To The Strongest

by Robert Fabbri

  Cynnane shrugged. ‘That I couldn’t say but we have to assume they are. Antipatros would have heard by now of our flight and, of all people, he would want to stop us.’

  A glint off one of the heads of the lead riders confirmed what they all thought. ‘He’s wearing a helmet,’ Barzid muttered. ‘They’ve come dressed for battle.’

  Cynnane reached down and unhooked her helm from the saddle. ‘Then we had better do the same; running is not an option.’

  ‘We have not come to fight you,’ the leader of the opposing cavalry shouted as they drew near. He had led his men across the river and was now on the western bank a little more than two hundred paces away. ‘We bring you a message from Antipatros, Regent of Macedon, and Lysimachus, in whose satrapy you now find yourselves; and it is this, Cynnane: turn back and go home to Illyria and no harm will come to you. Carry on and you and your daughter will be seized, all the men escorting you will be killed and you will both be taken as prisoners to Pella, treated according to your rank but never to be released. Those are your choices.’

  ‘He’s forgotten one,’ Cynnane mused.

  ‘Ride through them and kill as many as we can,’ Barzid suggested.

  ‘Preferably all of them.’

  Adea looked at her mother, surprised by her confidence. ‘But there are twice as many of them than us.’

  ‘Then we all have to kill two each; make it three to allow for our casualties.’ She looked about her and her face brightened. ‘In fact, our spare horses can do their share.’ She turned in her saddle to address her followers. ‘These men before us wish to stop us from reaching the coast. They are telling us to go back, back to Illyria! Do Illyrians ever slink home just because a Macedonian tells them to?’

  The rumble of disapproval from her men made it clear that they did not.

  ‘They say that if we do not do as they wish they will kill all of you and take me and my daughter prisoner. Will you let that happen?’

  The answer was an unequivocal negative.

  ‘Then this day we fight?’

  This time it was positive.

  Drawing three short javelins from the holster on her mount’s rump, she thrust them in the air and pointed at the enemy with her other hand. ‘These are for those men! Make every one count and they will all be lying dead before the sun reaches its peak!’

  Another cheer rent the air.

  ‘Ride with your spare mounts next to you and watch my arm; when I lower it, let the spares go and slow your own so that the spares run on ahead. Are you set, men of Illyria?’

  Pulling javelins from the holsters as they controlled their skittish horses, the Illyrians shouted their readiness to their queen as her steed reared, its forelegs scratching the air. With a tug on the beast’s reins, Cynnane brought it under control enough to kick it forward, accelerating it into a canter as excitement pulsed through her followers; with whoops and cheers they urged their mounts onwards, the spares running at their sides, towards the Lysimachid foe twice their strength as they, too, broke into a charge.

  Adea flushed with excitement, squinting against the rushing wind, as the pace accelerated into a gallop; she leant forward over her horse’s neck and gripped hard with her thighs, hanging onto the reins with her left hand and with her spare mount’s lead and javelins fisted in the other as the distance between the two sides rapidly closed.

  With a hundred paces between them, the opposing sides were at full tilt, pounding the ground so that it trembled with their passing, their hoof-beats rumbling in the air: massed drums beaten at random.

  And it was as a frenzy rose within her that Adea saw her mother lower her arm; she let go her spare mount and thwacked it across the rump with the flat of her javelins, propelling it forward as she tugged a fraction on the reins to slow her horse back to a canter. On they surged, the riderless animals, eyes white and ears down, each immersed in the momentum of the herd, as over their heads hissed the first Illyrian javelin volley to scythe into the Lysimachid cavalry. But the volley received no reply as the foe, terrified of the oncoming wall of uncontrolled horseflesh, hurled their missiles directly at it, sending a score crashing to the ground and bringing others down in a chaos of screeching beasts.

  With a massed exhalation, the Illyrians flung the second wave of javelins; it rained down on the enemy, punching men back and downing their mounts an instant before they ploughed into the terrified, unguided equine mass. Up they reared as they shied at the last, lashing out with cracking forelegs or bucking like a thing possessed, snapping limbs and knocking men cold. Into this carnage Adea and Cynnane and their men charged, hurling their final javelin at anything that still stood as they whipped swords from sheaths and kicked their reluctant steeds on. Wading into the Lysimachid disorder, Adea slashed down at a half-horsed rider, opening his shoulder and sending him slithering earthward; screams of man and beast raged about her and fire burned behind her eyes as again and again she jabbed and hacked, now almost motionless as the momentum of the charge was nullified by heavy congestion. But on they pressed, their advantage now supreme as the Lysimachid cavalry struggled to escape the entanglement thwarting its flight.

  Again she killed and again Adea screamed to the heavens with the joy of it, for no fear did she feel in the heat of the fight, just the thrill of release of all lessons learned in long years of schooling.

  As abrupt as it started, so did it end; the killing work had been done and slowly did men return from the dark place within that revels in the close company of death. Adea came with them, slowly at first but soon she could focus further than the confined space in which she had struggled and it was a shock to the eye to behold: all about lay dead and dying men and horses and over them was swathed a uneven coating of muddied gore and from them rose a dissonance of pain. And through all this, her mother and Barzid roved, searching; but for what Adea knew not.

  ‘He’s here!’ Barzid shouted. Cynnane raised her head and kicked her blood-spattered mount towards him; curious, Adea followed.

  It was the commander of the Lysimachid cavalry prostrate on the ground, both his legs at an impossible angle and his belly disgorging viscera. Barzid jumped down to him and lifted the man’s head; his eyes flickered open but failed to focus.

  Cynnane looked at the dying man. ‘Can you hear me?’

  His eyes searched for the voice and they came to rest on Cynnane.

  ‘Perdikkas? What news of Perdikkas?’

  His mouth moved but no sound came forth.

  ‘Perdikkas?’ Barzid urged in his ear. ‘Perdikkas? Where is he?’

  ‘P…P…Pisidia,’ was the weak reply.

  ‘Pisidia.’ Cynnane mused as she skewered the dying man’s throat with her bloodied blade – an act of mercy. She turned to Adea. ‘Your husband-to-be is with Perdikkas in Pisidia. Come, Barzid, get the men ready, we need to ride to the coast and find a ship that will take us to Tarsus.’

  PERDIKKAS,

  THE HALF-CHOSEN

  MUD-BRICK WALLS WERE no match for the stone-throwers arrayed against Perge, the final town in Pisidia to hold out against Macedonian rule. Shot fizzed in arcs into its defences, crumbling them away into rubble and dust.

  Perdikkas breathed deep of the autumnal air, savouring life as he prepared to deal out the same justice he had dealt Termessos, the only other town that had refused to surrender after his lightning strike west into the rebel heartland as Menander brought his men south from Sardis: death to all males over twelve and enslavement of the rest. It had been a profitable month and a half, made even more so by Antigonos’ silent refusal to join the campaign. This time I really can’t ignore Antigonos’ insubordination; either I attack Phrygia and be the aggressor or…

  He brought his concentration back to the present and looked along the lines of the Silver Shields, armed for an assault with thrusting spears, swords and shields and grinned back at a few of the veterans who caught his eye. He turned to their commander, standing next to him. ‘The lads are going to enjoy this one, Antigenes
. Termessos whetted their appetite and this is half as big again.’

  ‘Yes, plenty to go round,’ Antigenes agreed as they watched a huge lump of the masonry fall away, leaving the rooftops of the houses within exposed through the dust.

  But rather than thin out as the wind blew it away, the dust seemed to thicken and swirl above the buildings until, with a sudden flash, flames burst from the rooftops.

  ‘They’re setting fire to the place,’ Perdikkas observed in the neutral tone of a disinterested observer.

  ‘Perhaps they feel that if they are going to lose their homes then they might as well ensure that no one else can have them; I suppose you can’t really blame them.’

  Perdikkas was forced to agree. ‘Still, we should try and save as much of the town as possible; it would be good to settle some of the lads here once they’ve had their fill. At least three of those breaches are viable, Antigenes; take them in.’

  With a salute, Antigenes re-joined his command and within a few heartbeats the horns of assault sounded; but as they died away a great, high-pitched wailing rose from Perge: the sound of many people in great pain; and as the wailing grew, so did the flames.

  Perdikkas listened for a few moments and then, startled, broke into a run. They’re burning their women and children; they’re cheating me out of a fortune. ‘Antigenes! Hurry, the bastards are killing themselves!’

  But Antigenes had realised what was occurring and already had his men doubling to the walls; those with ladders held them aloft. From behind, the stone throwers had raised their aim so that they now strafed the top of the wall in the hope of keeping the defenders down. But men who know that, whatever happens, they will perish this day care not if their head is taken from them by a projectile, especially if it means buying time for their families to die and save them from a life in fetters; as soon as the Silver Shields were within range, the wall was lined with archers and slingers, two or three deep. And their volleys darkened the smoke-wreathed sky as a new element assaulted the senses; the tang of burning flesh. With shields raised over their heads the Silver Shields raced on, furious that their sport was being ripped from their grasp. Through the arrow and shot storm they waded, their shields thundering with impacts as, despite the massive losses received, the defenders kept their missiles coming. With hideous regularity, artillery stones cleaved through the ranks on the wall, imploding chests and exploding heads into mists of blood, but still they stayed, emboldened by the death-cries of their loved-ones who would now be for ever free.

  And then the Silver Shields made the wall, for nothing would stop them such was their ire. Up the ladders they shot as rubble from the damage was rained down upon them, felling some and glancing off the shields of others as they pushed for the breaches, just eight feet or so above them, now crowded with men.

  Like feral dogs the defenders fought to delay the inevitable for they knew that the town must surely fall as nothing, not even the walls of Tyros, could hold back the military might of Macedon. Rung by rung, the veteran Macedonians scaled the walls and Perdikkas ran to join them, his fury raging as the inferno within the town grew, flames and smoke soaring skyward.

  As the breaches were gained so did the defenders thin out and Perdikkas was soon able to push his way into the town. Standing on the wall he beheld a sight he had never before seen and understood just why the defence had reduced from fierce and frenzied to almost nothing in the space of a very few heartbeats: satisfied that their families were now charred husks, the men were throwing themselves into the conflagration; with no hesitation they ran and leapt into the flames as a chosen few fought off attempts by the lead Macedonians to prevent such mass immolation. In they jumped, singularly, in couples holding hands or in long chains all together, whooping as they went, and once in the whoops turned to screams of blazing agony as their combusting bodies writhed in the inferno.

  ‘That is the bravest but most stupid thing I’ve ever seen,’ Perdikkas said as he halted next to Antigenes who stared, open-mouthed, at the horror unfolding. ‘We would have given them a clean death.’

  ‘I don’t call impaling clean,’ Antigenes muttered, unable to tear his eyes away as a father and his teenage son, arms around each other, ran headlong into a house; the roof flared and then collapsed in a fountain of sparks and licking flame. ‘Besides, even if they knew that we would execute them relatively painlessly, I think their sense of honour would have still led them to share the fate they had forced their women and children into; I know I would’ve.’

  Perdikkas sucked the air through his teeth, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Well, it’s done now and we can think about heading back to Babylon for the winter. Call your men off, there’s no point in risking their lives if the bastards are jumping into the fire all by themselves. All senior officers are to report to my tent as soon as convenient.’ With another shake of the head, he turned and made his way back to the camp.

  ‘I want you, Alketas, to go to Tarsus and wait for Nicaea,’ Perdikkas said, pacing around his tent with his hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘And what about you?’ Alketas asked as he, Seleukos and Menander warmed their hands around a brazier.

  ‘Me? I’m going back to Babylon so that I can receive her in state. I’ll be travelling by the relay system; Seleukos and Antigenes will bring the army behind me using Attalus’ fleet. You come as fast as you can once you have Nicaea.’

  ‘And what are you going to do about Antigonos?’ Seleukos asked, rubbing his hands together.

  ‘I’m going to summon him before the army in Babylon to face trial.’

  Seleukos laughed. ‘Summon Antigonos! My arse, he’ll say, and just ignore you.’

  ‘Yes, I know; he didn’t come the last two times so I have no reason to expect that he’ll come the third time; but at least I’ll have done everything correctly so if I do have to fight him next year then I’ll have right on my side.’

  The laugh froze on Seleukos’ face. ‘You can’t let it come to that, surely?’

  ‘I’d prefer not to but in disobeying me he disobeys Alexander’s ring and therefore Alexander himself; it cannot go unpunished.’

  ‘You’ll also have everybody else who matters on your side,’ Menander, the satrap of Lydia said; in his fifties, balding and running to fat, he was the least martial-looking of the gathering, preferring the luxury of his palace in Sardis to the ardours of the campaign tent. ‘Your soon-to-be father-in-law, Antipatros, will support you and I’ll back you as will Lysimachus in Thrace and Eumenes in Kappadokia; Ptolemy is too far away to matter. Antigonos is a fool and a dead man.’

  Perdikkas could not hide his pleasure at this assessment. ‘I think he may well be.’ He paused and looked at Menander as if gauging him. ‘I’m going to make a change in Lydia, Menander and I think you’ll understand why.’

  ‘Will I?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you will. You see, now that Kleopatra has taken up residence there, I feel that, as Alexander’s full sister, she should be shown honour so I plan to make her the satrap.’

  ‘Satrap!’ Menander exploded. ‘Over me! Is this how you repay me by putting a woman in my place? A woman? A woman can’t be a satrap!’

  ‘She’s no ordinary woman, she’s Kleopatra.’

  ‘She’s still a woman. Do you expect me to take orders from a woman? Would you? Would anyone?’

  Perdikkas looked at his brother and Seleukos, neither of them had any measure of support written on their faces. ‘You won’t have to take your orders from her. I’m going to move you to Hellespontine Phrygia.’

  ‘Hellespontine Phrygia! That’s Krateros’.’

  ‘No it’s not, it was Leonnatus’, but he’s dead, as you know.’

  ‘And Krateros claimed it as his own when he passed through early this year.’

  ‘It wasn’t his to claim.’

  ‘You tell him that.’

  Perdikkas lifted his hand. ‘I have the ring, and it was through that authority that I made the distribution of the satrapie
s after Alexander’s death and it’s through that authority that I’m moving you to Hellespontine Phrygia. You’re still a satrap. You still have power.’

  ‘But I’m very happy where I am, Perdikkas. And, let’s be frank, there isn’t much that you can do to make me move, is there?’

  ‘I’ve already written to Kleopatra to inform her of my decision.’

  ‘You really don’t see it, do you, Perdikkas?’ Seleukos said. ‘You really don’t understand that the ring in itself doesn’t give you Alexander’s authority. You can’t go acting in this sort of high-handed manner, ordering your equals around; as Ptolemy so rightly pointed out, you were only half-chosen.’

  That’s going to follow me for the rest of my life unless I do this thing. I have to make this happen if I want Kleopatra to accept that I must marry Nicaea, in order to bind Antipatros to me, before I can marry her. To return to Macedon with Alexander’s corpse and Kleopatra as my bride will surely make me look like Alexander’s chosen heir. ‘Well, it is done; and it can’t be undone.’

  ‘I don’t accept it,’ Menander stated in a firm voice. ‘I will be staying in Sardis and she can think what she wants.’

  ‘Whether you accept it or not, my decision stands and I’ll have the documents drawn up to that effect.’

  ‘You’re a fool, Perdikkas,’ Menander spat as he stormed from the tent.

  ‘Well done, Perdikkas,’ Seleukos said, ‘with one blunderous move you’ve managed to upset Menander and Krateros as well as insult all Macedonians by giving a woman power like that. How long do you plan to stay alive?’

  Perdikkas had no time for this argument. ‘I’m leaving for Babylon immediately to check on the progress of Alexander’s catafalque. You’re dismissed.’ He turned his back on them.

  ‘No, I’m not dismissed, Perdikkas; I’ve decided to leave.’ And, with an exaggerated inclination of the head, he did.

  ‘Alketas,’ Perdikkas called a moment after his brother and Seleukos had left the tent.