Flood Tide

by Alexander Geiger

  With the arrival of the first pinkish-gray streamers of dawn, our offensive resumed in earnest. Men clambered up to the top two levels of the siege towers, which placed them above, and only yards away from, the top of the wall, and started shooting arrows and throwing javelins, rocks, and flaming darts down at the defenders, who were running, evading, and ducking behind the crenellated parapet at the top of their wall. At the same time, the defenders did their best to dislodge our men on the towers. Periodic screams, followed by dull thuds, marked successful hits, although it was not always clear which side had scored. The battering rams provided a steady, satisfying, albeit ineffectual base beat to the staccato shrieks of wounded and dying men. The catapults roared periodically to life, sending huge boulders, burning barrels, and diseased carcasses arching over the wall. Beneath the cacophony of noise, the sappers continued their quiet, subversive work.

  At midday, a portion of the wall, undermined by the sappers, finally gave way. Perdikkas and his hoplites were ready. With the noise of the collapse still ringing in their ears and a dust cloud still hanging in the air, they clambered over the pile of boulders and debris that had constituted the wall and poured into the city. They were met by a determined, organized phalanx of Memnon’s mercenaries on the other side. A vicious, deadly contest ensued. It turned out that not only did Memnon have his troops lying in wait, he had also stationed archers and small catapults atop the houses nearest to the wall, which were pouring projectiles into Perdikkas’s men who already had their hands full trying to fend off the skilled warriors confronting them on the ground.

  After losing a dozen good men, Perdikkas ordered a retreat. Back on our side of the wall, he held a brief war council with Alexandros, Parmenion, and several other commanders. Aristandros was consulted; he requested time and sacrificial victims before rendering an opinion. While everyone else was dithering, Perdikkas added additional infantrymen to his troop and tried again. Soon enough, they were all back, carrying more dead and wounded soldiers. The skirmishes continued until nightfall but the only tangible result was a hospital tent filled with dead and dying Macedonian soldiers.

  That night, while we slept, Memnon’s mercenaries once again poured out through the Mylasa Gate and attacked our camp. This time our sentries gave timely alarm and we were not caught by surprise. The seven somatophylakes, including me, had slept in Alexandros’s tent and the rest of the commanders were not far away. All of us had slept wearing our armor, with our swords close at hand. At the sound of the alarm, I attempted to rush out of the tent but was foiled by the presence of another bodyguard with the same objective in mind. Neither one of us noticed the other in the total darkness of the tent. We both went sprawling through the entrance flap and into the night. It was a minor miracle we’d managed to refrain from stabbing each other during our pratfall.

  Visibility was marginally better outside the tent, with a modicum of illumination provided by the gibbous moon peeking through a gauzy cloud cover and by a supply wagon that had been set ablaze at one end of the camp. There was much more noise than light, however. Men were running around in total disorder, shouting orders, warnings, prayers, and imprecations. Their yelling was done predominantly in an assortment of Greek dialects because the men attacking the camp were mostly Memnon’s Greek mercenaries and the men defending the camp were mostly Alexandros’s Macedonian patriots. (The mercenaries and the patriots were both being paid at the going rate of one drachma per day but the patriots were fighting for the cause of pan-Hellenic liberation, not Persian hegemony.) In addition, metal clanged against metal, animals howled and brayed, and the surf beat against the nearby rocky shore, contributing a calming, reassuring roar. Pandemonium reigned.

  It was impossible to tell friend from foe. The armor and equipment of Memnon’s mercenaries was very similar to our own. It turns out that all fighting men look pretty much the same in the dark. Someone wearing a dull, dented helmet came roaring at me, his sword raised above his head. I shouted in turn and prepared to run him through with my javelin. He succeeded in parrying my thrust with his sword but our momentum caused us to bang into each other, chest to chest. “Is that you, Metoikos?” the other fellow asked. “Melas, you moron!” I yelled with relief, recognizing Kleitos’s voice. We embraced.

  I leaned close to Kleitos’s ear, trying to be heard above the noise. “This is insane, brother.”

  He grinned in response. “Yeah, that’s what makes it so much fun.”

  We stood side by side, peering into the chaos swirling around us.

  “Where is Aniketos?” Kleitos yelled. “We’ve got to protect him.”

  “Just look for where the fighting is hottest.”

  We advanced, shoulder to shoulder, toward the loudest noise. Other men recognized us and joined our group. We picked up speed, accreting comrades faster than a snowball rolling down a steep hill of freshly-fallen powder. We were at least a dozen strong by the time we encountered the enemy. At least I think they were the enemy. The other men with me slaughtered them before they had a chance to say much.

  A pause in the action ensued. I scanned the darkness, trying to detect the motion of barely discernible shadows; I strained to filter out of the sounds of an imminent charge from the general tumult of a camp under assault; I tried to smell the odor of would-be attackers. It was an odd mental state, with my senses heightened to the point of retarding the tide of time itself. The silhouette of a large, heavily-armed man floated into view. He was shouting. I could hear the sound but the words didn’t register. Ever so slowly, he jabbed his spear toward me. I easily sidestepped his thrust. Someone sliced off his arm at the elbow. A tight parabola of beautiful black fluid, with blood-red highlights, sprouted from the place where his joint used to be. I could have sworn the liquid hung motionless in the air. Then, in a blink of an eye, the spurting blood, the ragged stump, the man himself, all plunged to the ground and there was stillness amid the chaos once again.

  What the hell am I doing here? I asked myself during the leisurely interval between one assault and the next. Intellectually, I knew these attacks were coming thick and heavy but subjectively I had plenty of time for philosophical rumination between bouts of action. Stay alive; comply with the Prime Directive; get back home.

  After a while, no further attacks came. Visibility in our camp improved greatly, the noise subsided to a conversational roar, the adrenaline level in my bloodstream normalized, and people started to move at regular speed once again, which at that moment happened to be the speed of a flock of chickens running around with their heads cut off.

  It had been a small attack which, in hindsight, we beat back easily. Unfortunately, while we were busy fighting off the attackers, the night sky lit up with an ominous orange glow. Our siege towers, battering rams, and catapults were all aflame, accounting for the improved illumination. During our minor, groping skirmish, Memnon’s incendiaries had been methodically destroying our siege equipment. Even more demoralizing was the sight, revealed by the brilliant glow of the surging flames, of the portion of the wall previously collapsed by our sappers: It had been completely rebuilt by the inhabitants of Halikarnassos during the night.

  Alexandros accepted the loss of our equipment with equanimity, even a grudging admiration for our adversary. “It’s only stuff,” he said. “We can replace it.” Projecting confidence and determination, he ordered the engineers to repair our siege engines as best they could, telling them, somewhat disingenuously, that there was plenty of wood in the surrounding forests. He ordered Philotas to take several squadrons of cavalry and bring back additional provisions (no easy task, because the harvest season had ended and we were mostly surrounded by inhospitable mountains, not the fertile fields of Ionia). He ordered the remaining cavalry commanders (including Seleukos, Kleitos, and me) to tether our horses and prepare our squadrons for fighting on foot, so that we could be more useful during our next attempt to breach the enemy’s fortifications. And he ordered the sappers to get busy undermining two watchtowers on th
e northern side of the city wall, not far from the Tripylon Gate.

  In due course, the two watchtowers toppled and the section of the wall between them collapsed. This time we didn’t scramble over the rubble immediately. Instead, we massed our troops (including dismounted cavalry) and proceeded in a broad, orderly, deliberate, irresistible wave that washed across the tumbled remnants of the fortification.

  To our surprise, no troops awaited on the far side. Instead, we were confronted by a brand new, massive inner wall, connected seamlessly to the still-standing portions of the outer wall. Apparently, the efforts of our sappers hadn’t gone completely undetected. While they were hard at work digging, the Halikarnians were busy building the next wall. And Memnon’s men were atop that new wall, waiting for our orderly, organized wave of soldiers to fill his pit of perdition between the rubble of the old wall and the implacable imperviousness of the new. Our tide of cheering attackers quickly turned into a seething, foaming, screaming, blood-soaked maelstrom of disorder, desperation, and death.

  We lost close to a hundred men in the debris-filled fatal field before the rest of us managed to extricate ourselves from Memnon’s trap. To add loss of honor to our loss of life, we were also forced to leave most of our dead behind as we struggled to make our way back across the jagged ruins of the old, collapsed wall beneath a lethal shower of enemy missiles from atop the insolent new one.

  Alexandros, who had been in the midst of the killing zone with the rest of us, emerged unscathed but also uncharacteristically subdued. He retired to his tent, prohibiting anyone else, even Hephaistion, from joining him. When he emerged two hours later – ashen-faced and red-eyed – he ordered Seleukos to enter Halikarnassos, alone and unarmed, protected only by the kerykeion of an ambassador, and ask Memnon for a truce, in order to permit us to retrieve our dead. Memnon granted Alexandros’s request. We spent the next day fasting, praying, and burning the bodies of our fallen comrades.

  *******

  Alexandros recovered his verve quickly. The morning after our day of mourning, he staged an elaborate sacrifice, with several different animals slaughtered, with much good meat burned on the altar, accompanied by paeans, dirges, and long, tedious entreaties addressed to all the relevant deities – Macedonian, Greek, Ionian, and Karian. Aristandros, also regaining his form, supervised the butchery and then spent a good amount of time peering into the resulting gore. When he rose to his feet, his white robe covered in blood, he was all smiles.

  He addressed Alexandros but spoke loudly enough for all of us to hear. “Sire, you’ll be in the Mausoleion before the full moon begins to wane.”

  “Does he mean alive or dead?” Kleitos whispered into my ear.

  Alexandros noticed him leaning toward me. “Did you have something to add, Melas?”

  “No, sire. I just wanted to ask Aristandros whether he saw you walking, riding, or getting carried into the Mausoleion.”

  Alexandros smiled. “That’s a good question, Melas.” Turning toward his soothsayer, he repeated my friend’s question.

  “You’ll be strolling, sire ... with your friends by your side,” Aristandros said confidently. Alexandros beamed and the crowd erupted in cheers. But Aristandros was not quite done. “However, I’m afraid that those two,” he pointed to Kleitos and me, “may not be there with you.” Nobody heard him, amidst the continuing ovation, with the exception of Kleitos and me.

  Alexandros was elated. “Let’s have something to eat,” he yelled to his boisterous troops, “and then back to work. The full moon will be here in three days, so we have little time to waste.”

  *******

  The next two days were little different from the preceding few. Engineers worked to repair our equipment, sappers dug to undermine the enemy’s fortifications, infantrymen banged their battering rams ineffectually against the city gates, and men on both sides died at a steady rate from disease, accidents, and the intentional infliction of bodily harm.

  After two days, Memnon decided to end the stalemate one way or another. Shortly after midnight, while most of us slept, he launched another nighttime raid. Except this time, he attacked in force. At least a thousand of his best men poured out of Mylasa Gate and headed south, along the city wall, straight for our siege equipment. Our men, more prepared for the attack than the last time, rushed to engage the enemy and save our gear. Alas, Memnon’s men managed to reach our armaments first.

  It was a clear night, illuminated by a full moon and the glow of a dozen burning siege towers. Perhaps we were getting used to these nocturnal engagements but in no time we were drawn up in an orderly phalanx formation, ready to attack. Our cavalry squadrons, having forsaken their horses for the duration of the siege, were deployed at either end of the line. By chance, Kleitos and I, with our combined squadrons, found ourselves anchoring the terminus closest to the bay.

  We enjoyed great numerical superiority over Memnon’s mercenaries and were sure of a quick victory. On Alexandros’s signal, we all rushed forward, singing and yelling as we ran, and tried to engage the enemy. However, Memnon’s troops withdrew to the other side of the moat, across the earthen dams we’d built, making it difficult for us to take advantage of our numbers and impossible for us to outflank them. Savage fighting ensued between similarly armed, similarly trained, and similarly determined soldiers. We were still sure, however, that sooner or later we’d wipe these traitors out.

  While we were all occupied trying to destroy the mercenaries in front of us, Orontobates led out the remaining Greek mercenaries and all of his own Persian troops through the Mylasa Gate. Before we knew what was happening, this force, which was almost equal in numbers to our own, hit us from the rear. Suddenly, we were surrounded on all sides. It proved impossible for us to maintain cohesion against the weight of heavy infantry coming at us from every direction. Our line disintegrated into small eddies of men fighting desperately while being gradually swamped and swallowed by the tide of opposing combatants.

  Perhaps our men still outnumbered the enemy but any numerical superiority was nullified by the crush of soldiers from all sides. Not only were our men unable to maintain orderly lines with overlapping shields, they had a difficult time even deploying their weapons. They were squeezed together so tightly that, every time they tried to slash with their swords or thrust with their pikes, they were as likely to injure one of their comrades as a foe.

  Our small group of erstwhile horsemen, holding the southern end of the line, was even less equipped to fight this kind of engagement than our infantry brethren in the center. We were used to the speed, maneuverability, and elevation afforded by our mounts. Surrounded and rooted to the ground, we were half way to defeat before we started to fight. We retreated, as best we could, along the city wall toward the coast. By the time we reached the rock-strewn beach, the leading edge of the rising sun conjured a shimmering path of golden shards across the choppy waters of the harbor. Unfortunately, it was not a path we could take. There were nine men left in our group, being pursued by perhaps thirty or forty heavily-armed Persians. I spotted an abandoned hunting hut on a nearby hill and told the remaining men to make a run for it. Only Kleitos and I managed to get to the hut alive, with the pursuing Persians hot on our heels.

  Fortunately, the hut was solidly built and had only one door. When the first of the pursuing Persians stuck his head in, I stabbed him under his shield, my sword entering at the groin and travelling upward. At the same time, Kleitos stabbed him with a dagger in his left eye. The man collapsed in our doorway and didn’t move. We managed to inflict two simultaneous and fatal wounds on the next man who contributed his corpse to the growing barricade forming at the entrance to the hut. So much for never having killed a man with my own hands, I thought as I searched in vain for some sign of regret in my conscience.

  There was a short pause, while the Persians reconsidered their strategy. “No need for both of us to stand here,” Kleitos observed with a laugh. “I’ll take care of the next three and you can do the three after th
at. In the meantime, why don’t you take a rest.’

  “Maybe I’ll take a nap,” I replied, trying to match Kleitos’s insouciance.

  “That’s fine. I’ll wake you if I need ....” He was unable to finish the thought because two more enemy soldiers appeared, having sprung from either side of the door, and leapt onto the bodies blocking their way. Even though they had dispensed with their shields, the opening was still not wide enough for both of them and they became momentarily wedged between the doorposts. Kleitos ran them through, one after the other, before they could disentangle themselves.

  “Decent speed,” I said, “but you should’ve kept them from toppling back out. They would’ve made a fine door.”

  “Go have your nap, before I stuff you in the door.”

  I didn’t actually take a nap. While Kleitos stood guard at the door, I enlarged an existing gap between two logs with my dagger to get a better idea of the disposition and activities of the men outside. I was surprised to see that they were mostly sitting down, resting. I couldn’t see their commander, so I decided to create a crack on the other side of the hut. It turned out there was nobody on that side at all. They must be congregating in the front, next to the door.

  I was about to make some witty observation to Kleitos when some movement far below the hill caught my eye. As luck would have it, I had the perfect vantage point to observe the progress of the battle under the city wall. What I expected to see was a massacre of our troops. In fact, the first thought that flashed in my mind was the realization that this was the destruction of the pan-Hellenic invasion force which was supposed to have taken place at Granikos. I guess the instructors at the Academy were right after all. The flow of history is inevitable, even if it gets momentarily sidetracked from time to time.

  Even though this new turn of events meant the disturbance caused by my inadvertent violation of the Prime Directive would soon be rectified, I didn’t derive any relief or satisfaction from that prospect. These guys were my friends and comrades, after all. Too bad neither they nor I realized it until it was too late.