A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “Yes, there is a lot of it, Alexander,” replied Parmenion with a bit of pride in his voice. “Don't worry, I'll make sure we get a portion of that back. Our war chest is so empty, what few coins left in it just rattle about.”

  “I want the looting stopped,” Alexander said firmly, again taking his father's favorite general by surprise.

  “What! The men won't stand for that! They've earned it! The right of conquest is a sacred one. This city had its chance, and when they chose to fight rather than to surrender...”

  “True, but some of their citizens did try to surrender the...”

  “You mean sell out, Alexander, not surrender...”

  “Again, Parmenion, you are technically correct. But nonetheless, I want the looting stopped. Same goes for the rape, arson, and general mayhem. I need this city, Parmenion. Besides, the Persians all but razed it to the ground when they took it from the Greek colonists years ago – or don't you recall your Phrynichos...”

  “My what?” replied Parmenion.

  “Phrynichos, the playwright,” explained Alexander.

  “A playwright? What does some pooftah scribbler have to do with anything?”

  “He scribbled, as you put it, a play, The Capture of Miletos. It is all about the nasty, evil, mean, and godless Persians sacking, burning, and murdering their way through this place when they put down a Greek revolt. I am here as a liberator, Parmenion. How can I do that if I act no better than the Persians?”

  “But when you turned down that fat fellow who tried to sell you the keys to the city you said...”

  “Oh, that, well,” Alexander said as he cleared his throat, “that was all for show. I just wanted to frighten that toad and show him what he was up against. Wonder whatever happened to him? You'll look into that, won't you, Parmenion...after you've put a stop to all of the looting that is.”

  “Alexander...”

  “Enough, Parmenion. Enough. I have told you how it is to be. I need a disciplined, hungry army behind me when we march on Halicarnassos...not some blood-sated, unruly rabble more concerned about how they will spend the shiny trash they've tucked into their sacks than about the next battle.”

  “So why the hell are we going to Halicarnassos?” asked Parmenion, who was demonstrably angry at yet another surprise command from his youthful king. “It is the most heavily fortified city this side of Babylon. It has three – not one, not two, but three walls. It's defended not by a garrison, like this place, but by an army – and a fleet, as that is where the Persian ships that were off Mycale have gone. We don't need Halicarnassos, Alexander. We can just bypass it and drive inland, like we've planned all along.”

  “You mean like you planned, or like Philip planned?” Alexander snapped back sharply. “It is just for those very reasons that I need to take Halicarnassos. Miletos was one thing, but Halicarnassos, well, when I take the untakeable, who will dare to stand against me? What city, what fortress will dare keep its gates closed to me, knowing that if I could break down the walls of the mighty Halicarnassos, I could surely do the same to theirs? So no, Parmenion, I will not leave Halicarnassos proud and defiant in my rear. I will take it, and I will make a sacrifice in front of the great Mausoleum there, so all of the world will know that the gods are with me, and that the days of the Persian Empire are numbered. Just as heaven cannot brook two suns, neither can the world have two masters. Taking Halicarnassos will show all Asia who is their real master.”

  “But...”

  “Oh, and because Memnon will go there,” added Alexander. “And since you let Memnon escape,” Alexander said with a scolding slither, “we have no choice but to follow him...and finish him.”

  “Why? He is a twice-beaten general, first at the Granicos then here...”

  “Thrice if you count his failure to defend Ephesos...” added Alexander pointedly.

  “Then all the more reason to ignore him. He is finished. He is discredited. He has no army. So why bother going after him?”

  “Because he tasks me, Parmenion, he tasks me. When I was young, he was my instructor while in exile in Macedonia. Now it is he who is the pupil, and I who am the master. I will have him on his knees before me, Parmenion, on his knees!”

  Parmenion knew better than to argue any further with Alexander, not once he started making speeches, anyway. It would be of no use, for if the king said they were going to Halicarnassos, then that was where they were going. Even if they were going without a fleet, and with an army of soldiers who were going to be very, very disappointed at being told they had to stop looting the city they had spilled their blood to take.

  Memnon stood on the deck of Abibaal's ship as the vessel rowed away from the city. He could see that there were now scores of men on the little islets, like the one he had been rescued from, but there would be no such salvation for those soldiers. The fleet was already far away, berthed at and refitting in the great harbor of Halicarnassos. The handful of ships left on patrol were hard-pressed to take more than a few score of those who had swum out with Memnon. What would become of those men on the rocks, or the city they had fought to defend, he did not know – but even if Alexander decided to show them mercy, he did not know what form that mercy would take.

  “So what do we do now, General,” Ephialtes, wrapped in a blanket and carrying another for Memnon, asked.

  “You and I, we go to Halicarnassos. The satrap there, Orontobates, is an old friend – and the son-in-law of the late king. He has been preparing its defenses for a month.”

  “So you knew Miletos wouldn't hold?”

  “No. I hoped it might, but, as I feared, it did not. No, Ephialtes, I did not sacrifice the city and its garrison, if that was going to be your next question. I thought to wear Alexander out, hoped that his lack of patience would lead him to either make costly mistakes or just grow so tired of a siege that he would go off in another direction. That plan worked, up to a point...”

  “Up to the point where the city fell, you mean.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But enough of that. On to Halicarnassos. That is the rock upon which Alexander will shatter himself. It was already the strongest fortress in the world, and Miletos gave Orontobates time to make it impregnable.”

  “So we're going to defend another city under siege,” said Dimitrios as he approached the two generals.

  “We are, but you are not,” Memnon said as he turned about to look his aide in the eye. “I have another job for you – a vital one and, more important, one that is especially important to me. Are you, and your brother, and your friend, up for a little adventure?”

  59

  Myndos

  Half way to Halicarnassos

  Captain Abibaal eased his vessel into the jetty at Myndos, a port about half way between Miletos and Halicarnassos, with practiced ease. Compared to his last few berths, this was a welcome respite: no rocky beach to drag the ship upon, no enemy warships to dodge – and this city, unlike the last two he had visited, was not even under attack – at least not yet. Alexander would need time to digest swallowing up Miletos. Restoring order, resting his soldiers, repairing his siege weapons and resupplying his army would take time – not as much time as it would for any ordinary army, or any ordinary commander, but time. Memnon was already pondering how to make the best use of that time, such as it was, and that was where Dimitrios came in. He, his brother, and their friend Ari would take on a task for which Memnon simply did not have enough time to do for himself.

  “So tell me again, brother,” Klemes asked Dimitrios as they prepared to disembark, “where exactly are we going and what are we supposed to do?”

  “We are going into the interior, to one of Memnon's estates. There we are to make sure that the general's wife and children are well, and then escort them to safety in the east.”

  “And just how far 'east' is it we have to take them?” asked the physician.

  “Far enough to be sure that his family are out of harm's way, wherever that is,” replied the Greek captain. “It is
quite an honor, if you think about it. A man like that, entrusting his family to a comparative stranger.”

  “A stranger who has been at his side in battle and has saved his life – and more than once” observed Captain Abibaal, who overheard their conversation as he made his way back amidships, having seen the ship docked and tied up to his satisfaction. “I wish I could go with you, my friend,” the naval officer added with an audible and exaggerated sigh.

  “Why? Getting tired of the sea? Or just tired of fighting?” quipped Dimitrios.

  “As to the first – never, and as for the second – well, maybe a little,” laughed Abibaal. “No, the reason I wish I was going with you is much simpler than either of those,” he said with another deep sigh.

  “Well, then, why?” asked Dimitrios with a puzzled look on his face.

  “Because,” replied Abibaal with a very large and dreamy smile on his face, “because you will get to see the beautiful Barsine.”

  “Who?” asked Klemes.

  “Barsine, my friend,” replied Abibaal. “Don't tell me you have never heard of Barsine?” he added incredulously.

  “Can't say as I have,” responded the physician.

  “Barsine,” said Abibaal, pausing to take in a deep breath and closing his eyes as if conjuring up a picture in his mind – and a very pleasant picture at that, judging by the look on his face. “Barsine, Memnon's wife. She is said to be the most beautiful woman in the world. A modern Helen of Troy – but far less fickle. She is of the noblest Persian blood. No less than the daughter of Artabazus...”

  “The satrap of Phrygia?”

  “The same, Dimitrios, the very same. He married a Greek beauty, and together they had a child, a girl of such grace and charm as to beguile Darius himself. He gave her to Memnon's brother, Mentor, as a reward for helping with the reconquest of Egypt from rebels.”

  “I thought you said she was Memnon's wife, not his brother's,” interjected Aristophanes, who had been listening while tightening up the straps on his pack.

  “Both, actually,” the Phoenician captain replied. “Mentor died but two years after they were married. As you know, it is the custom here for an unmarried brother to take his brother's widow to wife, to see that she is protected, and that she and any children are taken care of.”

  “Oh, so this was just Memnon doing his duty...”

  “No, Klemes, no,” said Abibaal. “Far from it. Before Mentor and she were married, Memnon had accompanied Barsine and her father into exile in Macedonia, after her father's own rebellion against the emperor had failed. Memnon fell madly and deeply in love with her, as I believe did Alexander, who was but a stripling at the time, seeing as how she is about eight years older than our little Macedonian kinglet.”

  “So, he seduced his brother's intended?” asked Ari with a salacious grin.

  “No! No! A thousand times no!” Abibaal shot back with an angry shout. “Never! Memnon adored his older brother, and he knew how much Mentor wanted and loved her. No, Memnon was her guardian, her protector, and her companion, and remained so until Mentor's service to the empire restored the honor of both families. It was only later, after his brother died, that he was able to make his true feelings known – and through his love for her heal the wound in his heart that his brother's passing had left. No, my little Greek friend,” scolded Abibaal, “this is not one of your Greek comedies, but a true love story, a drama built upon a tragedy.”

  “And just how is it that you know so much about all of this? Have you ever even seen this fabulous Barsine?” asked Klemes.

  “Why, everyone knows of their story, everyone. You've never heard the stories of Barsine and Memnon?”

  “No, Captain Abibaal,” jibed Klemes. “I guess such gossip never got as far north as Thebes. Or if it did, well, we had other things to occupy our time – like Alexander marching on our city.”

  “Well,” said Abibaal, nodding his head, “I can understand that, I suppose. I swear it, I swear on my mother-in-law's grave.”

  “I thought you said you weren't married, Abibaal,” said Dimitrios.

  “I'm not, but I will be someday,” said the naval officer, “and when I do, I surely will inherit a mother-in-law along with a bride, and someday we will have to bury her, so...”

  The port of Myndos where they docked was half way between Miletos and Halicarnassos. A minor port, especially when compared to its two great neighbors, it was nevertheless an important one. And made more so now, as it was the nearest safe harbor for any army preparing to advance upon and lay siege to the great city of Halicarnassos. Memnon handed Dimitrios letters to give to its governor to instruct him as to that importance, and to outline the preparations needed to put it in a better state of defense. The leather tube in which that letter was to be carried also contained other papers, instructing the governor to provide Dimitrios and his companions with horses, guides, a small escort and whatever provisions and funds the young captain asked for in order to carry out the other part of his duty: seeing to the safety of the general's family.

  The governor, as expected, pleaded poverty and argued that he had no men to spare, not with the full power of Macedonia heading his way. Rather than argue, Dimitrios agreed to take but two men from the garrison – a young guide and a rather elderly soldier who, like the nag he rode, had seen better days. As none of the Greeks were experienced horsemen, the governor was also able to pass off on them a trio of old, swaybacked mares for whom this trip into the interior was one last reprieve from the butcher, tanner and glue-maker, each of whom stood ready to do their part in putting an end to the little herd's suffering.

  As they left Myndos, Dimitrios was able to get a better look at its walls and defenses, such as they were. Situated between two great cities, Myndos had no reason to expect it would ever need to prepare for war, as it had been inconceivable that either of those mighty fortress cities would ever fall to an invader. Yet now with Miletos gone, Myndos found itself in the unfortunate situation of being directly in the path of an oncoming juggernaut. If Miletos with all of its towers, its walls, and its strong garrison had not been able to resist Alexander, how could little Myndos hope to halt the Macedonian advance? Although the governor did go through the motions of appearing to follow Memnon's orders to strengthen the city's defenses, it was obvious even to Dimitrios that the governor of Myndos was making preparations to see how best the city, and its governor in particular, could best survive and perhaps even prosper under Macedonian rule.

  None of that, however, was Dimitrios' concern. He had a job to do, and a mission to perform. While he would much rather be at Memnon's side on the walls of Halicarnassos, he understood that by making the general's family safe, he would be doing a better service to his new employer and far more damage to Alexander than he could do at Halicarnassos. With his mind freed from familial concerns, Memnon would be a much more focused – and even deadlier – adversary.

  Part V

  Halicarnassos

  Southwestern Coast of Asia Minor

  Year Three of the Reign of Alexander of Macedonia

  60

  Halicarnassos

  The Royal Island

  After setting Dimitrios, Klemes, and Aristophanes ashore at Myndos, Captain Abibaal immediately put back out to sea, for he had a precious cargo to deliver to Halicarnassos: Memnon. His men put their backs into it to shoot out of the harbor as fast as possible, exiting which they caught a strong breeze, raised sails and steered a direct course for the mighty city. Halicarnassos was the true jewel of the Persian Empire's Asia Minor holdings, and as well-fortified as Miletos had been, this city was even stronger.

  “Halicarnassos is where we shall break this Macedonian pup,” Ephialtes said gleefully as he held fast to a rope line that ran along the side of the now racing vessel. “It is impregnable – and the more so now that you will be in charge of its defense,” he added with certainty.

  “No city is truly impregnable, my friend,” replied Memnon thoughtfully. “Who thought Alexan
der could take Miletos, and do it so quickly – breaking through three layers of walls, blockading and then storming its harbor even when he was outnumbered at sea, and forcing us to flee for our lives. No, Ephialtes, do not tempt the gods by claiming Halicarnassos is impregnable; they are fickle feckless beings who love to play tricks and prove us wrong.”

  Ephialtes laughed, and laughed so loudly that he could be heard the length and breadth of the ship, despite the sound of the wind and waves. “Has losing Miletos so unmanned you that now you worry about the gods? That is not the Memnon I know. Buck up your spirits, laddie,” chided the older man. “Once you see the tall towers of the Tripylon Gate, walk the tall, thick, strong walls, and settle into your headquarters on the Royal Island, you will be your old self again. And this time you will have the fleet in the harbor of the city – with twin citadels to either side, so Nicanor will have no possible way of blockading our navy or invading by sea, not this time. No, Memnon,” Ephialtes roared, “as you once told me and I keep reminding you, this is the rock upon which we shall break Alexander.”

  Memnon's spirits did begin to rise as Captain Abibaal's ship rounded the headlands and Halicarnassos came into view – and what a view it was. The sun reflecting off the polished marble and golden-sheathed peak of the tomb of King Maussolus drew his attention, like the beacon of a great lighthouse. An expensive folly built by a self-absorbed little monarch more as a monument to himself than a final resting place, the Mausoleum, as many now called it, did catch the eye, Memnon had to admit. It was also good for business, as it attracted tourists, and sightseers, and others who came to gawk at its garish splendors, all of whom had to find – and pay for – food and lodging in the city. Maussolus' advisers had cannily suggested he build the tomb immediately adjacent to the agora – the main marketplace – for which the monument served as the perfect advertisement. The king had been touched and warmed by what he felt was the affection the city fathers showed for him by agreeing to the project – but then again King Maussolus was so full of himself that he did not understand their true motive: to make money.