A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “Yes, General?”

  “Tell him to bring the Immortals with him.”

  73

  Bogdan

  A long and dusty walk in the sun

  Halime led the way to Bogdan with Oxy and Ari at her side, each of the two young men doing their best to outshine the other and gain her favor. Klemes and Dimitrios trudged behind, intentionally staying far enough away as to not have to listen to the verbal duel.

  “It is almost charming, isn't it, the way those two lads fawn and follow her around,” mumbled the captain to his brother.

  “At least it gives them something to take their minds off this dull, weary long march,” added the physician. “I know why we are doing what we are doing, but, well, damn it brother, I'm...”

  “I know, I know,” said Dimitrios quiet exasperated, “you're a physician, not a...what? Soldier? A marathon runner? A...”

  “A mule,” grumbled Klemes, upset that his brother had stolen his thunder. “A gods-be-damned, flea-bitten, dusty, dirty, stinking mule...”

  “Well, Klemes,” he answered with a grin, “technically the horse you are leading is the one playing the part of the mule. She's carrying your kit. Your only burden is your anger, your impatience, your grumbling...”

  “Oh, shut up,” said the physician, as he pulled harder at the reins, clucked his tongue, and managed to get ahead of his brother. “I'd rather listen to their senseless drivel than put up with your insults.”

  Dimitrios allowed himself a little laugh as Klemes drew ahead of him, and then a sigh of relief. Bringing up the rear meant chewing a bit of dust from the rest of the party, but at least it was quiet back there. Quiet enough to allow him to think, and to try to figure out the next step on their mission. Halime had told him they should reach Bogdan before nightfall. There would be no sense in trying to barter for horses in the evening; so they might as well take advantage of that respite to have a decent meal, a bath, and a night's sleep under a roof or tent, or whatever the inn at the little town had to offer. The next morning they should be able to ride on to Diospolis – and closer to Barsine – which, Oxy said, was less than a day's ride. That of course would be a day's ride at the courier's pace. They would have to go at a more measured pace, not only because their horses would be weighted down with gear, but also because none of the Greeks were anywhere near as experienced or as good with horses as were the Persian girl and the courier.

  Dimitrios had managed to get a partial description of both Diospolis and Bogdan out of the courier. Oxy's knowledge of both was rather limited to the stop where he would exchange a tired mount for a fresh one. At least he learned that Aleph, who accepted the message from Barsine to Memnon from her own hand, was likely to be at the courier station. With Oxy's help – and maybe Halime's rather personable charms – he expected Aleph would be convinced to lead them to the great lady. If that did not work, he could always try to pull rank. That had worked, sort of, with Oxy, although if he was honest with himself, the young courier's cooperation was due more to Halime's smile than to Memnon's medallion. Either way, in two or at the most three days he expected to be able to give Barsine the general's own message, and to start the next part of his mission, escorting her to safety to the east.

  That, at least, was his plan. Trying to convince a wealthy, privileged, and noble woman of regal lineage to do the exact opposite of what she intended to do, of course, could prove a bit dicey. That, however, was a bridge he would cross when the time came. For now, he just put his head down, put one foot ahead of the other and kept on walking, occasionally giving a tug on the reins of the old horse he was leading.

  What Memnon would have given for such a quiet, boring day as Dimitrios was having. The siege of Halicarnassos had become a storm – and a storm on four fronts.

  Even with nearly 30,000 men under his command, Memnon was hard-pressed. Each of the four points under attack had to be held; if the defenders gave way at any one point, their positions at the other three would be meaningless. Worse, they would be cut off from each other, vulnerable to their flank and rear, and trapped. Memnon would thus not only again lose a city, but also an army.

  The defenders did buckle and falter, and where they did Memnon rushed men from the reserve. At the Mylasa Gate, his nephew Thymondas personally led a group of skirmishers as they sneaked out of a hidden sally port, and hit the Macedonians in the flank. The unexpected attack caused much confusion in the ranks of laborers who were filling in the ditch. The Persians were able to follow them as they stampeded through the line of mantlets and were thus able to set fire to two of the siege towers. Extricating themselves amidst the fire, smoke, shouting, and panic was tricky, but with the Macedonians busy trying to put out the flames on their towers, the archers and catapults on the walls and towers were free to provide covering fire. A small group of cavalry which Hephaestion had sent to intercept the skirmishers came under such blistering fire that even the horses refused to press home their attack. Thymondas emerged with a few cuts and bruises, but the accolades from his troops buoyed not only his morale, but that of all of the defenders at the eastern edge of the city.

  On the far side, to the west, at the Myndos Gate, Ptolemy's men fared much better than their comrades on the opposite wall. The elite Hypaspistes swordsmen managed to scramble up and over the wall – only to find that Orontobates had erected a second wall behind it. His archers poured down fire from three sides on the Macedonians. Ptolemy's men made a wall of their small shields, but any attempt to move out from it meant certain and immediate death. Still, the Hypaspistes, veterans all, kept trying to advance – but to no avail. As the day grew long, Ptolemy finally stopped sending men up the ladders into that abattoir, and ordered those who could to climb back down and retire to the safety of their own lines. Some of the Hypaspistes refused to retreat. They died holding up their shields so their brothers could retire. The last Hypaspist on that wall fell where he stood, protecting the body of a comrade who was too badly wounded to move. Despite calls for their death from the victorious defenders, Orontobates intervened with orders to spare them. Arrows protruding from their dying bodies, Orontobates had them carried out of a sally port under an olive branch of truce, their return supervised by heralds from each side.

  Parmenion, too, found the going hard. The main entrance on the north side of the city, the Tripylon Gate, so named for its three towers, was famed as the strongest part of the strongest fortress in the world. Parmenion soon learned why. The towers were bristling with all manner of bolt-throwers, belly-bows, and other pieces of light artillery. They also had cranes with claws to catch ladders, and winches that reached out to drop bags of oil onto the attackers – who soon found themselves engulfed in flames. No matter how many times Parmenion placed his towers against the walls there, no matter how many times the ladders went up, Ephialtes managed to meet them with at least equal, and at times overwhelming, force. An old campaigner and one who often had stood in the front rank, Ephialtes took personal command of each counterattack, and in each he fought like a champion. Through his valiant example, and the blood he visibly shed from many small wounds, the veteran commander inspired the defenders to fight on. Parmenion, however, kept throwing more and more men into the fray, and the two were locked like bull elephants fighting for control of the herd.

  Parmenion knew this attack was bleeding the Macedonians white, but he had to grab Ephialtes and hold him tight, for there was another assault, a fourth one, that gave him hope. Perdiccas' assault on the promontory to his left could still turn the tide and win the day. The promontory was high and well fortified, but vulnerable, as it was long and narrow, and could be hit from both sides at once – and also at its tip. Macedonian stone and bolt throwers were pummeling it from each of those three sides. Perdiccas did not have them shoot directly ahead, however, but ordered them to intentionally overshoot. Thus the Persians on the wall of the promontory facing west found themselves hit from the east, and vice versa, all while massive rocks and pots of flaming oil fe
ll from the north, down the length of the promontory. Under such a telling crossfire, the Persians could not stand.

  As Perdiccas' cheering troops climbed the long ladders and came over the wall, they could see the whole of the city laid out before them. Go east and they would get behind the defenders at the Mylasa Gate. Go west and they would take Ephialtes in the flank and open the Myndos Gate for Parmenion's veterans. Shouting a paean of victory, the Macedonians flowed down to the base of the promontory, ready to outflank both the Tripylon and Mylasa Gates.

  And they would have, had it not been for Hydarnes and 400 Immortals.

  The Macedonians, bloodied, disorganized, tired yet elated, hit the wall of Immortals like a wave – and like a wave that hits a stone wall, splatters, and recedes. With Memnon at his side, Hydarnes directed his veteran imperial guards with a cool precision that stood in great contrast to the hot and heady flood of Macedonians. Perdiccas' men had come over the wall, and were still coming, but coming in as a disorganized mob – not as a formed body of soldiers. So drunk on the thought of plunder and victory were the Macedonians that what officers still had their heads, could do nothing to bring them to heel. When a handful of men would manage to form up, the wave coming behind them would wash them away, and right into the lowered spears and deadly aim of the Immortals.

  Hydarnes had arranged his men in the old way, the way of the Babylonians and the Assyrians before them. Three ranks of shield-bearing spearmen held the line. The front rank knelt, their spears forward at an angle. The second stood behind them, their spears pointing out at chest level. Behind them, a third rank, to steady the first two and fill in the gap if any before them should fall. This hedgehog of spear points, however, was not meant to kill the Macedonians, but only to stop them. The killing came from the three ranks behind the spears. Every Immortal carried three weapons. A spear, a sword and a bow – and the bow was the primary weapon, and one each Immortal knew how to use to great effect.

  “First rank, fire!” shouted Hydarnes. “Second rank, fire! Third rank, fire!” Over and over again he gave the same command, the first rank reloaded and ready as the third fired, and the second already pulling back on the bowstrings as the first let fly. Hydarnes knew his trade, but as a Persian, he also knew that even the strongest archer could only shoot as long as there were arrows in his quiver. That was the job of the servants that followed the Immortals to war. As 250 spearmen held the line and 250 archers let fly, 100 servants kept up a steady flow of quivers to the front. Another 100 brought wine, and water, and bits of bread to revive those archers who faltered from the exertion. Fifty more did the grim task of carrying the dead and wounded from the formation, for the fight was not all one-sided.

  While Hydarnes held the Macedonians in check, Memnon pulled together the men who had fled the promontory, and sent them back in small parties along the wall. When they secured a section, Hydarnes would order the spears forward 20 paces, with the archers following after each volley. Ten times Hydarnes and Memnon repeated this maneuver, and by this manner the Persians slowly and steadily regained the promontory.

  As the day grew longer, the Macedonian attack grew weaker. Memnon, Orontobates, Ephialtes and Hydarnes had thrown back four columns of attackers.

  Then the fifth column struck.

  74

  Halicarnassos

  The Fifth Column

  Two days before the big attack, Queen Ada had boasted to her adopted son of how many people in the city would welcome her return.

  “There is a faction that loved me – and who always loved me, from the time I was a little princess on my father's knee,” she practically giggled in the telling of the tale. “My family, the House of Hecatomnos, made Halicarnassos what it is today – or rather, what it was until my snake of a brother, Pixodaros, betrayed me. Imagine,” she burbled as she struggled to speak and chug wine at the same time, “if you will, the splendor and grandeur of my brother's great city...”

  “Pixodoros?” asked Cleitos, who, as commander of the bodyguard and personal protector of Alexander, was of course present in the king's tent as Alexander entertained the portly queen.

  “No, no, not that brother,” said the queen, annoyed at having her story interrupted, “my other brother.”

  “Idrieos, you mean?” chimed in Hephaestion.

  “No, no, you sweet doe-eyed young thing,” the queen said, throwing Hephaestion what she thought was a come-hither look. “Idrieos was my husband.”

  “But wasn't he also your brother?” asked Hephaeston.

  “Yes,” sighed the queen, “they were all my brothers. Mausolus was the eldest. He was satrap, but was allowed all the respect, authority and trappings of power of a king, as my father, Hecatomnos had been before the satraps' revolt. When he died, my sister – his wife – Artemisia took the throne, such as it was. It was she who completed the great tomb for her dear husband, our brother.”

  “That would be the Mausoleum,” quipped Alexander.

  “Yes, my dear boy,” the queen said as she put the wine cup out for refilling with one pudgy, bejeweled hand while grabbing a sweet from the table before her with the other. “You are a quick learner, Alexander, as any son of mine should be.”

  The queen took another lengthy draught of wine, then sucked the honey from the fingers of the hand that had tossed the treat into her mouth, and continued.

  “So, that takes care of my dear father, Hecatomnos, my sweet, gentle, adoring brothers Mausolos and Idrieos, and my darling, beautiful and feisty sister, Artemisia. She was named after the Artemisia who led part of the fleet during Xerxes' invasion of Greece, you know...”

  “A female admiral?” clucked Cleitos. “A woman on a ship is bad luck, everyone knows that!”

  “Perhaps that is why the Persians lost the naval battle at Salamis,” chimed in Hephaestion, quite pleased at his jest.

  Alexander could see the queen was indeed wounded to the quick by the slur on the name of her ancestor, and very near the point of tears – something Alexander did not want to have to deal with.

  “Now, now, my friends. I will suffer no joking at the expense of my adopted mother or her family, and certainly not of the valiant Admiral Artemisia. She led the only part of the Persian fleet to give the Athenians a good fight that day, and it was she who covered the retreat of what remained of Xerxes' armada. Even the great Themistocles spoke quite highly of his valiant little female opponent, as did Thucydides...and who among you will challenge that master historian's assessment? After all, he was a strategos of Athens and led a portion of its fleet in the battles with Sparta, so he knows the value of a fellow sailor and naval officer when he finds one – even if that officer is a woman.”

  Cleitos and Hephaestion lowered their heads in feigned shame, but also to hide their smiles and better control their urge to laugh. Alexander, for his part, continued to pretend to dote on Ada, and stroked her plump, beringed hand when it reached for yet another sweet.

  “Thank you, my boy, oh, thank you,” she said, a tear glistening as it slowly made its way down her chubby berouged cheek. “Well, as I was saying before your companions rather rudely interrupted me – an offense for which, were they not your close friends as well as servants, I would demand their heads – or at the very least, their testicles.”

  That remark did get the attention of Cleitos and Hephaestion, who reflexively placed their hands in a manner as to protect the later of the aforementioned body parts.

  “As I was saying,” continued the queen. “The people of Halicarnassos loved my father, and they adored me. There were some who were more devoted to my older brother and my sister, his wife, than to me, but my lovely sweet husband-brother Idrieos won their affection once Artemisia passed away. There are many people still who chafe at the way I was treated by my other brother, that snake Pixodaros, whole stole my crown. And then of course there are those whom Orontobates wronged when he took charge from that loathsome, inconsiderate, ungrateful, spoiled, mincing little...”

  “I
get the point, Mother,” said Alexander. “There are a lot of people in the city who are unhappy, but do you really think that they will rise up when you sound the call? I mean, Memnon has near 30,000 men in the city – including not only Greek mercenaries and the garrison, but also some Immortals. Such a force would deter any but the most devoted or suicidal of citizens to take up arms.”

  The queen quite regally put down her cup, wiped her hands on her gown and brought herself into full royal mode.

  “If I tell you that they will rise, then rise they will. All I need do is snap my fingers, thus,” she added, although as her fingers were still somewhat sticky, they did not produce much of a snap. “Tell me when to snap, and the city will be yours for the taking.”

  But Queen Ada's snap had no more effect on the outcome of the attack than it had on the day her sticky fingers failed to make that sound. Oh, there were factions aplenty inside Halicarnassos, and some were very unhappy indeed with the current administration. Unfortunately for the queen and Alexander, however, the only thing they hated more than the government of Halicarnassos was each other. Ada did manage to slip a few messages into the city by the tried and true manner of letters tied to arrows, notes attached to the legs of carrier birds, and even missives carried by divers who braved the rocks and currents to swim into the port at night. The instructions to rise did reach the leaders of those cells whom she honestly believed would rush to open the gates for her, but, unfortunately, the instructions told each of them to gather at the same time and place as the others.