Conquest of Persia

by Alexander Geiger

  “Well, there you have it. The only difference between you and me is that you’ve lost your ability to have accurate hunches and I haven’t. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m getting awfully tired.” He coughed again, as if to emphasize his point.

  “May I ask one more question before I go?”

  “Well, alright. What is it?”

  “Do you ever worry that, by making a prediction, you’re actually altering the outcome?”

  Another long pause. “If one accurately predicts what was going to happen anyway, how is the prediction changing anything? I’m not a god, you know. I don’t make things happen or keep things from happening. I just read the will of the gods and convey it to others.”

  “We’re not talking about gods.” My tone was sharper than I’d intended. “It just seems to me that by predicting victory, for example, you give the fighters confidence, so they prevail where otherwise they might have faltered.”

  “Well, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got the sequence backward. I know they’re going to win before I make my prediction of victory. Then, when they go ahead and do it, as I knew they would, nothing’s been altered by my prediction.” And then he added something that froze me midthought. “Unlike some people, I have scrupulously refrained from interfering in any way. On the contrary, I’ve tried to obviate the interference of others. So no, I’ve never altered the outcome of a battle. And now, I really must insist. Please leave me alone.”

  I stumbled out of his tent. Could this old charlatan have figured me out? No, that was inconceivable.

  Chapter 8 – Gaugamela

  Dareios did not assume that his peace offer, breathtakingly generous as it was, would be accepted by Alexandros. On the contrary, he continued to make his preparations for battle, just in case.

  His scouts had located a suitable battlefield near the village of Gaugamela. It was a broad, level, recently harvested plain, with nary a stream or hillock to hinder the free play of his cavalry. There would be no Gulf of Issos against which Alexandros could anchor the end of his line nor any foothills of the Amanos Mountains. No, this time the ends of the enemy line would simply dangle in the open plain, unanchored and unprotected. There would be nothing that Alexandros could do to prevent Dareios’s knights from riding around the ends of the Greek line, enveloping it, and destroying the pan-Hellenic army to the last man. Dareios smiled at the thought.

  He sent out swarms of sappers to remove every last tree and brush from his chosen theater of history. He even had them raze every slight bump in the terrain and fill in every tiny gully. The stage for the great Persian victory would be as smooth and level as the granite floor of the Great Hall in the Babylon Palace.

  There were a few hills to the north of the battlefield but Dareios ignored them. The fight would take place in the plain, well short of those hills. Alexandros’s scouts, on the other hand, swarmed all over them. They provided excellent vantage points from which to observe Dareios’s meticulous preparations.

  *******

  Alexandros was in his command tent, receiving the reports of his scouts, when the arrival of the Persian ambassadors was announced.

  “Let them wait. And keep them cooped up in a tent far from here. I don’t need Dareios’s agents spying on us and eavesdropping on our conversations.”

  Our commander wasn’t in a good mood. He was sick and tired of listening to the exaggerations and fantastic tales of his scouts. The numbers they were reporting for the enemy strength were absurd: More than a hundred thousand foot soldiers, perhaps two hundred thousand; plus, at least fifty thousand mounted warriors. And the descriptions of Dareios’s preparations were just as risible. Battles were not fought on polished stages. There were always local quirks and contours to notice and exploit.

  Finally, he sent an aide to retrieve whatever letter the ambassadors had brought. “There’s no need for them to enter. I can read the Persian coward’s insults for myself.”

  After a brief glance, he read the letter out loud, for all of us to hear. It made no difference what Dareios had to say, as far as Alexandros was concerned. He’d been dreaming about this pivotal battle since he was a child listening to Homeros’s tales of rollicking exploits by ancient heroes. No peace offer was going to deprive him of his glory now.

  To the rest of us in the tent, however, Alexandros’s adamant refusal to negotiate with Dareios amounted to a rejection of spectacular victory in order to achieve total defeat. When Philippos first conceived the notion of attacking the Persian Empire, the most he expected to gain was control of the Greek cities of Ionia. When Alexandros inherited his father’s cause, he enlarged the mission to encompass the conquest of the Persian maritime provinces. No one, not even Alexandros, expected to gain half the Persian Empire, with the possibility of inheriting the other half upon Dareios’s death, when we’d crossed the Hellespont three and a half years earlier. The idea of small, poor, backward Macedonia ruling over the greatest, strongest, most advanced empire on Earth was dizzying.

  We were all thinking exactly the same thing but no one wanted to be the first to speak. Finally, Parmenion cleared his throat. “If I were Alexandros,” he said, “I would accept this offer.”

  “So would I, if I were Parmenion,” was the lighthearted response.

  And with that, we were dismissed to begin preparations for battle.

  *******

  We marched to within eight miles of the Persian camp the following day, stopping just short of the chain of hills that marked the northern extreme of Dareios’s chosen battlefield. We couldn’t see or hear the enemy but old veterans swore they could smell them. Alexandros ordered us to make a fortified camp and then gave the men two more days of rest. “The Persians aren’t going anywhere,” he informed us. “Let them stew in their own terrified sweat for a while longer.”

  On our second rest day, Alexandros rode out to the prospective battleground, accompanied only by a small contingent of his cavalry commanders. Prancing back and forth on his magnificent Boukephalas, almost within javelin range of the enemy, wearing his finest armor and helmet, with its distinctive white plume streaming in the breeze, he left little doubt as to his identity in the minds of the astonished Persian commanders who carefully observed his every step. However, his insolent insouciance was only a cover for the real purpose of his jaunt. While appearing to meander aimlessly across Dareios’s manicured martial stage, he carefully examined every inch of the terrain. And the Persians simply watched, either too stunned or too scared to intervene.

  That evening, Alexandros staged another magnificent feast. All the requisite rituals were observed, of course, all the deities propitiated, prayers recited, and paeans sung. A stooped and languorous Aristandros, dressed in sparkling white as usual, a sacred bough in his hand, his head covered and veiled, read the entrails and announced, in a weak but self-assured voice, that the pan-Hellenic army would achieve a signal and historic victory. Alexandros then concluded the ceremonies by telling his men that no mere Persians could withstand the might of their arms; that they stood on the threshold of immortality; that their deeds would be celebrated in the songs of bards. And then he told them to get a good night’s sleep. He retired to his command tent, signaling to his officers to follow.

  “We must attack tonight,” Parmenion urged him as soon as everyone was inside. “The enemy has overwhelming numerical advantage and they have chosen the perfect location to deploy it. If we attack under cover of darkness and surprise them, we might have a chance.”

  Alexandros had no patience for the old general. “We’re not going to surprise anybody. There are Persian spies all around us. Plus, anything can happen in the chaos of a nighttime battle. In fact, the cover of darkness would simply neutralize the superiority of our soldiers and the composure of our commanders, giving the enemy the edge, precisely because there are more of them. In any event, I wouldn’t have it said that I stole victory like a thief in the night.”

  Parmenion was reduced to silence by this outburst.


  “But you’ve given me an idea, old man.” Alexandros’s tone grew more cheerful. “Let’s make the Persians think we’re going to attack tonight. Organize enough of a feint by your men to send all those Persian spies running to their emperor.”

  And so it was that, while our men slept, dreaming of victory, Dareios’s serried soldiers, weighed down by their armor, spent the night standing on the battlefield, awaiting an attack that never materialized.

  Alexandros didn’t sleep, either. He made his way, alone, to the top of the tallest hill overlooking the battlefield and studied the disposition of the enemy forces. Although it was a cloudless night, under a bright, gibbous moon, Alexandros had a difficult time crediting the evidence of his own eyes. The reports he’d received from his scouts weren’t an exaggeration. On the contrary, the actual numbers arrayed below him far exceeded even the most extravagant estimates of his scouts.

  Most striking was the size of the Persian cavalry. The Immortals had been transformed from foot soldiers into mounted knights. The 11,000-member Persian heavy infantry had become part of an incredible body of 34,000 cavalrymen, each resplendent in chain mail that dazzled even in the moonlight, astride steeds that were themselves clad in armor, each knight equipped with javelins, swords, and long daggers. They occupied the middle of the Persian formation, with Dareios clearly visible in his oversized chariot, standing precisely in the center of his enormous host, a little behind the front of the line. The Persian heavy cavalry was further augmented by the fierce mounted warriors of Baktria, Parthia, Sousiana, Arachosia, and Skythia. Dareios had at his disposal more horsemen than Alexandros had soldiers in all branches of his army combined.

  But Dareios’s army didn’t end with the cavalry. There were, of course, the two hundred scythed chariots, idling at the moment in front of the line, a little to the left of center. Alexandros smiled at the effort and expense wasted on the construction and outfitting of these antiquated fighting vehicles. He was confident his veteran soldiers would be able to deal with them. Dareios, on the other hand, must have placed great hopes in their efficacy because he stationed elements of the Persian heavy cavalry as well as squadrons of allied light cavalry directly behind the chariots. Presumably, the plan was to launch the chariots and then send in the cavalry to exploit any gaps in the Greek line that resulted.

  Arrayed behind the seemingly endless line of cavalry, a second line, comprised of foot soldiers, stood through the night, in their massed units, under arms. Although Alexandros held these conscripted infantrymen in low regard, he couldn’t ignore the fact that there must have been close to 200,000 of them. His effort to survey their formations was hampered by the cavalry shield massed in front of them but he was fairly confident, nevertheless, that he could identify, on the left end of this second line, a few squadrons of Karian infantry, led by their deposed king Orontobates. There were also a few Persian levies, under the command of Ariobarzanes, supported by two battalions of Mardians and Sogdians. He also saw, in the center of this second line, behind the formidable Persian cavalry and behind Dareios’s chariot, a brigade of Greek mercenaries. They were flanked, on either side, by hordes of Indians in their colorful outfits. Farther from the center stood the so-called “lesser” Armenians, Babylonians, Medes, Phrygians, and Parthians, each nationality led by its own native commanders. The right side of the infantry formation consisted of conscripted levies of “greater” Armenians, Kadusians, Syrians, more Medes, Kappadokians, and other nationalities that Alexandros couldn’t identify. The double Persian line stretched some three miles across the battlefield.

  Alexandros’s army numbered some 47,000 soldiers, including 7,500 horsemen, 29,500 heavy infantrymen and 10,000 light auxiliaries. His infantry line would be hard-pressed to stretch to a mile, even if he thinned their ranks and cut their files to a minimum. It was obvious that, no matter what he did, he couldn’t prevent his line from being outflanked. Somehow, his 7,500 horsemen were supposed to prevent the elite heavy Persian knights, supported by countless savage horsemen of the steppes, from riding around the ends of his line and attacking his infantry from the rear, while the front of his line would be attacked by the 200 chariots and the remaining mounted warriors, followed by an onslaught of 200,000 infantrymen. Obviously, the plan was to outflank his army, pin it down, disrupt its cohesion, envelop it, and then destroy it in detail. It would’ve been obvious to any other commander that there was no conceivable way for his troops to prevail in the coming contest but the thought never crossed Alexandros’s mind.

  Alexandros remained on the hill, staring at the enemy, until he came up with a battle plan. By the time he stumbled back into his private tent and fell asleep, the first streamers of dawn were beginning to unfurl in the eastern sky. He slept soundly, dreamlessly, and restfully, notwithstanding the clamor and tumult of the camp awakening around him.

  All the soldiers knew this was the day of decision. They awoke early and consumed a hearty breakfast, washed down with copious amounts of wine. It was a measure of their sang-froid that they were able to keep their food down but they were all chattering excitedly, polishing their armor, sharpening their swords, getting themselves organized in their units, champing at the bit. All they were missing was the order to move out.

  Their commander was still asleep. We had spent half the morning peering into his tent but nothing would disturb the young man’s untroubled slumber. Finally, Parmenion could wait no longer and gently shook Alexandros awake.

  “Your troops are ready, sire.”

  “So am I, Parmenion, so am I. Get everybody organized while I grab a quick breakfast. Then, as we’re marching out, I’ll explain how we’ll annihilate these barbarians.”

  *******

  When Alexandros explained his battle plan to us, his commanders, it seemed, at first blush, insane. His plan was to invite the Persians to outflank our line.

  “There’s no way we can stop him from outflanking us on that polished plane of his.” He seemed awfully cheerful about it. “First of all, their line is three times longer than ours will be and there’s nothing we can do about it. Trust me, they’ve been standing there all night, so I know exactly how long their line is. I also know how far we can lengthen our line and it isn’t going to stretch to three miles. You can only stretch a catgut so far before it snaps.

  “Second, there are no natural barriers we can use to anchor the ends of our line, no mountains or shorelines, no woods or defiles.

  “Third, they’ve got seven or eight times as many mounted warriors as we do, most of them of the heavily armored variety. I know you guys are ten times better than they are but it’d be a tough slog if we tried to take them head on. So realistically, we can’t stop them in their tracks, which means we can’t stop them from riding around the ends of our line.

  “Now, when it comes to infantry, they only outnumber us about six to one and we all know their infantry is mostly worthless. Unfortunately, Dareios is hiding his infantry behind his cavalry and behind those stupid chariots of his, so there’s no easy way for our infantry to engage theirs.

  “So, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll invite that huge cavalry swarm to attack our infantry. That’s right boys. The infantry is just going to have to stand there and take it. In fact, the more of their knights who decide to ride around the ends of our line and attack our infantry from the sides and from the rear, the better.

  “After their knights are all engaged trying to cut our infantry to ribbons, our cavalry will ride out through the middle and kill Dareios. And that’ll be the end of the fight,” he concluded matter-of-factly.

  The battle plan made no sense. It fell to Parmenion, as usual, to give voice to what we were all thinking. “But sire.” He spoke as deferentially as he could manage given his evident concern that our commander-in-chief had taken leave of his senses. “Sire, he’s got enough cavalry to shred our infantry to mincemeat and still keep more than enough of his knights around his person to prevent our cavalry from ever getting close enough to ruff
le his hair.”

  “And that’s exactly why we’re going to make our infantry units look so weak and vulnerable and isolated and engulfed that the Persian heavy cavalry won’t be able to resist the temptation to pile into the attack. And guess what, Parmenion. You’ll get to command the left wing of our infantry while they’re getting turned into mincemeat, as you so colorfully put it.”

  Parmenion was speechless.

  Alexandros continued undeterred. “Don’t look so doubtful, old man. It’s a good plan and it will work. Trust me; this is the son of Ammon speaking.

  “Now, let me give you the detailed dispositions.”

  *******

  At first glance, Alexandros’s order of battle didn’t strike us as particularly unusual. He assigned half of our heavy infantry, including all the allied hoplites and all the Greek mercenaries, to the left wing of the line, placing them under Krateros’s command. (This would’ve been quite a plum assignment for the young, recently arrived commander, had he been tasked with something other than serving as bait on this particular day.) He also assigned most of the allied cavalry, including the veteran Thessalians, to the left wing, plus the Kretan archers and some light-armed Illirians and Thrakians. Parmenion was placed in overall command of the left wing, as usual.

  The right wing consisted of three phalanxes of veteran Macedonian heavy infantry, commanded by Polyperchon, Melenger, and Koinos, respectively. The elite Silver Shields, under the command of Parmenion’s son Nikanoros, were also assigned to the right wing, as were the remaining archers and the light-armed Agrianians. In additional, several squadrons of allied cavalry, including the splendid Paionians, were also placed on the right. Perdikkas was named the overall commander of the right wing.

  The Companion Cavalry, with squadrons commanded by Alexandros, Philotas, me, Seleukos, Kleitos, and Kleandros were to be stationed on the right, behind the infantry line, ready to pounce at Alexandros’s command.