Conquest of Persia

by Alexander Geiger

  “Had you been personally in command at Granikos it would have been a different outcome,” one of the sycophants in the hall called out.

  “You bet your life,” Dareios agreed. “And this time, I’ll be there in person. At the Tigris, we’ll do to the pest from across the Aegean what we should have done at the Granikos.”

  Nobody brought up the Battle of Issos.

  “Here is the plan,” Dareios continued, speaking with renewed confidence. “Bessos, detach some of your fastest horsemen to ride down the western bank of the Tigris to find the exact location of Alexandros’s army and report back to us on their progress. There’s no need for them to engage in any fighting. All they have to do is keep track of them and report back. But we need some fast and elusive riders. Do you have men who can do that, Bessos?”

  “Yes, emperor, we have men who can do that.”

  “Good. Mazaios, you get back on your horse and rejoin your troops as fast as you can. In fact, take another 3,000 cavalrymen with you. Your job is still the same. Do what you can to slow them down. Harass them, destroy their ability to forage, buy us a little time. Then cross the river and join us on the other side.

  “In the meantime, I’ll lead our main force up the eastern bank of the Tigris. We’ll be there, waiting for them when they arrive, and we’ll squash them like a bunch of slimy little frogs when they try to emerge from the river.”

  “It will be our pleasure to serve you, emperor.” For the first time, there was a hint of enthusiasm in Bessos’s voice.

  “Aye, aye, your imperial highness.” Mazaios seemed much less enthusiastic. Dareios failed to notice the doubt in his voice.

  “And now, men, we all have a lot of work to do. So, let’s get to it!”

  *******

  Almost by accident, an epic race developed between us and the massed hordes of the Persian army. Dareios was intent on arriving at the crossing near Arbela before we reached the other bank. Alexandros didn’t realize he was in a speed contest. He was simply proceeding with his customary celerity. He was also not aiming for the Arbela ford.

  There were several possible points where we could attempt to cross the Tigris. The ford near Arbela was the obvious and most commonly utilized shallows, precisely because caravans heading from the eastern provinces to Babylon or Thapsakos, or returning back, usually stopped at Arbela, which was the largest town in the area, to rest and replenish their supplies. However, Arbela meant nothing to Alexandros, to the extent he was aware of its existence at all. He merely wanted to get across Mesopotamia in order to attack Dareios from an unexpected direction. As a result, he chose the most northerly route possible because the climate was cooler farther to the north, because the desert gave way to arable land in the northern reaches of Mesopotamia, and because it was easier to forage for grain and fodder this far up, beyond the point where Mazaios had laid waste to all the native farming communities.

  One incidental by-product of the track chosen by Alexandros was to shorten the distance we had to march to reach the Tigris, which flows in a southeasterly direction from its headwaters in the Anatolian highlands, before turning southward after reaching the Mesopotamian plain and coming very close to the Euphrates in the vicinity of Babylon. By the same token, the farther north we marched, the longer the distance that Dareios’s army had to cover in order to intercept us before we crossed the Tigris. Had Alexandros decided to cross the river near Arbela, we would’ve had to march almost 400 miles to reach the ford, while Dareios’s army would’ve only needed to go about 350 miles. But, because we marched toward the Nineveh ford, located some 60 miles to the north of the Arbela ford, our travel distance was reduced to less than 350 miles, while theirs increased to more than 400 miles. Plus, we’d already been marching for four days by the time Dareios even received word that we hadn’t turned south toward Babylon after all. In short, Dareios’s plan to intercept us before we crossed the Tigris was doomed to failure.

  All this was obvious in hindsight. At the time, as we were marching across Mesopotamia, we didn’t even know we were in a race. Instead, we could see that our progress was being tracked by enemy scouts, who were careful to stay beyond capture range but who were undoubtedly reporting our position to Dareios day after day. And we suspected that the scouts were but harbingers of larger enemy forces to come.

  We were almost within sight of the Nineveh shallows when rising columns of dust on the horizon announced the arrival of Mazaios’s cavalry forces. Unsure of the strength of the enemy, Alexandros dispatched our entire contingent of Paionian light cavalry to confront them. I suppose Alexandros considered them expendable. The Paionians, eager to prove they were as good as the Companion Cavalry, promptly rode out, waving their spears and swords and shouting loudly.

  It turned out that what we had seen was only a small vanguard of Mazaios’s forces. The Paionians outnumbered them three to one. When they approached, the heavily armored Persian knights turned around and tried to make a run toward the rest of their brigade. They never had a chance. The Paionians, unencumbered by armor, rode them down from behind, killed as many as they could, and returned triumphantly to Alexandros, laying three dozen severed heads at his feet. We didn’t see any further Persian knights before reaching the Tigris. Contrary to expectations, we had arrived without losing any men to thirst, hunger, heatstroke, or enemy attack. But then, the river crossing awaited.

  *******

  Through absolute miracles of organizational virtuosity, logistical proficiency, and the sheer efficacy of terror, Dareios had managed to march his entire army, numbering well over 100,000 men, all the way to Arbela by the time he received word that they were too late to stop Alexandros from crossing the river some 60 miles north of the Persians’ camp. Undaunted, he assembled his high command in the magnificent imperial command tent.

  “I wish somebody had told me there was a series of fords up here.” His tone was surprisingly mild. Mazaios was tempted to note that any ruler of Persia should’ve known as much but thought better of it. “It’s perhaps for the best that we can’t prevent these pests from crossing the river,” Dareios continued. Bessos harrumphed but then decided to keep his mouth shut as well. “This will give us a chance to recreate Kounaxa right here, on the eastern bank of the Tigris River.” A barely audible groan issued from the throats of some of the assembled commanders, who’d hoped they’d heard the last of Dareios’s historical lectures about the Battle of Kounaxa. “My scouts have already located a suitable plain a few miles to the north of here, between us and the enemy forces. We’ll march up there, prepare the field, and await their attack.”

  “What makes you think they’ll attack, your celestial brilliance?” Bessos asked.

  “Trust me, young man, they’ll attack.” Dareios’s equanimity was remarkable. All the assembled commanders were sure a cataclysmic outburst was about to erupt and were making mental wagers on whose head would be the first to roll when a guard climbed up to Dareios’s throne and whispered something in his ear. The emperor blanched and quickly descended from the raised platform. “We’ll reconvene soon.” He practically ran to his private tent.

  A fat eunuch, who’d been waiting in the tent, threw himself face first onto the plush carpeting when he heard the emperor’s approach and refused to get up, despite Dareios’s urging. When he finally rose to his knees, there were tears coursing down his cheeks. He cleared his throat, made several unsuccessful attempts at speech, before managing to croak out a single sentence: “Queen Stateira is dead.” Then he waited for the inevitable execution order.

  Dareios said nothing. He didn’t order the eunuch to be taken out and torn to pieces. He didn’t shout and scream. He didn’t descend into paroxysms of grief. He simply sat heavily on his chair, shoulders slumped, hands in his lap, head bowed, and thought. Eventually, he shook his head, looked up, and asked the eunuch to explain what had happened. The eunuch provided a brief description of Stateira’s gradual descent into physical perdition, of her final, losing struggle against dea
th, and of his own narrow escape from the camp near Tyros and the long, harrowing ride to Babylon and then on to Arbela. Dareios listened quietly, thanked the eunuch, and then dismissed him.

  *******

  Once upon a time, three hundred years before our arrival, Nineveh, on the eastern bank of the Tigris, was the largest city in the world. As a result, the Nineveh ford was, at that time, the most heavily trafficked crossing point across the river. Then, a combined army of Babylonians and Khaldaians sacked and destroyed the Assyrian capital, already weakened by a calamitous civil war. The ruins of Nineveh were deemed cursed by the gods, avoided by the natives, buried under accumulating layers of sand and soil, and gradually forgotten. Almost no one used the Nineveh ford any more. But it was supposed to be a shallow, safe, easy crossing point. Perhaps it was, most of the time, but not the day we reached it.

  The river seemed tranquil enough when the first infantry units waded in. But, as they trudged across, the water level was rising imperceptibly. Soon, the water midstream was up to their waists and exerting a noticeable tug against their legs. Our cavalry units rode in, downstream from the foot soldiers. Although it was not exactly an easy stroll for our steeds, because the riverbed was rocky and slippery, they experienced very little trouble at first. But the level and the force of the water continued to rise. Soon, the infantrymen were immersed up to their chests and had to link arms to avoid being swept downstream. The horses, water lapping at their bellies, were starting to get edgy.

  There must’ve been a tremendous deluge somewhere over the Anatolian highlands because soon we were caught in the middle of a turbulent torrent. The soldiers abandoned all encumbrances – their sacks, bundles, swords, shields, clothes – in an effort to escape from their would-be watery tomb. The horses were shying, whinnying, and drowning. I dove off Pandaros’s back, while clutching his reins, and we took turns pulling each other as we struggled to reach the distant shore.

  The men and the horses kept coming, even as the sun sank toward the horizon. The raging river gradually subsided overnight but, as the exhausted, sodden men mustered for the morning roll call, we still had no idea how many we’d lost. It turned out that, miraculously, all of our men and animals had made it across. We spent the rest of the day catching our breaths, fishing out the gear and the provisions we’d lost, and attempting to resume the semblance of an army. Alexandros presided over a service of thanksgiving to the local river goddess, who saved our lives but whose name I didn’t catch. He also dispatched foraging parties and small teams of scouts to ascertain the location of the enemy because the one thing about which Dareios was incontrovertibly correct was his belief that Alexandros had become obsessed with the idea of killing Dareios and thus wresting the Persian Empire from his grasp.

  On the other hand, Alexandros was in no hurry to engage the Persian army after the ordeal of our march across upper Mesopotamia and our harrowing crossing of the Tigris River. When we’d finished building our camp and surrounding it with a protective palisade, he announced a big feast for the next day, to be followed by four days of rest. The troops greeted his announcement with understandable enthusiasm.

  *******

  Dareios had a curious reaction to the news of his queen’s death. He didn’t display any overt signs of mourning. Such histrionics were, in his view, unmanly, especially with regard to the loss of a wife, when one had so many replacements ready at hand. His affect, however, was clearly subdued. He undoubtedly missed his number one wife, even though he hadn’t seen her in two years, but what enraged him was his inability to rescue her, or his mother, or his children, or all the other inmates of his harem who continued to languish in captivity. Even more depressing was the thought that perhaps he’d lost the favor of the gods.

  It was in this precarious state of mind that he resolved to take decisive action: He brought in his scribe and dictated one final peace offer. The offer was stunning in its generosity. He increased the proffered ransom payment to 30,000 talents, a cache of riches that may have exceeded the combined movable wealth of all the Greek cities of the Greek mainland, Ionia, and all the islands of the Aegean in between. He also offered to cede to Alexandros the entire western half of the Persian Empire, from the Mediterranean to the Euphrates River; to give him his daughter Stateira in marriage and to leave his son and heir Ochos in Alexandros’s hands as a permanent hostage, in effect making Alexandros the de facto heir to the Persian throne.

  When the scribe was done with his work, Dareios handed the message to two of his most trusted ambassadors and smuggled them out of the Persian camp. He neglected to confer with his command staff prior to sending his peace offer to Alexandros or to inform them of it afterward.

  *******

  The next morning, Aristandros discretely informed Alexandros that there would be a total eclipse of the moon that evening and tactfully suggested that the king might wish to address his soldiers ahead of the celestial display in order to forestall any potential panic in the ranks. Alexandros made the most of this intelligence. He rose to his feet, during the height of the promised feast, and made a stirring speech to the reveling troops, promising they would soon devour the entire Persian army, just as his celestial colleagues were planning to devour the moon that very evening.

  What the troops made of this unusual simile was hard to tell but there was no mistaking their reaction when, approximately two hours after sunset, a crescent shadow began to creep across the face of the full moon. A mighty roar rose in the camp, which continued to swell in volume and intensity, reaching a crescendo when, almost an hour later, the entire moon was swallowed by the shadow, turning the lunar disk a deep sanguinary shade of maroon. Any remaining doubts his soldiers might’ve entertained about the divine favor enjoyed by their commander were dispelled in that instant.

  The mighty Persians knights and their multitudinous local levies observed the same heavenly display in stunned and silent awe, wondering what this apocalyptic, otherworldly omen foretold about the outcome of their imminent encounter with the pan-Hellenic army. Dareios, who was not normally a superstitious man, trembled at this confirmation of his forebodings.

  *******

  I made a beeline to Aristandros’s tent shortly after the eclipse began. “How did you know?” I demanded as soon as I burst in.

  The great seer was lying on a straw pallet. He looked surprisingly frail. He really was aging at a precipitous pace. “It’s about time,” he cawed, then cleared his throat. “It’s about time you stopped by to look in on me.” His attempt at a grin resulted in a cross between a grimace and a glare.

  The transformation was stunning. What’s happened to the guy who’s been trying to kill me? I wondered. “You look well,” I lied.

  His laugh was short, harsh, and phlegmy. “You’re an awful liar, you know. And it doesn’t suit you. You’ve got many faults but habitual dishonesty isn’t one of them.”

  “Well, thank you for that. I wanted to ask you a question, though. How were you able to predict this lunar eclipse?”

  “It was obvious, if you knew where to look. The flight patterns of the birds, the coruscations of heavenly bodies, the convolutions of entrails ...”

  “Don’t give me that crap,” I interrupted. “Unlike some other people around here, I’ve never been taken in by your chicanery.”

  “You may call it chicanery but I did manage to predict the lunar eclipse right on the nose. So maybe my chicanery actually works.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said firmly. “There may be ways to predict lunar eclipses but divination isn’t one of them.”

  He looked at me curiously. “You’re an educated man, Ptolemaios, even though you do your best to hide it. So you know as well as I do that there are clay tablets at the ziggurat of Marduk in Babylon that list the daily motions of the sun and the moon.”

  “I’ve never been to Babylon.”

  “That’s not the point. As it happens, Marduk’s ziggurat is quite dilapidated by now because the Persian occupiers of Babylon aren
’t followers of that particular god and nobody looks at the ephemerides any more. The point is that the knowledge contained on those tablets has spread quite widely, even to the Greek world. And everybody knows there’s an observable periodicity to the motions of the sun and the moon. Once you have written down the daily motions for a number of years and discovered that periodicity and then perhaps confirmed your findings by observations recorded through a couple of more periods, you’re in a position to predict the daily motions of the sun and the moon for any date in the future.” His effusion was cut short by a coughing spell. After regaining his breath, he picked up just where he’d left off. “What’s more, when you know the daily motions, it’s equally easy to compute when these two heavenly bodies will be in conjunction or opposition. And when they’re in conjunction, you can expect a solar eclipse; when in opposition, a lunar one. There’s nothing to it. But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got to preserve my mystique.”

  I was unpersuaded. “Let’s let that one go. How about some of your other predictions? You’ve got an uncanny knack for getting stuff right. How do you do that?”

  “Haven’t you ever known that something was going to happen before it actually did?”

  Little do you know, I thought. Before it all went off the charts at Granikos, there were lots of events I knew were going to happen before they did. But that was because I was a time traveler and had read about those events in history books, before making my trip back to this era. “There’ve been times when I’ve had a hunch,” I admitted. “Although I seem to have lost my knack for hunches lately.”