Conquest of Persia

by Alexander Geiger

  “Thank you but I’m trying not to get ahead of myself. As you say, the gods can be so capricious, generous one minute and cruel the next.”

  Parmenion smiled ruefully. “You have no idea, sire, what a child will mean to you. You’re in for the ride of your life. Your entire outlook will change. It’s not all happiness, as I can attest, but it’s the most precious thing you can have.”

  Alexandros nodded but Parmenion knew that only a parent could understand. “You’ll know what I mean the minute you hold that tiny person in your hands.”

  The young king and the old general sat silently, side by side, each lost in his own world.

  Eventually, Parmenion broke the silence. “Sire, please forgive me. I’ve considered bringing this up before but it was only the death of my precious youngster that has truly opened my eyes and given me the courage to tell you what must be said. You should marry Barsine. Your kingdom needs a legitimate heir.”

  “Are you kidding? She’s war booty and Memnon’s widow to boot. How could I marry her?”

  “She’s beautiful and intelligent and she’s carrying your child. And you can do anything you want. You can marry more than one woman. Your father married seven of them and occasionally he was married to more than one at the same time. But he made sure that, in you, the realm had a legitimate heir.”

  Alexandros snorted. “Well, he was not really my father. But I take your point.” He was beginning to lose interest in the conversation.

  “Think about it,” Parmenion urged.

  Alexandros promised he would but never did.

  *******

  Mazaios and Bessos were fighting, as usual. They were standing at opposite sides of the Great Hall in the Babylon Palace, separated by two dozen distinguished men, and they were yelling at each other. If the emperor didn’t make his entrance soon, there was every possibility of a physical altercation. The other men in the cavernous space stood around idly, in groups of two or three, or leaned against the numerous columns supporting the coffered ceiling and enjoyed the show. Ever since Bessos and his twelve thousand savage Baktrians appeared at the Ishtar Gate, some three weeks earlier, and were met there by the Babylonia homeguard, under the command of Mazaios, who ordered them to turn around and make camp outside the walls of the city, there was little love lost between the two satraps.

  Mazaios, the satrap of Mesopotamia and Babylonia, considered himself to be second only to Dareios in the Persian firmament. At forty-nine, he was exactly the same age as Dareios but he’d been a satrap (of Kilikia) when Dareios was nothing more than a common soldier in Artaxerxes Tritos Ochos’s imperial bodyguard. And, unlike Dareios, Mazaios was actually a scion of one of the great noble families of Persia. He was urbane, cultured, and politically adroit. When, five years earlier, this obscure captain of the imperial bodyguard, named Kodomannos, somehow became Emperor Dareios Tritos, Mazaios wasted no time in placing his bet on the new strong horse. He was rewarded by being assigned to increasingly more significant commands, culminating in his current position as governor of perhaps the two most important satrapies in the Persian Empire. He also managed somehow not to be present at either the Battle of Granikos or the Battle of Issos, thus maintaining his reputation as an accomplished military commander. Such was Dareios’s trust in Mazaios that he promised to give him his eldest daughter Stateira in marriage, as soon as Stateira could be liberated from the clutches of Alexandros, whose captive she currently was.

  Bessos was the polar opposite of Mazaios. At twenty-eight, he was almost as young as Alexandros. He was uncouth, uneducated, and violent. He was also the satrap of Baktria and thus the commander of the most feared, most savage, most effective mounted warriors of the Central Asian steppes. Unlike Mazaios, he didn’t consider himself as second to Dareios in the Persian pecking order. He saw himself as the only man in the empire capable of saving Dareios’s crown against the Greek invaders … if he chose to do so.

  He was busy expostulating to Mazaios – loudly, coarsely, and profanely – on the relative merits of his fighters, as compared to Mazaios’s ineffectual, cowardly, degenerate troops, when Dareios finally swept into the audience hall, flanked by his bodyguards. Mazaios immediately threw himself to the granite floor. Bessos, after some hesitation and with evident reluctance, eventually sank to his knees.

  After mounting the throne, Dareios surveyed the assembled luminaries. These were the great nobles of Persia, the leading commanders, the most important satraps. Each of them was a potential usurper, yet he depended on all of them to save the empire. His only guaranty of incumbency was success on the battlefield. In order to remain emperor, he had to destroy Alexandros and his entire army. The pest from across the Aegean had become a menace to the empire but this time Dareios would be ready for him.

  Following his ignominious flight from the field at Issos while fighting still raged all around him, Dareios had spent several days regaining his emotional equilibrium. When he’d managed to recover from his embarrassment, he spent two weeks, with the help of Mazaios and Nabarzanes, unblinkingly dissecting every aspect of the battle. They were forced to face certain inescapable conclusions, foremost among them the inability of Persian infantry to stand up against the Greeks. On the other hand, the Persian cavalry had more than held its own and might well have carried the day had their commander-in-chief not prematurely abandoned the field. The necessary tactical correction was blindingly obvious to Dareios. For the next battle against Alexandros, he’d put all his Persian infantrymen on horseback.

  Although the idea, once Dareios explained it, was self-evident, its execution was not. The first challenge was to find at least fifty thousand suitable war-horses. Fortunately, huge herds of wild horses still roamed the steppes of Baktria and Sogdiana. The order went out to capture the horses, tame them, and bring them to Babylon. The next challenge was to produce sufficient armor for fifty thousand men and for their horses, in order to turn them into the formidable knights of Persian heavy cavalry. Finally, there was the matter of training infantrymen to fight aboard these unruly, recently-captured beasts. Dareios, who was, among other things, a superb administrator managed to carry out this entire program during the six months that Alexandros had spent in Egypt.

  The defeat at Issos taught Dareios other lessons as well. For example, the battlefield would have to be carefully chosen and the tactics adapted to the composition of the new army. The next battle would take place on terrain dictated by Dareios and it would unfold in accordance with his tactical plans. In fact, as Dareios now proceeded to explain to his commanders, he already knew where and how the next battle would be fought. He explained to them that a great battle, involving Persian cavalry and Greek hoplites, had been fought, a mere seventy years earlier, on the doorstep of Babylon. In that battle, the Greeks were neutralized and the Persian cavalry carried the day. Dareios had read all about the Battle of Kounaxa in a book written by a Greek general named Xenophon, who had been there. Kounaxa was located on the western bank of the Euphrates River, about thirty miles north of Babylon, and it lay athwart the logical invasion route for any army seeking to attack Babylon. It was Dareios’s intention to await the approach of the pan-Hellenic army in Babylon, then deploy his newly-reconstituted forces, comprised almost exclusively of heavy Persian and light Baktrian cavalry, at nearby Kounaxa. His plan was simple. He would reprise the successful tactics deployed by his predecessor, Emperor Artaxerxes Deuteros, and kill Alexandros – just as Artaxerxes had killed Kyros, the dashing, charismatic leader of the invading army seventy years earlier. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to Dareios that Alexandros might’ve read Xenophon’s classic as well.

  Dareios issued detailed orders to the assembled commanders. Mazaios was told to take 3,000 of his best cavalry troops to the last reported location of Alexandros’s army and, once he had located them, to harass them as best he could but mostly to shadow their movements and report back to Dareios on their progress. Other commanders were assigned to oversee the equipping and training of the new arm
y. Bessos was told to work with other cavalry commanders to make sure there was proper coordination between his lightly-armed, more mobile horsemen and the heavily-armored, more ponderous squadrons of traditional Persian knights. Dareios even ordered the construction of two hundred scythed chariots, which had long since become obsolete as a weapon of war, simply because Artaxerxes Deuteros had deployed two hundred scythed chariots at the Battle of Kounaxa.

  “The days of the pest from across the Aegean are numbered,” a smiling Dareios told his commanders as he sent them off to carry out his orders.

  *******

  The pan-Hellenic army returned to Tyros in late spring, enjoying warm Mediterranean breezes and cedar-scented mountain paths en route. The navy, which had accompanied us back from Egypt, was dispatched by Alexandros to the Peloponnese to assist Antipatros in his fight against Agis. We set up a long-term camp atop the ruins of what had been Old Tyros for those who would be staying behind: the halt and lame, the sick and infirm, camp followers and hostages, and all the women whom we had captured during our campaigns or who had joined us voluntarily along the way, including Barsine, Antigone, Artakama, and all the other consorts, courtesans, concubines, companions, and close personal friends of the female persuasion. The rest of us set off for the Mesopotamian plain just before the arrival of the first hot days of summer.

  We marched northeast, through Assyria, all the way to Thapsakos on the western bank of the Euphrates. Assyria, which stretches from a narrow strip of fertile land on the Mediterranean, known as Lowland Assyria, to an even narrower strip of land made fertile by irrigation canals on the Euphrates, is almost entirely desert in between. It took us more than a month to cross the desert. For long stretches, one lasting four days, we saw nothing but sand. We carried as much water with us as we could and Arimmas, the satrap of Lowland Assyria, was supposed to have set up food and water dumps for us along our route. Not seeing many prepositioned supplies, I was beginning to believe we were on another march to the Oasis of Ammon. Finally, we spotted, through hazy, shimmering waves of heat, the first verdant harbingers of the Euphrates, one of the two great rivers that gave Mesopotamia its name. By the time we arrived at Thapsakos, it was the height of summer. Marching through the Assyrian desert, in the middle of summer, with very little water, weighted down by armor and gear, is not conducive to human survival, unless one happens to be a Bedouin. And even the Bedouins, whose nomadic outposts we passed from time to time, took one look at our dust-covered, bedraggled, ghostly columns and ran the other way.

  As we approached Thapsakos, however, we noticed that we’d acquired a shadow – a large unit of Persian cavalry, perhaps 3,000 in number, which stayed well to the south of us, while matching our speed and maintaining visual contact. Alexandros watched them for a while and laughed. “Dareios has sent an advance guard to keep track of us. He must be worried the desert will swallow us before he’s had a chance to execute our destruction himself.”

  In fact, making a right turn and marching an additional four hundred miles south, along the west bank of the Euphrates, was the obvious route to take for an army intent on sacking Babylon. Dareios was certain Alexandros was headed for Babylon because he’d threatened repeatedly to engage Dareios in a set piece battle. The Persian emperor wanted to make sure that, when the decisive showdown occurred, he’d emerge victorious. A capable and methodical soldier, Dareios left nothing to chance. Not only was Mazaios charged with the responsibility of shadowing Alexandros’s army and reporting our progress back to Babylon, he was also told to destroy every village, farm, hut, silo, and grain of barley between Thapsakos and Babylon, in order to ensure that, by the time Alexandros’s army arrived at Kounaxa, just thirty miles north of Babylon, it would be exhausted, starved, and burnt to a crisp. At that moment, Dareios could unleash his well-rested, much larger army and finally destroy these pests from across the Aegean who’d begun to resemble a plague of locusts.

  Mazaios carried out his instructions to the letter. Nothing of military value, and very little of civilian use, remained on either bank of the Euphrates. Unfortunately for Dareios, Alexandros decided not to march down the Euphrates toward Babylon. Instead, we crossed the river at Thapsakos and continued our march northeast, toward the other great river of Mesopotamia, the Tigris. Beyond Tigris lay Ekbatana and the eastern provinces.

  *******

  Olympias smiled ruefully, watching the frolicking children. She had absorbed quite a few blows lately, the most recent being the death of her brother (and son-in-law), Alexandros of Epiros, but seeing her grandchildren at play never failed to gladden her heart. The twins, Kadmeia and Neoptolemos, were four. A perfect age, Olympias reflected. Old enough to entertain themselves, as well as their elders, but too young to appreciate the gravity of their situation.

  The children’s mother, Kleopatra, brought them to Pella for a short visit with their grandmother, while her husband, the king of Epiros, was off on another one of his military adventures in Italy. That was seven months earlier. They had arrived within days after Antipatros’s departure for the Peloponnese and had never been permitted to leave.

  In the absence of the regent, his son Kassandros was taking full advantage of his temporary autonomy. At age twenty-seven, he believed himself entitled to a kingship or two somewhere in the world but as long as Alexandros (who was two years younger than Kassandros) was still alive, the throne of Macedonia remained out of reach. And even though Alexandros hadn’t returned to Pella in more than three years, he’d left Antipatros, not Kassandros, in charge. Kassandros’s status as the regent’s son brought many privileges but no actual power.

  Even after Antipatros had marched out with an army of almost 20,000 men to deal with the revolt led by King Agis, he left behind precise instructions carefully circumscribing Kassandros’s discretion. He also maintained constant epistolary contact with his son, staying abreast of all developments and giving detailed directives on the most mundane matters. Finally, he also salted a number of trusted agents among the servants in the palace to keep an eye on his son and to notify him immediately of any deviation from orders. Antipatros loved and spoiled his youngest son but he also knew him better than anyone.

  The one realm in which Kassandros deemed himself absolute ruler was the women’s quarter of the palace. Antipatros had agreed that Olympias should be kept confined and incommunicado, to the extent possible, and he had given Kassandros broad discretion in effectuating this objective. There was, of course, a profound difference between father and son as to the permissible means and methods to be employed in connection with the queen mother – Antipatros believed she had to be treated with kid gloves, if only out of deference to King Alexandros – but he’d failed to communicate these views to his son in writing and now that Antipatros was gone, Kassandros felt free to implement his own procedures.

  The arrival of Kleopatra, with her two little children and her enormous retinue, was the first operational challenge with which Kassandros had to deal on his own. His preference would’ve been to deny Kleopatra entry and send her home to Epiros but even he realized that such a course of action might have unfortunate ramifications. Not only was Olympias’s son and Kleopatra’s brother the king of Macedonia but Kleopatra’s husband was also the king of Epiros. (To complicate matters even further, Alexandros of Epiros was also Olympias’s brother. Yes, Kleopatra’s father Philippos had married her off to her uncle –it had made military and diplomatic sense at the time.)

  After much deliberation, Kassandros decided to admit Kleopatra and her children to the women’s quarter in the palace but to deny entry to any of her servants. He explained that her mother already had plenty of servants and there was limited room in the gynaikonitis. He didn’t mention that he was keeping the queen mother under house arrest. Perforce, he had to place Kleopatra and her children under house arrest as well.

  “Your brother has never seen his niece and nephew,” Olympias mused. “I wish he’d get back already.”

  Kleopatra tried to sound c
heerful. “Well, at least we’re together.”

  The two women were preparing, side-by-side, for the rare treat – or was it tribulation – of a visit by their jailer Kassandros.

  “Maybe a letter has come,” Olympias continued hopefully, while trying to adjust the belt of her chiton. There was a time when I had serving girls for these tasks, she reflected.

  Kleopatra shook her head. “If a letter came, he’d never show it to us.” She was the more pragmatic and, in this case at least, the more acute observer of the two. “On the other hand, if he did come in with a letter, it would undoubtedly be a forged fabrication.” She continued to peer into the small, scratched mirror they were now forced to share. No matter how deplorable the conditions of their incarceration became, both women were united in their determination to put on an upbeat appearance whenever their tormentor deigned to stop in for a visit.

  It had been a steady stream of hammer blows. First, after one of the serving girls was caught trying to smuggle out a letter from Kleopatra to her husband, the callow vice-regent was tempted to remove all serving girls from the gynaikonitis but in the end decided to settle for replacing all the soldiers guarding the staircase leading to the women’s apartments with his own men and prohibiting anyone, not just Olympias or Kleopatra, from either entering or leaving the premises. Olympias had no doubt she could suborn these greenhorns as well, just as she had all their predecessors, but it would take time. For the present, though, the two women were effectively cut off from contact with the outside the world.

  Kassandros’s first visit came about a month later. He strutted in, unannounced, brimming with the pleasure of knowing he’d made the women’s lives miserable. He failed to take into account Olympias’s fierce pride. While he was chatting with Kleopatra in the ladies’ reception room, Olympias came charging from her private chamber, armed with a dagger she had somehow managed to secrete under her pallet. If it hadn’t been for the startled widening of Kleopatra’s eyes, her mother might well have killed Kassandros then and there. As it was, he managed to turn just in time, escaping with nothing worse than a nick on his left shoulder. He never came alone, or unannounced, again.