by Mary Renault
As Alexander marched south towards him east of the Tigris, there was an eclipse of the moon, one of the most alarming phenomena of the ancient world. Thanks to Aristotle, Alexander understood its cause; not for him the fatal delay of the superstitious Nicias which, in the previous century, had lost the whole Athenian force in Sicily and with it the Peloponnesian War. Alexander did not, however, bother his anxious soldiers with astronomy, but summoned the seers to cheer them up by identifying the darkened moon with Persia. He sacrificed punctiliously to the powers involved, the Sun, Moon and Earth; his knowing what they were doing did not affect his belief that they were gods.
A Persian moon had indeed been eclipsed for ever. Stateira, wife of Darius, the most beautiful woman of mortal birth in Asia, had fallen sick and died. Plutarch says, without hint of scandal, that she died in childbirth, in which case it must have been much earlier. In any event, Alexander had held up his march for a day to perform her funeral rites, assuming the duties of a kinsman, including a day-long fast.
He may well have reproached himself, if he had sacrificed her to his sense of theatre. The splendid set piece from Xenophon would never be enacted now. Even in cushioned wagons, journeys over earth roads on hard wheels must have been a tiring business, with exposure to local infections. He must have wished he had been content with a less spectacular piece of generosity, which—since he had never attempted to use the women as hostages—he could have afforded. He had now to witness the grief of the children and Sisygambis; and though her continuing affection shows that she never blamed him, there need be no doubt that his mourning was sincere.
Curtius has a story here, with important later implications. Alexander sent one of the Queen’s attendant eunuchs, who is actually named, to inform Darius of her death and assure him that she had had the customary Persian funeral honours. The scene moves to Darius’ tent, where Darius cries out that such honours must be the tribute to a mistress. The eunuch reassures him, and he then expresses respect for his enemy’s conduct. This episode is the prologue to much inside information from Darius’ headquarters. In Curtius, it has every indication of having been first supplied by an eyewitness; a vivid and lively raconteur with a courtier’s sense of tact. More will be heard before long of such a person.
Darius now sent out scouts to report on the approach of Alexander. He caught a few, and learned where the Persians were. He then gave his men a four-day rest, trusting Darius not to move from his swept and garnished battleground. He also had his own base camp fortified, no doubt remembering the Issus massacre; and left in it all noncombatants, including Queen Sisygambis. He then led his troops towards the plain of Gaugamela. From the low hills that fringed it he saw the vast Persian host, of which the most conservative estimate is 200,000 infantry and 40,000 cavalry. His own numbers were 40,000 infantry and 7,000 horse.
He convened a war council in the style of Macedon, whose kings conferred with their chiefs as primi inter pares. Several commanders were for bringing the rested troops straight into action; which, in view of Persian numbers, says a good deal for their confidence in Alexander. The experienced Parmenion pointed out that this was a field prepared for them by Darius, who might have hidden pit traps and caltrops in their way. Alexander agreed, made camp and rode out to reconnoitre, probably glad of the excuse to pause and calculate, without seeming overimpressed by Persian strength. He took a good look, in full view of their outposts. After noting their immense superiority in cavalry, the arm on which his own tactics most relied, he rode back to think.
Parmenion, who had evidently gone with him, advised him to try a night attack. He answered that he would not “steal a victory”—referring to Xenophon, original coiner of the phrase “to steal a march.” To flourish bravura over shrewdness was part of the Alexander touch. Night operations had endless possibilities of confusion and error; a night pursuit would give routed enemies the chance to re-form and retrieve morale. Darius had been allowed a year in which to collect his remaining assets and put them on the table. Now Alexander meant to beat him at his own game on his chosen pitch, and pick up the stake entire, with unarguable finality. It was the crux of his own destiny, and of much more, and this he knew. He ordered his men a good dinner and told them to get some sleep; they were to set out before dawn. He himself sat up late, thinking and planning.
Darius had been thinking too. As Alexander had hoped, he had been thinking like Parmenion. The Greeks were hopelessly outnumbered; what would they do but try to snatch advantage from a night surprise? Orders went out, not just to the outposts but to the whole huge host, to stand by all night, the men in arms and the horses bridled. To hear was to obey. Night passed, the men grew tired. In Alexander’s tent the lamp went out. Decisions taken, the outcome laid on the gods, he fell into deep sleep. When it was time for the men to be roused and fed, his officers found him sleeping like a child. They gave the necessary orders and came back. Finally Parmenion had to shake him. When asked how he could be so calm, he said he had had far more to worry about when the Persians were burning the crops ahead of him. Now, he had been given his heart’s desire.
It was a bad day for history when Quintus Curtius enrolled at a Roman school of rhetoric. With access to priceless sources now destroyed by fire or sack, of which he gives us tempting glimpses, he makes every major speech in his History a showpiece of his own, which seekers of fact can safely discard unread. In this spirit of academic exercise he furnishes Darius and Alexander with long pre-battle orations, which need not detain us. More interestingly, since it comes from a first-hand source, Arrian describes Alexander’s briefing of his officers. He told them they did not need speeches to inspire them; their own courage and pride in it would do that; just let each encourage the men under his command. They were not fighting now for Asia Minor, or for Egypt, but for the sovereignty of all Asia. Let each keep strict discipline in time of danger; observe complete silence when ordered to advance silently; raise a terrifying battle yell when the right moment came; be alert for orders, and swiftly pass them on. He was thinking ahead to the blinding dust which would prevent all visual signals. He needed to keep his plan flexible, and wanted swift response to any change of tactics.
The instruction to make the war yell terrifying may not be unrelated to the fact that, according to Plutarch, before the battle he sacrificed to Fear. Greeks readily personified any natural force; but there is no other record of his ever honouring this deity. It would seem that since Issus he thought of Fear as Darius’ familiar spirit. All these preparations attended to, he marched his men from the low hills down to the plain, as dawn light revealed the hosts to one another.
The Persian front, with plenty of room to manoeuvre, and outnumbering the Macedonians by about five to one, was so much longer that if things went amiss they stood to be not only outflanked but encircled. Alexander deepened his flanks with reverses which in case of an enveloping movement could turn outward to form a square. Parmenion as usual led the left wing, where he was opposed by the brave and able Mazaeus, whose withdrawal at the Euphrates had certainly not been caused by cowardice. Darius took the royal station in the centre; but had in front of him his Greek mercenaries and other strong contingents; also fifteen elephants and fifty scythed chariots. Alexander led the Macedonian right. Confronting him was the massive army of Bactria, led by its satrap, Bessus. So far did its line overlap his own, that he started the battle nearly opposite Darius.
He began, however, edging out to his right, as if to escape the Persian overlap. Darius ordered a corresponding movement to keep his overlap extended; he still committed no troops to action, trying to divine what Alexander meant to do. He kept moving right, till he was approaching the edge of Darius’ carefully flattened arena. On the rougher ground beyond, scythed chariots would not run and cavalry would be hampered. It was a trial of nerve. Darius, falling to the bluff, ordered Bessus’ men to oppose further rightward movement. Persian troops were now engaged. Alexander, by a series of precisely timed manoeuvres, caused more and m
ore of them to be involved. He himself, at the head of the Companion Cavalry, meticulously bided his time.
He had been located, and Darius ordered the scythed chariots to charge him. But he had been permitted a leisurely reconnaissance beforehand and his arrangements for them were made. They were attacked with missiles by the Agriani; some of the daring tribesmen leaped head on at the horses, dragging them to a halt and pulling down the charioteers. Those that got through met wide lanes in the well-drilled infantry, shot harmlessly past and were disposed of at leisure in the rear.
Meantime, Darius’ left wing was becoming increasingly committed, while Parmenion’s forces still pinned down his right. The centre was thinning. Despite Alexander’s fewer numbers, he had ingeniously contrived that his apex of strength should meet an area of Persian weakness just where he wanted it to be.
It was time to change horses. A squire had been holding ready the veteran Bucephalas, now twenty-four, keeping him fresh for this moment, the climax of his active service. Alexander rode to the head of the royal squadron. Forming it into column, with a tapering point of which he was the apex, he raised the war yell, and hurtled towards Darius, now in the front line. The cavalry had not forgotten their orders to make a terrifying noise; they thundered after, offering their tributes to Fear.
Fear was their friend. As, unimpeded by the fifteen elephants, they rolled up the Persian front and approached the royal chariot, Darius wheeled it round, snatching the reins dropped by its wounded driver, and was the first to fly. The fall of the charioteer had been seen by neighbouring Persians; the chariot’s flight convinced them that it was the King who had fallen and died. The centre disintegrated; a signal for general rout. Alexander and his cavalry crashed on, hewing their way in pursuit, and intent on catching Darius.
A message then arrived from Parmenion that his sector was still heavily engaged. Alexander was no Rupert of the Rhine; once the messenger had located him in the dust and confusion, he abandoned the tempting chase to support his men and consolidate his victory. While reaching the threatened point he fought a fierce engagement in which sixty Companions died and Hephaestion was wounded. Much dispute has raged over this message, and on whether it was later stressed by Alexander’s chroniclers to discredit Parmenion. Its propaganda value seems very doubtful, considering that Parmenion’s was a holding operation, competently fulfilled, and the message saved Alexander from the grave danger of leaving a doubtful field. He was no doubt anxious to tell the world why he had let Darius slip through his fingers, and to receive proper credit for rescuing his left wing (whose danger was over by the time he got there); but this is a long way from finding scapegoats, and Parmenion emerges from the account without discredit.
As it was, Alexander’s forward dash had left a small gap in the line, not of strategic size, but big enough for a small task force detailed by Darius to attempt the rescue of his family. This troop of Royal Guards and Indians got through, and penetrated as far as the base camp, where they wasted valuable time in looting, and in killing non-combatants, before they reached their objective. Diodorus relates that many Persian captives joined forces with their countrymen and prepared for an escape; but that the Queen Mother Sisygambis, when the women called to her to hurry, sat silent and immobile in her chair. Soon afterwards the Persian troop was beaten off.
Meantime the satrap Mazaeus had learned of Darius’ flight. Like Nabarzanes at Issus, who had also held down the redoubtable Parmenion and been similarly left in the lurch, he decided his obligations were at an end. He extricated as many of his men as he could, and went racing back to Babylon. Though he and Nabarzanes had reached the same conclusion, they were different men; each would act as his nature prompted him.
Alexander, finding Parmenion’s force already out of trouble, dashed off with the Companions, still hoping to catch Darius on his way to his base at Arbela. So furious was the race that a thousand horses foundered. (Not Bucephalas. Alexander had taken time to have him cared for. The old horse, never used again in battle, was to be cherished for six more years.) At Arbela it was proved that the horses had died in vain; once more the Great King’s chariot was found abandoned, along with whatever could not be carried away in the headlong Persian flight; this must have included a good many women. Alexander paused, to rest his men and consider his objective. Hitherto, he had accorded Darius much the same military importance as himself. At Arbela he decided that the capture was, after all, a very low priority. So completely did he discard the pursuit in favour of other aims, so open was his contempt for Darius as an enemy, that it would have been inconsistent to put much importance on Parmenion’s responsibility, if any, for letting him slip away.
The military historian E. W. Marsden, concluding his analysis of the battle, puts down the victory partly to the Macedonians’ superior morale and closer ties with their commander, partly to Alexander’s remarkably detailed understanding of the art of war. He sums up,
It is difficult to re-create the chaos characteristic of full-scale engagements at certain stages, the confusion caused by noise, movement and dust, the atmosphere of doubt and uncertainty, the horrible carnage… It must be extraordinarily difficult for modern generals to remain calm and detached when controlling operations in a command-post some miles from the scene of the fighting. How much harder it would be for Alexander and Darius who were stationed in the line of battle itself! Darius appears not to have possessed that rare ability to sift conflicting reports, to make correct observations, and, remaining cool and unflurried, to issue swift and well-considered orders in such circumstances. Alexander had this ability in a pronounced degree. That was the third decisive factor at Gaugamela.
Darius and a ragged remnant struggled southeast over the mountain passes towards Ecbatana (Hamadan), the summer resort of the Persian kings. The Royal Road south, to Babylon, Susa and Persepolis, the rich heart of the empire, was left open to Alexander. The choice of objective did not take him long. By now he must have talked through his interpreters with captive Persians, and formed his own estimate of Darius’ value to morale.
Curtius, drawing again it seems on the Persian informant to whom some earlier chronicler had access, says that Darius abandoned the great cities to keep Alexander from following his trail. Certainly if his objective was to rally Persia to arms, his remaining months of life give little sign of it. Though his son was a captive, he had an effective heir in his warrior brother Oxathres. Had he succeeded a Great King fallen inspiringly in battle against the invader, the course of the war might have been much altered.
As it was, its next phase was mere swanning for Alexander. He may not yet have guessed it while nearing the huge brick-and-bitumen walls of Babylon. Herodotus, who went there a century before, says they enclosed 60 square miles, in which food crops could be grown during a siege. Even the old fortifications of Nebuchadnezzar, now an inner ring, were vast. The outer ones were 180 feet thick and 400 high, a monument to the Assyrian builders with their hordes of expendable slaves. Cyrus had taken it without a fight; but Alexander must have known Xenophon’s livelier version. Its mass was visible for miles across the plain, promising a siege at least as colossal as that of Tyre. But there was no need even to reconnoitre it. Alexander was met on the road by Mazaeus its satrap, fresh from his tussle with Parmenion. Now, bringing his children as hostages, he invited Alexander in.
It was not much more than a century since Babylon had last tried to revolt from Persia, and been crushed by Xerxes with severity. Its luxury-loving people were disaffected or indifferent; its garrison was disillusioned; its commander had no sentiment for a beaten fugitive king. It remained only to placate the victor. Alexander, naturally wary of a trap when this astonishing gift was offered him, still advanced in battle order, leading the van. But the walls were undefended, the hundred gates wide open, the drawbridges down. He entered as King of Babylon, in a state chariot plated with gold, among splendours never to be surpassed in the triumphs of the Caesars. The city treasurer, eager to outdo Mazaeus, had
had the route strewn with flowers and censed with perfume. Rare and exotic gifts, choice horses, cars bearing caged lions and leopards, were led in the procession; magi and priests attended, royal praise singers chanted, Mazaeus’ cavalry paraded. As always with Alexander, one Roman adornment was lacking: the spectacle of captives humiliated in chains.
After viewing the ancient splendours of the palace, he visited its treasury. Of this vast hoard no assessment remains. He paid out lavish bounties to all his men; his mercenaries got two months’ extra pay. These included many Greeks who, given leave to go home when the Greek cities had all been fired, had chosen to stay on. All could now afford the luxuries of a city they had not been let loose to sack. Here in Babylon was the real beginning of his extravagant generosities which henceforth would flow out to all around him. This first donative was good policy and fair dealing. But to give pleasure, to be surrounded with gratitude and liking, met a deep need in his nature. In his childhood, his tutor Leonidas had made him live poor in the midst of plenty; he loved profusion as only those can who have been pinched. He loved display; it went with his sense of theatre. All these cravings were fed in Babylon; as the money came in, he would develop his personal style.
From the throne he granted Babylon the status it had had before Xerxes crushed it and threw down the ziggurat of Bel. The priests of the god were now given much gold to rebuild his sanctuary. (It would have fateful consequences later.) Mazaeus was at once confirmed in his rank of satrap. The gift of this great office to a Persian, gratifying to Iranians, can hardly have been as popular with Macedonians; to emphasize his good performance at Gaugamela would be natural, and Parmenion’s reputation could not be damaged by tributes to the strength of his opponent. The posts of garrison commander and treasurer of course went to Macedonians. Alexander was a month in Babylon, giving his men a holiday. He was busy himself, though it is not likely that the pomps of the court were irksome. When ready to march, he put his now impressive treasure train in the charge of Harpalus; the loyal friend of boyhood was to know himself thoroughly forgiven.