“Cos,” said the governor, almost spitting out the word. “The naval base at the city of Cos.”
94
Halicarnassos
The Mausoleum
Alexander was triumphant – but unsatisfied. The fighting was taking too long, and resistance was not the kind he liked to meet. All that was left was a war in shadows and alleys, in the shops and houses, and wherever a small band of defenders could take refuge. There was no honor, no glory, no challenge to be had from such mopping up. But then his eyes brightened, and went wide, and his jaw dropped open with delight and surprise. “There,” he said to Hephaestion, “there it is! Now that is something wonderful! That is something worthy of the attention of a king!”
Hephaestion was taken by surprise by Alexander's sudden change in mood – as he often was; but then he saw what had caught the king's eye and he, too, was appreciative of the sight. Fighting was still going on in different parts of the city, but that did not matter to the king, not anymore. For, over to the right, he caught the first glimpse of the great funeral monument and tomb of Mausolus, a true wonder of the world. Not even Hephaestion could change Alexander's mind about leaving the battle to go sight-seeing. The pleas from Ptolemy, Perdiccas, and Parmenion to send some Companions to stop soldiers from looting and raping, and to get back to the business of killing, fell upon deaf ears. Alexander's ardor for battle had been unparalleled when the attack began, and doubly so once the breaches had been made and his men were streaming through the ruined walls and open gates. But once he caught a glance of the sun glinting off the smooth, gleaming white stones of the Mausoleum, his concentration was broken. And then it was refocused, this time on the tomb, to the exclusion of everything else going about him in the war-torn city.
Alexander did not know the way to the tomb, but he didn't need a map or a guide. All he had to do was point his war horse towards it. As tall as a score of men standing on each other's shoulders and perched upon a small hill, the structure was visible from the harbor and from most parts of the town upon which it looked down. Although there were signs of battle all around it – even in the courtyard and on the steps leading up to the platform on which it sat – Alexander did not seem to notice the dead, the dying, or the wounded limping away. All he saw was the beauty above, not the horror below.
“Look at the statuary and the reliefs, Hephaestion,” the king said with childlike awe as they rode closer. “What wouldn't Aristotle give to be here with us, to gaze at the sculptures by Leochares, Timotheus, Bryaxis, and Scopas?” he said, his excitement growing. “Remember how he told us of the rivalry among these four to design the tomb, and how Queen Artemesia decided to make a contest of it, by giving each of them one of the four sides to decorate?”
Before Hephaestion could answer, the king was showing him another sight.
“Oh, and the lions! Look at all of the lions,” he exclaimed to Hephaestion. He had taken his eyes off the tomb just long enough to regard the row of carved lions that flanked both sides of the staircase that led up to the platform upon which they were standing. “Marvelous, aren't they? I always liked lions. Lions are fierce. Lions are proud. Lions are noble. Lions are – well – like me!” he added all but dancing with glee.
“Sire, they are noble, indeed, as are you,” sighed Hephaestion, growing exasperated with his royal friend. “But they have been here for what, four decades now? They'll still be there tomorrow. Meanwhile we've got...”
“Oh, shush!” laughed the king, dismissively. “What do I pay my generals for if not for that? I already won the battle for them,” he chortled, “let them clean up the mess. They can manage that, can't they, Hephaestion? Even 'pretty boy' Ptolemy or grumpy old 'one eye' can handle what's left of the defenders. This is what I came here for; this is why I wanted Halicarnassos!”
“I thought you wanted it because it was the Persian fleet's biggest port in the area, and because Memnon was here?” replied Hephaestion.
“Yes, yes, all that, of course,” the king responded, his eyes still fixed on the sculptures. “But look, look at that, will you!”
“What? Look at what, my King,” sighed Hephaestion, taking his helmet off and pouring some water from a gourd over his head.
“The chariot! Look at the chariot!”
Hephaestion hurriedly threw his helmet back on, drew his sword and looked about rapidly, ready to respond to a chariot attack.
“Where! Where is the chariot!” shouted Hephaestion, making ready to defend his friend with his life.
“Up there, silly,” laughed the king. “Up there on the tomb. Look, on the roof – at the pinnacle. There it is. A four-horse chariot, with Artemesia and her king at the reins. I think Aristotle said something about Pythos being responsible for that bit of art, eh?”
“Pytheos, not Pythos, Alexander,” corrected Hephaestion. “Pythos is the old name for Delphi. Pytheos is the sculptor, not that it matters,” mumbled Hephaestion, who finally just resigned himself to the fact that at least for a while they were going to be tourists and sightseers, instead of soldiers or generals.
“So, my King,” said Hephaestion, putting on a phony smile and feigning interest, “what is it with all of these depictions of amazons and centaurs wrestling and writhing about – are they battling, dancing, or making love?”
“Perhaps a bit of all three,” laughed the king. “After all, there isn't much difference, is there?”
While Alexander was climbing about the four horsemen whose statues guarded the four corners of the tomb, others in the city were still fighting for their lives. As he kept going on and on about the artists, Artemesia, the dead husband she had this raised to honor, and other bits of trivia about the monument, a war was still raging. Those had more pressing things to worry about than to debate the finer points of Greek and Carian architecture.
Although the outcome was no longer in doubt, Ptolemy, Perdiccas, and Parmenion kept shoving troops forward. Each was in a race to see which of them would reach the harbor first. Unknown to their king, the trio had made a wager about which of them would be the first to dip his spear into the sea. They also had a side bet going on as to which would fight, capture, or kill Memnon. Although the king himself had set a price equal to a king's ransom (a lesser king than himself, of course, as all such royals were in his eye) on Memnon's head, the three generals decided to sweeten that already tempting pot with a personal wager. Each was determined to be the one to win both bets, and the king's reward, and as such, what had started out as a well-planned pitched battle, was now nothing more than a free-for-all.
Each of the three generals had a personal bodyguard, and these were the arrows they aimed at the harbor. Most of their other soldiers had melted away to loot, pillage, and have their way with the women of the city. They could not be bothered keeping their men in check – they had their target, and each was damned if they weren't the one to reach it first.
It was Ptolemy who broke through the last, thin crust of armed sailors and marines that the Persian admiral had set up to cover the final withdrawal from the harbor. From his horse, he could see above the clash of shields and spears a group of men carrying a large man onto a big warship. He did not know who the man was, but he was obviously someone important, and that meant someone who would be worth a hefty ransom. Ptolemy hoped against hope that it was Memnon, but even if it wasn't, he thought, this was surely someone who was worth going after.
Ptolemy kicked his horse and kicked him hard. So hard that the stallion reared up and then leaped forward – plunging through the melee and out onto the strand. Ptolemy tried to calm the horse, but it was all he could do to hang on. He even dropped his sword so that he could hold on with both hands. But even that was not enough, as the horse was now so completely spooked, and confused, and unhappy that he bucked and twisted and bucked again – and bucked hard enough to throw Ptolemy from his seat...and into the harbor.
“Well,” laughed Perdiccas a few minutes later, as he watched a dripping wet Ptolemy being helped
out of the water. “The bet was to be the first to dip their spear in the water – not their ass. And since I see no evidence of your spear anywhere,” he added, holding up a spear of his own, water dripping from the tip, “I guess that means I win!”
“Laugh all you want, you little shit,” said Ptolemy, with a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and satisfaction. “You may have won the small bet, but you just let the real prize get away!”
“What do you mean?” Perdiccas said with a scowl as he looked from horseback upon the soaking wet general.
“You see that ship, that big one that just left the dock?”
“There are a lot of big ships slopping about in the harbor, Ptolemy. Which one exactly do you mean?
“That one. The one with the admiral's flag on it – you remember what a Persian admiral's flag looks like, right?”
“Yes, of course,” grumbled Perdiccas. “Now I see her. So what?”
“Well my dear, dry, droll dumb ass – Memnon's on board. And he's getting away...and there's not a damn thing either of us can do about it.”
95
The Royal Citadel
Time to Go
Barsine rushed to one of the windows of Orontobate's map room which overlooked the harbor. She could see the last of the big ships weighing anchor – last except for the governor's massive quadrireme, that is. Her body language was hard to read, as one moment she seemed almost deliriously happy that her husband had escaped death, while on the other she seemed exasperated to the point of tears at once again having to chase him down.
“Captain Dimitrios,” she said as she turned from the window, “run ahead and ask...no, tell...Captain Abibaal that I will once again require the use of his ship. He is to make ready to depart at once – and I do mean 'at once.' We are going to follow the admiral's flagship, even if we have to row all the way to Cos to do it.”
“Aye, aye,” said Dimitrios, nowhere near as glad as the princess that he would once again stand before his general. After all, technically he had failed in his mission. Yes, he had found Barsine and kept her safe, at least so far, but as far as getting her away east beyond the war zone, well...not so much. As he turned to carry out her command, the governor moved to block his path.
“What is the hurry, Princess,” he said in as oily a diplomatic tone as he could muster. As he'd had a lot of practice speaking in this kind of soothing, comforting, and disarming manner, Orontobates' words, as well as his imposing presence in front of the door, brought the captain and the princess to a halt. “After all, why try and race after your husband in some little scout boat when, if you but wait an hour, we can follow them together in luxury, comfort, and style in my own ship. I, too, am going to Cos, where I will happily escort you into the presence of the lord high admiral and see you reunited with your dear husband. Besides, if I may say so, and forgive me if I seem impertinent, but, well, I believe you could use a bath, some clean clothes, and a bit of make-up, not to mention a good meal and some rest before going to see Memnon. You are, and I say this as a friend, a bit worn and scruffy looking at the moment...”
“Scruffy? Who's scruffy?” the princess shot back angrily.
“Well, you are,” said the governor a bit sheepishly, gesturing with his hands as he turned about a mirror used for sending signals so that she could see how she appeared.
“I...I see what you mean, Governor,” sighed the princess, not quite recognizing herself in the mirror, “but then again that is to be expected considering I've crossed Caria, fought in several running battles, and been nearly half-drowned tossing about in a tiny ship. I doubt you would look any more presentable if you'd been through what I have these last few weeks.”
The governor merely smiled, keeping to himself what he would like to say, which is that he, of course, could never contemplate appearing anything less than perfect, regardless of the situation. After all, as a man of culture, breeding, and position, to even imagine himself ever looking so 'scruffy' was simply unthinkable. That is, after all, why one has servants.
“True, your Highness, but all the more reason you should take your time and travel to Cos with me. Wouldn't you rather look your best for your husband rather than appear before him,” he added with an expression one would make when they had sniffed a nasty smell or were looking at something rather unpleasant, “...as you are now?”
Dimitrios saw what the governor was up to. Orontobates did not care a jot for how dirty or disheveled the princess appeared. He just wanted to be the one to reunite the couple – and to take the credit for it. It would do much to soothe things between himself and Memnon. It would also let him put in at least some good news to soften the report he would have to send to the emperor about how he had lost the impregnable fortress over which he had ruled. Orontobates could use that to better help him spin things to his advantage, as he could explain how he at least saved a member of the royal clan from a fate worse than death by spiriting her away from the burning city.
Dimitrios saw that the princess understood the same. She did hesitate for a moment, but her sense of urgency and longing to join her husband as soon as possible combined to overrule her vanity.
“I thank you for your offer,” she said, in a tone that meant anything but what she said. “But I am afraid I must decline. I need to see my husband as soon as possible, and if you think Memnon will give a rodent's ass about how I look when he sees me, well, then you don't know my husband – or me – at all. So, Governor, good day to you...and,” she added as she approached the door and laid a hand on his shoulder, “I wouldn't dally if I were you. The Macedonians will soon find the range to hit your ship at its dock. I think that if you try to place even one more bar of gold or ingot of silver aboard her, she'll sink under the weight.”
With that, she and Dimitrios left the map room, raced down the spiral stairs and ran out onto the jetty where Abibaal and his ship were waiting.
Alexander's siege engineers were starting to find the range of the harbor. Now that they had men on the walls to spot for the artillery crews, they could adjust the weapons for distance and angle. The weapons were still too far away to hurl a full-sized load like that which had been used to shatter the walls, but by reducing the size and weight of the projectiles, they were able to fire farther, if with less punch. Then again, it didn't take a very big rock to make a hole in the thin bottom of even the best-built warship, and even a small ball of flaming pitch or a little jar of oil with a wick was enough to start a wooden ship afire.
One of the craftier of the engineers had even managed to haul a couple of smaller catapults and some bolt throwers into the city and set them up where they could see and shoot directly into the harbor. Where there had been fear and confusion before when projectiles fell at random, there was now panic and pandemonium. Ships began taking serious damage. Sailors were killed or wounded at their posts. Refugees, already packed tightly aboard, died or suffered injuries where they stood – and stood helpless, praying only that the sailors would move their vessels to safety before the next round of the increasingly accurate barrage rained down upon them.
The Royal Citadel and the ships docked around it took the brunt of this latest onslaught. These were not only the closest targets for the siege weapons on the eastern side of the city, but also the easiest to aim for. The top of the citadel towered above the harbor, and could be seen even from the siege lines. If the artillerymen missed the towers, they were still fairly likely to hit another part of the citadel, or anything close to it – like ships. The governor's massive quadrireme was the biggest ship in the harbor, and being next to the citadel, was the victim of many of those projectiles that fell around the fort. This would have put any ship at risk – and although the quadrireme was bigger, stronger, and more sturdily built than any other vessel in the harbor, it was also the most heavily burdened. Sitting so low in the water already from the weight of treasure the governor had insisted be loaded aboard her she, to put it simply, did not have as far to go to be driven below the surface of
the water.
The captain of Orontobates' quadrireme had already deduced that his chances of survival diminished as each new crate was loaded aboard. Those chances lessened even more as each new round of rocks and fire pots fell and as each moment passed. He had said as much to the governor an hour ago, but finally decided enough was enough. The captain ordered his men to prepare to make way, and stationed marines to prevent anyone from loading anything more aboard his ship. The time had come to leave, and he himself went into the citadel to tell the governor that if they did not leave this instant, they might never leave at all.
Orontobates was about to argue, when a fire pot came flaming in through a window and exploded on the floor of his map room. Several large stones struck the walls of the tower at the same time. The captain's argument made for him by Alexander's artillery crews, Orontobates agreed to leave – pausing only long enough to scoop up whatever jewels he could carry on the way out.
Dimitrios and the princess were way ahead of the governor. Abibaal cast off the instant they jumped aboard. Although Abibaal's was one of the smaller vessels still left in the harbor, even his ship had taken a few glancing flows from the near-misses aimed at the citadel. As he took a quick look behind him, Abibaal could see that his was the last ship to leave the harbor...the last but one, that is.
Orontobates ran up the gangplank behind the captain, who did not even pause to haul it back aboard. He lifted it himself and tossed it into the water as the quadrireme's rowers pushed off and began to pull their oars– and pull them as if their lives depended on it (which, indeed, they did). The ship, however, was slow to respond. So heavily burdened she was that far more power than usual was needed to overcome inertia, and with her lower ports barely above the water line, she had to do so without one of her four banks of oars. That meant a quarter of her oarsmen had nothing to do, and were just quite literally dead weight. Orontobates demanded these extraneous personnel jump overboard, but not a man moved. Many of the men at the oars who heard this order spun about in horror at the governor's command, further diminishing the power needed to move the ship.
A Captain of Thebes Page 56