had seen about the eagle, and what he was sure it meant.

  “...and...and you see, my King. Isn't it obvious? We aren't meant to take Miletos by land – but by sea! The eagle flew around the camp without pause, flew over the city and then came to rest alongside our ships. Could the gods be more clear? They are saying 'use your navy, Alexander, if you want to win.' Now, you know me, Alexander, I'm a soldier, and I've never thought much of sailors and, frankly, dread stepping foot on a boat even when it’s in dry-dock, let alone afloat...but even I can see what this means. Perhaps that is why the gods showed this sign to me – because if there is anyone in the camp less likely to put his faith in the fleet than me, well, I don't know who that could be.”

  Alexander smiled, patted the old man on his cheek, and called for his servants to bring wine – and stools for him and the old man to sit upon, as every other piece of furniture in the tent had been reduced to a pile of broken sticks because of the king's rage.

  “Parmenion, my brave, stone-headed, dear Parmenion. We have but 160 ships – and the 20 best of them are crewed by Athenians, and you know how they think of me. How Admiral Nicanor keeps these sailors of a dozen cities who hate each other almost as much as they hate me, from killing one another, I do not know. How they would fight in a battle, or even if they would fight, is something, frankly, I do not know.”

  “But...but the eagle...”

  “Yes, Parmenion. The eagle. That was one eagle. The Persians have close to 400 ships over there just across the bay in Mycale. You can see them from that hill you came tumbling down from. They have just as many more they can bring up – from Halicarnassos, Tyra, Sidon, Byblos, Cyprus and, of course, from Egypt. We cannot come close to matching them at sea...”

  “My King! When have numbers meant anything to Macedonians...or Greeks for that matter? The Athenians were outnumbered six to one at Salamis. Greek navies have triumphed every time they have met the Persians at sea, no matter the size of their fleet! Surely...”

  “Parmenion. The Greeks did not win every battle at sea against Persians, and even if I had a fleet that was bound to me like that of Athens was to Themistocles when he fought Xerxes at Salamis, I would do the same. Admiral Nicanor's fleet is all illusion. It is not a fleet but merely a collection of ships meant to give the Persians pause. Frankly, I am surprised they have not called my bluff and swept the lot from the sea – not that it would take much.”

  Parmenion's adrenaline rush came crashing down while the king was speaking. He suddenly felt his age, his exhaustion, and his aches and pains. Crestfallen and confused, he sighed a very deep, deep sigh, looked the king straight in the eye and asked, pleadingly, “then what the hell does that bit with the eagle mean? Surely it was a message from the gods? It couldn't just be...”

  “The random actions of some bird of prey? No, Parmenion, I don't think so. Like you, I believe it is a sign from my father – my real father, not the man you knew as such, but my father in the heavens, Zeus almighty. You've just misinterpreted it, that's all,” he added with a fatherly smile – to the man who was, indeed, old enough to have been his father – or even grandfather.

  “Persia has command of the sea. We cannot challenge them on the waves. To do so would be to invite defeat. We cannot risk that, especially not after today. One more day like today and my enemies would rise up all over Greece. We'd be cut off from home, alone, and with no way back. No, Parmenion, the gods would not tell me to fight at sea, as they know all of this. Now think again, Parmenion. This eagle, where exactly did it land?”

  “By the ships...”

  “But not on a ship, right?”

  “No...no, Majesty, not exactly.”

  “You said it landed beside a ship, on the beach, on land, on dry land, right?”

  “Yes...yes, now that you mention it.”

  “Well, there you have it,” said Alexander, rising slowly, slapping his muscular thighs with his hands. “The eagle came to rest on land, not on a ship. Zeus is telling me to put my faith on a battle on land. And that is what we will do, but this time, we will do it properly.”

  43

  Miletos Acropolis

  The view from the citadel

  Just as the view from the Old Citadel Hill at the foot of the peninsula afforded the Macedonians a panoramic and detailed view of Miletos, so did the citadel on Miletos Hill at the very tip of the peninsula. It overlooked the city's impressive Lion Harbor, the protected anchorage that poked into the city like a finger. Behind the massive chain and forts that defended the seaport were forty warships – the Miletos Squadron of the Persian royal navy. If the Greeks made any move with their fleet to attack the city, those ships could quickly explode out from their haven to oppose them. The several score fat merchant vessels riding high in the commercial harbor, their holds empty, were more vulnerable to attack, but the artillery atop the turrets overlooking the seawall were there to deter, if not defeat, any attempt to sink or cut them out.

  From the pinnacle of the citadel, the Greek fleet at Lade and even the Persian one across the bay at Mycale could be seen in great detail. So could the expanse of the town below, with its two main markets, its half dozen large and several score smaller temples, and its theater and other public buildings. Also apparent was the perfect gridplan designed by Hippodamos, the architect who, a century and a half ago, had worked out an urban plan that not only made sense, but also made navigating the city very easy. Hippodamos had loved his city so that he could not bear for it to be anything but perfect, or so the city legend went. Dimitrios, however, thought perhaps Hippodamos had some issues with the rambling layout of the old city, and making everything precise and orderly must have been some kind of an obsession for him. Perhaps that is why after the old city was destroyed that, rather than waste time and resources just rebuilding it, Hippodamos instead saw in that destruction an opportunity to design a more modern and more thoughtfully laid out city to replace it.

  Although Miletos Hill was not as high as its opposite twin, the addition of the ramparts, battlements and towers of the citadel built upon it meant that a man standing at the top of the very highest tower could look directly across into the eyes of someone atop the far hill some 2,000 meters away as the crow flies – if, of course, they could focus at such a distance.

  That is precisely where Memnon stood – with Dimitrios beside him. From their high perch they could see their own troops and defenses, and with some detail the Macedonian camp at the base of the Old Citadel Hill and the Sacred Way, the road that led off toward Prience and Didyma in the interior. That something was stirring inside that camp was obvious, for the Macedonians were buzzing like bees in a hive – and agitated bees at that.

  “What do you think they are doing, General?”

  “What they should have done when they first got here. They are gathering tools for a proper siege. They will raise earthworks across the base of the peninsula, with appropriate gaps, and will build siege engines – battering rams, towers, mantelets and the like – to come through those gaps. I imagine they are building other siege engines, the kind that can hurl great stones or firepots as well. Alexander's generals are not used to sieges, as neither the king nor his father ever had enough patience to conduct one by the book. Especially not this book,” he laughed, waving about the scroll in his hand.

  “And what book is that?” asked Dimitrios.

  “Poliorketika,” replied Memnon, “by Aeneas Tacticos, a general of the Arcadian League, from around Stymphalos, down in the Peloponnesos.”

  “Never heard of him,” said Dimitrios with a shrug.

  “Not many people have,” replied Memnon, “and I'm counting on that.”

  “So, what's in this book that is so critical,” asked the captain.

  “It is pretty much a treatise on how to defend a city,
as well as how to properly besiege, and then assault one. It offers insights into how to fight a battle in an urban area, after the enemy has breached the walls, and how to conduct such a fight from the attacker's point of view as well. That's where I got the idea for that little trap we just set out among the tombs. That, and of course your story the other night, about the battle at Thebes.”

  “You paid attention to what I said?” asked the captain with disbelief.

  “As would any good soldier worth his salt,” Memnon replied. “If you want to know how to defeat an enemy, it pays to listen to men who have fought against him.”

  “But each time I have, I have been on the losing side,” sighed Dimitrios.

  “One learns more from defeat than from victory – or at least they should,” said the general. “This Aeneas Tacticos was as often on the losing side as on the winning side. It was only by learning from the former that he discovered how to be on the later. Take our situation, for example,” continued the general. “As defenders, we have to be on guard for internal treachery as much as for the external threat. We have mercenaries whom we have to keep in check so they don't go bossing about and abusing the locals, or else the people will turn on them – and us, and see the enemy outside as their rescuers.”

  Dimitrios nodded in agreement, being well aware of the low character and voracious appetites of the mercenaries he had served amongst at the Granicos.

  “And then we have the city itself. It has strong points and weak points. Anybody can hold a strong point, but the weak points, well, that is where you really need to focus. But you don't put your best soldiers there...”

  “No? Why not? Isn't it obvious...”

  “Ah, Captain,” smiled the general, “you see? Of course it is obvious to most people that you put your best men at the most vulnerable spot. But in this case the 'best men' are not necessarily the best soldiers, but those who have the most to lose if the wall is breached. You put the people who live there to the job of defending what is theirs, along with others who may have a personal, religious or financial stake there. You can count on them to be vigilant, and not succumb to the tedium or temptations of garrison duty.”

  “I would never have thought of that,” said Dimitrios. “So, what other tricks does this old general have up his sleeve?”

  “Well, he's not that old – I mean, yes, he's dead now, but not dead long. He fought alongside Xenophon, and survived the battle of Mantinea – and that was fought barely 30 years ago. Aristotle took it from the general's own hand.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Dimitrios.

  “Remember,” instructed Memnon. “I was a guest – or hostage, or whatever you want to call it – in the Macedonian court for a few years. I had little to do except read – and read I did. I read everything I could get my hands on, and when I ran out of books I went to Alexander's tutor, Aristotle, and asked to borrow from his personal library. That's where I found this book.”

  “But you still have it? You never returned it?”

  “No. It opened my eyes and made me look at city warfare in an entirely new light. I figured this would be useful to me someday, and as Philip was already boasting about marching on Persia, I thought to myself, why should I let him in on its secrets and insights. Like the trick we used to set a golden path for Alexander the other day, to lure him in...and then smash him.”

  “And that was all there, in this book? What was it called?...”

  “Poliorketika,” replied Memnon. “Yes, or at least the inspiration for it. And there's more, like instructing people to go up to their roof and throw tiles down at an invader in the streets – ever seen how big some of those tiles can be? Not even the best helmet is much use against that. Or how easy it is for people to get weapons – from the tool markets, construction sites or even temples. Which means we post guards to make sure undesirable elements can't arm themselves to turn on us, and then, if the enemy is about to breach the walls, to distribute these weapons to people we can count upon. He even came up with a rather novel system to pass on messages through a hydraulic semaphore system, which I've ordered to be set up in the citadel and several of the taller towers.”

  “General, you have a lot in common with my brother, Klemes. I mean, he's a physician, not a soldier, but he's always telling me: 'I read, therefore I know things.'”

  “Wise man, your brother,” said Memnon with a nod. “Wiser than mine, I think,” he added sadly, remembering how his brother had picked the wrong side in a dynastic dispute. “Wiser than mine.”

  The two men were silent for a bit, until Dimitrios felt it was up to him to break the mood.

  “Well, General,” he said with a laugh. “I guess they will have to learn to read over there, especially after the schooling you gave them the other day.”

  “Don't get cocky, my young friend,” said Memnon in reproach, “that was Alexander's mistake. And he won't make it again. Alexander is bold, rash, headstrong – but he learns, and he learns quickly. After all, he had Aristotle for a teacher, and Aristotle does not suffer fools, nor produces them.”

  “So, General, what do we do in the meantime?”

  “We wait,” said Memnon. “We wait, and make ready. Get out your little wax tablet and scratch this down: I want all officers at the inner and outer wall to prepare bags of dirt, piles of stone, whatever timbers they can strip from houses, and buckets of water and sand. If Alexander batters a wall, we shore it up, repair it or build a second wall just behind it. If he sets fire to the wall, we douse the flames with water and sand. The commanders of each section of the wall are to report to the quartermaster to receive their allocation of shovels, axes, wheelbarrows and other tools. Got that, Dimitrios?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good,” the general said as he again took in the view. “Give that to one of the scribes and have him make copies to distribute. And while you are at it, have a copy sent to the governor.”

  “Hegisistratos?”

  “Yes, he is still governor, after all, the little worm. It is only correct that we should keep him informed about the defense of his city – even if he tried to surrender it to Alexander. Oh, and before I forget,” Memnon added, “add this to the copy you send him: he is to draft slaves, craftsmen, and any other workmen he can find to assist our soldiers in this task. My men can't both stand watch and build walls, or at least they shouldn't have to do it alone.”

  “He'll find some excuse not to...”

  “Yes, Captain, he will make some excuse why he cannot do as I ask. When he does, I'll offer to ask the king on his behalf to defray the tribute for a few years. That will get him off his ass.”

  “And if it doesn't?”

  “Dimitrios, are you that new to the workings of this empire, or the world? He's a greedy little bastard, but he's my greedy little bastard. He turned this decaying, dilapidated backwater harbor town into the greatest metropolis this side of Damascus. He knows how to get things done, and how to make a profit on the side when he does. Never underestimate the power of greed – or of a little bribe. Not in this empire.”

  “He is very frightened, my General,” Dimitrios replied. “That might still not be enough to get him off his ass.”

  “If it doesn't, well you can pull him to his feet, and make him bend over so I can put my boot up that puckered plump behind of his,” said the general laughing. “In the meantime, go have those messages copied and sent. Then go get yourself something to eat and a bit of rest. And here, take the book. Better yet, take it to your brother the book lover and ask him to read it for you. Have him let me know if I've missed something important. But I'll want you back at headquarters after sundown. There's something else I will need doing then. Well, what are you waiting for, get going!”

  After doing as the general had ordered, Dimitrios went to find Ari and Klemes, hoping the two would join him for a meal and a drink. Never one to turn down a plate or a cup, especially if someone else was buying, Aristophanes was happy to oblige. Klemes, grumbling a
s usual, demurred, explaining that he had a meeting with some other physician or magician or crackpot who wanted to show him some special herbs that would help him expand his mind or something or other. He did, however, gladly accept the book, and assured Dimitrios that he would indeed read it – as soon as he could find the time.

  “At least this general you so admire not only can read but actually does read,” observed Klemes. “If what he learns in those books can put an end to his madness sooner and save lives, or at least the lives of our men, all the better,” added the physician. “The gods know there are enough generals in this world who care little for the butcher's bill, just as long as they get a statue raised to mark their own glorious victory. I have just about had enough of trying to set broken bones, sew up wounds and push intestines back into men who have had their bellies ripped open...”

  Aristophanes and the captain left Klemes to his own devices and walked the length of the city. They started at the barracks by the citadel at the base of the Acropolis of Miletos and passed the Delphinion, the Nymphaion, and other shrines, temples, and religious buildings. All were packed with worried citizens making sacrifices, burning incense, placing offerings on altars or giving gold or other gifts to the priests.

  Despite the repulse of the Macedonians only days before, the citizens of Miletos were frightened of what was to come next. While some put their faith in the gods, others, Aristophanes remarked, put that faith in Memnon, and by extension, Dimitrios and the rest of the army.

  Just past the Nymphaion, the two came upon the Southern Agora, the larger of the two markets in the city. The Southern Agora was not really on the south side, but more accurately the east side of the city. While the city's other market, on the opposite side of the peninsula, was appropriately called the Western Agora, somehow this one on the east had gotten a different name.