Other blows on the trumpet came from the left and another wave of Parthian, Hyrcanian and Median horsemen set off forwards at full tilt to separate the marching battalions of Perdiccas and Meleager and the tail-end battalions of Simmias and Parmenion. Mazaeus was leading them! They burst through the infantry lines and set off like a swollen river towards the Macedonian camp. Parmenion shouted to Craterus, ‘Stop them! Set the Thessalians on them!’ and Craterus obeyed. He signalled to the trumpeters and they immediately sounded the charge for the two squadrons of Thessalian cavalry who were moving forwards out on the extreme left, the last reserves. The Thessalians cut off Mazaeus’s troops, engaging them in furious combat and Parmenion sent a unit of shieldsmen and shock troops in support.
‘They’re trying to free the royal family!’ he shouted. ‘Stop them at all costs!’ At that point the far end of the left wing was a tangle of infantry and horses engaged in a gory and cruel battle with each side seeking to inflict more devastating wounds on the other, fighting furiously over every scrap of ground.
Alexander heard the desperate sound of the trumpets, but he did not turn round. He looked at the standard-bearer and signalled to him to raise the standard so that everyone might see it. He then let loose his war cry, so powerful and sharp as to penetrate through the din of the battle that was raging all around. Bucephalas stamped, neighed and then the King’s shouting excited him to the point where he set off in a furious charge, hammering the earth with his bronze shoes, snorting like a wild beast. And the Vanguard flew behind him in a wild gallop. Five squadrons of hetairoi opened up in a wedge shape behind them, eating up the ground leading to the point where the Persian centre was detached from its own right wing, engaged in its wide surrounding manoeuvre.
‘Forward!’ shouted Alexander. ‘Forward!’ and he unsheathed his sword, attacking the Immortals who were defending the imperial chariot. The entire Macedonian cavalry kept up with him, wiping out anyone who attempted to get in their way. Bucephalas was so heavy and so fast that anyone who touched him even marginally was immediately thrown to the ground by the impetus and the mass of the giant stallion, all bedecked in leather and bronze. Led by the King, the Vanguard made an about turn now, then lined up on a much wider front in four lines, flanked to the right and left by the hetairoi squadrons, and off they went like an avalanche of iron on the flanks and the back of the Persian centre.
In the meantime, however, the Macedonian camp seemed almost lost and Mazaeus’s Kissean and Median horsemen galloped everywhere, setting fires, destroying, devastating everything, while another group set off towards the women’s quarters. The Thessalians fought like lions, but, outnumbered, they began to give way to the force of the Hyrcanian outfits. Parmenion could no longer make out how the battle was going and he himself fought wildly with his sword and his shield like a man in the full bloom of youth. Suddenly he saw an orderly passing nearby and shouted to him, ‘Run! Run to Alexander and tell him we cannot hold . . . we need help! Now! Go! Run!’ The man flew off on his horse. He jumped over upturned chariots and burning spears, passed by warriors still engaged in battle and reached the central area that was still relatively free, pushing his horse on towards the point in the distance where he could make out the Argead standard flying in the midst of the fury.
Darius’s guard was supported by numerous Greek mercenaries and took the full impact from behind and on its flanks, but although they fought valiantly, they were soon crushed by the unstoppable drive of Alexander’s troop. Hephaestion was at the King’s side, wielding his massive ash-wood spear, running through all those who came towards them on horseback. Leonnatus swirled his heavy axe already dripping blood, and Ptolemy and Lysimachus let loose furious blows with their sword and Thracian sabre respectively, protecting Alexander’s flanks and pushing back the continuous counterattack of the Greek mercenaries and the Immortals. No one wanted to give way, thinking that this really was the last chance to push back the enemy and save their lives and their homeland.
Out on the right wing, Bessus’s cavalry had clashed with the great mass of the Greek heavy infantry, but they continued to launch attack after attack, rhythmically, like great waves breaking against the rocks. The divisions out on the edge, having manoeuvred around the Greek lines, faced the Thracians defending the right-hand side of the camp, now in large part in enemy hands.
Indeed, out on the left wing the situation was desperate. Parmenion and his men were almost completely surrounded, but Perdiccas, Meleager and the others could offer no help because they had been ordered to charge with their spears lowered at the centre of Darius’s line, while the King’s cavalry maintained the pressure from behind and from the flank.
Mazaeus reached the Queen Mother’s tent and kneeled before her, breathless, saying, ‘Great Mother, quickly! You must follow me! It must be now, otherwise you will never be free and you will never hold power again. Let me lead you to your son, our King!’
The Queen made no move, however. She sat there on her throne, motionless, ‘I cannot follow you. I am too old to mount a horse. Leave me here to wait for the outcome of this day, according to the will of Ahura Mazda. Go, and waste no more time with me! Take the royal concubines with you, and their children, if you can.’
Mazaeus tried once more, ‘I implore you, Great Mother, I beg you!’ – but it was all in vain. The Queen did not move at all.
At that moment not far away, a young warrior burst into another tent, the tent in which Barsine was waiting for the end of the frightful battle. He took his helmet off, freeing his shining locks and shouted, ‘Mother! Quickly! I have come to free you! Quickly . . . let’s go! Take a horse and follow me! Where is my brother?’
‘Eteocles!’ Barsine shouted, shocked at the sight of him there in her tent. ‘My son!’ and she ran forwards to embrace him, but at that very same moment two Agrianians arrived brandishing their long knives – they had received orders not to allow anyone to touch Alexander’s woman. Eteocles unsheathed his sword and took up position before them, trying to push them back, but he was just a boy and there was not enough strength in his blows. One of the Agrianians struck his arm and his weapon fell to the ground, while the other unleashed the mortal blow. Barsine threw herself forwards, shouting, ‘No! He is my son!’ and was caught in full by the blade – she fell to the ground instantly. Eteocles, although wounded, set about attacking one of the two soldiers, bravely wielding his dagger, but the Agrianian simply dodged the blow and replied with deadly precision. The boy fell on to the lifeless body of his mother and breathed his last breath over her.
The valiant Thessalians had been driven out of the camp by now and Mazaeus’s troops were about to set off towards the centre of the battlefield to take the pezhetairoi and the Thracian infantry from behind, the units that were still putting up a fight against Bessus’s cavalry. They thought they had already won the battle, but all of a sudden there came a trumpet blast and then the shouts of thousands of warriors: ‘Alalalài!’
At that moment, from the road leading from the river, there appeared three squadrons of newly recruited Thessalian and Macedonian cavalry who had crossed the ford during the night. Craterus, wounded in an arm and exhausted by the fighting, grabbed a standard and held it high as soon as he saw them, shouting, ‘Men! Over here!’ Then he took the reins of a riderless horse as it passed by, leaped astride it and set off towards them. They had opened up across a wide front and were coming forwards at a charge. Craterus took up position at their head, leading them against the Medians and the Hyrcanians, against Mazaeus’s Kisseans and Assyrians, engaging them in a new and brutal duel.
The progress of the battle began to alter now – Alexander moved ever more menacingly towards the enemy’s centre and he could make out Darius atop his war chariot. The King of Macedon took a javelin from its holder and took aim. Protected by his companions, he let it fly with all his might, missing Darius, but striking the chariot driver and killing him instantly. The horses started galloping wildly towards the northern edge of
the field and when Darius managed to grab the reins he continued to guide them at furious speed away from the battle. The Immortals, heedless of the King’s retreat, continued to fight with unrelenting fury, fully aware that there was no escape for them; only late in the afternoon did they begin to give way, completely exhausted.
News spread that the Great King was in fact dead and many other divisions took flight. Bessus instead received news from a messenger that Darius had abandoned the battlefield and he immediately stopped all of the attacks against the Greeks on the left wing. Afraid that the emperor’s rigid tiara might fall into Macedonian hands, he set off with his horsemen to look for the fleeing King, perhaps to protect him, perhaps, given the way events were moving, to take on the role of sole arbiter of Darius’s destiny.
Mazaeus, who had been so close to victory, now found himself stuck between the Thessalian and the Macedonian reinforcements and the battalions of Perdiccas and Parmenion who had started counterattacking once again, and he surrendered.
14
ALEXANDER RODE THROUGH what was left of the Macedonian camp, amidst the fires and the devastation, through the acrid smoke that hung in the thick, motionless air. He sought out Barsine’s tent, but all that came to him as he approached was the crying of a young boy – Phraates was mourning over the bodies of his mother and his brother, lying together in their final embrace.
The King dismounted and approached, ‘O gods above!’ he shouted, his eyes full of tears. ‘Why? Why such a bitter end for such blameless creatures?’
He knelt down alongside the two blood-covered bodies and first laid out Eteocles as best he could manage, covering the boy with his cloak. Then he approached Barsine, freeing her face of her hair and gently caressing her forehead. Her eyes still bore the sheen of her final tears and they appeared to be staring towards some far off point in the sky where the cries of the furore could no longer reach her, the cries of the hatred and the horror – these were eyes that seemed to have searched long and hard for some cherished dream that had now suddenly dissolved into nothing.
The unreal silence that had fallen on the devastated camp made the boy’s desolate crying even more harrowing. Alexander turned towards the youngster who was sobbing away with his hands covering his face.
‘Do not cry,’ he said. ‘Do not cry for you are the Son of Memnon of Rhodes. Take heart, little one, take heart.’
But Phraates continued to repeat through the tears: ‘Why is my mother dead? Why is my brother dead?’ And not even the most powerful king on earth could give him an answer; he simply asked, Who killed your mother, Phraates? Tell me and I will avenge her death. Tell me, I beg you.’
The boy sought to reply through the tears and pointed to a group of Agrianians who were stripping the body of a Persian horseman. Alexander understood. He realized that his own orders to protect Barsine at all costs had caused her death and the death of Eteocles.
A group of bearers escorted by a patrol of pezhetairoi came by at that moment to collect the dead and they approached to take Eteocles’ body, but when they moved to take Barsine the King sent them away. He himself lifted her up in his arms and carried her into his tent which the fire had spared. He laid her down on his bed, arranged her hair, caressed her pale cheeks and gently kissed her bloodless lips. Finally he closed her eyes and whispered, ‘Sleep now, my Love.’ Then he took Phraates by the hand and went outside.
The soldiers had returned from the battlefield and their victory cries were resounding throughout the camp. The prisoners were all thrown into a stockade – the Greeks on one side, the Barbarians on the other. Hephaestion arrived and embraced him, ‘I am sorry for her and her son – such a tragedy should have been avoided. It is clear that Mazaeus had orders to break through our left side and then free Darius’s family, and he came close to succeeding – Parmenion is wounded, as are Perdiccas and Craterus, and we have suffered many fatalities.’
At that moment the women of the Great King’s harem with their children and the Queen Mother were being escorted towards a more peaceful spot where a new pavilion had been erected. Hephaestion saw Callisthenes in the group, followed by a pair of servants carrying his chests full of papyrus manuscripts and his personal effects.
Alexander acknowledged them with a nod and then turned again to his friend to ask, ‘How many?’
‘Very many. At least two thousand it seems, if not more, but the Persians too have suffered heavy losses. There are thousands and thousands of bodies scattered all over the plain and others are being killed as I speak by our cavalry who gave them chase.’
‘And Darius?’
‘He fled together with Bessus, probably towards Susa or Persepolis, I’m not sure. But we have taken Mazaeus.’
Alexander thought to himself for a moment and then asked, ‘Is there news of Artabazos?’
‘I think I saw him among the Persian notables who have been captured. He’s with Mazaeus, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Take me to him.’
‘But Alexander, the men are waiting to see you, to hear your victory speech . . . they fought like lions.’
‘Take me to him, Hephaestion, and give orders to someone to take care of them,’ he said, pointing to Barsine and Eteocles; at that moment the bearers were laying the son alongside his mother. Then he turned to Phraates, ‘Come with me.’
The Persian leaders – satraps, generals and relatives of the Great King – had all been gathered by Eumenes in a place far from the battlefield and quartered in the great tent of the war council. The Secretary had also given orders that all those in need of medical care should be treated by the army surgeons and physicians, who also had to take care of the hundreds of wounded crying out for help as they lay in the field.
Alexander entered and all the Persians bowed, but some of them went further, moving towards him, bending over to the point where their foreheads almost touched the ground, and then bringing their right hands to their lips to send him a kiss.
‘What’s this?’ Alexander asked Eumenes.
‘It’s Persian protocol – a special kiss reserved only for the emperor himself. In Greek we call it proskynesis. It means that these men recognize you as their legitimate sovereign, the Great King, the King of Kings.’
Alexander in the meantime had not let go of Phraates’ hand and he sought one particular face among all those present. Then he said, ‘This boy is called Phraates and he is the son of Memnon of Rhodes and Barsine. The war has taken both parents from him, together with his brother Eteocles.’ As he spoke he saw the eyes of an elderly dignitary at the back of the tent begin to fill with tears and he understood that this was the man he was looking for. ‘My hope is,’ he began again, ‘that among you is his grandfather, the Satrap Artabazos, the last member of his family left alive. My hope is that he will take care of Phraates.’
The old man stepped forward and said in Persian, ‘I am the boy’s grandfather. You may entrust him to me, if you so wish.’
As soon as the interpreter had finished translating, Alexander bent over Phraates who was drying his face with the sleeve of his tunic, ‘Look, your grandfather is here. Go to him.’
The boy looked at Alexander with his eyes still full of tears and murmured, ‘Thank you.’ Then he ran to the old man who fell to his knees and held him tight. A hush fell on all those present and they moved aside, clearing a pathway between Alexander and the far end of the tent so that for a moment all that could be heard were the sobs of the boy and the quiet crying of the elderly satrap. Alexander himself felt much moved and turned to Eumenes and said, ‘Leave them now to their grief, then arrange for Barsine’s funeral according to her father’s wishes and tell him that he will be reinstated as governor of Pamphylia. He will keep all his privileges and properties and he may educate the child as he thinks fit.’
Then another person attracted his attention – a seasoned warrior who was still wearing his armour and still carried signs of the battle on his body and on his face.
‘That is Mazaeus,
’ Eumenes whispered in his ear. Alexander whispered something in return and left.
He went back to the centre of the camp and was welcomed by the ovation of the entire army, assembled on six lines and accompanied by all their officers, both infantry and cavalry. Parmenion, even though wounded, gave the command for them to present arms and the hetairoi lifted their spears while the pezhetairoi presented their enormous sarissae, which all clanged together. His companions were there too, standing proudly to salute, and Craterus and Perdiccas displayed the wounds they had received on the battlefield.
The King rode Bucephalas over to a small rise and from this natural podium he turned to his army to thank them and to salute them: ‘Men!’ he shouted, and immediately a deep silence fell, broken only by the crackling of the last fires on the field. ‘Men! Evening approaches and, as I promised, we are victorious!’
A great cheer exploded from one end of the camp to the other and a powerful rhythmic chant began, becoming progressively stronger and clearer in the midst of the din made by the clanging arms, reaching up to the sky: ‘Alexandre! Alexandre! Alexandre!’
‘I wish to thank our Thessalian friends and the other Macedonian horsemen who came to us from across the sea today, just in time to take part in the battle and turn it about. I was anxiously waiting for you, men!’ The Thessalians and the Macedonians from the new squadrons replied with a cheer. ‘And I also wish to thank our Greek allies who held firm out on the right – I know it wasn’t easy!’ The Greeks began beating their swords against their shields. ‘Now,’ he began again, ‘all Asia is ours, with all its treasures and its wonders; there is no feat that is beyond us, there is no wonder we cannot work, there are no frontiers we cannot cross. I will lead you to the ends of the earth. Are you ready to follow me, men?’
Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) Page 9