A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “How many times is that I have saved your life, now, Dimitrios?” laughed the naval officer. “Two, three...or is it four. I've lost count,” he added with a broad grin on his face.

  “I don't know, Abibaal, but this time it is not just some poor mercenary you've rescued. You see that woman over there?”

  “You mean the pretty little one with the javelin?”

  “No. I mean the one with the bow.”

  “Whew!” Abibaal whistled. “You've done well for yourself, Dimitrios. She's stunning...and she's your woman?” he asked, hoping for a negative response as appreciatively lustful thoughts began to push away all notion of further combat.

  “No,” Dimitrios said, “but she is spoken for.”

  “Oh? Really?” sighed the Phoenician captain in disappointment. “Then who is the lucky fellow?”

  “Memnon.”

  “What!” exclaimed Abibaal. “You mean she...she...”

  “Yes, my friend,” said Dimitrios, as he wiped his sword clean with sand and put it back in its scabbard, “that is Barsine, daughter of Artabazus, late satrap of Hellespontine Phrygia, widow of the great general Mentor, princess of the Pharnacids, and wife of the lord commander of the armies of the Achaemenid dynasty.”

  “She...”

  “Yup, Abibaal,” he said with a smile. “She's Memnon's wife, and she would dearly appreciate it if you could give her a ride to see her husband.”

  “Why...why of course...” stuttered Abibaal.

  “And when you do, you will have my undying gratitude...for taking her off my hands. That one,” Dimitrios added with a sigh, “she has been a lot of trouble.”

  “Yes,” said Abibaal as he looked around at the corpses that littered the dune grass, “I can see that she has.”

  As Captain Abibaal had very little room to spare for passengers on his small scout ship, he could not accommodate the entirety of the princess' entourage. He offered to sail back toward the harbor to signal a larger and more fitting ship for a royal lady, but Barsine would hear none of that.

  “I am going with you and now, Captain. If you have room aboard, I would like to bring the Lady Halime, Captain Dimitrios and his brother, the physician, with me.”

  “That is quite all right, your Highness,” shouted Klemes from where he was tending to one of their wounded comrades. “Leave me here. I have quite enough to keep me busy until the next ship returns. Just make sure they've a physician on board.”

  Barsine nodded her agreement, turned back to the naval officer and said simply “then it will be just we three. If you will be so kind, please take me to my husband.”

  Captain Abibaal gulped, looked about, and did not move.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” said the princess quite sternly.

  “Begging your pardon, Highness, but I am not sure exactly where he is. I mean, he's somewhere in Halicarnassos, I presume, but where...”

  “He will be wherever the fighting is at its fiercest, if I know my husband,” the princess sighed. “But perhaps we should start at the Royal Citadel. Someone there will surely know where to find him.”

  Abibaal was still uneasy about putting so important a person at risk. A warning glance from Dimitrios, who was standing behind the princess, was enough to convince him that it would be better to take his ship and its passengers into a war zone than to refuse the request of so royal a personage...a royal personage who's request, of course, was anything but merely that.

  The princess refused the offers of the sailors to carry her to the ship and lift her aboard. Instead, she strode through the surf and hauled herself up and over the rails...then put out a hand to help the injured Halime follow. Abibaal offered her the spartan comforts of his small cabin, but Barsine refused. The princess took herself to the bow and stood there, as if she was the proud figurehead on the prow. It was there she would stand, like a statue, until Abibaal took her where she asked to go: the Royal Citadel of Halicarnassos.

  As Abibaal's men backed oars to pull off the beach, the officer, suddenly nervous at making any mistake that might result in royal displeasure being directed his way, called for his men to row, and row hard. It was not far to the harbor, and if he thought his men could have sustained ramming speed all the way there he would have so ordered. But Abibaal was a good captain, one who looked out for the lives and health of his men (unlike some in the fleet whom sailors derisively referred to as “murdering captains.”)

  At best speed it would take about half an hour, give or take, but with so many ships leaving the harbor and heading out to sea, best speed was not possible – not if they were to be able to avoid being cut in two by some of the big triremes, let alone the governor's giant quadrireme, which he could see was preparing to get underway at the pier on the Royal Island. Abibaal did his best to keep up speed yet avoid collision, and if the princess ever feared otherwise, she did not show it. Motionless and without a word or so much as a sigh passing her lips, she stood there, starring dead ahead at the citadel, wherein she placed all of her hopes of finding her husband.

  93

  Halicarnassos

  The Big Ships Sail

  Navigating his way into the harbor at Halicarnassos was usually so easy that Abibaal could just about do it with his eyes closed...but not today. The volume of traffic leaving the port was far heavier than he had ever seen. While the navy ships were departing in an orderly fashion, the commercial and private ships were ignoring even the most basic tenets of sailing safety, such was their rush to leave the dying city.

  The panic and fear of many of their passengers only made it harder for the sailors to do their job properly, as did the overcrowding of the ships. The occasional fireball or rock that Alexander's siege weapons hurled into the harbor did not help. As the battle for the city moved from the walls into the town, those siege crews that were in range shifted their fire to the twin citadels at either side of the harbor, and at the docks. Most of their shots splashed or fizzled harmlessly into water, but a few unlucky vessels were damaged, set afire or even smashed by the still rather random falling of projectiles.

  In short, it was chaos – and chaos with big, overburdened ships packed with panicked people, which included not just the passengers but many of the sailors and their sailing masters. Winding his way through this jumble of vessels, some of which were sinking or afire, took all of the skill Abibaal had learned in a life at sea. He could steer his ship, but he could not control what the other vessels trying to flee the harbor were doing. Most of those ships were also much larger as well as far less maneuverable than his own small scout ship. Should a collision occur, Abibaal knew he would be on the losing end of that game; a game one does not play with a princess on board.

  Still, Abibaal knew how to make his little ship dance. He stood to the tiller himself, fearing that, in the split seconds between giving a command to go hard a starboard or turn to port and it being carried out, disaster could strike. As it was, Abibaal came far too close to scraping hulls or smashing oars with outgoing ships for comfort. Through it all, through every twist and turn, and as they rode or cut through the waves from passing ships, the princess stood at the bow, holding on tight and suffering the spray.

  Abibaal thread his way through the nautical needle, past transports and barges, and down the outgoing battle line. He even managed to give a salute to the flagship, whose sailors he saw were helping aboard passengers from the admiral's barge, hauling up the sea anchors, and preparing to set sail. Finding a spot on the Royal Island quay, however, was more difficult, what with that big, ugly, hulking monster of a quadrireme moored to the dock. She was massive – but surprisingly low in the water for a warship. Her lower oar ports were sealed and their oars pulled in, so heavy did she sit. With the surface of the sea so close, pulling on the oars would have been both impossible and pointless for the oarsmen – and dangerous, as she would take on water through their open ports. What good is a quadrireme if she only has three banks of oars, he thought to himself. Is she still a “
four?”

  At least her oars were shipped, so Abibaal could maneuver close by and scoot ahead of her to one of the small jetties nearby. These were used by little ships that carried messages, ferried in prisoners and officials, or delivered catch of the day for the commandant's table. The princess, in her impatience to disembark, did not wait for the sailors to tie up and jumped – and nearly fell into the water between the ship and the jetty.

  “Mind the gap!” a wary sailor cried out as she prepared to leap, but that wasn't necessary, as Dimitrios was there to pull her back.

  The look the princess gave him when he did was one of shock, surprise, and anger, as well as embarrassment, all rolled into one. The impertinence of Dimitrios' action – to lay hands upon a princess of the blood – could warrant a beheading or at least a whipping and an amputation of the offending hands. Dimitrios thought he saw such thoughts racing behind her eyes, and was just as quick to offer his apologies – and his reasons for taking hold of her. Barsine did not say anything in reply – neither a thank you nor a rebuke. She instead merely gave a nod of her head, then turned about and stepped off the ship onto the jetty as the sailors made the ship secure.

  Dimitrios and Halime scrambled after Barsine, who came as close to running down the jetty as she could without appearing to do so, for to run would be unseemly for one of her station. Even when being set upon by Queen Ada's men she had moved at her own measured pace. Navigating through the steady stream of bearers carrying boxes, chests, bags, sacks and amphorae into the already bulging quadrireme was frustrating, but the princess was as nimble as a dancer, and reached the door to the citadel before her companions could catch up. Dimitrios saw the guard raise his hand to tell her to halt and, when that did not work, to try to bar her way with his spear. He felt sorry for the poor lad. Guards never get an even break. If they aren't having their necks slashed from behind in the dark, they're being dressed down by their betters – and just for doing their job. Dimitrios knew what it felt like. He'd been there too often himself.

  Barsine's imperious demand to be allowed to pass did not sway the guard, neither did her insistence that he send word to the governor that a royal princess was at his door and demanded an audience.

  “If you're a princess,” the guard laughed as he gave Barsine in her battle-worn, wet from sea spray clothes, and tousled hair the once over, “then I'm the bleedin' pharaoh of Egypt!”

  “If you were, then you'd be dead,” said Barsine haughtily. “My first husband killed him, damned upstart incestuous pedophile of a porcine rebel he was. So, unless you'd care to share that fate, I suggest you do your duty. Either let me pass or call an officer.”

  “You'd better do as the lady says,” Dimitrios added as he ran up, huffing, and puffing, and working to gather his breath.

  “Oh?” said the guard. “And who might you be? The king emperor of China his self?”

  “No. But I am a captain on the staff of this lady's husband – the General Memnon. I presume you've heard of him?”

  That reply did take the soldier aback. Derision gave way to contemplation, and the mention of the general's name did give him pause.

  “You serious,” the guard asked Dimitrios, “one soldier to another?”

  “Deadly so. You've done your duty, soldier,” he added gently but firmly, “And now it’s time to call for an officer.”

  “Sergeant of the guard, post number four!” the soldier shouted as he kicked open the door. “I need the officer of the day!” he added with a bit of relief. “Tell him there's a pretty lady who needs his attention.”

  “That's better, soldier,” said Dimitrios.

  “Aye,” he replied. “Begging your pardon sir...and ma'am. Just doing me duty,” he added, thinking, but not saying, how relieved he felt she was about to be someone else's problem, whoever she said she was.

  Orontobates could not have been more surprised than if one of those angry goddesses the Greeks worshiped had strode into his map room, lightning bolt in one hand, the leash to a beast of war in the other, and a hairdo made of slithering snakes atop her head. Frankly, he would have preferred such an apparition to what he saw coming for him, shabby entourage and all.

  “Princess,” said the governor with an oily smile and a deep bow, for he had met her before. “Forgive my men for keeping you waiting. I am sure you can understand their suspicion and their caution, this being war and all that. And the chances of a member of the royal family showing up...unannounced...here...and now?”

  Barsine waved off the governor's attempt at making excuses, and got right to the point.

  “Where is my husband?”

  “Not here, Princess,” replied Orontobates, gesturing with his hands for her to look about the room.

  “He is still in command, is he not?” she asked haughtily.

  “In a manner of speaking...”

  “Governor. He is either in command or he isn't,” Barsine shot back, her restraint already frayed to the snapping point.

  “Well, technically...”

  “Is he dead?” she asked, leaning in to look the governor directly in the eyes, her patience at an end.

  “No, but he is no longer able to carry out the demands of his office,” replied the governor, obviously annoyed and impatient to get on with preparations to depart the city.

  “What do you mean by that?” asked the princess, with concern evident in her voice. “Is he severely wounded, then?”

  “No,” replied the governor, anxious for this audience to come to an end yet wary of insulting a princess of the blood. “Not wounded. A few cuts and bruises, the usual,” he said with a forced laugh. “You know how he always has to be in the front of things,” he added with a weary sigh. “He has collapsed, however. Completely exhausted from the strain of command and days upon days of battle, all without proper rest or sustenance. You know him, lady,” the governor said with a shrug and a 'what could I have done to stop him' sort of gesture. “He is not one to take care – or take suggestions, let alone orders, not even when it comes to his own well-being.”

  “I see,” said the princess, a bit shaken with worry yet also relieved, as she had for a moment feared the worst. “Please, Governor,” she continued, the energy fast draining from her now that she at least knew her husband lived and was apparently safe, “take me to him.” She did not add the “at once” the governor expected, such was her own sudden exhaustion, nor did she pose it in the form of a command – but of a request. It was but the simple request of a woman who longed to be reunited with a beloved husband, a soldier whom she had feared wounded, maimed … or dead.

  “I would if I could, Highness,” said the governor quite nicely, at least for him. “But he is not here.”

  “Then where is he?” she asked, becoming exasperated. “Is he still in the city then? Or in the other citadel on the far side of the harbor?” she asked wearily. “Please have your men take me to him.”

  “I would do so, Princess, were it but in my power. But he is not in the city or the other citadel. He's out there,” Orontobates said, pointing to the fleet that was fast scurrying out of the harbor. “The admiral had him carried aboard the flagship. And I will be following them quite soon, once I am...er...finished here.”

  “You're abandoning your post?” the princess said with disbelief, shock, and evident disdain. “Did you wheedle, and whine, and cheat your way into becoming governor here only to leave at the city's hour of need?”

  “Pardon me, Princess,” replied the governor, trying to hide his shame behind a mask of pride and with a look that showed he was offended by Barsine's taunt. “There have been a thousand hours of such 'need' since Alexander's army got here, and I have been here to face every one of those. But there is nothing more for me to do here – there is nothing left to govern. The city is lost.”

  “But the citadels, surely...”

  “The citadels, my lady, are under the command of a pair of dedicated – or more accurately fanatic – officers of the Immortals. Sadly, the
captain who brought them here, and most of his men, have fallen, but the few Immortals who are left will stay at their posts until the time has come to join their dead comrades. They do not need me, Princess, as I would only get in their way. Besides, the defense of the citadels is a military matter, or it will be once I remove the last symbols of civilian rule.”

  Dimitrios looked around as more men came in and left, each heavily burdened with such 'symbols' as they exited the room. Most of these symbols sparkled as their gold or bejeweled surface caught the sunlight that came in through the large windows all around the map room.

  “Yes, Governor, I see,” said Barsine, with even more disdain than before. “Be sure you do not over burden yourself with such 'symbols.' From what I hear, gold does not float particularly well.”

  The governor cleared his throat uncomfortably. He drew himself up. He tugged at his robes to straighten them and, one hand caressing the ringlets of his well-oiled beard and the other on his hip, inhaled deeply through his nose, as if he had smelled something unpleasant. The look in his eyes was response enough, and as Dimitrios could well see, there was nothing more to be gained – and perhaps much to be lost – if the princess made another comment to impugn the governor's honor, loyalty, courage, or manhood.

  “Governor,” Dimitrios said, putting himself both verbally and physically between the princess and Orontobates. “Could you at least tell us where the fleet is headed? We have a ship, and if we can't catch up with the flagship, we could at least take the princess to where the admiral is going, and to where he is taking Memnon.”