“Why have they stopped?” asked Ari. “Our fleet has just...stopped.”
“That's because they want Nicanor to attack them, out in the bay, where their numbers can swallow him up. But he's not that stupid,” Dimitrios replied.
“Then why don't they just go straight at the Greeks?”
“Because, my young friend,” Ephialtes chimed in, “only a fool takes wooden ships against a stone fortress. Our admiral may not be exceedingly brave, but he's also no fool. And he is doing his duty...look, to the right, there. He is running some ships to the beach, on the landward side.”
On the landward or eastern side of the peninsula were two much smaller islands, each of which were still in the hands of the Persians. They guarded a channel that led to the beach on that side of the peninsula, a beach used by the city's fishermen and any boats that were too small to need the docks in the commercial harbor on the Lade side. As the main fleets continued their standoff, about a dozen Persian ships pulled up to that beach. Each disgorged a handful of soldiers, and each carried a sack. When the first dozen were finished unloading, they pushed off – and a second dozen came in, then a third and a fourth.
“Dimitrios, go welcome our navy friends. Seems they have brought us some reinforcements and supplies. I know they can't bring in many men or a great deal of cargo, not in those ships, but any help is welcome. Besides, it will mean a great deal to the morale of the garrison and the citizenry. Get me an inventory of the supplies, and find out who is in charge of the reinforcements, and bring him to me.”
The shuttling of men and supplies continued all day, which is how long it took, as the beach where they could unload was short and narrow. And, as Ephialtes had observed, the ships the Persian admiral detailed for this service were not cargo ships or troop carriers, but were meant for other, more martial tasks. The vast majority of his 400 ships, moreover, he kept squared off against the Greeks, just in case Nicanor became impatient and accepted his challenge – which, of course, he did not.
As the day lengthened, the shuttle service slowed and the Persians began to peel off back to Mycale. Although the blockade of the city had not been lifted – the main harbors were both still closed off by the Greeks – at least the people of Miletos had seen that they were not forgotten, were not alone, and were not beaten – not yet.
Not everyone in Miletos, of course, was happy with this minor miracle, especially not Governor Hegisistratos or his merchant friend, Glaucippos.
“This is an unwelcome turn of events, governor. It will make our job all that much harder – and expensive, if you know what I mean. Bribing hungry, frightened guards sunk in despair is easy and cheap – but after today, the cost is going to go up – way up.”
Hegisistratos agreed. Frustrated, a little angry, but also a little proud of the admiral for what he had done, the Persian governor was not deterred from his plan. “This changes nothing in the long run,” he said to Glaucippos, “it just means we need to act much sooner and more decisively, before anything like this occurs again – and it probably will. Can your men be ready tonight?”
“Of course,” nodded the fat merchant. “And I have a fisherman who's more than willing to take on some passengers for a short trip to the Macedonian side of the lines. He's actually a bit angry about what happened today.”
“How’s so?” asked a puzzled Hegisistratos.
“Says he wasn't able to bring in his catch, not with all of the warships coming and going on the beach. That cost him dear – and he spent a day on his boat in the hot sun, knee deep in dead fish. You can imagine the smell...” explained the merchant, holding his nose and making a sour face to punctuate his point.
“Well then,” laughed Hegisistratos, “perhaps I should send him a vial of perfume. That and another bag of silver coins should remove the stink, eh?”
Alexander was another who was not pleased with the flow of troops and supplies that came into the city that day, even if it had been a mere trickle and not a flood. He saw it all as he stood on the Old Citadel Hill, and with each relay of boats he got angrier and angrier.
“Shall I signal Nicanor to attack?” asked Parmenion.
“No,” said Alexander through gritted teeth. “We've already gone over that. The chance of victory is small and the consequences of loss too great. As long as we have a fleet in being, and the fortified island of Lade supporting it, the threat to Miletos remains. And the Persian fleet has to either sit it out on the beaches below Mount Mycale or sail away...” he continued, his initial anger and frustration giving way to an idea, and then a smile.
“Is Philotas still chomping at the bit as his cavalry has nothing more to do than forage for the army?” he asked Parmenion.
“Yes, poor lad,” said Parmenion with a little laugh. “He so wants to get into this fight – but I told him, a siege is no place for cavalry; can't storm a wall or ride through a breach on horseback.”
“No, of course not. Those dozen or so nobles who charged out of the main gate learned that – even if they did buy time for their general to get inside. Only one or two of them made it back into the city, right?”
“That is right, my King,” said Hephaestion. “Our men saw to that. They did well enough against us on the flat in front of the city, but as soon as they reached the Necropolis, well, that was that. The rocks and tombstones and monuments there are hard enough for one man on a horse to navigate, let alone charge through.”
“Well, Hephaestion,” replied Alexander, “tell Philotas I have a job for him after all – a way for his cavalry to take a much more active part in this siege beyond scavenging for food and fodder.”
“He will be very pleased to hear that,” the king's friend responded with a puzzled look on his face. “What do you have in mind?”
Alexander grinned. “The Persian fleet. It is too big, too strong, too well trained and equipped for us to attack with our navy. So we will attack them with our cavalry.”
Parmenion and Hephaestion both gave Alexander a questioning look, as they were not quite sure they heard him correctly. “Pardon me, my King,” said Hephaestion. “Cavalry against warships? You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him walk on it.”
“No,” laughed Alexander. “And maybe you can't make him drink it either, isn't that what Aristotle used to say? But that is the key to winning the naval battle. The Persian fleet is unbeatable on the water, but not at the water.”
“At the water?”
“Yes, Hephaestion, but not the water their ships sit upon, but at the water their crews drink. There are more men on those 400 ships than there are in our entire army – and you know how much water our men drink. Cut the Persian sailors off from their source of drinking water, and they will either have to sail off or die of thirst. The old 'water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink,' yes,” said Alexander gleefully, “that's the way we'll do it!”
Later that day, the Thessalonian scouts made their report to the king. The Persian fleet was drawing its fresh water from the Meander River, the chief of scouts explained, a river Alexander had crossed on a bridge of seven boats his engineers had constructed. The river flowed down to the sea, near where the Persian fleet was beached, its waters fed by streams from Mount Mycale. Hundreds of men were involved in bringing water from there to the fleet in a never-ending, continuously moving effort, he added as he drew a circle with his finger on Alexander's map table to better explain the process.
“And they have guards? Men on watch?” asked Alexander.
“A few score, no more,” the chief of scouts added, “and they are not proper infantry, just marines from the fleet. Men who know how to fight from the deck of a ship,” he smiled broadly, “but have little experience of fighting on land, and even less of facing cavalry.”
That was exactly what Alexander suspected, and was thrilled to have confirmed.
“Philotas,” he said to the cavalry officer who had dispatched the scout and accompanied him back to the king's tent, “I heard you have be
en grumbling about being left out of the fight. Something about being little more than green grocers and game hunters? Well, here's some game for you to hunt. Take all of the light cavalry, all except enough pickets to keep watch at our back, and scatter those water carriers at the Meander. Hephaestion will follow up with the Companions – including the Royal Squadron – just in case you meet any formed resistance...”
“I won't need the heavy cavalry, my King,” replied Philotas. “My lads will do. They'll run down those water bearers and marines and cut them down before they can reach the safety of their ships!”
“Yes, of course,” acknowledged Alexander, “but they have set up a barricade inland, around the beach. Hephaestion and the heavies will make certain they do not even think twice about coming out to chase your light horse away. Nothing like a mass of big men on big horses, bronze helmets shining, to keep them behind their palisade. And no need to storm it. Thirst will do the rest.”
49
Mycale
The Meander River
It was Captain Abibaal and his crew's turn to bring water from the Meander back for the squadron on the beach. Their own ship was still blockaded inside the harbor of Miletos, where they had made their run to bring Dimitrios, Klemes and Aristophanes into the city, but sailors need to be on the sea, not in a city. So when the small boats brought in food and reinforcements to Miletos on the Mycale side, Abibaal was there to meet them. In return for help unloading their cargo, the captains of the small ships agreed to take Abibaal and his men back to the fleet. Out of deference to his long and honorable career, the admiral had given Abibaal a choice.
“I have no ship for you, Abibaal,” the Persian admiral explained, “and do not expect to have one anytime soon. I do have ships that need officers and crew, and if you agree and your men wish, they can fill in as replacements. I know you are a captain, but unless you want to serve as the first mate on another ship, I have nothing for you, at least not now. Of course, however, it would be a shame to break up such a well-trained crew as yours, so...”
“Yes,” a suddenly hopeful Abibaal responded. “Anything. We'll take anything. Do anything. Just let me keep my crew together.”
“Well,” the admiral chuffed, “I do need someone to take charge of bringing fresh water from the Meander to the fleet. You will have wagons instead of a ship, but, if you do this, it will spare the crews of the other ships the hard work – and that would be of great service to the fleet – and to me. Besides, it is either that or split you all up. So, what do you say?”
Captain Abibaal did not hesitate to accept the offer. He was an old enough salt to know that even when an admiral asks, it is really just a more polite way of issuing a command. Only someone whom the admiral respected would be given the opportunity to say 'no;' not that any officer who wished to see the sea again would give such an answer. Besides, the good admirals rarely forget those who do their bidding willingly, and Autophradates was among the very best.
“Very good then, Captain,” said the admiral, who expected that Abibaal would agree to his request. “If you do as good a job on land as you have done on the sea, you will get another ship as soon as the opportunity arises. Of course you might get your own ship back again, should the Greeks grow tired of their blockade. But, in the meantime,” the admiral said with a little smile, “do keep track of the water wagons, and try not to leave any of them behind.”
“Put your backs into it!” Abibaal shouted to his crewmen who were loading the water wagons at the Meander. “There are thousands of thirsty lads back on the beach, and they can't very well drink sea water now, can they?”
The work was backbreaking – even for men who made their living at the oars. Hard as it was, it was better than lolling about in Miletos, where idle minds and idle hands were too easily tempted to get into mischief – or worse. Besides, at least this way they were all together, working as the team they had worked so hard to become. The oarsmen and sailors did the heavy lifting, while the oar master kept them all working in unison, just as he had when he drummed out the beat for the oars aboard their ship. That still left plenty for the officers to do – someone had to keep the tally sheets, and keep track of to which squadron the drivers were to make their deliveries. Keeping 400 crews from getting thirsty was a monumental task, and one that was about to get a lot more difficult.
“Captain,” said a marine who had come down from the watch tower the sailors had built beside the river, “you had better come see this. I think we are about to have company.”
Abibaal followed the marine back to the tower, climbed the rope ladder to the platform and looked in the direction the marine pointed.
“All I see is a cloud of dust,” Abibaal told the marine. “I can't even tell where it is coming from, let alone what it is.”
“It came from the right, either just inland of Miletos or from the city,” said the marine. “I have been following the dust clouds for some time now.”
“Well, if it is from the interior, it could be almost anyone. Reinforcements for Alexander...”
“Or a relief column from the satraps?” asked the marine hopefully.
“Perhaps,” replied Abibaal, “but I would not get your hopes up. And if it is from the city, it would be from Alexander's camp outside Miletos.”
“But if so,” asked the marine, “then where are they going? There's nothing of interest to them out here, is there?”
Captain Abibaal peered as hard as he could, trying to pick out figures from the dust cloud, but it was still too far distant. Then it struck him.
“There is something of interest to them out here, marine,” said Abibaal with a knowing sigh. “Us. We're out here – or more correctly, our fresh water is out here, and beyond that, the anchorage. You had better tell your officer to get his men in battle order...he may soon have a fight on his hands.”
With that, the marine and the captain raced down the rope ladder. The marine went to find his officer, while Abibaal hurried to the river.
“That's enough for now, lads,” he called out, signaling his crew to stop working and to gather about.
“But we've lots more wagons to load,” said the oarmaster, “and the daylight is already starting to fade. There is so much to...”
“We're done with that for today, lads. Something is coming around the bay that does not bode well. I think the Macedonians are coming for us. I think they mean to knock us back from the river and attack the anchorage. We need to get aboard the wagons and get back to the beach. If we are caught outside of the palisade, the admiral will be very upset.”
“I didn't know he cared about us that much,” one of the men jeered.
“He doesn't,” said Abibaal harshly. “It's not you but the water wagons that concern him,” Abibaal told the crew. “And he told me not to lose any of them,” he added to himself as he turned his back on his men and went to gather the tally sheets.
Wagons, especially wagons loaded down with large amphorae of water, do not move much faster than a man can walk – not march, but just walk. Having the men board them would have only made them go even slower. Abibaal knew he was in a race to get his men and their wagons back to the relative safety of the palisade that had been raised to guard the camp where the sailors of the fleet slept and took their meals, but he also knew it was not a fair race. If that was indeed part of Alexander's army inside that dust cloud, there would be cavalry, and he had no hope of outrunning them. He only hoped that they would stop at the river either to water their horses, or to wait for their infantry to catch up. If they did not, the only protection his men had would be the small troop of marines who were acting as their rear guard.
The Thessalian horse did stop at the river – but only to look around to make sure it was safe for the rest of the column to follow. Philotas knew better than to let his horses drink for more than a few minutes. An overheated horse and a river of cool water do not go well together, and there would be time enough later to water the horses properly. After detaching
a few riders back to the heavy cavalry that were coming up from the rear and sending out scouts and flankers to ensure that all was safe, Philotas pushed on. The Thessalians were only lightly armed, but Philotas did not expect to encounter anything or anyone they could not handle.
Try as they might, the drovers could not make the oxen pulling their wagons and carts go any faster. Neither the big, four wheel wagons or the smaller two-wheeled carts, which were little more than chariots with wicker sides on them to keep their cargo from falling off, could hope to outrun men on horses.
And they didn't.
The only weapons the 50 oarsmen and the dozen sailors and officers had with them were their knives. The marine guard had helmets, shields, throwing spears and swords, but nothing that could pose much of a serious threat to the Thessalian horse. Still, they tried. The marine officer formed his men into a shield wall, and made a very respectable attempt at a fighting withdrawal. Trained to fight aboard ship, they were not in their element, but they were brave men, professionals.
And they died that way. Each selling his life trying to buy more time for Abibaal and his wagons and men to keep going.
Philotas never could resist torturing a wounded animal, or taunting a beast at bay. The slow murder of the marines – for that was what it was, murder, not battle – was a sport to him. He surrounded the marines and made a competition out of it, offering prizes to the men that could skewer a marine with a javelin thrown from horseback. Philotas did not send in all of his men at once, but in pairs, allowing the others to take a bit of rest while they cheered their comrades on and took bets as to who would hit a marine, who would rack up the most number of hits or kills and the like. As for the wagons, they did not interest Philotas. They posed no challenge, offered no more sport than hunting sheep and offered no loot. But this, this dancing around the slowly shrinking circle of marines, this was fun – and after so many dreary days of foraging, and scouting, and patrolling for the army, his men needed some fun, as did he.
A Captain of Thebes Page 30