“Oh just wait until Olympias hears about this,” Parmenion muttered in glee. “I would not want to be Alexander when she slithers in.”
The sound of Ada's parade had quite the opposite effect upon Memnon, Ephialtes, and the other defenders of Halicarnassos, all of whom rushed to arm themselves and raced to mount the ramparts of the city. They were certain that this tumult, and especially the final fanfare, were the signals for an all-out attack, and made the appropriate preparations to respond. Hundreds of archers raced up the steps to the battlements, taking their assigned place at each crenelation, while hundreds more artillerymen scurried to their posts beside the massive stone-throwers, bolt-shooters, and other war engines upon and behind the walls. A thousand Greek mercenaries formed into a phalanx in the open space behind the walls, Ephialtes at their head, while another thousand Persian horsemen, Orontobates in the lead, mounted up and rode into formation to either side of that armored block. First to respond, however, were the Immortals, 400 of whom guarded the gate. The remaining 100, under the watchful eye of Hydarnes, stood as a reserve of last resort at the citadel by the sea that Memnon had made his command post. Only the navy was slow to react, as it took time for the admiral to harry his sailors from the city taverns and send them to the beaches and berths to launch their warships into the bay.
But no attack came. The music and noise continue to flood across the plain and into the city, carried by an inland breeze that wafted over the walls, through the streets, out into the harbor, and even the bay itself. The defenders stood to arms, teeth gritted, loins girded, and fists clenched for over an hour – but still no man, nor even an arrow came forth from the Macedonian lines.
“What are they doing over there?” Orontobates finally asked Memnon. “Why don't they come at us?”
“I...I think they're...they're having a Dionysian festival,” the admiral spoke up, having come to the citadel to ask where Memnon wanted the fleet to deploy so as to best harry the Macedonian assault troops.
“A festival? A festival?” said Hydarnes, first in disbelief, and then with a laugh. “What do they have to celebrate? Is it some god's feast day or time for one of those endless religious celebrations the Greeks use as an excuse for playing games and getting drunk?”
“Not that I am aware of,” mumbled Memnon, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Whatever the case, I don't think they are going to be coming at us, not today anyway. Still,” he added as an afterthought, “it could be a distraction, meant to put us off our guard. Admiral,” he said as he turned, “recall two-thirds of your ships. And Hydarnes, send runners to Ephialtes and the commanders of the archers and artillery. They, too, should stand down two-thirds of their men. The other third, my friends, shall stay on duty, and set up a rotation for the other soldiers and sailors. If Alexander is having a drunken feast, so be it – but if it's just a trick, best we not fall for it.”
With help from Ptolemy and Hephaestion, Alexander managed finally to escape from the loving clutches of Queen Ada. Stepping back to gather his breath and his composure, Alexander gave a little bow and motioned for the queen to join him in his tent. She smiled, nodded, and with a tiny flick of her bejeweled pinky her servants removed her portable throne from the howdah and carried it before her into the tent, so that her broad royal behind would have someplace to sit. Once settled in, she waved them back and motioned for Alexander to sit beside her on a cushioned stool those servants had set beside the throne for that purpose.
“Oh, my dear boy, it is so good to see you. I had so wished you would have come back to Alinda to visit your dear mother who loves you so. It is far more comfortable up there, in the mountain, with the cool breezes and cooler streams than it is down here in this hot and dusty plain” she said, wrinkling her nose in an unmistakable gesture of displeasure at the grit and smell of the camp.
“I would have, of course,” replied Alexander, whose answer to Hephaestion's surprise actually seemed to ring with sincerity, “but, well, as you can see,” he paused, waving an arm in the direction of the tumult outside the tent, “I have been rather busy.”
“Yes, yes,” said the queen as she opened up a papyrus fan and waved it about to cool herself. “I know, 'war' and all that,” she sighed. “Just like my father, and brother, and husband, may the lord of light welcome them to his bosom,” she sighed even deeper, her overly ample bosom rising, and falling, and nearly spilling out from her gown. “They, too, liked to play this game. But, you know my dear boy, it really isn't necessary, not all of this,” she added, again fanning herself.
“What do you mean?” asked Alexander genuinely perplexed. “Halicarnassos is the most formidable fortress on earth. It is defended by one of the greatest generals of the age, and with their command of the sea, its garrison can never be starved into submission. There is nothing for it than to lay siege, bombard the city, break down its walls, fill in its ditches and then storm it with sword, and spear, and pike. All of that, my dear mother,” he added, with a rare sweetness to his voice, “requires preparation. Careful, meticulous, lengthy, and time-consuming attention to the minutest of a million minute details. Otherwise,” he added with a smile and a laugh while patting her hand, “I would have flown to your side.”
The queen took that hand in both of hers, and drew it to her breast. With sincere motherly love she drew herself close, then closer to Alexander, and said “well then I suppose you can be forgiven, but as I said, it was all so unnecessary to put yourself to such trouble.”
“What do you mean?” replied Alexander, thoroughly perplexed.
“What I mean,” she said, still holding his hand in hers and then drawing him closer still, “is why go through all of this to take Halicarnassos from the outside, when you can take it from within?”
70
In the Interior
The Evening Camp
Halime did not shed any tears nor become hysterical – nor even sad, when the three Thebans told her the tale of the battle at the Granicos and its aftermath. Instead, she seemed to shrug it all off as if it were of little importance, or as if it were a story about something that happened long ago in another land far, far away.
“Girl, don't you understand?” asked Klemes. “There is a very good chance that your father, your brothers, and all of your male relations and their retainers died in the slaughter that was the Granicos battle.”
“Perhaps,” Halime responded rather stoically, “but I know my family. We are survivors. My father and brothers are brave, honest, and sensible men. They are experienced warriors, and are neither reckless nor stupid. They would not behave the way you say those nobles did – leaping down into a river on horseback, seeking death or glory, or both,” she said with a disdainful laugh. “No,” she said, perhaps both to reassure herself and to hammer the point home to the Thebans, “they did not go to war with such foolish notions in their heads. My father is an old campaigner; he trained them in the old ways – ride, shoot, turn your horse away from the enemy, and if he follows, swivel and shoot behind you as your horse keeps on ahead. Their weapon of choice was – is, rather – the bow. My father always said 'only a fool gets in close enough to use a lance, sword, or mace if he still has an arrow in his quiver.' Even then,” she let loose a little laugh, “better to go back to the pack train to get some more than stay there and try to poke people with a pointy stick.”
Dimitrios shook his head, for such a method of fighting was not how he was trained – or believed to be particularly honorable. “He might not have had a choice, Halime. Once they broke through the river line, the Macedonians were able to swirl around the flanks and cut off whole groups of our men...”
Again, Halime smiled. “My father found himself in similar situations, and many times. He would tell us that if you ever find yourself trapped and surrounded on three sides, you should ride like hell for that open fourth side.”
“So your family were horse archers, with the light cavalry?” asked Ari appreciatively. Now that because or perhaps even thank
s to his bad leg he had become a bowman rather than a hoplites, he had come to understand the way missile troops fought.
“Yes,” replied Halime. “We are archers and we are horse people. We breed, raise, and train horses for the nobility, and for anyone else who can pay.”
“Then you are not of the nobility?” piped in Ari, his hope for an answer in the negative painfully evident to his friends.
Halime stiffened, drew herself up into a solemn, almost royal poise, and gave a disapproving huff. Had her eyes been bows they would have shot sharp arrows at the young Theban, as it was obvious that he had crossed a line with his question.
“We are of pure Persian blood,” she stated sternly, forcefully, and with no room for doubt that she felt insulted by Ari's question. “Our family may not be as great and as grand as those of the king or of his satraps, but my family can trace its lineage back to the days of Cyrus the Great...and beyond. My ancestors rode at the side of Cyrus' father, grand-father, and great-grand-father. Most of the so-called nobles out here are latecomers, descendants of the chieftains that Cyrus swept up into his empire as he marched along – with my ancestors at his side.”
The three Thebans exchanged wordless, nodding glances at each other. Surprised by her revelation that she was not a servant, let alone a slave, they were astonished at the story she now told of her lineage. They also were taken aback by her unshakable belief that despite the horrors of the war in the north, her father and brothers and others who rode with them might have survived the massacre at the Granicos.
“Well, that explains why you ride so well,” observed Klemes.
“And also why you three ride so poorly,” teased Halime. “You Greeks are sailors, foot soldiers, and philosophers, or so my father used to say, but when it comes to riding a horse, well...”
Klemes smiled a rare smile. “Yes, my dear girl, you are correct. Then again, Greece is not a horse country. It is all rocks and olive groves, and hardly any place of note is more than a day's walk from the sea – or is already on it. Besides, horses are expensive – and it is hard to find fodder for them, especially when anything that resembles a pasture is already packed from end to end with sheep or goats.”
“Well then,” Halime smiled, “then I suppose it's not me who needs your help as much as you who need mine. First thing we need to do, is get you some proper horses. Those spavined old fleabags you got from the farm had already been put out to pasture – their riding days are long behind them.”
Dimitrios was so angry, he tossed his helmet on the ground and then walked over to kick it.
“Damn it! I knew the steward was being just a bit too nice and helpful, all that fawning over us and playing up his respect for Memnon...”
Halime did not disagree. To the contrary, as she explained in amusement, “the steward could tell you didn't know much about horses and he took great advantage of that. You stink of the cities – and we, country folk, know how to play upon that to our benefit.”
“So, what do we do now, Dimitrios?” asked Ari. “Do we go back and show that conniving bastard just what kind of men he is dealing with?”
“That won't do any good,” said Halime, before Dimitrios could answer. “They'll be expecting you, and will have called in every thug and farmer with a weapon they can hire, just in case. You'd be dead before you got off your horses – not that any of these would make it back that far anyway.”
“So what do you suggest we do, little lady?” asked Dimitrios, his anger unabated.
“We go forward. Into the interior, away from the coast, towards the king's highway. I know people there. That is horse-country, and there are many good and honest ranchers and breeders to be found up there.”
“And you say you know them?” asked Klemes.
“I know some, and some will know my father, at least by reputation. Even more important, unlike you, I can tell the good ones from the bad. That goes for both the horse traders and the horses. And don't bother getting on these horses. The best they are good for is to carry your gear, food, and water. It is good you men are more used to walking than to riding.”
“And why is that, again?” asked Klemes.
“Because you've got a long walk ahead of you.”
While the little Theban band plus one were hiking across country in search of better horses, a great deal was going on back at Halicarnassos. Alexander had gathered all of his key generals together to go over plans for the next attack.
“Tomorrow morning,” he explained as he pointed to the rough map before them, “we will send four columns against the city. Ptolemy, you will come at them from the west, towards the Myndos Gate. Parmenion, you will come from the north, against the Tripylon Gate – and yes, I know that is the strongest point in what is reputed to be the strongest fortress in all of the world, but it has to be attacked. Perdiccas,” he said, looking at the companion dearest to him in all the world save Hephaestion, “you will attack the demilune...that outcropping of the fortress that outflanks the Tripylon Gate. Co-ordinate closely with Parmenion. As for myself, I will take on the Mylasa Gate, on the eastern side of the city, directly across from our camp. Hephaestion will have the Companions in reserve.”
“This attacking all across the front, at four points, will stretch our forces very thin,” objected Parmenion. “It means we will be weak everywhere and strong nowhere.”
“It also means there will be more targets for the defenders,” added Ptolemy. “It means every archer, every weapon they have will have a target – and you remember how accurate their fire can be. It will be a slaughter, just like the last time.”
Alexander only smiled. “No, this will not be like the last time. For one thing, last night the scouts went out in small groups and moved around those painted rocks we noticed. The ones they were using to sight in their fire. Now when someone gives the order to fire at a target in the 'white rock' zone, their arrows and rocks and bolts will go somewhere else.”
“Surely they will notice that,” interjected Parmenion.
“Of course, but not at first,” replied the king. “And with us coming at them from all sides, it will take them time to figure that out, and then to readjust. It will confuse them and buy us time.”
Perdiccas nodded in approval, but gave out a great sigh.
“And what is it about this plan that bothers you, Perdiccas,” asked Alexander, slightly annoyed that his generals did not seem at all enthusiastic, despite his explanation of the plan.
“The bit with jumbling up the rocks is good, but still, that wall is high and bristling with defenders. Every breach we make they repair – or build another wall behind it. There is still the ditch to contend with. Bringing up rams and trying to place ladders on that wall is going to be bloody work. We are going to lose a lot of good men.”
Alexander fought back his growing fury, and as calmly as he could, he sought to reassure his generals that this time the assault would work. None appeared mollified, and each exchanged silent glances with the others as if to ask which one of them would speak up next. Hephaestion decided to take on that task.
“My king,” the commander of the reserve asked, and asked in a manner that did not obviously challenge Alexander, “surely you intend for three of these attacks to be diversions and the fourth to be the main thrust. Where shall I station the reserves in preparation for a breakthrough? Which of your four columns will take the city?”
Alexander, as if hoping for such a question, smiled, and smiled broadly. “The fifth column.”
The four generals exchanged confused looks and began talking all at once until the king raised his hand to quiet them.
“My lord,” said Parmenion, “you have mapped out the targets for four columns. Where is this fifth one?”
“It is already in place.”
“Where?” asked Parmenion.
“Here,” replied the king, pointing to the part of the map marked with the Mausoleum.
“But that is inside the city,” observed Parmenion.
71
In the Interior
Neither Rain nor Snow...
Halime spotted the lone rider on his limping horse long before any of her Greek companions. Footsore, worn, and weary from trudging on for three days through the back country east of Mylasa, which itself was back country, the three Thebans were not at their best – or their most alert. Halime, however, never once let her guard down, in part because of how she was raised but also because she did not yet fully trust her escort – for that is how she had come to see and treat them, even if the men still saw her as just some wild farm girl. If they wanted to believe themselves to be her protectors, that was fine for now, thought Halime, but it was she who was now in truth leading them, even if they didn't know it yet.
“There's a rider up ahead,” Halime said quite matter-of-factually to Dimitrios, who was struggling to keep up with her through the rocks and scrub. “Looks like an imperial courier.”
“Good,” said Dimitrios, wearily. “Perhaps he can tell us how to get out of this barren wasteland and find the next town.”
“That's what you have me for,” laughed Halime. “I keep telling you, over and over again, that I know exactly where we are and exactly where we are going. You just don't seem to understand that every place here in the empire is much farther from any other place than it is where you come from. Your people can practically spit from your city walls and hit those of another city, or a town, at least that is what my father says. Here, you can go for days and not see another soul, let alone a city or a settlement. Here, a person has room to breathe, room to be alone with themselves, or their god.”
A Captain of Thebes Page 42