Hydarnes did not join in the laughter, neither did Memnon, although he could not resist a smile.
“Take care how you speak of the great Cyrus, King of Kings, King of the Four Quarters of the World...” glowered the captain of the Immortals.
“They mean no disrespect, my friend,” replied Memnon. “They are so far in their cups...well, you understand.”
Hydarnes did not smile or say anything, but simply nodded slightly to the general.
“As Hydarnes was saying – and saying quite rightly – Alexander is a king. And a young king. And an ambitious king but, most of all, a king who believes himself destined for greatness. What's more, he is a king whose mother swears he was sired by Zeus – and has told it so many times to him that he believes it. As a demigod, an Achilles reborn, he cannot contemplate, let alone admit, or accept defeat. He will not retreat,” continued Memnon, putting down his bowl, and drawing a line around it in wine with his finger. No, he will dig in his heels, beat his generals with the flat of his sword and do whatever it takes to drive them forward again.”
“So, like in one of your Greek tragedies,” remarked the admiral, “his pride – his hubris as you call it – will be his undoing? His tragic flaw that will lead to his downfall and defeat?”
“In a word, 'yes,'” replied Memnon.
“Well then,” laughed Ephialtes as he downed yet another bowl of wine, this time with both hands, “best we should help that 'hubris' along then. Who's up for a bit of fun?”
78
Diospolis
The Post Mistress
Diospolis was a large enough, prosperous enough, and at least marginally important enough town to merit one of the coveted imperial post's way stations. This was no grand edifice, however, but merely a tidy little building on the outskirts of town with a stable, corral, farrier's shop and a modest residence attached. This was the home for Aleph, the courier, and his wife. While he carried the mail a day's ride in either direction to the next station, she supervised the small squad of workers who kept the remounts ready for the next courier to arrive.
At Halime's suggestion, Dimitrios bought a small vase in the market, as a gift to help ease the way when he would meet with Aleph's wife. Dimitrios had asked Halime to come along, both as an interpreter and to put the woman at ease, lest she be wary of talking to a Greek bearing gifts. No one responded to his knock on her door, but from the sounds he caught in the breeze he surmised that there was a woman out by the corral. She was quite happily humming a tune to herself while soaping down a very dirty, very sweaty horse – one that looked like it had just come in from a long, fast, hard ride.
“Excuse me, good woman,” asked Halime. “Are you the wife of the courier named Aleph?”
The woman gave only a quick glance over her shoulder at Halime while continuing washing the courier horse, but in doing so made a little nod to answer in the affirmative. Halime took that as an invitation to come closer, but also waved for the captain to stay back.
“That is a marvelous horse you have there,” said Halime, appreciating the beauty of the soaped-up mare Aleph's wife was washing. “It reminds me of one that my oldest brother had while we were growing up.”
“So, you know something about horses, then?” said Aleph's wife as she squeezed out the sponge.
“What true Persian woman doesn't?” replied Halime with smile.
“Well, I may know a great deal about horses,” said the woman, “but I have never had one of my own – not all of we Persians are as rich as the Achaemenids, after all. I just take care of them for my husband, the courier Aleph, although it seems you already knew that. How can I help you? Has something happened to Aleph?”
“No, no, nothing like that – or at least not that I or my friends know. We met his fellow courier, Oxy, who said Aleph had taken a letter from a great lady, and that he might know where this great lady could be found?”
“Oxy has a big mouth,” the woman grinned. “He always talks too much – and especially to pretty girls. I keep telling Aleph that we have to find that young man a wife. Anyway, yes, he was correct, in a manner of speaking.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, first of all, may I ask who wants to know – and why?”
Halime briefly recounted the events of the last few days, the encounter with Oxy, and the mission she was helping the three Greeks to accomplish. The woman listened while continuing to bathe the mare, and Halime kept talking while she led the animal around to dry its coat and graze on some fresh grass. After a while, the young woman motioned for a boy who was bringing in other horses to take charge of the one she was leading. When he did so she motioned for Halime and the captain, who had been standing impatiently in the sun, holding his vase while the women talked, to come into the shade beneath the awning at the side of her house. She bid them take a seat on some rough benches while she went in, and then came back out a few moments later with a jug of cool water.
“I have started a fire to heat some water for tea,” the woman remarked. “It is one of the benefits of having a husband in the courier service. Those who take messages to the east often bring back a small pouch of tea leaves. Most barter the leaves for favors, but some simply share them with their families or fellow couriers. Aleph would be angry with me if I did not offer some tea to a visitor, especially one so important as an officer who serves the great general Memnon.”
Taking the mention of his commander's name as his cue, Dimitrios asked Halime to inquire of the woman what she knew of the great lady of whom Aleph spoke.
“All I know is that she is indeed a great lady, perhaps even a princess, or at least a noble,” the young woman replied. “That at least was the impression we got from the two men who said they came on her behalf to give Aleph the letter that he, and then Oxy, carried for her. More than that he dared not ask, as such was not his place and only for those far beyond his station to know.”
Dimitrios sighed a deep, disappointed sigh. He acted as if that was that, but Halime was not ready to give up. She could tell there was more to this story, and that Aleph's wife was eager to tell her, if she would only ask, as she did. With just a little prompting, Aleph's wife described the men and recounted every word of their conversation with Aleph that she could remember hearing. This, of course, took a good deal of time. Aleph's wife was glad for the company, and took great pleasure in entertaining the travelers. As is the custom in her part of the world, a story that can be told in two minutes is best and more frequently told in as many hours. Struggling to follow their conversation, Dimitrios sat silently while the two young women continued to talk. Halime knew what needed to be asked, and rather than slow things down by interrupting, as he so longed to do, Dimitrios trusted her to converse without him.
After taking tea, Halime finally and politely made the expected excuses for their departure. As the pleasantries were observed, she motioned for Dimitrios to stand up and make ready to leave – and to let go of the vase he had been holding all of this time. With little grace but a warm smile, he handed the woman the small gift, bowed, and marched off like a soldier going off duty.
“You couldn't have just asked her one simple question?” he said quietly as they left the courier station area.
“I did, captain, but in Persia there are forms to be observed. Things may be more direct where you come from, but we are a cultured people,” she pointed out. “We do not like to rush, to hurry our conversations, or to come straight to the point, as you barbarians appear to demand.”
“So,” he sighed annoyingly, “did you find out anything important? Anything that at least gives us a hint, a clue, as to where we might go to find the princess?”
Halime let out a little laugh. “Oh, better than that. I know exactly where she is.”
“What!” said the captain in surprise.
“Yes, exactly. And if you are very nice to me, and buy me a proper meal, I may just tell you not only where to find the Princess Barsine, but also how to get there. Seems she
is at the estate of a noble, less than a day's ride from here. I know it well, as my father provided that noble with horses. Aleph's wife surmises that the princess is waiting there for a reply from Memnon.”
“A day's ride? Then what are we waiting for! Let's get Ari and my brother and the horses and...”
“No,” said Halime with a haughty, victorious smile. “Not today. It is too late in the day to travel. Even I can get lost in the dark...and besides, there is the matter of that proper meal you are going to buy for me...”
If Dimitrios was impressed with the beauty and layout of the estate where they had first met Halime, such conclusions were wiped clean from his mind when he crested the rise and saw Paradise. Never had he seen a place so aptly named, with its majestic, lush gardens and brilliant fountains, all laid out before him in an extravagant yet welcoming mosaic of flora, fauna, irrigation canals, and stonework. The sight was so breathtaking that at first he did not even see the grand colonnaded house immediately beneath him. Nestled into the curved hillside so as to take advantage of the cool rocks, shade, and prevailing breezes, the house – or more accurately, the palace – was an amazing marriage of art, architecture, and nature. The score or more of horses romping in the nearby meadow, and the smell of bread baking from the kitchens only added to his belief that he had, indeed, wandered into either the Elysium Fields – or the paradise for which the Persians named their gardens.
The peace of that pastoral scene put Dimitrios off his guard, however, and by the time he noticed the half a dozen armored bowmen who popped up from the bushes with their arrows notched and aimed to kill, there was no time to react. All he and the other Greeks could do was to slowly dismount, as the leader of the ambushers motioned for them to do so with his own bow. Only Halime remained mounted...and instead of being frightened or even concerned, was... laughing.
“Burzasp? Burzasp? Isn't that bow a little too big for a boy of your age?” she teased, directing her comments to one of the archers. The bowman slowly turned to face her, and seemed as if he was about to shoot, when two of the men behind him also laughed. The archer's face reddened, and then he slowly lowered his bow and relaxed his stance.
“And I see your big brothers have come out with you to play soldier?” she added with another teasing laugh. “Tell me, are your sisters back there holding your horses, or have you let them come along to play at war with you in the woods?”
No sooner had Halime made her jest than a rustling came from the trees as out stepped two more ambushers – who, even with their faces half covered by black scarves and dressed in men's attire, were obviously young women – or, more accurately, girls. Between the blushing faces of Burzasp and some of the other archers, and the giggling of the horse holders, the commander of the ambush could no longer pretend that his group were threatening anyone. He, too, relaxed his stance. He lowered his bow and made a motion of greeting, which he reinforced with a slight nod of his head toward Dimitrios.
“Well, Halime,” he asked, “what brings you and your escort to my father's humble abode? We sent no request for new horses, and it is not like you to come visiting – especially without your father and brothers, let alone in times like these.”
“These are truly unusual times,” sighed Halime, “and I will be happy to explain why I am here to you, and to your father...and to your honored guest. Tell me,” she added with a smile, “is the Princess Barsine well?”
All of a sudden the mood in the clearing changed. Burzasp and his band came on guard, bows up, arrows notched, smiles gone.
“Halime,” said Burzasp in a very stern, serious and hostile tone, “get down off of that horse. All of you, and slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
“Halime, stay where you are, and translate for me if you please. Sir,” said Dimitrios haughtily, remaining in the saddle and with a demeanor to match that of the archer whose arrow was aimed at his chest. “I bear an urgent message for the Lady Barsine from her husband, General Memnon. I am Dimitrios of Thebes, a captain on the general's staff. These two men are my brother, a physician, and my friend, an archer, like you. We have each been at the general's side – at the Granicos, at Miletos, and at Halicarnassos. This young woman is our guide and our interpreter. We were advised that we could find the princess here by couriers of the imperial post. Lower your weapons and take us to her, and immediately. We are, after all,” he added with a smile and in a more diplomatic manner, “all on the same side. We are all friends here – or at least we should be.”
Burzasp did not move a muscle. He listened to every word the captain spoke, and to Halime's translation. For a breath that seemed like hours, no one moved. No one spoke. Burzasp, it was obvious, was weighing those words and that information very carefully, all the more so because Halime was familiar, and he could not fathom her role in all of this.
“Young man,” said Klemes, obviously annoyed and impatient, and, surprisingly, in passing Persian, “either shoot one of us or take us to the princess. Either way you will be doing me a great favor, as I have had it up to my neck with bouncing about this awful country on this damned horse. So either take us somewhere where we can get a cool drink, a hot meal, and a warm bath – or shoot; at this point I don't give a damn either way.”
One of the younger archers snickered. Another tried to suppress a laugh. A third did not even try. Finally, Burzasp started to smile.
“All right,” he said, lowering his bow once again. “All right. Get off of your horses and lead them down the path. We will be right behind you. Perhaps you are who you say you are. We shall let my father decide – and for Halime's sake, I really hope you are all telling the truth. Oh, and by the way...”
“Yes?” said Klemes.
“We've been following you for quite some time. If it wasn't for her, I'd have shot you all full of arrows an hour ago.”
79
Halicarnassos
Alexander Tightens His Grasp
“Dig, you lazy sons of bitches! Dig!” said the overseer as he cracked his whip twice. Once to get the attention of the men who were shoveling dirt and moving rocks so the trenches could inch closer to the city; a second time to slice off a bit of skin from the back of one of the workers.
“Press them to it, sergeant,” said Ptolemy, who had ridden up to inspect the progress of the siege lines. “The king orders that the new positions for the stone-throwers be ready tonight, so we can move them forward and open fire by dawn.
“Yes, General,” said the overseer as he saluted. “Could you spare a few more men for the job? These Persian pups keep collapsing on us. Weak, womanly sods that they are. We need some real muscle if the king wants his artillery moved closer by morning.”
“They are Carians, not Persians, to be precise,” replied Ptolemy. “Queen Ada has scoured the countryside for men fit enough to dig. There isn't a farmer or laborer within three days march who isn't up here digging dirt, scraping at stones, chopping trees, or hauling away debris.”
“Then, sir, begging your pardon,” said the overseer, his face blackened with dirt and sweat. “Perhaps the Queen and her lads could go out four or five days march from here to round up some more men. This lot won't last much longer than that, not at this pace.”
“You'll just have to make them last – or get more out of them for now,” scowled Ptolemy. “And if you don't, you're going to have to get down in the dirt and dig with them.”
“Understood, General,” said the sergeant, suitably chastised. As he returned to his task, the sergeant gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the whip. The men in the trenches knew what that meant – and what to expect when he did so.
“We are running short of food,” Perdiccas reported to the king. “Every farm, field, orchard, and town has been picked clean – and then picked through again. There aren't enough live animals about for a sacrifice, let alone a feast – or a decent meal.”
Alexander received the news with a sullen, simmering look. He had already been pouting over the slow p
rogress with the trenches. Alexander had twice personally flogged messengers who had brought him bad news about supply lines being raided, and troops driven to near mutiny by hunger. The guard on what stores of food remained had been doubled then doubled again – and then replaced and sent to the trenches as punishment for stealing grain.
As if all of this were not enough, reports were trickling in of unrest and agitation in Athens, and of plots to usurp his mother's regency in Macedonia. Then there was the heat; the oppressive, unrelenting sun, and the clouds of flies...even to Alexander it all hardly made it seem worth going to war anymore. Queen Ada did not help matters either. Her constant and increasingly unwelcome attentions were more than Alexander could stomach, let alone endure, and were made only worse by the lack of progress with the siege. There seemed to be no clear end in sight to any of these trials and tribulations. A lengthy siege was trying enough on a man of action, and the king found little relief or comfort among his companions; even Hephaestion was being pissy.
Captain Abibaal, by contrast, found the situation very much to his liking. The Persian fleet enjoyed complete and unchallenged command of the sea. When on patrol, if he did encounter a Greek vessel or an Ionian merchant ship carrying supplies for the Macedonian army, it was a simple and bloodless exercise in confiscation and enrichment. The captain claimed first pick of the prize goods, allowed his men a fair share, and made sure that there was still enough to turn over to the beachmasters and dock supervisors, so they, too, could take a cut before delivering the booty up the chain of command.
Halicarnassos remained well-supplied thanks to regular deliveries by friendly merchant vessels, their cargoes supplemented by what Abibaal and other captains were seizing at sea. If the Macedonians were sick, starving, and suffering from heat stroke, the Persians were by contrast healthy, well-fed, and happily enjoying the shade and sea-breezes of the fortress city. The repeated failures of the Macedonians to take Halicarnassos by storm only reinforced its already high reputation of being an impregnable fortress. As the captain remarked to his first mate one evening, while sitting on the beach drinking from a cool jug of wine waiting for the fish on the skewers above the crackling fire to cook, “this, my friend, is what I thought life in the navy would be like, and finally, it is.”
A Captain of Thebes Page 47