“There, there, my dear, sweet, and lovely friend,” said Hephaestion, all but cooing into the king's ear. “He's just a rough old soldier. He doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut, that's all. You've shown him – and the army, and the world – your mettle. Why let the grumblings of some old limping fart bother you so?”
“If he wasn't such a good soldier I'd have his head,” grumbled Alexander, “but I need him, at least for now. You know it, I know it, the army knows it...and, worst of all, he knows it. But not for long, not forever,” said the king through gritted teeth. “His days are numbered, Hephaestion, and it is not long before he does something that tips the scales enough to...”
“I know, I know my King,” said Hephaestion, taking a cup of watered wine from Cleitos' hand to give to Alexander. “I know. But today...today we need him. Swear, and curse, and spit, and grumble as he will surely do,” said Hephaestion with a little laugh, “he will do what you tell him. He will march into hell – and his men will follow him.”
“That may be true,” replied the king with a nod. “We shall put him to the test, dear Hephaestion, for that is exactly where I am going to order him to go – into hell itself.”
Hell is exactly what Parmenion confronted– and Alexander and the rest of his generals and soldiers. Every day Alexander's siege machines had knocked stones from the walls into the 40 foot wide ditch that blocked the path to the towering walls – and every night bands of workmen had come out of the city to clear what they could or to deepen the ditch, parts of which were now more than 20 feet deep. Each of the gates had been battered to splinters, and their towers bombarded mercilessly, yet they still stood – propped up and reinforced by stones, timber and dirt from behind. In some areas, what appeared to be weak spots from the Macedonian point of view, were actually enticing entry points to a trap. In many ways, despite the ceaseless pounding, the defenses of Halicarnassos were stronger than they had been before the siege began.
What casualties the defenders took – and they took many – were made good by reinforcements brought in by the fleet, whose access to the big, wide harbor remained unhindered. Alexander's foragers had to range farther and farther afield for food and fodder, and even fresh water in the long, hot, dry summer. The countryside stripped bare and its streams drunk dry, his army began to depend more and more on the tenuous lifeline of slow, ponderous, and vulnerable wagon trains and caravans coming down from Miletos and Ephesos. In contrast, the garrison and people of Halicarnassos ate and drank their fill, courtesy of the Persian navy. The supply convoys came with such frequency that the outgoing ships barely had time to clear the quays before the next group of incoming vessels arrived.
In short, two months of siege, assault, and bombardment had taken a heavier toll on the besiegers than on the besieged. Halicarnassos was fast becoming the stone on which Memnon had said he would grind down the Macedonians...and Alexander knew it.
Which is why this attack would be the last – one way or another. It had to be. The Macedonians could not go forward while Memnon and his army and fleet had Halicarnassos as a base to hit their rear; and Alexander could not go back – not if he were to remain king. His treasury was empty, his army nearly as unhappy as his generals, and his rivals back home hungry for an excuse to topple the boy king. Not even Olympias with all of her magic and machinations could keep the wolves at bay much longer. This attack would truly spell victory or death for the Macedonian king. He knew he must take the city or die trying, lest he die later at the hands of an assassin, or mutineers.
Rather than send the same troops against walls they had failed to take in the previous assaults, Alexander shuffled his forces. Parmenion, he sent to the Myndos Gate in the east, while Ptolemy and his troops, along with the Royal Guard, moved from that front to opposite the Tripylon Gate in the north. Perdiccas, he brought from opposite the bastion back to the Mylasa Gate, while Alexander moved from there up to the north, opposite the bastion which poked out like a thumb to the east of the Tripylon. It took a lot of marching and counter-marching to redeploy the troops, but as Alexander explained to Hephaestion “how can men be expected to charge where they have previously met death and failure? To make them relive their nightmares and their disgrace is no way to seize victory from the jaws of defeat. Besides,” he added, “fresh eyes may spy openings where those who have too long stared at the same walls for weeks see only strength. And who knows, the challenge of succeeding where other, perhaps in their minds lesser, men failed, may spur them on.”
Hephaestion had shrugged his shoulders and nodded his head, having no solid reasons to object to this redeployment, as difficult to arrange as it was. After all, at least it got the men up and moving and out of the rat-infested trenches and shredded tents. A little exercise and a change of scenery, he agreed, couldn't hurt. So forward they went, Alexander watching it all from a spot just north of the Tripylon, his Silver Shields guardsmen and a squadron of the Companions at his back. The advance, timed to hit all three landward sides at the same time, went forward with parade-ground precision. And this time, however, as Alexander had warned at the morning conference, there would be no retreat, no matter the losses.
“They are coming on in the same old way,” Ephialtes remarked with a chortle. He, Memnon, and Orontobates watched it all unfold from their headquarters in the citadel of Salmacis on the Royal Island. Situated almost due south of the Mylasa gate, and connected to the city by a causeway, its tall towers provided a secure perch for the high command. Admiral Autophradates had a similarly unobscured and almost panoramic view of Ptolemy's attack from his vantage point atop the castle at Arconnesos, which anchored the opposite end of the harbor from Salmacis and which also served as naval headquarters. From their respective vantage points, the Persian leaders had observed the comings and goings, and back and forth marches of the besiegers for days. After all, there was little the Macedonians could do to surprise the defenders, as from their headquarters the Persians saw every move of every battalion, phalanx, and squadron in the attacking force. But to see them come on all at once, from every direction, and with such determination – that even the Persians had to admit was impressive.
For hour upon endless hour, the Macedonians came forward. Like waves steadily pounding a rock, they rose, crashed, recoiled, and rose again. Unrelenting as they came forward, as courageous and even foolhardy as they fought, none of the attacking columns could as much as gain a toehold on the wall or in a breach, let alone at a gate. Yet no attack faltered, no defenders were given any respite, and losses continued to mount on both sides.
“There must be some point at which they will stop coming on,” Ephialtes commented to Memnon as the day wore on and dusk approached. “No soldiers ever born can keep this up, not even your Immortals.”
“I agree,” nodded Memnon in agreement. “One party did break in but our valiant captain of the Immortals drove them back out, yet even that did not seem to shake their resolve.”
“Well, then,” said the old soldier, motioning for his helmet and spear, “then let me shake it for them. The Macedonians have been attacking all day – let us see how they like it when we come at them. Let me take the hoplites reserve and sally forth. Those Macedonians won't be expecting it – and they are not formed up to fight against a phalanx. I will sweep them away from the gate and back into their camp – and I won't stop till I've burned their tents, wrecked their siege engines and seized the king's golden tableware as a prize!”
Memnon had learned firsthand of Ephialtes' bravery and skill at command, and knew this to be no mere bit of bluster. If any man could do it, Ephialtes could, and if any men could do it, his Greek hoplites could. The general put a hand on Ephialtes shoulder, gave him his blessing and bid him do as the Greek promised.
“Fare thee well, my friend,” said Memnon. “You and your two thousand fellow Greeks have a score of your own to settle.”
“Aye,” grinned Ephialtes, “and it is time for the little bully to pay the piper.”
&nbs
p; Ephialtes struck out from the Tripylon Gate in the north just as the sun began to sink, but with so many fires burning in the city and in the Macedonian trenches, there was enough light for the grim work ahead. As the Greek general had predicted, the attack caught the Macedonians on the wrong foot. Ptolemy's weary assault columns were in no condition or formation to stand against the advancing shield wall, which grew in breadth and depth as Ephialtes' Greeks gushed forward from the sally ports and the main gate, which had been opened to allow his attack to hit with the maximum number of men and power.
Ptolemy rallied the Royal Guard – or what remained of it – and counterattacked, but was unable to even blunt, let alone throw back the Greek phalanx. With measured step and cadence kept by pipers, the hoplites moved like a giant scythe, carving a swath through the Macedonians. Soon they were in amongst the Macedonian lines, with small parties from the rear ranks slipping out to set fires to war engines, stores, and tents. The main body, however, continued forward, sweeping aside all resistance as it went, machine like, into the Macedonian camp.
“What is happening? What is happening?” shouted Alexander from his place at the rear of Ptolemy's corps, as groups of wounded men stumbled back from the fray. “I ordered no retreat! I forbid any man to so much as take a step backwards!”
“It can't be helped,” said Ptolemy, as he rode up from the chaos, his helmet gone, his armor battered and his arms dripping blood. “Those men are fresh – and they are tough. They are advancing like Spartans!” he added in acknowledgment of the courage and resolve of his enemies.
“Well, Ptolemy, we have met Spartans before,” grinned Alexander. “And Thebans, and Athenians, and the rest. I beat them at Chaeronea, and I burned Thebes to the ground! Instead of hiding behind those tall walls they've come out to play. So...” he added cheerfully as he drew his sword and raised it above his head, “let's play!”
With that, Alexander sent the Silver Shields to meet the Greeks head to head. He then struck off with the cavalry to find a weak spot on the flank where he could charge in and disrupt the advancing phalanx.
Alexander's men were brave and tough, and eager for the fight – and unlike Parmenion's pike regiments, the Silver Shields relied on the short spear and the sword, and thus met the Greeks quite literally face to face and breath to breath. The shock of the Macedonian charge brought the Greeks to a halt, and for several long minutes the two lines ground against each other like stone upon stone. Then Ephialtes called for his own surprise – a tall, rolling battle tower that had been built behind the Tripylon Gate. Originally built as a backup defense should the Macedonians break through, Ephialtes had commandeered it for his counterattack. So forward it came, its many levels bristling with archers, who, from their vantage point, rained arrows down into the unprotected ranks of Silver Shields.
The Shields did not break – they were too proud, too stubborn, too professional to crack, but they could no longer push forward. Their rear ranks forced to raise shields overhead to protect themselves and the backs of the front ranks, they could not contribute to the push and shove scrum of shield wall on shield wall. Alexander's veterans began to give ground, rather than take it, and back they went, one very bloody step at a time.
Memnon had ridden forward across the causeway, past the stalemate at the Mylasa Gate and through the city to the Tripylon. He did not, however, come alone. He brought Orontobates along with him, and behind them trotted their last reserve, a small force of Persian heavy cavalry. Memnon ordered them to halt and rest in place as he and the governor dismounted and climbed the crumbling battlements. The fires from the Macedonian artillery and tents that Ephialtes men had set alight allowed him a fair view of the battle taking part below. Seeing the Macedonian Silver Shields begin to fall back, Memnon decided to risk all and throw the dice.
“Orontobates,” he said as he turned to the governor, “they will break. I can feel it. If we can make those Silver Shields retreat, there is not a man in their army who will stand against us. Those are the best of their best, and if we defeat them, we defeat Alexander. And I don't just mean we break the siege – we break him, and then we can chase whatever is left of the invaders back to the north, back over the Hellespont, and into Macedonia itself. This is our hour, the hour I was waiting for. Are you with me?”
Orontobates looked up at the general, who was nearly a head taller than him, batted his long lashes and wiped at a tear that was streaking his makeup. “Of course, General, of course...but it is not wise for so many top commanders to be at risk at the same time. Ephialtes, of course, is doing what he does best, and I would not even think of telling you where the proper place is for a general. So, you go out there. Me, well, somebody should be here, in command of the defense. After all, there are two other attacks under way, at the far ends of the city.”
“But this is the time, the time we have waited for...”
“And, yes, I see that, but my dear General, this is not my time – it is yours. You are the soldier; I am the politician. You were called upon to fight, and Darius gave you the baton of command to do just that. To me, however, was entrusted this satrapy and this city. It is neither my place nor the best use of my talents to ride out into battle. That is for you, dear General. You go. I shall, what is it you Greeks say, 'have your back?' Go, go my dear boy...go kill that little kinglet. I'll be here when you get back, and I'll be the first to toast at the victory banquet. Oh, and one more thing...”
“What?” asked a very puzzled Memnon.
“Shall we have roast lamb, suckling pig, or a bull on a spit?”
“Huh?”
“For the banquet? Which shall it...oh, never mind, all three...and more. No, go off to your little war...I've much to do. Go, go be off with you...”
Memnon was too confused, too excited, and too geared up to argue. After months of defeat, of being tied down behind walls, first in Miletos and then here in Halicarnassos, he was like a volcano ready to blow. The blood rushed through his veins like lava, and the normally calm, thoughtful, unflappable man of stoicism and logic gave way to the man of action. Like a volcano mantle cracking, he exploded with energy, running down the ramp from the walls, calling for the gates to be opened. Springing on to his horse he screamed at the full force of his mighty lungs just one word: “Charge!”
86
The Island with a View
Hell, as seen from across the water
“Ask the princess to come up here,” Dimitrios said to Ari. “She needs to see this.”
What Dimitrios wanted her to see was not a pretty sight. Just before dawn, he and Ari, and several others, had ridden from the princess' camp in the middle of the long island to its northern tip. There they set a second signal fire to match that built by the western shore of her camp. By the time they reached the tip, however, the horizon was already bright, lit up not by the rising sun but by the fires blazing in and all around Halicarnassos. Those fires only intensified as they watched, and when dawn finally came, the columns of dense smoke filled the heavens above that hell.
It was not far to the camp and back, and Ari was back within the hour with the princess, along with Halime, Burzasp, and two other riders the Persian officer had detailed to be a royal bodyguard. Princess Barsine did not dismount. She didn't have to. She could see very clearly from horseback what it was that Dimitrios needed to show her.
“My husband...is there?” she asked, rhetorically, trying to control the tremor in her voice as the horror Alexander had unleashed upon the city became apparent. Not even a lifetime of tutors and royal minders had prepared her for how to deal with such a terrifying sight – and one made all the more terrifying from knowing that the man she loved most in the world was caught in the middle of it.
“I am afraid so, Princess,” said Dimitrios quietly. He, too, was shaken by what he saw, as was Ari, who mumbled something to the effect of having seen nothing like this since the fall of their native city.
“It is Thebes, all over again,” Ari continued.
“Not so, young man,” replied the princess, struggling to maintain her composure. “This is different.”
“How so, my lady?” asked Ari.
“At Thebes,” she said, “you did not have Memnon. Halicarnassos does. He will ensure that Alexander does not make another Thebes of this place. My Memnon,” she continued, fighting back the tears and swallowing hard to keep her voice from giving away her fears, “my Memnon will keep the city safe. And I shall be by his side as he does.”
“What?” Dimitrios all but screamed in surprise. “Surely you don't mean to go there? Look at that place, Princess. That is what a real war looks like,” he added quite strenuously. “Hades himself would not walk into that inferno.”
“Yet,” she said, as regally and as calmly as she could manage, “that is exactly where I must go. But don't worry, Captain,” she said looking down at him from her seat atop her mare, “I do not expect you to take me there. I don't expect any of you to take me there,” she continued as she looked at each of her companions. “Just somehow get me aboard a ship, or a boat, or anything that floats and is heading for the harbor,” she told them. Then, after a pregnant pause, she added “and once you see to that, I absolve all of you from any further responsibility for my safety. Go where you will. You have all served me and my husband well. The empire has need of such men...and women,” she added with a smile as she nodded in Halime's direction. “I would not deprive you of your lives, or the king of kings of your service.”
At that she clicked her tongue and gave her horse a slight kick with her heal, and rode back toward the rough camp where she had spent the night.
“Whew,” said Ari as she rode off. “Looks like we've dodged that one,” he added with a whistle.
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