‘Of course not, a Macedonian kneels to no one.’
‘Oh, of course, I’d forgotten; silly me. Well, it’s pointless me trying to explain in that case; we’ll just have to go and kill everyone in there because of one old man’s pride and your inability to see the cause of it. But before we do, I’m off to find some lunch.’
Perdikkas watched the little Greek walking away, frowning. Why does one of the few men I trust always have to be so aggravating? He sighed and turned back to the city, contemplating his options in this, the climax of his swift Kappadokian campaign.
And it had been swift, gratifyingly so. Having set out from Babylon, in a large fleet of river transports under the command of his brother-in-law, Attalus, a month before the snows were due to melt in the lower lying parts of Kappadokia, Perdikkas had managed to get to Thapsacus, on the Syrian border, and, from there, retrace Alexander’s footsteps to the sea and then north into Cilicia, through the coastal plain of Issus – the site of his second major victory over the Persians – and onto Tarsus. Finding Krateros newly departed with most of his troops, Perdikkas’ disappointment had been compensated by Antigenes and the Silver Shields pledging themselves, at Krateros’ request, to his cause – it was a welcome sign of respect. Upon hearing the news that Krateros had taken his entire navy north and then on to Europe with the intention of joining, in an alliance sealed by marriage to Phila, Antipatros’ war against the Greek rebellion in the west, he had written, yet again, to the ageing regent asking for the hand of one of his other daughters.
It had not been until he had followed the Carinalas River up into the belly of Kappadokia and had begun a spring offensive against the rebel satrap that an offer of a different kind had caught up with him in the form of a letter from Olympias who was now, to Perdikkas’ surprise, in Sardis. He had had the messenger killed so that the queen would not know when or whether he had received the letter thus buying himself time to think on his reply.
As he had chased Ariarathes over rough country, defeating him in two major encounters, Perdikkas had contemplated the consequences of renouncing his proposal to marry into Antipatros’ family and take up, instead, Olympias’ offer of marriage to Kleopatra. Now, here at Mazaca, in the shadow of the great Mount Argaeus, the subjugation of Kappadokia was about to be completed and, with Neoptolemus now dealing with Armenia to the east, it would be time for Perdikkas to turn west to put down a rebellion in Pisidia, right next to Lydia and its capital, Sardis.
Now that he had cornered Ariarathes in his capital, the decision could not be put off much longer.
But I’ll have to confide in Eumenes soon; I’d be a fool to take a decision like this without taking his advice. The sly little Greek has the rather unpleasant habit of being right; that’s another reason I find him so aggravating.
Resolving to put the matter off until Ariarathes was safely impaled on a stake, Perdikkas sent a summons for all his senior commanders to join him in his tent. ‘And I’ll take my midday meal there!’ he shouted after the messenger.
‘We don’t need to scale the walls or try to knock down the gate,’ Eumenes informed the briefing in reply to Perdikkas’ request of suggestions upon how to do just those two things.
Perdikkas looked at the Greek in surprise. ‘No, Eumenes? Then how are we going to get into the town, fly?’
Eumenes considered the suggestion for a few moments. ‘We could, I suppose, but seeing as not even Archimedes ever invented a way of doing so and it would certainly take us some years of experimentation to come up with a viable system and, even then, look at Icarus and the problems he had. No, I wouldn’t advise it, especially if we would rather take the town tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Alketas exclaimed.
Eumenes smiled at Perdikkas’ younger brother in the condescending manner he reserved for Macedonians of lesser rank and intellect. ‘Or tonight, if you would prefer, Perdikkas?’
Gods, the man is aggravating! ‘If we could do it tonight, then why didn’t we do it last night?’
‘For a start, you were still negotiating; secondly, you didn’t ask and, thirdly, and this, gentlemen, is the crucial point.’ He paused to look around the half-dozen Macedonian officers all hanging on his every word. ‘I wasn’t ready.’ He turned back to Perdikkas. ‘But now I am.’
‘Ready to do what?’
‘Get us into the city, of course, like you’ve just asked.’
‘How will you do it?’
‘Well, I’m not going to do it personally, why risk yourself when there are others who will gladly do it for you? No, no, I’ve got other people to open the gate.’
Perdikkas checked his rising temper. ‘The gate?’
‘Yes; I thought that would be the easiest way of getting into the town; it’s a tried and tested method.’
‘Who’s going to open the gate for us?’
‘You let me worry about the treachery. It’s an area in which, as a non-Macedonian, I can shine; you Macedonians can get your men ready to lead them into the town, once I’ve got the gate open, and then you can do what you do best: massacre everyone. I think we all might shine tonight.’
A shadow flitted towards him; Perdikkas’ fist closed about his sword’s grip. He tensed but stopped himself from drawing the blade lest it should ring out or reflect even some of the dim light from the torches burning above Mazaca’s gatehouse, just fifty paces away. Behind him, the two hundred picked men from the Silver Shields, under Antigenes’ command, waited motionless in the moonless night, with all extraneous kit removed and rags tied around their sandals; Perdikkas was determined that there should be no surrendering the advantage of surprise.
The shadow neared, gradually resolving into a human shape that knelt down next to Perdikkas.
‘Well, Alketas?’ Perdikkas asked under his breath.
‘Eumenes assured me that the gate would open; we just have to be patient.’
‘Patient? I’ve been being patient for half the night already; how much longer does he want me to be patient for?’
‘Until the gate opens, I suppose.’
Perdikkas glanced at his younger brother. Cocky little bugger. Hunching back down, he tried to exercise the virtue that Eumenes had requested. As he did so, he reflected upon how the little Greek had managed to make contact with whomever it was betraying the town, seeing as the gates had been firmly bolted ever since the arrival of the Macedonian army before them.
He was no nearer solving the conundrum when a brief, curtailed cry brought him out of his reverie; the torches on the gatehouse were thrown, one by one, down behind it. Another shout, hollow in the night, rose from behind the gates, before the grinding of wood against wood heralded the removal of the heavy bar on the inside.
Perdikkas turned to Antigenes. ‘Ready?’
The veteran commander nodded; the movement was just visible now that most extraneous light had been extinguished.
It was at the first creak of hinges that Perdikkas drew his sword, hefted his shield and ran forward; behind him the picked men, hunched, dark shadows on a dark night, followed with minimal noise.
Another scream, and then another, rent the air as the gates ground open, making Perdikkas kick harder to cross the open area before the town. The gates, silhouetted by the light of the torches thrown down behind them, gaped; dim figures could be seen struggling beyond them.
Faster Perdikkas ran, caring not about volume now that they were in. It was at full pelt that Perdikkas led his men into Mazaca, crashing into the guards, roused from slumber by the death cries of their comrades on duty. Surprised by such a sudden appearance of the enemy, the defenders lacked armour and helms and only the few lucky ones had had time to grab a shield; down they went in the face of the Macedonian rush, quicker than they could be reinforced. Through the arch went Perdikkas and on into the market place beyond, from which three streets led, as a great shout rose from behind him; the main body of the attack was now charging after his assault group. Crashing his shield into the bearded face of
a befuddled defender, Perdikkas slashed his sword at the raised spear of another guard, taking three fingers and the tip of the thumb from the man as the blade slid down the haft. He fell back with a scream and four spurts of blood as the sound of racing footsteps echoed from down the main street ahead, leading from the market place into the heart of the town.
‘Form up! Form up!’ Perdikkas cried as his men surged in behind him. ‘Antigenes! Get them into formation!’ He pointed down the street at the oncoming relief force. ‘They’ll cut us to pieces if we’re not supporting one another.’
Shouting at his junior officers to instil discipline into their men, the veteran commander kicked and pushed his Silver Shields into line as arrows hissed through the night, thumping into silver-covered wood and clattering off stone walls.
Fifty abreast and four deep the Silver Shields stood across the market place as the Persian garrison emerged from the main street, releasing arrows as they ran. From behind came the clatter of the Macedonian column jogging through the gate and Perdikkas felt relief in knowing that his numbers now would only grow. ‘Forward!’ he shouted from the centre of the front rank, pointing his sword at the enemy as a brace of arrows thudded in quick succession into his shield.
The Silver Shields, each man in his sixties and a veteran of countless fights, moved as one towards the Persians as more battle cries came from the two streets to either side of the market place. Perdikkas looked left and then right as scores of shaded figures streamed from the two side streets. ‘The lads behind us will deal with them,’ he shouted at his men as they strode forward. ‘We’ll just concentrate on the bastards in front of us.’
With their spears ready for an overarm thrust, the Macedonians closed with the foe as arrows continued to slam in, bringing down a number of the old soldiers whose luck had finally run out. It was with his weight on the left leg that, as the two forces collided, Perdikkas made his first thrust, low, beneath his shield, and was rewarded with the jolt of metal cutting through flesh. Harder he forced his thrust as he twisted his wrists left and then right, releasing the suction of the wound and shredding the gut; blood slopped over his hand and onto the ground. Down came a storm of spear thrusts onto the Persian line as they, in turn, hammered their weapons against the Macedonian shield-wall; both sides shoved against each other to a chorus of cries and grunts and metallic ringing.
Lost in his own microcosm of violence, Perdikkas could do naught but heave on his shield and probe with his blade as the stench of urine, blood and faeces assaulted his nostrils and the din of battle rang in his ears and reverberated about his head. Close on either side of him, comrades in arms were immersed in their own personal struggles whose success was vital to the safety of the unit as a whole. It was with a sense of triumph that he managed to take a step forward as the pressure on his shield lapsed for an instant; he felt the line coming with him and the Persians pull back. ‘We’ve got them, lads!’ he roared as he crunched the tip of his sword into a shield, jolting it to one side; a spear thrust from behind, over his shoulder, took the exposed man in the chest.
But the euphoria welling up within him died a quick death at the sound of hooves pounding along the stone street. Looking up, he could see nothing beyond the shadowed, bearded faces of the enemy as they renewed their struggle, buoyed by the sound of cavalry behind them, coming to their aid. There came cries from the right, portending he knew not what but from their tone they seemed to be Macedonian shouts of distress rather than triumph. Cursing the gods for the fickleness of their favour, Perdikkas redoubled his efforts, shouting at his men to do the same. If we falter now, we’re dead men. Why was it that, when he was so close, fate always seemed to slap his face? He gritted his teeth and worked his right arm, stabbing and stabbing as he battered his shield forward. The sound of the cavalry closed, their noise now rising with ease over the infantry struggle. Perdikkas braced himself for the inevitable hit to the flank of his unit and then its almost instant disintegration as powerful beasts smashed through its ranks. Grimacing, he thrust again, wondering if it might be the last blow he would strike in his life; but, as his blade was deflected by that of an enemy, a shudder went through the Persian formation and a wail, shrill in its distress, rose from their left flank. Perdikkas glanced up to see the horses wading into the foe, rearing as their bearded, betrousered riders jabbed down with javelins and swords on those beneath them and those beneath them were, like them, Persians. Through the cavalry cut, dealing out death wherever it chose as the Macedonians pulled back letting their unlikely allies do their work for them. Perdikkas watched with growing amazement the skill of the riders as they manoeuvred their mounts within a tight confine to cut down at the now fleeing infantry.
And then the man leading the charge caught Perdikkas’ eye and he did a double-take as he knew him well but had never imagined to see him like this; for it was a small Greek who led the cavalry and Perdikkas knew then that he now owed his life to Eumenes.
‘Kappadokians, actually, not Persians,’ Eumenes informed Perdikkas as they made their way back to the Macedonian camp, leaving Alketas and Antigenes to mop up the few last bits of resistance in Mazaca and hunt for Ariarathes. ‘They were the men who opened the gates for me.’
‘For us,’ Perdikkas corrected as the first rays of dawn glowed pink on the snow tipping the mountains to the east; his breath steamed in the early chill.
‘Indeed. Anyway, they claim to be the finest cavalry unit in the satrapy and, from what I’ve seen, they may well have a point. And to answer the question that you’re about to ask, it’s because they could see that Ariarathes’ days were numbered and I was the coming man in Kappadokia. They reasoned that it would be better to live serving me than to die serving Ariarathes; I have to admit that I couldn’t refute their logic, so I gladly accepted their offer to betray their former master.’
Perdikkas acknowledged the salute of the captain of the guard at the camp’s gates. ‘And just how long do you think it will be until they offer to betray you to someone else?’
Eumenes did not need to consider the matter. ‘The day after I lose my first battle, I would have thought.’ He turned enquiring eyes to Perdikkas. ‘Would that seem to be about right to you?’
Aries, he’s aggravating; but still, I should ask his advice.
‘Kleopatra, without question,’ Eumenes said after Perdikkas had laid the facts out over a breakfast of dried fruits and fresh bread next to a glowing brazier in his tent. ‘She brings power and legitimacy; Nicaea just brings an old man as an ally.’
‘But choosing Kleopatra would make that particular old man an enemy.’
Eumenes spat out a date stone. ‘So what? What’s he going to do? Invade Asia and make war against the regent of the two kings who is also married to Alexander’s sister? I think not, Perdikkas, he would have no legitimacy and, besides, he would be tainted with the odium of civil war. Antipatros is old enough and wise enough to realise that you have made the move for dynastic reasons and not to deliberately insult him. He will let the slight go and concentrate his efforts on securing his position in Europe and he’s welcome to it – until such time as we feel it should be incorporated back into the empire, that is.’
Perdikkas contemplated Eumenes’ opinion over a slow-chewed mouthful of bread.
‘And another thing,’ Eumenes said, ‘Antipatros has already given Phila to Krateros and, if the rumours are true, has promised Eurydike to Ptolemy, which puts you in a club with three members. Kleopatra is exclusive.’
‘Alketas says I should stick with Nicaea.’
‘Your brother is a fool but you and he are evidently unaware of the fact, otherwise he wouldn’t be giving you advice and you certainly wouldn’t be asking him for it, let alone taking it. Answer me this: if you marry Nicaea who will Kleopatra marry?’
‘I could marry them both; Alexander had three wives, after all.’
‘You are not Alexander.’
I know but I could be and I should be as I hold his ring. ‘But ev
en so.’
Eumenes pointed a finger at Perdikkas. ‘Now listen; I’ve been trying to help you since he died and arsing hard work it’s been too, but if you take one piece of advice from me it should be this: to marry both Kleopatra and Nicaea will get Nicaea killed quicker than you can fuck her.’
‘Killed? How?’
‘Poison, I would think. That is Olympias’ favourite weapon, I believe. She is not going to allow a daughter of Antipatros’ to share power with her daughter and thereby with her. And if Nicaea dies in those circumstances then you really would have the threat of a legitimate invasion by the old man in revenge for his daughter. And, believe me, there would be more than a few who would sympathise and side with him. So forget that idea and answer the question: who will Kleopatra marry if not you?’
Perdikkas looked as blank as his mind was for suggestions.
‘Lysimachus so that she can share in the joys of keeping the northern tribes at bay?’ Eumenes suggested in a helpful tone. ‘Peucestas in his trousers in order to learn Persian? Peithon, perhaps, for his towering intellect.’
Perdikkas shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, it won’t be any one of them, I can assure you of that; nor would it be me, despite the fact that I get on extremely well with the woman and her mother was once heard to say something not altogether disparaging about me. No, she won’t marry anyone; she’ll just sit in Sardis as a prize for whoever dares to make a bid for empire. Kassandros, for example.’
‘She wouldn’t marry a son of Antipatros!’
Eumenes contemplated an apricot before popping it into his mouth. ‘Really? I’d say that would be the neatest solution to the whole problem; not that you would be around to witness it as you would be very dead.’
The aggravating little bastard’s right again. I ought to marry Kleopatra, but I dare not repudiate Nicaea; there must be a way of doing this that no one has yet seen.
A tall, dust-covered figure in a stained travel coat, pushing past the guard at the entrance of the tent, drew a halt to Perdikkas’ thought-process. ‘Seleukos.’
To The Strongest Page 28