The appearance atop the dune of an officer from the admiral's staff did nothing to alter that mood. Orders from above were part of a sailor's daily life. As much as he enjoyed being his own master on the open sea, there was also some comfort in knowing that there were others who were making the big decisions for him – decisions that, at least since the hell of Miletos, had brought him nothing but adventure, riches, and a comfortable life.
“Captain Abibaal?” the officer called out as he climbed down the dune toward the fire. The captain did not respond verbally, but merely sat up, held up the jug and motioned for the impeccably attired staff officer to approach. The young officer stumbled a bit, his legs getting caught in his own cloak as he struggled to keep his footing in the shifting sand, but managed to regain his composure thanks to a hand from one of the sailors. When finally face to face with the captain, he saluted, fist to breast, and handed him a case, which when opened revealed a wax tablet into which his orders had been inscribed.
“What's it say, Captain?” the first mate asked between sips of wine. “Another patrol? Maybe up the coast to Chios or Lesbos, even? I could do with some fine Chian wine or visit to the girls in Mytilene town...”
“No, nothing that enjoyable, unfortunately,” said the captain as he sunk his ring into the wax in acknowledgment of receiving the order. “Seems General Ephialtes wants to go on another one of his little raids. We're to be part of the escort for the transport ships.”
“Well, at least we won't be loaded down with hoplites,” said the first mate, “it gets crowded enough on board without trying to pack in a dozen or more of those nasty Greek lads with the big shields, long spears, and heavy armor.”
“Unfortunately, my friend, that is exactly what it is going to be like tomorrow – and worse.”
“Worse? How can it be worse?”
“Because one of those dozen or so hoplites will be Ephialtes himself. Yes, that's right, we've been chosen to be his personal ocean-going taxi.”
“Why us?” grumbled the first mate.
“Seems somebody has been telling him tales of our feats of daring do,” said the captain with a little laugh.
“Who would do such a thing?” griped the first mate.
“Probably that Theban captain we rescued,” replied the captain. “Apparently he has risen quite rapidly in the ranks. Last I heard, he was on General Memnon's staff.”
“Yeah, and we all know how those army officers love to talk, don't we?” said the first mate as he took another slug. “Probably made it sound like he rescued us rather than the other way round, I'll wager,” he added with a snickering laugh.
“I don't think so, not that Dimitrios fellow,” replied Abibaal. “He was quite a stand-up lad. Probably gave credit where credit was due and praised us to the high heavens to the generals.”
“Traitorous, ungrateful son-of-a-bitch then,” said the first mate as he tossed the empty jug onto the sand. “Couldn't have kept his big mouth shut then, could he? Couldn't let an honest seaman enjoy a comfortable berth. I told you we shouldn't have stopped to fish them out of the drink, didn't I?”
80
Outside Laodikea
A Princess of Persia
Burzasp and Halime walked down the path like two old friends coming back from a day playing in the woods. His archers, however, kept a much more watchful eye on the Thebans who followed the pair, staying both close enough to see and hear what the Greeks might do or say, and far back enough to give them plenty of time to react to any hint of treachery. The Iliad and the Odyssey were well known in these parts. The lesson to beware of Greeks bearing gifts was well-drilled into those who could read, and who could appreciate that Homer's works were more than just fairy tales about gods and heroes, but offered a clear, deep look into the hearts and minds of Greeks.
The forested path offered many places for an ambush, or where someone could disappear from even the most attentive of watchers. The Thebans, however, did not take advantage of the situation. They instead behaved as the guests-friends they claimed they were – somewhat to the disappointment of at least some of the archers, who obviously ached for a chance to put an arrow through a Greek.
Their hostility was understandable, especially after the events of the last few months. Although many Greeks fought alongside the Persians – most as mercenaries, although some, like Dimitrios, for their own reasons – the Persians remained cautiously distrustful of their hired and allied soldiers of Greek or Ionian Greek origin. After all, to the Persians the Macedonians were just another kind of Greek; only a bit more barbarous. They joked that as painful to their civilized ears as was that barbarian language, that of Macedonians was even worse, for instead of speaking they grunted and barked the tongue of Hellas.
Many of Alexander's soldiers, mercenaries, and city contingents, moreover, were also Greek – of both the mainland and increasingly of the Ionian variety. To the Persians, the later were not only barbarians, but rebels – traitors who deserved the worst and most painful punishment imaginable. And when it came to inflicting pain, the Persians had frequently demonstrated the depths, extent, and inventiveness of their imagination in that regard. No one ever underestimated the value of a Persian education in that regard.
Dimitrios had no wish to test the grudging hospitality of his escort. Although he found himself slightly uncomfortable with the way Burzasp was being so friendly with Halime, he shook it off. Once more, the little horse girl whom they had mistaken for a slave had proved her value. Ari, of course, was smitten with her, as Dimitrios could understand for so many reasons, but what surprised him was that so was Klemes – although not in the same way. While the young Theban archer made cow eyes and smiled almost stupidly whenever she talked to him, Klemes had adopted an almost big brotherly or even paternal affection for the girl. It had been a long time since he had seen his brother so human – or so vulnerable.
As they reached the bottom of the hill and came into the estate itself, Dimitrios could feel the grandeur of the place. Everything was pristine. Somehow even the stable area had an almost pleasant smell to it. Perhaps that was because of the numerous pots and beds of fragrant, flowering plants artfully laid about the stable area. Those scents mingled with the enticing smells coming from the nearby cookhouse which wafted along with the breeze. Everywhere he looked were signs of order, cleanliness, wealth and, most of all, power.
Even the stable hands were dressed in neat, fresh garments instead of the usual torn and grimy tunics of most of those who did the menial tasks that kept horses clean and fed. The straw in the stalls was fresh and clean, and lacked the dusty, musty smell so often found in an army stable or a wagon master’s livery.
If the servants were healthy, clean, and relatively well-dressed, the soldiers on guard were even more so. None were attired in battle gear, for to do so would have been unnecessary this far from the front. Each, however, was well-equipped enough to be able to give a good account of himself in a skirmish – and to give his comrades time to retreat and return fully armed and armored, should the need arise. With the marble columns, porcelain fountains and perfect topiary, this estate was quite literally paradise – or at least as close to such a place as he had ever seen.
A paradise, however, is not complete without a god or goddess in residence. And this place indeed had such a deity – for to describe the woman who descended the steps from the palatial residence to which the gardens led as a beautiful, elegant woman would be such an understatement as to be a lie. The golden jewelry about her hair, neck, wrists, and even toes caught the light of the sun and shot it back out in rays, giving the illusion that they were not reflections but instead emanated from her. The silken coral-colored robes similarly caught the sunlight and glistened, each step causing a rippling wave of fabric and light to dance about her. Some women would dress in such a manner so as to make themselves seem more beautiful than they are; for this woman, however, it was she who adorned and enhanced her jewels and silks, instead of the other way around. Wi
thout a second thought, Dimitrios, Ari, Halime, and everyone else in sight either bowed deeply or went down on both knees and prostrated themselves, performing the proskynesis in respect, or out of awe, or both.
Everyone, however, except Klemes. He stood quite still, one hand scratching his chin, and with the other he gave a slight wave and said to the radiant goddess: “Princess Barsine, I presume?”
81
North of Myndos
By the sea, by the sea, by the beautiful sea
Gliding across the still waters of the wine dark sea, the squadron of Persian ships rounded Myndos Head then gracefully swung to the east. It was the kind of perfectly choreographed maneuver that would put a troupe of temple dancers to shame. Captain Abibaal's vessel set the pace and led the way as ship after ship slid onto the rocky beach. With barely a pause and while the vessels were still rocking, lightly armored men leaped overboard. Waves lapping at their thighs, the advance guard raced to secure the beachhead. Bare minutes later the rope ladders, gangplanks, and ramps were lowered so that horses, their riders, spearmen, and archers could disembark. Captain Abibaal went ashore with them. So did his chief passenger, an aging Greek general who, despite being weighed down with helmet, shield, breastplate, bronze greaves on his shins, and a long spear, skipped almost gingerly through the water to the beach, giddy as a schoolgirl at being once again on dry land.
“There's no time to waste, Captain Abibaal,” said the general. “I'll leave it to you to play the part of beach master and guide the men to the rally points as they disembark. As for me, I'll be with the lads that have already formed up. It’s inland we go for a bit of pillage, plunder, and poking about. We'll hit these Macedonian bastards where it hurts them most – their pride – and after we burn their supplies, we'll skip back to the beach and be off before they've so much as dressed their ranks. You just be ready to take us aboard and shove off when we get back. Much as I'd love a pitched battle with those sons of bitches,” he added with a great big smile, “that's not what this is all about now, is it?”
“I guess not, General,” replied the Phoenician captain, whose long years of service in the imperial Persian navy had taught him the difference between being brave and smart as opposed to being brave and stupid. “A few hundred men wouldn't last long on this beach against an army of thousands...”
“Aye,” General Ephialtes nodded, “but even a bee can sting an elephant – and sting him where it hurts.”
“Well then,” added Abibaal with a laugh, “go lead your little swarm of bees – and sting'em once for me.”
With the majority of the Macedonian troops to the west of Halicarnassos busy digging fresh approach trenches and siege weapon positions from which to hammer the Myndos Gate and adjoining wall sections, striking from the beach into their rear was a comparatively easy maneuver. The Persian light troops were experts at finding and taking out guard posts and scouts, and, as Ephialtes had predicted, the Macedonian supply tents were set afire before the defenders could react in strength.
“Don't spare the torches, lads,” Ephialtes almost chortled with joy as he directed his men to their task. “Today we are arsonists first and warriors second! So burn'em out, my bonnie ladies, burn'em out!”
With Ptolemy away at the king's tent on the opposite side of the city, command of the Myndos front had fallen on the shoulders of a trio of officers: Moebos, Larriandros and Curlicas. Generals who owed their promotions more to their loyalty and fawning friendship to Ptolemy than to their experience in the field, their ability to react, let alone coordinate their reaction to the Persian landing was as much a comedy as it was a tragedy, depending upon the perspective of the viewer. They bumbled and stumbled into each other as they dashed about the camp, half-dressed in their armor and a bit in their cups. They gave orders which contradicted each other, sent troops right when they should have gone left, and, leading from the rear, were already in a good position to get themselves to a place as far from the point of the spear as they could get.
There were, of course, many fine, brave, smart junior officers who, on their own initiative, pulled together bands of stalwart fighters to stem the Persian tide. But as the tide was already receding by the time they had put their troops in order, there was little for them to do but watch as their camp burned. They were well positioned to stop any move by the Persians to attack the siege lines from the rear – but as Ephialtes had neither the men nor the intention of doing so, were more spectators than players in the game.
The Macedonian light cavalry, however, were led by more aggressive, veteran officers. If the infantry were all but paralyzed and on the defense, these brave horse soldiers raced into action. Trying to lead horses in a cavalry charge through a camp with its jumble of tents, ropes, barrels, and wagons, however, let alone a camp on fire, was not an easy task – or a successful one. More of them were thrown from their horses who balked at the bad footing and worse flames, than fell to Persian arrows. Those who did make it through were easy meat for the spears of the Greek mercenaries who formed the hard core of Ephialtes' raiding force. A few small groups and some individuals did spur their mounts to push ahead, but only to find Ephialtes and a rear guard of 100 hoplites in their path. By the time Ptolemy had learned of the disaster and ridden around the semicircular siege lines back to Myndos, the last of the raiders were boarding their boats and pushing them off into the sea.
The last of those raiders being an aging mercenary Greek hoplites and a somewhat younger but still quite seasoned Phoenician sailor.
“Where to, next, General?” asked Abibaal.
“Home. The Macedonians will be on their guard now – that old rascal Parmenion will see to that. 'Fool me once,' as the saying goes, but we'll not pull the wool over his eye twice. After all, he only has one” said Ephialtes as he let loose a deep belly laugh. “Besides, this means they'll be pulling men out of the trenches to double and triple the guard, and they'll need to send more out deep inland to make up for the supplies we burned today.”
“So, we just go back into port?” asked Abibaal somewhat glumly. “I am so utterly bored with Halicarnassos...and so are my men. They know every whore and tavern wench by name and long for someone – and something – new.”
“Aye, lad, being a garrison soldier is dull work.”
“It's even worse for a sailor,” replied Abibaal. “Ships need constant upkeep, whether they're on land or at sea – but at least at sea there is the wind in your hair, the sun on your face, and the possibility of something happening at any moment. Life's an adventure at sea, General, even if you're just on a routine patrol. On land, well, on land is where sailors get into trouble...and up to no good.”
Holding on tightly with one hand to a rope by the side of the tiller, as the scout ship elegantly plied the waves back to Halicarnassos, and enjoying the cool breeze and the gentle rocking of the sturdy little vessel, General Ephialtes allowed himself a moment's reverie before responding.
“Well, you know, Captain,” he said, thoughtfully stroking his chin with the other hand, “I'm sure I could talk Memnon and your admiral into letting you have an adventure – at least a little one, mind you. After all, from what you say, a bit of sport might be just the thing to keep your crew sharp...and out of the wine shops and whorehouses, even if Halicarnassos does have some of the best of both that I have ever seen.”
82
Diospolis
The princess will have it her way
“I have heard the words my husband commanded you to pass on, good Captain,” said the Lady Barsine quite regally but with a hint of a smile, “and I appreciate the perils you and your companions have faced and overcome in order to deliver my lord Memnon's message. That said, however,” she added as she slowly rose from her chair, “I find that I am unable to comply with my husband's instructions to retire for safety deep into the empire.”
“But my Lady,” said the captain, who stood at attention like a free Greek rather than perform the proskynesis of a Persian subject, “the g
eneral was quite clear that I am to see you safely away. If I return without having done as he bid, I will not only have failed in my mission, but, if I may be so bold, have failed a friend, for such has the general been to me. Please, Princess, I beg of you, do not put me in such a position – let me accompany you to a place of safety.”
Princess Barsine allowed herself a slightly bigger smile, and replied: “Do not worry, Captain. I am not going to send you back to my general, not alone, anyway.”
“What do you mean by that, Princess,” responded Dimitrios with a puzzled look upon his face.
“What I mean, Captain,” she said with what could have been mistaken almost for a little giggle, were she anyone other than a princess of the blood, “is that instead of sending you back to Memnon, I require that you lead me back to him. After all, a wife's place is at her husband's side...”
“But not in a battle!” said Dimitrios, forgetting his station and coming forward to stand face-to-face with her, or rather her face to his chest, with them each turning their heads to look the other in the eye. “It is far too dangerous! I can't bring a woman into a city under siege!”
A Captain of Thebes Page 48