The Strategos
Page 22
He lay there dazed for a moment, only conscious of the stench of urine, human excrement and the coppery tang of blood. Suddenly his vision cleared and he saw one of the survivors of the group of hoplites that he had attacked spear one of his men who was trying to reach him. In doing so he lost his spear and, satisfied that the other Macedonian was dead, he turned back to Orestes, drawing a long bronze dagger as he did so.
Orestes struggled to his feet and nearly fainted from the pain in his left arm. He realised that it was broken and that he had lost the shield which had been strapped to it. Presumably both his ulna and radius had snapped when he fell and he had let go of the grip. His broken arm must have pulled clear of the other leather strap as he got up. The agony unmanned him and he was unable to drag his sword from its scabbard. He looked at the oncoming Illyrian unable to defend himself.
-o0o-
It was a tremendous victory. Nearly seven thousand Illyrians had been killed or so badly wounded that they were unlikely to survive. Well over five thousand of those were hoplites and the Macedonians had therefore broken the power of Illyria for some time to come. The day after the battle Parmenion reported to Philip to say that less than one thousand Macedonians had been killed or so badly wounded that they were unlikely to fight again.
He had trouble remaining in control of himself when he added that one of the dead was Orestes.
‘I’m sorry, Parmenion. I know how close the two of you were, and he was a good commander. We’ll both miss him.’
Parmenion thanked Philip for his kind words but inside he was thinking that the man didn’t know Orestes at all; not like Parmenion knew him. They had grown up together and he had been his best friend since they were small boys. No-one was closer to him that Orestes, except possibly Kharis; but he didn’t discuss some of his innermost thoughts with her the way he had done with Orestes. There was no aspect of Parmenion’s life, fears and aspirations that Orestes hadn’t been privy to. The same went for Parmenion. He knew his friend better than he knew anyone else and he knew that he would never be as close to another male as he was to Orestes.
As he sat in his tent, his gloom intensified when he realised that he would have to send a messenger to tell Myrrine of her husband’s death. It was then that he remembered that Orestes had a son just over a year old. At least he could offer both of them a home, especially as Philip had put a price of the heads of her parents. Orestes was dead and Kionos might as well be dead – he would never see him or Calisto again; unless, of course, Macedon attacked Amphipolis and Kionos was still their strategos.
Of the four friends who had run up Mount Pangaion and encountered the lioness just before they had become ephebes, only he and Demetrius were left, and he had never been that close to Demetrius.
He sighed and waved his goblet at his elderly skeuphorus as a sign that he wanted it refilled. He would have loved to have got drunk but he would have to write to Myrrine first. He had better write to his own wife too or he would never hear the end of it.
Just at that moment his aide, Nicias entered the tent. Despite his father’s betrayal, Parmenion had a soft spot for Kionos’ son. He looked very like his father at that age and he reminded the strategos of happier days. Taking the boy as his aide had been a good decision. The lad was clever and devoted to his commander. He took a lot of the routine work off Parmenion’s shoulders and he made sure that the strategos was never late for a parade or an appointment.
Nicias brought in a struggling boy with him. It took a moment for Parmenion to realise that it must be the brother of the boy he had killed on the field of battle.
‘I gather that you wanted this one kept alive, strategos, though I can’t imagine why.’
‘I killed his brother in fair fight but I couldn’t kill him unarmed and in cold blood. He was cradling the headless body of his brother at the time.’
Parmenion wondered to himself if he was going soft and it was evident that Nicias was thinking the same thing, though he had more sense than to say so.
‘What do you want me to do with him?’
‘What’s your name boy?’
The Illyrian gazed back at him defiantly and said nothing. Nicias twisted his arm and lifted it so that it was in danger of being forced out of its socket.
‘By Zeus that hurts. Alright, my name is Kleandros. Satisfied?’
‘Cocky little runt aren’t you,’ Nicias said as he continued to hold his arm in the same position.
‘How old are you, Kleandros? And I think you can relax your grip on his arm now he’s talking, Nicias,’ Parmenion told his aide.
Nicias did so with a little reluctance and the boy rubbed his arm before replying that he was thirteen.
‘What do you think I should do with you?’
‘If I was you I’d probably kill me because I might try and kill you whilst you slept,’ the boy replied candidly.
Parmenion laughed. ‘My you are a feisty one, aren’t you? Would you? Kill me in my sleep I mean.’
‘No, I should do for killing my brother. Blood feuds occur all the time in my tribe - they’re obligatory really - but I’ve always thought that they were stupid. People kill each other even after the reason for the feud has been forgotten. If you spare my life I promise not to take yours, or this oaf’s either.’
Parmenion caught Nicias’ eye and they both burst out laughing.
‘Very good, Kleandros. You have yourself a deal. My present skeuphorus is getting a little too old for campaigning so I’ll send him back to my estate to spend his old age there as soon as he has taught you your duties. Nicias, take him and show him where to wash the blood and muck of himself and get him a Macedonian exomis, a belt and a himation to fit him. I’ll pay for it. Do you agree to serve me, Kleandros?’
‘I suppose so. I haven’t got much choice really. I saw my father and my uncle killed before my brother died. My mother is no longer alive so there’s not much for me to go back to even if I escaped. As an orphan I would be no better off than a slave as I’d have to serve whoever was prepared to look after me. I might as well serve you; at least you’re an important man and I don’t think you’ll mistreat me for no reason, as some do back home.’
Having got that off his chest the boy seemed happier and he followed Nicias out of the tent heading for the river to bathe.
The two had barely left the tent when Parmenion was summoned to see Philip again.
‘Well, our men have found Bardylis’ body not three miles from here. Either he fell off his horse and hit his head on a rock or someone bashed his skull in to get rid of him. Either way I gather that Grabos, the leader of the Grabaei, is likely to be the most powerful of the various Illyrian tribal chieftains now that Bardylis is dead. The poor old bastard outlived all his sons, the last of whom died during the battle, and the eldest grandson, Cleitus, is only twelve. The Grabaei territory lies well to the north-east of us so I don’t think we need concern ourselves with Grabos for the moment.’
‘If Grabos does claim the vacant throne won’t he try to take over all of Illyria?’
‘Perhaps, but I intend to forestall him. The eldest grandchild of Bardylis is called Audata. She is fourteen and so is just of marriageable age. I want you to lead a delegation to Damastion and tell her of my proposal, not that she has any choice in the matter. Once we are married I’ll effectively be King of Dardania, Bardylis’ original kingdom before he subjugated the other Illyrian tribes. You are also to agree my terms with the council there. They are those I outlined to Bardylis; they have one month to deliver fifty sons of their leading nobles and tribal leaders chosen by you.’
He looked intently at Parmenion before continuing.
‘I fully intend to incorporate the territory I have conquered into Macedon and, with this in mind, I intend to set up a school of pages so these hostages can be any age up to seventeen. They will become royal pages, rather than just ephebes, and, with other Macedonian boys, this will provide me with well-trained and loyal Companions in the future.’
‘Ah, you haven’t heard then? That fool Agathanor of Gazeros has abducted my nephew after the murder of his mother in the hope of foisting himself on me as co-regent. Well, he’s backed the wrong horse. I’ll deal with him in due course, but the council in Pella wrote to me as soon as they found out what Agathanor had done. They now realise that this is no time for Macedon to have a boy on the throne, especially one who is a prisoner, and so they have deposed him and elected me as the new king.’
Chapter Twelve – Audata and Cleitus
358 to 357 BC
As there were still some three thousand Illyrian soldiers at large who had fled after the battle, Parmenion decided that it would be prudent to take a strong escort with him to Damastion. He therefore took a tagma of hoplites, a hipparchia of cavalry and a lochus of peltasts. He dispensed with a staff and just took Nicias, Kleandros and two scribes in addition to the escort. Even so, with the skeuphorii and other servants of the officers, the cooks and essential camp followers, plus the drivers for the baggage train, the cavalcade stretched for miles and moved much slower that Parmenion would have liked.
They encountered no trouble and Parmenion was tempted to press on with the cavalry, leaving the rest to follow on, but he was too good a soldier to seriously consider splitting his command in hostile territory. Two weeks later they were approaching the city of Damastion, Bardylis’ former capital, when the scouts out on their flanks reported that they were being shadowed by a hundred or so men on horseback in the hills on each side of the road.
As they approached Damastion they passed several of the silver mines for which the area was famous; indeed Bardylis had chosen Damastion as his capital once he became the acknowledged King of Illyria because of the silver from which his coins were minted. Parmenion had even heard a story that when the former king was a youth he was employed working in these very same mines. It was his strength of character and cunning that enabled him to seize power as the chieftain of his tribe, the Dardanians, and then make it the most formidable of all the various tribes in the country.
The river valley along which they rode widened out as they neared the city and their shadowy escort came down into the valley to escort them, riding a mile away on either side of the long Macedonian column. Parmenion sent out more flanking scouts just in case the Illyrians tried something stupid.
Three miles from Damastion he was confronted by a somewhat ragged army drawn up across the valley. He assumed that the more professional infantrymen in the centre were the city watch. The rest appeared to be a citizen militia armed with everything from wooden pitchforks to spears. Few wore helmets or had a shield. In front of the ragtag army sat a young girl and a boy accompanied by a few mounted cavalrymen and what Parmenion assumed were the city elders.
‘Greetings, I am Parmenion, strategos and envoy of King Philip of Macedon. May I assume that I am addressing Princess Audata and her brother, Prince Cleitus?’
‘You may,’ the girl replied in a slightly quavering voice, but one that, nevertheless, sounded haughty. ‘What brings you here, Parmenion of Amphipolis?’
The strategos was slightly taken aback. The girl had obviously done her homework, he thought as Nicias sniggered behind him. This, more than the girl’s hauteur, annoyed him.
‘I have come to bring you King Philip’s terms for a truce between our two countries.’
‘In that case you had better set up camp here and I will have a tent erected between you and the city where we can negotiate.’
‘I fear that there is little negotiation to be done, princess. Philip has dictated the terms by which he will agree not to invade Illyria. You must realise that you have nothing, certainly not this rabble, to stop him taking over the whole of southern Illyria?’
At this Cleitus flushed face betrayed his anger and he drew his sword.
‘Put that away now, prince, or you will end up looking like a pin cushion.’
He waved his hand to indicate the archers behind him who stood with their bows trained on the twelve year old prince. Cleitus hesitated and then did as he was bid.
‘Very well, princess. Shall we say just before sunset for our meeting? I suggest we both bring no more than two advisers and two guards.’
‘Very well, but I shall bring three armed men as I am but a feeble girl and you are a soldier. That will make our numbers more even.’
Parmenion smiled. ‘Until this evening then.’
‘Well, what are these terms for peace?’
Audata had brought her brother and the chief elder with her as well as three ugly looking members of the city watch. The former three were sitting on the ground facing Parmenion and the two commanders of the infantry and cavalry from his escort. Nicias and a soldier stood on guard behind them staring at the three Illyrians standing opposite them. Kleandros had poured wine into the goblets held by Parmenion and his Companions and Audata’s handmaiden poured water for the other three.
Audata was concentrating on Parmenion but Cleitus had stiffened when he heard Kleandros reply to Parmenion in an unmistakably Dardanian accent.
‘What are you doing serving the enemy, boy?’ he demanded.
Kleandros had more sense than to reply but Parmenion had no hesitation in responding instead.
‘I captured him on the field of battle and he had the good sense to choose life instead of death.’
‘Give him to me and I’ll teach him that he made the wrong choice.’
‘Cleitus, this is not what we’re here for,’ his elder sister said with some asperity. ‘Now be quiet unless I ask your opinion or you can go back to the city.’
Cleitus sat in sulky silence after that but he was conscious of the angry looks that Kleandros kept giving him. Eventually he stared back and Kleandros grinned and stuck out his tongue at him. Cleitus’ first instinct was to leap to his feet and thrust his dagger into the insolent boy but he came to his senses just in time. He had enough sense to realise that the two Macedonians standing beside Kleandros would kill him as soon as he drew his blade. He tried to ignore the boy from then on but something made him keep darting glances at him. Every time he did so Kleandros would grin cheekily at him. This distraction meant that he wasn’t paying attention to the negotiations.
‘Do you think we have any alternative, Cleitus?’ his sister asked.
‘What, er um, I’m not sure. What do you think?’
‘Well, I think that giving up the land up to Lake Lychnitas and surrendering the cities in Upper Macedonia that grandfather captured is probably academic. We have no option but to agree. I’d have thought that was obvious, what aren’t you sure about?’
‘It wasn’t that; I agree with you there,’ he said, recovering quickly. ‘It’s the other conditions I question.’
‘Hmm, releasing the Macedonian prisoners we took at Styberra will take time and be expensive as many of them have been sold as slaves or are working in the mines now.’ She turned back to Parmenion. ‘How long have we got to comply?’
‘I have a list of all those who are missing. We are fairly certain that three thousand of them survived the battle and so that is the number I want released by the end of this month. Your records must show who they were and how they were disposed of. I want those records by this time tomorrow so we can check the captives off against it as they are released.’
She looked at Cleitus and then at the elder who both nodded.
‘Very well, I agree. However, I’m not so certain that we can surrender fifty sons of our nobles as hostages, especially as one of them has to be my brother. What guarantee do I have that they will be well treated?’
As soon as Cleitus realised that he was to become a hostage he started to panic but Parmenion’s next words calmed him somewhat.
‘King Philip is establishing a school of royal pages. Highly born Macedonian boys as well as the fifty Illyrians will join it and they’
ll be trained together; not just in military skills and the art of command, but also in philosophy, mathematics and literature.’
Cleitus rather liked the sound of that. He had ambitions towards the throne of Illyria when he was older and it sounded as if this school of pages would give him a good grounding in what he needed to learn. Then he could turn the tables on the Macedonians and succeed where his grandfather had failed. He looked at his sister and again nodded.
‘Are we finished?’
‘Not quite, princess. There is one further condition, and that is that you marry King Philip and become Queen of Macedon.’
Audata’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Marry the man who killed seven thousand of my people and hounded King Bardylis to his death? Never! I’d rather die,’ she spat out when she had recovered from the shock.
‘King Philip is a handsome man in the first flush of youth, princess. He is only twenty four; you could do much worse. And it will save your lands from being pillaged and your people raped and killed. I urge you to sleep on it. Shall we meet here again just after dawn?’
With that Parmenion got to his feet in one graceful movement, despite being in his forties, and strode out of the tent followed by his entourage. Audata was left crying and hugging Cleitus for comfort. The elder looked embarrassed and, seeing as how Audata showed no signs of moving, he clumsily climbed to his feet and eased his aching joints before leaving the tent and returning to the city. He would go and see the princess when she had had more time to get used to the idea. For himself, it seemed a small price to pay for peace.
The other argument that he used later that day was something that neither Audata nor Cleitus had thought of.
‘Kyria,’ he began. ‘As you know, Grabos is now claiming to be King of Illyria. By all accounts he is a ruthless and ambitious man, only held in check in the past by the power and cunning of King Bardylis. Now that your grandfather is gone, Grabos may decide to eliminate any possible other claimants to the throne. At least you’d both be safe in Pella. I suggest that you take the other royal children with you as well.’