by H A CULLEY
Sostratos led the thousand lightly armed spearmen and the same number of peltasts through the scrub surrounding the Thracian camp. At the same time Parmenion was guiding the cavalry around the camp to the far side away from where the taxiarch would be attacking. They had to move slowly as the new moon only gave off a limited amount of light. The danger was that those towards the rear of each column would lose touch with the front half. Both commanders were glad when they got to their respective rendezvous without losing anyone.
The soldiers settled down to wait for dawn. The rank and file, except those on guard, could sleep but their officers knew that the success of the plan meant the difference between an easy victory and complete disaster. Eventually the first soft glow appearing over the eastern hills as Apollo started to drive his chariot of fire across the sky signaled the time for everyone to get ready.
The wind was blowing from Sostratos’ position towards the immense Thracian camp. They hadn’t bothered to erect any defences except for a shallow ditch and bank of earth which ran around the tents made of leather and woven goatshair. A few bored sentries leaned on their spears around the perimeter but otherwise there was no sign of life. Then one or two men appeared as sunlight crept across the ground towards the camp and went to empty their bladders into the shallow ditch.
Suddenly one of the sentries spotted the fire springing up from the scrub a couple of hundred yards away. As smoke began to blow towards the encampment arrows, stones and javelins sped towards the men on top of the low rampart. They dropped without a sound, most struck down by several missiles.
As the smoke reached the outer edges of the camp, the light spearmen, wet cloths wrapped around their noses and mouths, ran ahead of it. When they reached the first tents they stabbed down, spearing the men inside as they slept. Soon the smoke overtook them and men started to scramble out of their tents coughing and spluttering. They ran into the spearmen and, mostly unarmed, they died in their hundreds. Gradually the Thracians realised what was happening and few groups of armed men started to gather to defend themselves.
Once the alarm was raised, those sleeping in tents away from the smoke affected area started to get organised. Then Parmenion’s cavalry hit them from the opposite direction to the way that they were facing. It was a massacre as the horsemen speared and cut down the disorganised enemy.
The peltasts had spread themselves out at the sides of the camp away from the smoke affected area. As some of the Thracians tried to escape they were killed. This caused others behind them to change their minds about escaping and even more chaos ensued. The few who had the sense to run into the smoke got away, except for those who were overcome by smoke inhalation.
Meanwhile Kleandros and a group of the younger slingers had reached the horse lines. After the latter had killed those left there on guard, the boys cut the ropes which tethered the horses to pegs in the ground and herded them away towards their own camp. When they were half a mile away from the camp Parmenion and the cavalry caught up with them and, lifting the hundred or so boys up behind them, they drove the Thracians’ horses ahead of them at a canter.
As the resistance of the Thracians became more organised, Sostratos gave the order to withdraw before he started to suffer serious casualties and the Macedonians disappeared into the thinning smoke. They left behind them well over a thousand dead Thracians and two thousand wounded, about half of whom were unlikely to fight again. At a stroke Parmenion had reduced his enemy’s fighting strength by nearly a quarter, deprived him of most of his horses and severely dented his morale; and all for the loss of under a hundred of his own men.
The next day the Macedonians advanced towards the Thracian encampment once more. This time the hoplites accompanied them, forming the centre. The peltasts flanked them with the light infantry outside of them with the cavalry bringing up the rear.
However, as they deployed half a mile away from where the encampment had been, Parmenion saw that the area was deserted. The Thracians had fled. He sent Sostratus and the two cavalry hipparchia in pursuit. With any luck they would catch the fleeing Thracians well before they reached safety in the nearest city over the border. Parmenion turned from watching the departing dust cloud and got ready to greet the welcoming delegation from Crenides.
-o0o-
Emyntor had resigned himself to remaining a slave in Illyria until he died and, given the conditions, he didn’t think that death would be long in coming. Then rumours about Philip’s great victory and King Bardylis’ death began to circulate in the silver mine where he was working.
Life was hard, even for a man who had been brought up in Sparta as a boy. His day started at dawn when he was kicked awake to shuffle off as fast as the chains around his ankles would let him to fight for a scrap of stale bread and a cup of foul water. The next sixteen hours were spent hacking at a seam of silver ore and putting nuggets in a basket for some other unfortunate to carry out of the mine. Finally, when he thought that he was too exhausted to do any more, he joined another queue for some thin gruel before he was taken out of the mine to be locked up in a crowded cabin for the evening.
If he wanted to defecate or piss he had to do it where he was. He smelt terrible, but soon he stopped noticing. His body erupted in sores, his hair was badly matted, his hands became badly calloused and he lost weight at an alarming rate.
Every day other slaves died where they worked and they were carried out and thrown in a pit. However, something gave him the strength to endure. He didn’t give up hope that he’d be ransomed or freed somehow. He thought about escape, but no-one had ever succeeded in doing that.
Then came the day that those Macedonian slaves who were still alive were taken outside and lined up. The man in charge of the mines appeared accompanied by a pentakosiarch and a line of carts drawn by oxen and escorted by an ilium of cavalry. Names were read out and when he heard his he stumbled forward and collapsed onto the ground.
When he awoke he was in a cart bouncing around with a load of other unwashed slaves as they made their way down a rough track. He passed into unconsciousness again and when he next woke up he was being washed in a river. Someone put salve on the sores and wrapped the raw flesh where the manacles around his ankles had chaffed the skin away. He was given a clean chiton made of rough wool and loaded back into the cart. After another day of rough jolting they came to a city. All the rescued captives were taken in by families and slowly he recovered.
After a week his wife and son arrived and there was a tearful reunion. She wept, partly in joy at the reunion, but partly because of his gaunt appearance. He looked thirty years older than he was and he never quite recovered his original appearance.
Six weeks later he arrived back at his estate near Pydna and a month after that Philip sent for him.
‘I hear that you advised my brother in the strongest terms to rest the army before engaging the Illyrians in that fateful battle?’ the king finally asked after glaring at him for a few minutes.
‘That’s true, basileus. The men were exhausted from the forced march and in no condition to attack troops that were fresh, well fed and rested.’
‘I also heard that you were ordered to guard the baggage train but you insisted on retaining command of your chiliarchy and, when you were told to leave the battlefield, your chiliarchy mutinied.’
‘In essence that’s true, but it’s not exactly how I would have put it. They were my men and, if they were going to die because your brother was foolish, I wanted to die with them.’
‘But you didn’t, obviously.’
‘As you can see from the scars on my body, I was wounded. I was captured at the baggage train, where your brother had ordered me to be and where the physicians were sewing me back together. Now you can either let me live, execute me or exile me but I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done.’
Philip looked at him steadily for several minutes, then he grunted and suddenly smiled.
‘Execute you? No, I need men like you in my army. You’ll come wi
th me to see Parmenion. I want you to command his heavy infantry.’
-o0o-
Parmenion couldn’t believe that he had heard Philip correctly. It had been a month since he had driven off the Thracian besiegers. His nephew had pursued the Thracians, who were all on foot, for forty miles and had killed or captured three thousand of them. He was certain that the loss of half of their men would dissuade the current King of Thrace, Cothelas, from any further raids but Philip wasn’t satisfied with that.
‘Crenides is never going to survive in the longer term, Parmenion. ‘Tell him Attalus.’
Attalus was a member of the Attalid family who ruled the state of Pergamon just on the other side of the Hellespont, and therefore part of the Persian Empire. He had fled to Macedon after he was unsuccessful in a bitter struggle for the throne. Philip had taken a liking to him and accepted him into his court, making him a Macedonian noble.
‘Yes, basileus,’ he replied, a trifle too obsequiously for Parmenion’s liking. ‘Crenides is well situated to guard the approaches into Macedon from Southern Thrace in that it lies near the centre of the plain onto which the two routes through the mountains disgorge. However, it has too few people and poor defences to hold out for long if it is attacked. The king has therefore decided to encourage its settlement by Macedonians, who will receive a bounty for settling here. Of course, Thasos is welcome to send any more settlers here if it wants, but the city will be part of Macedon from now on.’
‘To mark the re-founding of the city as a much bigger conurbation I’ve decided to rename it,’ Philip added. ‘It will be re-named Philippi.’
Later, when they were alone, Philip asked Parmenion what he thought of Attalus.
‘To be frank, I though he seems a little sycophantic.’
‘He’s just grateful to me for taking him and his family in when they fled from Pergamon. He’s a very capable soldier, as you will find out. I’m going to expand the army again. You will remain in command of the professional army but I’m promoting Attalus to strategos to command and train the militia throughout Macedon.’
‘I see. Does that mean that he is also under my command?’
‘No, you will both answer to me.’
Parmenion could hardly pretend that he was happy with the new organization. He sighed. He had no option but to accept it. In truth, he realised that the expansion of Macedon territory and its army meant that more than one commander was necessary, but he felt that the special relationship he had always had with Philip was now at an end.
‘I’ve also been thinking about the nephew you promoted to be your taxiarch without consulting me.’
‘You’ve always left the appointment of my officers to me, basileus.’
‘You only call me that when you’re angry with me, Parmenion. Don’t get all huffy with me. This is my country and my army.’
The two men glared at each other, then Parmenion dropped his eyes.
‘You’re right, Philip, but please don’t ask me to demote him. That would humiliate me in the eyes of the men and I could no longer function as your strategos; forgive me, one of your strategoi. I’m not making any sort of threat, just stating facts.’
‘No, I appreciate that this is difficult for you. Sostratos can remain a taxiarch but I suggest you make him your cavalry commander. I want you to accept Emyntor as the taxiarch in command of your infantry.’
‘Emyntor? The only chiliarch who displayed any sense at the Battle of Styberra?’
‘The same. He was badly wounded and made to work as a slave in the mines, but he’s nearly fully recovered now. I think you will find him useful.’
‘Yes, gladly. He’s a good man from all I’ve heard. You do realise that you’re entrusting the command of your army to two Amphipolitans, a Spartan and a Persian?’
Philip looked stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing.
-o0o-
Olympias staggered as the pain shot through her abdomen. This is it, she thought. The baby’s coming. Somehow she knew that it would be a boy and that he would grow up to be a great man. Her servants helped her onto the bed and sent for the priestess who would deliver the baby. As she lay there her favourite snake wound its way around her leg and slithered up her body until it encircled her chest. The queen found it comforting but she hadn’t expected the pain to be as bad and, after a while, nothing could stop her from crying out in agony. The snake was alarmed by its mistress’ distress and slithered away to hide. Olympias felt it go and felt deserted.
She prayed for the baby to come quickly but it didn’t. Then the priestess told her that it wasn’t presenting itself correctly; the head wasn’t engaged. She knew that unless the baby could be moved both it and its mother were likely to die. She prayed to Zeus and to Aphrodite to help her. At first the prayers and the cock she sacrificed didn’t seem to help. Then, miraculously, the baby started to move of its own accord and the top of the head appeared.
In amazement the priestess eased the rest of the head clear and the body followed immediately afterwards. The baby boy cried lustily as soon as it was delivered and Olympias collapsed now that the ordeal was over. When she awoke the wriggling bundle was placed in her arms and she felt nothing but joy and pride.
‘What will you call him,’ the priestess asked as she finished dealing with the umbilical cord.
‘Philip wants to call him Alexander, after his eldest brother.’
‘Alexander,’ the priestess repeated, smiling. ‘It means defender of men; a good name for a prince of Macedon.’
TO BE CONTINUED IN
THE SACRED WAR
Other Novels by H A Culley
The Normans Series
The Bastard’s Crown
England in Anarchy
Caging the Lyon
Seeking Jerusalem
Babylon Series
Babylon – The Concubine’s Son
Babylon – Dawn of Empire
Individual Novels
Magna Carta
The Sins of the Fathers
Robert the Bruce Trilogy
The Path to the Throne
The Winter King
After Bannockburn
Constantine Trilogy
Constantine – The Battle for Rome
Crispus Ascending
Death of the Innocent
About the Author
H A Culley was born in Wiltshire in 1944 and entered RMA Sandhurst after leaving school. He was an Army officer for twenty four years during which time he had a variety of unusual jobs. He spent his twenty first birthday in the jungles of Borneo, commanded an Arab unit in the Gulf for three years, and was the military attaché in Beirut during the aftermath of the Lebanese Civil War.
After leaving the Army he became the bursar of a large independent school for seventeen years before moving into marketing and fundraising in the education sector. He has served on the board of two commercial companies and several national and local charities. He has also been involved in two major historical projects. He recently retired as the finance director and company secretary of IDPE and remains on its board of trustees.
He had three adult children and one granddaughter and lives with his wife and two Bernese Mountain Dogs between Holy Island and Berwick upon Tweed in Northumberland.