All but one of the available physicians feared he would not live and were extremely nervous about treating him, for they knew they would get the blame for a bad outcome. The only one to remain optimistic was Philip from Acarnania, a somewhat primitive region of mainland Greece. He had been appointed as Alexander’s personal doctor when a child and was totally devoted to him.
While the king was still able to communicate, Philip recommended a strong purgative and Alexander told him to administer it. But at the last minute a difficulty arose. For the second time in a few weeks, Parmenion received a report of secret treachery masterminded by Persia. The old general sent the king a note advising him to beware of the doctor, because Darius had allegedly bribed him to poison his employer.
Alexander put the note under his pillow. He passed it to Philip when the doctor gave him the medication in a cup and, in a gesture of complete confidence, drank it up. It appeared, though, that Parmenion’s suspicions were justified, for the patient’s condition took an immediate turn for the worse. Nothing abashed, Philip continued his treatment, applying poultices and stimulating the king’s appetite with the smell of food. During periods of consciousness, he would talk to Alexander about his mother and sisters and the great victory that awaited him when he got better.
We do not know what Philip put into his potion and whether it did any good. Very likely not, but one way or another, Alexander, a young man in his prime, survived the infection and after two months’ convalescence recovered. The illness came as a great shock both to the rank and file and to his commanders. There must have been confidential discussions at a senior level about what to do in the event of the king’s death, although on his unlooked-for recovery amnesia quickly set in and no trace of them remains.
We have one clue to the dismay Alexander’s near-death experience created among his intimates. He had an old schoolfellow called Harpalus, who was probably a nephew of one of King Philip’s wives. Harpalus had some kind of disability that prevented him from soldiering. He stood by Alexander during the Pixodarus affair and was exiled for his pains alongside the crown prince’s other friends. He accompanied the king to Asia. Because he was clever with numbers, he was appointed Alexander’s chief financial officer.
Before the approaching battle, Harpalus absconded with money taken from the exchequer, probably in the belief that Cilicia would be a dangerous place in the event of the king’s death. If cowardice played a part, he also seems to have been lured into criminality by a con man of his acquaintance, a certain Tauriscus. Knowing that the king had a long arm, Harpalus hid away in the small city-state of Megara in mainland Greece.
Harpalus was not alone in his anxiety about a post-Alexander future. Every soldier in the Macedonian army had received a sharp reminder of the vanity of human wishes. Officers and men must have wished that their invincible leader had an adult heir as competent as he had once been in his father’s day.
The destiny of many thousands of men hung on a thread, the thread of a single life, which the Fates, merciless and immortal hags, spun on their wheel and were ready to snip off whenever they chose.
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MEMNON’S UNTIMELY END ON Lesbos in the early spring of 333 was an event of the greatest importance. A skilled tactician and, even more usefully, a strategic thinker, the mercenary general exploited the Persian command of the seas, especially after Alexander’s decision to disband his navy. If he could re-enslave the Ionians, attack or at least block off Macedonia, and provoke an uprising among the disgruntled city-states of mainland Greece, he would halt the Macedonian invasion in its tracks.
In Memnon’s absence, the Great King lost confidence in the Aegean campaign. He resolved to pool his military forces and crush the Macedonians in one great land battle. The substantial force of Greek mercenaries from the fleet would be of most use to him in the army he was gradually mustering. So he recalled them.
Darius convened a council of his Friends, or inner cabinet, and asked for their advice. According to Diodorus, he laid out alternative courses of action:
Either to send generals with an army down to the coast or for himself, the king, to march down with all his armed forces and fight the Macedonians in person. Some said that the king must join in battle personally, and they argued that the Persians would fight better in that event.
However, a Greek mercenary commander called Charidemus disagreed. He was a plain-speaking middle-aged professional soldier. Apparently he had known King Philip, but he was an Athenian citizen and had spent most of a distinguished career fighting the Macedonians. In his thirties he had served under Mentor and Memnon. Like other Hellenes, he was blunt and he patronized “barbarians.” He was neither liked nor trusted at court.
Charidemus recommended that Darius should on no account stake his empire on a throw of the dice. Instead of leading his army against Alexander, he should send a competent general with a substantial force (the empire was rich in human capital) and hold himself and most of his military strength in reserve. One third of this force should be Greek mercenaries, better fighters by far than Persian levies. Charidemus unwisely hinted that if asked he would willingly assume responsibility for the success of his plan.
The Great King’s courtiers, however, insinuated that Charidemus wanted the command for himself so that he could betray the empire to the Macedonians. Charidemus lost his temper and insinuated in turn that Persian soldiers were unmanly. Darius, upset, grabbed Charidemus’s belt, a traditional gesture for ordering an execution, and handed him over to attendants, who led him off to his doom. As he left the room, he shouted that the king would change his mind, for he would soon witness the overthrow of his empire, repayment for his unjust punishment.
Darius did in fact recognize the superiority of the Hellenic hoplite and soon reproached himself for having made a serious mistake. Belatedly taking Charidemus’s point, he looked about for a competent general. But he had liquidated the leading candidate and accepted that he would have to be his own commander-in-chief.
Some weeks later, Darius again sought advice. His army had gathered at Babylon and slowly made its way west, a journey of more than 570 miles. It was perhaps 100,000 men strong, including about ten thousand each of cavalry, of the Immortals (elite infantry), and of Greek mercenaries.
By October the Great King had reached the wide, flat plain east of the Amanus Mountains and encamped near a town called Sochoi. He was filled with optimism. Here was an ideal spot for a battle on his terms, for it gave his multitudinous host plenty of space to spread out and outflank the Macedonians. But a question nagged at him. Should he remain where he was and wait for Alexander to turn up? This would be difficult: a large army could not stay for long in any one place before it exhausted local food supplies. The Persians would soon have to move on in any event.
Or perhaps Darius should hunt down Alexander. That would mean pushing on through one or other of the narrow passes that led to the Cilician plain. The Persians had heard of Alexander’s illness and suspected that he may have lost heart for a fight. Perhaps he would never come out into the open.
Darius reconvened his Friends, who were optimistic about his chances. It mattered little, they argued, where the battle was fought, for his powerful cavalry would trample Alexander’s army underfoot and win the day. A renegade from the Macedonian court, Amyntas (yet another one), son of Antiochus, had joined the Persians and took an opposing view. He insisted that the Persians should not budge. He knew his Alexander and told Darius: “He will come and find you wherever you are. In fact, he is probably already on his way.”
The Great King also questioned the leaders of the late Memnon’s Hellenic hoplites as to the wisest course of action. They were presumably aware of Charidemus’s grisly end and their reply was candid but careful. They counseled Darius to retreat to the plains of Mesopotamia, where food and animal fodder would be plentiful, and to resist any temptation to move i
nto the mountains, where he would lose the advantage of numbers.
Darius was prepared to give the proposal serious consideration, but his Persian officials reiterated the ingrained suspicion of Greek military experts that had done for Charidemus. The Greeks were of dubious loyalty, they claimed, and could be bought and sold. In fact, while it is true that unemployed Hellenes of fighting age hired themselves out to every comer, there is little evidence that the Great King’s foreign troops ever betrayed him. And, as Memnon’s career illustrated, they knew more about the art of war than did upper-class Persians.
The counselors suggested that the army be ordered to surround the Hellenes and spear them all to death. Darius rejected the idea out of hand. He remarked: “If giving advice brings danger of death, I will soon run out of advisers.” He thanked the Greeks for their concern for him, but explained that retreat would mean certain defeat.
In that case, the logic of logistics left him with no alternative—if he would not go back, he would be obliged to go forward. That would mean leaving the plain and marching into the mountains.
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AS FOR ALEXANDER, NOW RECOVERED, he too consulted with his senior command about the approaching battle. He agreed (for once) with the opinion of his senior general Parmenion. Curtius writes:
In [Parmenion’s] view, it was imperative for the Macedonians to avoid flat ground and open spaces where it was possible for them to be surrounded or caught in a pincer-movement. What he was frightened of was that they would be beaten by their own exhaustion rather than the enemy’s courage—fresh Persian troops would keep coming to the front if they could take a position which did not restrict their movements. Such soundly-reasoned strategy was readily accepted.
So Alexander delayed the encounter with the Great King for as long as he could. He guessed that, the harvest long over, shortage of supplies would lure the hungry Persians into the defiles. He waited for Darius to move. He was learning to be cautious.
To keep himself busy, he left his base at Tarsus and passed by the supposed tomb of the Assyrian king Sardanapalus, whose capacity for self-indulgence was legendary. Alexander was told that the epitaph included this wish: “You, stranger, should eat, drink and have sex, as all other concerns are not worth this” (signifying a handclap). Here was the—entirely fictional—image of the effete barbarian, whom all good Greeks would easily vanquish. It was grist to the mill, we may take it, for Callisthenes and the Macedonian publicity department.
The king reduced the pro-Persian port of Soli in western Cilicia and spent a week with some elite infantry subduing mountain tribes; these actions secured his rear, but equally to the point they used up time. Returning to Soli, he staged massive celebrations in the Hellenic manner, which were a sharp (surely intentional) contrast with the “oriental” decadence of barbarian monarchs.
Careful of his troops’ morale, the king announced a public holiday and a festival of culture. Punctiliously devout as always, he sacrificed to the healing god, Asclepius, in thanks for his return to health. He personally led a parade of the entire army. The entertainment program included a torch race and competitions in athletics and the performing arts.
Spirits, now high, were further lifted by the good news that the garrison guarding Caria had soundly defeated Ada’s irrepressible son-in-law, Orontobates, and recovered parts of Caria that had been lost to her.
Parmenion was sent forward with troops to garrison the mountain passes that led into the plain where the Great King’s host was waiting for orders. He drove out Persian guards from the Amanus Mountains. Alexander rode over to confer with him and reunite the army, which then marched along the coast through one of the passes and reached the ancient settlement of Issus.
Here Alexander again conferred with his senior commanders, who all recommended an immediate advance against the Persians, presumably directly into the plain. We now encounter a puzzle. Rather than accept this unsatisfactory advice and abandon the safety (and the advantage) of the mountains, the king turned south and followed the narrow littoral between the Amanus Mountains and the sea in the direction of Syria. He passed through a coastal defile called the Pillar of Jonah (where the whale reputedly spat out Jonah) and proceeded toward the Phoenician seaport of Myriandrus.
What did he expect to achieve by this maneuver? It is hard to say. If we assume that the Persians were still at Sochoi, he may have hoped that they would attack him through one of the passes to the coast. Supply always worried him and access to the sea would guarantee it.
The true answer to the question may lie with what Darius did next: he finally decided to make a move. Under the protection of a small military escort, he diverted his baggage train and noncombatants to Damascus in Syria. He also sent there all his money and “most precious treasures.” Following imperial protocol, his mother, Sisygambis; his wife, Stateira; his unmarried daughters; and his small son stayed with him.
Knowing that the Macedonians held the Pillar of Jonah, Darius now led his entire army on a flanking maneuver. Leaving the plain, he crossed through the mountain barrier by a northern pass called the Amanus Gates, expecting to catch Alexander in his rear. If he was lucky and some of the Macedonian army was still in Cilicia, he might even be able to cut it in two.
The odd thing is that the Gates had been left unguarded and the Persians met no opposition when they passed through. It is most unlikely that Parmenion would have omitted to place a garrison there. The facts as we know them suggest that this was a carefully laid trap, luring Darius to enter Cilicia and then to pursue the Macedonians down the coast. Alexander would then turn around and face the enemy on narrow ground of his choosing.
It may be that Alexander decided to evacuate some or all of the mountain garrisons as his army moved south. Now that he was ready for action, it would have been illogical for him to prevent the enemy from leaving the plain, when that was exactly what he wanted him to do.
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THE PERSIANS REACHED ISSUS, where Alexander had left his sick and wounded, who were unable to keep up with his column. Darius was now more sure than ever that the Macedonian invader had lost his nerve and was evading an engagement. Optimism made him cruel: egged on by his courtiers, he had the Macedonians’ hands cut off and cauterized with pitch.
According to the Roman historian Curtius, “he then gave orders for the men to be taken around so that they could get an impression of his troops and, when they had sufficiently inspected everything, he told them to report what they had seen to their king.”
Lacking modern means of communication, ancient armies often did not know where exactly their enemy was in the run-up to a pitched battle. They blundered about in a fog of unknowing. Alexander was exceptional in his careful use of mounted scouts who gathered as much information as possible not only about an opponent’s location, but also about the lie of the land, distances, and the availability of fodder, food, and water. The scouts were, one might say, his binoculars.
He appears to have been surprised when told that Darius was behind him. He did not immediately trust the report and wanted more data than his mutilated men were able to give. He sent some of his Companions in a thirty-oared ship with instructions to sail up the coast and see if what he had been told was true or not. Was the Great King there in person with his entire force? For all he knew, a second army group was planning a pincer attack from another direction. As evening fell, the Companions had their answer. From their safe vantage point on the water, they sighted a huge body of men. Campfires were lighting up everywhere in the darkening panorama. This was the Persian multitude at its full extent—and only eleven and a half miles from the Macedonian army.
Whether by luck or good judgment, Alexander had got his way. If he retraced his steps, he would meet Darius somewhere along the thin coastal strip he had just marched along, where the Persian army would be cribbed and confined. For all tha
t, his nerves were on edge. In the darkness he climbed to the top of a ridge and by the light of torches sacrificed to the tutelary gods of the locality to win their favor.
The Macedonians were exhausted and out of sorts. In the past couple of days they had marched seventy miles and on the previous night been washed out of their tents by a torrential downpour. Now on the morrow they had to march back the way they came and face a vastly more numerous enemy.
Aware of the need to boost morale, Alexander gathered round him his generals and Companion cavalry squadron leaders and gave them a brief, intense, and outrageously optimistic talk. In summary, they had already beaten the Persians once, the gods were on their side, and Macedonians were better soldiers than Persians (Xenophon and the Ten Thousand had proved it years ago). The men gathered round him, shouted their approval, and urged him to lead them on then and there.
There was indeed no time to lose. Alexander arranged for the army to eat its evening meal and sent off a few horsemen and archers to reconnoiter the route. Then as dusk thickened the entire army marched back to the Pillar of Jonah, where they slept among the crags.
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THE THIN RIBBON OF LAND expanded into a plain about one and a half miles wide, stretching from the shore to a line of foothills. It was bisected by a shallow river, the Pinarus, which ran obliquely to the sea. Here and there steep sides were covered with brambles. Except near the water itself, the ground was uneven and broken by gullies and small streambeds.
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