Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy)

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  There was a deep silence across the entire plateau, the only sound being the light whistle of the wind as it blew over the imposing solitary tomb. At that moment there came to Alexander a sharp feeling of a sense of the evanescent nature of human destiny, of the ephemeral procession of events. Empires grew and collapsed to make way for others that in their turn would become great and powerful and then dissolve into oblivion. Was immortality simply a dream? He felt his mother’s presence, so strong it was as though he could virtually touch her, all he had to do was stretch out his hand towards the dark wall of the sanctuary. And he thought he heard her voice saying, ‘You will not die, Alexandre . . .’

  He turned, went out on to the terrace at the top of the steps, breathed the dry, fragrant air of the great plateau and felt himself being flooded by that most clear of lights. When he lowered his gaze to start moving down once more, he saw Aristander who appeared to be waiting for him.

  What are you doing here, Aristander?’ he asked.

  ‘I have heard a voice.’

  ‘So have I, my mother’s voice.’

  ‘Be careful, Alexandre, remember what happened to Achilles,’ Aristander warned him, and he moved off, the wind making his cape flap and snap like a flag.

  On the following day they crossed the territory of a tribe who were vassals to the Great King and they quashed them, but a little further on, while they climbed up even higher towards the Median highlands, a message arrived from Eumolpus of Soloi:

  King Darius is in Ecbatana, from where he is trying to assemble an army of Scythians and Kadusians, paying them with the treasure from the royal palace. He has sent the harem to the east through the Caspian Gates. It is urgent that you reach the city as soon as possible, otherwise you will have to engage in a tough battle the outcome of which is most uncertain – the Scythians and the Kadusians are indefatigable horsemen and are truly formidable opponents. They never attackfrontally, but carry out incursions and make use of decoying techniques, disorientating the enemy and tiring them out with continual attacks and retreats. Remember that Cyrus and Darius the Great were also defeated by the Scythians.

  On reading the message Alexander decided to set off immediately with the cavalry and the infantry ready for battle, entrusting the convoy with the supplies and all the treasure to Parmenion who had only three battalions of pezhetairoi and one of light Thracian and Triballian infantry. There was just one capital left to conquer now.

  Thus they began climbing up through the mountains at double-quick pace, moving along the valleys and the rivers when possible, which made their passage easier. The landscape was increasingly dramatic due to the violent colours, the mountainous outcrops as black as basalt and the snowy peaks that shone like sapphires under the sun. Down below was the golden tawny colour of the desert, unfolding into the distance and dotted here and there with green splashes, like islands – oases with their villages of peasants and shepherds. Other villages stood on the sides of the valleys, close to the springs and the brooks from which the purest water flowed, and when the army passed the people came out of their houses and their huts to look at the foreigners on horseback without trousers and with wide-brimmed hats on their heads.

  Here and there large stone towers standing on terraces rose up out of the highland plains – towers of silence on which the inhabitants of those lands had exposed their dead to let them dissolve into nature, contaminating neither soil nor fire – and Alexander thought of Barsine, placed on a rough tumulus out in the harsh desert of Gaugamela. He thought of young Phraates who had returned to Pamphylia with his grandfather, their family’s only survivors. What was going through the adolescent boy’s mind at that moment? Dreams? The will to vengeance? Or the simple melancholy of an orphan?

  It took ten days’ march along increasingly narrow valleys before they came into sight of the splendour of Ecbatana, surrounded by a crown of snow-capped mountains and a green valley. The upper edge of the walls and the battlements, decorated with blue tiles and with gold leaf, shone like a pendant on a queen’s forehead while the pinnacles and the spires of the palaces and the sanctuaries, all dressed in pure gold, glittered brightly. Alexander recalled his conversation with the Persian guest in the palace at Pella as though it had taken place just the previous day. For him back then, when little more than a child, it had all seemed like some tale of fantasy: he had looked into the man’s deep black eyes, studied his black, curly beard, his ceremonial solid-gold sword and he had seemed to be an unreal being, a messenger from some realm of stories. Now, here, that legendary city lay before him.

  With him was Oxhatres, son of Mazaeus, the Satrap of Babylonia, and the King’s cousin on his mother’s side, a young and ambitious man who burned with the desire to prove himself in the eyes of the new Lord. He spurred on his horse, approached the walls and exchanged a few words with the sentries. Then he turned to Alexander to tell him in his uncertain, but now comprehensible Greek: ‘Great King Darius gone. He no fight, he run with treasure and with army.’

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘That way,’ replied the young man, pointing northwards. ‘Satrap surrenders.’

  Alexander nodded and gave the signal to the army to follow him to the gates of the city which were opening at that very moment. Everyone followed in perfect order because by this time the stiffest discipline had been reestablished and the slightest violations were punished with the whip or even worse.

  Parmenion, with his troops and the caravan, arrived two days later, as evening was falling, but it took five days and five nights for him to enter, unload and then leave through the other side with the twenty thousand beasts of burden which had carried the one hundred and twenty thousand talents of the royal treasure – on average seven talents each, a terrible weight which had slowed down the march of the animals considerably.

  When the operation was completed and the troops billeted in the camp outside the city, Alexander invited the old general to supper. It was a very light meal, frugal even, and at table there was no wine, only water. He must be doing penance for the excesses of Persepolis, Parmenion thought to himself as he bit into a piece of Persian bread that had been baked in the embers of a fire.

  ‘What can you tell me of my cousin, Prince Amyntas?’ Alexander began. ‘I wonder if I can trust him now, or whether I should still keep him under surveillance.’

  ‘Has nothing turned up in the royal archives?’

  ‘It will take months, if not years, to check the royal archives. Up to now, as far as I know, Eumenes has not found anything regarding the assassination of my father, or any possible collusion between Amyntas and Darius. I think in any case that it makes sense to tread carefully and to keep the surveillance in place.’

  Alexander took a sip of water, then began again, changing subject now: ‘I am sorry that we have not always seen eye to eye . . .’

  ‘I have always told you what I think, Sire, just as I used to do with your father.’

  ‘I know, but now I want you to listen,’ said Alexander as the cook served beans, greens and cups of curdled milk which had an acid taste. ‘I will pursue Darius until I find him and I will force him into the final battle, after which this empire will be ours completely.

  ‘To do this I need someone here, in Ecbatana, someone who will watch my back and guarantee contact with Macedonia – supplies, reinforcements, and all the rest, as well as guarding over the royal treasure. You are that man, General, the only man I can trust. As for administration, I will give that job to Harpalus. He is a good man and Eumenes holds him in high esteem. Well then, what do you say?’

  ‘I understand. I am too old and you no longer want me on the battlefield; you’re putting me out to grass and—’

  ‘Of course you’re old, General,’ replied Alexander with a strange smile, and then, almost shouting, ‘Given that today is your seventieth birthday!’

  At those words a rowdy chorus of male voices resounded from behind the tent:

  The silly old soldier’s off to the war
<
br />   And falls to the floor, falls to the floor!

  And all Alexander’s Companions, together with Philotas, Eumenes and his assistant Harpalus burst into the tent, carrying a roast calf on their shoulders, an enormous crater full of wine, a skewer of partridges and two of pheasants, chickens and geese, and great quantities of other food of all types. Even Parmenion’s second son, Nicanor, had been invited.

  Leonnatus threw the beans and the curdled milk to the floor as he shouted, ‘Enough of this rubbish! Let’s eat, give everybody eat!’

  Parmenion was much moved to see that they had prepared such a feast for him and turned discreetly to dry his eyes. Alexander came to him holding a sealed roll of papyrus sheets in his hand: ‘This is my birthday present for you, General,’ and he handed it to him with a smile.

  Parmenion opened and read it without any difficulty because it had all been written in block letters – the King had made him a present of a beautiful palace at Susa, another in Babylon and a third one in Ecbatana, and besides this there were gifts of huge estates in Macedonia, Lyncestis and Eordaea, and a life pension of five hundred talents. The next sheet bore the nomination of his son Philotas as commander of all the cavalry. Then came the royal seal with the countersignature, ‘Eumenes of Cardia, Secretary General’.

  ‘Sire, I . . .’ began Parmenion, his voice trembling, but the King stopped him. ‘Don’t say another word, General. All this is so much less than you deserve, and we all hope that you will be with us to enjoy it all until you are over a hundred years old. As for your role, it is the most important and crucial position east of the Straits and you are the only person I can fully trust.’

  Parmenion passed the sheet bearing the nomination as commander of the cavalry to his son Philotas and said, ‘Look at this, my son, just look at this. Come now, show it to your brother.’

  The King embraced the General while all the companions applauded and the party went on into the night. It was getting on towards the second watch by the time they all reached their beds, every one of them drunk, including Parmenion.

  27

  ALEXANDER WANTED THEIR stay in Ecbatana to be as brief as possible and to set off immediately on the chase for Darius, but there were so many things to sort out and so many letters to write: to his mother who continued to complain about how she was treated by Antipater, to Antipater who had won the war with Sparta but was still very critical of Olympias, and then to all his satraps and governors.

  ‘How do you intend to solve this problem between the Regent and your mother?’ Eumenes asked him as he sealed the letter. ‘You cannot carry on pretending there’s nothing wrong.’

  ‘No, I cannot, but Antipater has to realize that one of my mother’s tears is worth more than a thousand of his letters.’

  ‘This simply isn’t fair,’ replied Eumenes. ‘The Regent bears the greatest of responsibilities and he needs peace of mind.’

  ‘He holds all the power and my mother, in the end, is the Queen of Macedonia: you have to consider her position as well.’

  Eumenes shook his head as he realized there was nothing to be done. Indeed, the King hadn’t seen his mother now for four years and it was understandable that he only remembered her good points. He also missed his sister Cleopatra a great deal, and often wrote to her.

  When they had finished with the correspondence, Alexander said, ‘I have decided to dismiss the Greek allies.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Eumenes.

  ‘The pan-Hellenic league is once again firmly in our hands and we have enough money here to sign up any army we may need. Furthermore, the Greeks, once they reach home, will recount everything they have seen and done and this will greatly influence the people, much more than the History that Callisthenes is writing.’

  ‘But they are excellent soldiers and—’

  ‘They are tired, Eumenes, and the march that lies ahead is a long one. There may come a moment in which they feel themselves to be too far from home and they may find themselves taking some unwise decision at the wrong moment. I would rather avoid all of this. Have them fall in at dawn just outside the camp.’

  *

  Many things led the Greeks to realize that something important was in the offing – the early hour, the order to prepare their baggage and the transport carts and to wear their armour brightly polished.

  Alexander appeared astride Bucephalas, armed to the teeth and flanked by his guards. He waited until the first rays of the sun made the Hoplites’ armour shine and then he began to speak:

  ‘Allies! Your contribution to our victory has been most important, in some cases crucial: none of us will forget that it was the Greek infantry at Gaugamela that held the right wing against the continuous assaults of Bessus and his Median horsemen. You have been valiant, bold, loyal to your oath of allegiance to the pan-Hellenic league and its supreme command. You have accomplished something that no Greek, not even those who took part in the Trojan War, ever succeeded in doing – conquering Babylon, Persepolis, Ecbatana.

  ‘The moment has come for you to enjoy the fruits of your efforts: I free you now from your oath of allegiance and I dismiss you. Each of your officers will receive one talent, each soldier thirty silver minae, and, on top of that, money to pay your travelling expenses from here to Greece. I thank you; return now to your families, to your children, to your cities!’

  Alexander expected an explosion of joy and applause, but instead there came a slight murmur that soon grew into the noise of animated discussion among all the soldiers and officers.

  ‘What is wrong, men?’ he shouted in surprise. ‘Have I not paid you enough? Are you not happy to be returning?’

  An officer of about forty years of age, by the name of Heliodorus of Eghion, moved forwards and said, ‘King, we thank you for everything and we are happy that our assistance has been important for you, but we do not wish to leave you.’

  Alexander looked at him in disbelief, and Heliodorus continued, ‘As we fought by your side we learned things which no one else could ever have taught us, we have accomplished feats that no soldier would ever dream of undertaking. Many of us wonder what you will do now, which lands you will conquer, which far off territories will those who serve under your standard live to see? Of course, many will accept your offer and will return to their homes, joyously in one sense, but deep in sadness in another, because in all this time they have learned to admire and to love you.

  ‘Others still have no families, or if they do have families they think that for them it is more important to follow you and to fight honourably in your service, risking their lives if necessary. If you want them, these men would rather stay with you.’

  Heliodorus had finished his speech and he now moved back into the ranks alongside his soldiers.

  ‘There are few men like you,’ Alexander replied, ‘and I am greatly honoured by anyone who chooses to remain, but whoever chooses to stay will be with us on a private basis rather than an ally sent by his city. He will be a professional soldier. I will give such men payment of six hundred drachmae for the entire campaign and, should any of you die in battle this will be the sum that will go to your families. Those who wish to remain will take three steps past the front line, the others are free to go whenever they wish with my gratitude, my friendship and my affection.’

  The men beat their spears on their shields and shouted the King’s name, just like Macedonian soldiers. Then those who wanted to remain took their three steps over the line and Alexander saw that they constituted almost half of his Greek allies.

  *

  The Greeks who had chosen to return home set off that very same day, marching through the two wings of the infantry and the cavalry lined up for the final salute, while the trumpets sounded the signal for the army to fall out; and when Parmenion himself ordered, ‘Present arms!’ many of these men, inured to all dangers and all of life’s excesses, had their eyes full of tears.

  As soon as they had disappeared round the first bend in the road and the sound of the drums that
marked their steps had faded away, Alexander had the trumpets sound once more, and his army turned and set off in pursuit of the Great King. Oxhatres knew all the short cuts and offered to go on ahead with two of his Scythian mercenaries and set off at a gallop.

  The army advanced over a vast plateau on which small antelopes and wild goats were grazing, and every now and again at night they could hear lions roaring. The pace of their march was almost unbearable – many of the infantrymen had to stop because of sores on their feet and more than a few beasts of burden collapsed under the weight of their loads – but Alexander rejected all suggestions that they should slow down and instead demanded that they move ever more quickly, sleeping only for a few hours each night without pitching their tents, all of this to keep up the pressure on Darius.

  He reminded all the veterans how they had once marched to Thebes from the banks of the River Ister in just thirteen days, and he too slept out in the open at night, covered only by his military cloak. Occasionally they were able to find some shelter in the caravanserai along the road leading to the eastern provinces, but these structures were rather limited in size, places designed for people who were ill or those who really were struggling along their journey.

  The air was becoming thinner and sharper, especially towards evening, and Eumenes had started wearing trousers again, which made him feel much better. For six days of the march eastwards they followed the edge of an impressive mountain chain dominated by the highest peak any of them had ever seen, its top covered with snow. Then they came to a narrow passage that took the name of the Caspian Gates. This was a gorge at the bottom of which flowed a torrent, flanked by walls so steep that even the Agrianians would find it almost impossible to scale them.

  ‘If they ambush us here,’ said the Black, ‘they’ll tear us to pieces.’ And indeed it seemed unlikely that Darius would not seek to make the most of this natural advantage.