‘You have a wise head on young shoulders. I can offer you the command of the Macedonian army, for so long as I control the country. Will that do? Good. Now our first task is to get King Pyrrhus out of Macedonia, if possible without fighting. I suggest we give him the provinces he wants. We can always take them back later, when he isn’t looking. Has King Alexander a personal following of his own?’
‘The peasants long for peace, King Demetrius. They will support the man in possession, because any one king is better than civil war. Then the officials and clerks who were appointed by King Cassander stand by the dynasty, for fear another faction should take away their jobs. On the other hand, the soldiers don’t like Alexander. They want to be led by a famous general, not by a boy. It comes to this - Alexander will be obeyed in the countryside, and the peasants will pay taxes to him. But if he is attacked by a foreign army the soldiers won’t die for him.’
‘That’s very clear and well expressed. I am glad to have you on my side. Now about this bodyguard you command at present, I take it they are your men, who will always obey your orders?’
‘No, Poliorcetes. Queen Thessalonice chose them, because they were devoted to her. The idea was that they should help her to displace King Antipater, but he struck first. Now their loyalty has been transferred to King Alexander, her favourite son. If I were to turn against King Alexander I wouldn’t trust them to follow me.’
‘We must bear that in mind, but it isn’t immediately important. King Alexander is our candidate for the throne. He will collect the taxes. The taxes pay for a Macedonian phalanx in my service. You command this phalanx. That ought to satisfy the three of us.’
‘Yes, but don’t let King Alexander see that he is merely your tax-collector. His mother plotted against her son, his brother murdered his mother. He got on well with both of them.’
‘The same type, you mean? Poor boy, so far he hasn’t done anything wrong. Give him a chance. At present he is visiting his aunt, my Queen. I trust her judgement of character. Let’s all be good friends together.’
In the evening Demetrius had a rather sticky interview with young Alexander. A despatch had been drafted which granted Pyrrhus the frontier provinces he claimed, with thanks for his prompt assistance. But would he please evacuate the rest of Macedonia, for the crisis could not be allayed while an Epirot army sat in Pella? It was a polite despatch, but the menace showed through; if Pyrrhus did not go quietly Demetrius would throw him out. The fair copy was ready, written with all the embellishments of a King’s Letter; all it lacked was the seal of King Alexander.
The young man was reluctant to give away such a large part of his kingdom. He proposed that Demetrius should help him to make war on Pyrrhus. After the victory they would divide Epirus between them. He seemed to think that his handful of guards, and the magic of his title, made him the equal of Poliorcetes. It was hard to explain to him, in a polite and friendly manner, that he was utterly powerless and insignificant, merely the seal by which someone else would control the army of Macedonia. In the end he understood, and assented with a bad grace.
It was nearly midnight when Demetrius visited Phila. She lay in bed while a maid read aloud to her, but she dismissed the girl and prepared to talk politics with her husband. At such an hour he would not have come to her for any other reason.
‘What do you think of your nephew?’ he began, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘You had him to yourself most of the afternoon. I don’t know what to make of him. At our first meeting he more or less threw himself on my mercy. All he wanted was protection, from his ferocious brother, from Pyrrhus, from the world in general. So this evening I suggested that he give Pyrrhus a large part of his kingdom, and himself reign safely in the rest. He fussed and objected, and wanted to march with me against Pyrrhus. I had to bully him a bit before he would seal the letter. He seems a very flighty and unstable young man.’
‘He’s a child, not a young man,’ said Phila. ‘Oh, he’s had his first shave, and he can wear armour. But you mustn’t go by that. He’s the youngest of his family, and what a family! Since he left the nursery he hasn’t dared to show any initiative, for fear one of his brothers should murder him. His nurse told him so, and of course she was right. I can’t imagine how Cassander stood that wife of his for so many years. But he never understood women. While he was alive his family had to behave themselves.’
‘Your brother never murdered his kin, my dear. We differed on many subjects, but I never doubted his honour. The point is, does your nephew take after his father or his mother?’
‘Not after his father in everything, certainly. Cassander was fearless. I don’t think Alexander is so wicked as his brother. He seems genuinely appalled at the murder. My reading is that he is overwhelmed by his lucky escape. Thessalonice, who dominated him, is dead; and Antipater his mortal foe has fled into exile. A month ago he was a younger son, in great danger. Now he is Cassander’s heir, rightful King of Macedonia. But he may begin to see himself as a favourite of Fortune, who can take risks that would be fatal to lesser men. Even cowards can be dangerous when they imagine they are lucky.’
‘Then you don’t trust him?’ asked Demetrius. ‘Well, neither do I. But he’s not a powerful foe. I may as well set him up to reign gloriously in Pella, and so display my power as a kingmaker! ’
‘Not in Pella. He told me he would make Thessalonice his capital, the town Cassander built in honour of his Queen.’
‘That’s clever of him. Or rather, some clever man must have suggested it to him. He wouldn’t see it by himself. The name of his capital will keep alive the memory of his brother’s crime. By the way, my dear, would you like me to name a city after you?’
‘To commemorate all your Queens you would have to found a great many cities. Besides, it’s tempting Fortune. Antigoneia has vanished without trace. And I don’t particularly want to be remembered by posterity.’
Phila seldom spoke of her rivals. When she mentioned them Demetrius knew that she was out of temper and best left alone. He said good night and went to his own bedroom.
Demetrius admired the new palace in the new city of Thessalonice; though Macedonia cooking did not suit his stomach, pampered by many years of Asiatic dinners. After a few days as the guest of King Alexander he was ready to return to Hellas.
King Pyrrhus had accepted the bargain. He withdrew his forces behind his enlarged frontier, and for the moment rested at peace with all his neighbours. It would not, of course, be a lasting peace. Epirot agents were busy fomenting rebellion in both Hellas and Macedonia. Pyrrhus was a king who must conquer or die. But Demetrius did not fear him.
Alexander had been right to move his capital. Pella was still full of old men who remembered his mighty uncle. In the haunts of the famous Alexander the boy would have looked even more absurd than in his new palace. The King of Macedonia had persuaded himself that he had won the thrones by his own prowess, and that Demetrius was returning to Hellas because he feared him. In his palace he kept great state, with armed sentries at every door. That his orders should be obeyed was a delightful novelty; he felt himself to be a great ruler.
The farewell banquet for King Demetrius was to be a ceremonious affair. There would be more than a hundred guests, and as many servants as could find room in the banqueting hall. At such a formal dinner no ladies would be present, so Demetrius sent off Phila with the bulk of his troops in the morning. That would give him an excuse to leave early if the food was too bad.
He was just about to leave his lodging, his beard scented, his head wreathed in flowers, when Pantauchus marched up with a small guard of honour.
‘King Alexander ordered this escort for you, Poliorcetes,’ he explained. ‘He wishes to do you every honour in his power. He has commanded all his guards to turn out, until there are a thousand men in the palace garden - many more than normally keep guard at a banquet. Don’t you think it would be a graceful compliment if you also brought a guard of honour - say a thousand of your own men?’
&nb
sp; Demetrius stared at Pantauchus, who stared back.
‘An excellent idea. Unfortunately it will make me a little late, for my men are already on the march. I must await their return. Please convey my apologies to King Alexander, and tell him that I shall be with him as soon as I can.’
When at length the banquet began, with many dishes spoiled by over-cooking, the servants had difficulty in moving about the hall. In every door and by every pillar stood a Macedonian guard, between two of the soldiers of Demetrius. In the garden a company of his archers were drawn up between the Macedonian reserve and the windows of the hall. They carried their bows strung. They could quite easily shoot any of the diners.
Once again it was very late when Demetrius looked in on Phila for a last chat before bed. ‘I’m sorry, my dear,’ he began. ‘These hours are unsuitable for a man of my age, forty-four next birthday. My excuse is that the party began very late. That was my fault, perhaps, but I had to wait for my guard. I came away as soon as I decently could, perhaps earlier than true politeness would permit. In other words, your precious nephew had planned to murder me while I ate his food! But the fool hadn’t noticed that the captain of his guard is on my side. Pantauchus gave me a hint, and the party passed off without incident.’
Phila groaned. ‘He can’t be my nephew. Thessalonice must have betrayed her husband with some barbarian slave. You said yourself that my brother was a man of honour. What has come over the young people of today? To get on in the world they will do anything, murder their parents or their guests. What will you do to the scoundrel? Remember that he is my kinsman, and spare his life even if you take his kingdom,’
‘I haven’t done anything, and I don’t propose to do anything,’ Demetrius replied. ‘Nothing happened, and we need not talk of what might have happened. We feasted together in great splendour, each bringing in a large guard to add lustre to the occasion. Just to show that we are still close friends King Alexander will accompany me to Larissa, within my own territory. At the next banquet I can’t imagine what we will talk about. Seriously, my dear, it’s not a thing to fuss over. The silly boy had a bright idea, probably put into his head by an even more foolish adviser. If he kills me the only gainer will be Pyrrhus. Does he think he can rule Hellas, when a foreign army must help him to rule Macedonia? Next time we meet he will have forgotten all about it. I told you because I thought this example of modern manners would interest you. Now it’s over and done with, and there will be no consequences.’
During the march to Larissa each king journeyed separately, surrounded by his own men.
But at the border city they must part, and that meant another banquet. Since Demetrius held Larissa he must be the host. He could not make up his mind what to do.
The fixed point was that he must control Macedonia. With the seamen of Hellas and the Macedonian phalanx he could conquer and rule the world. Little Alexander would always be dominated by someone. There would be less jealous alarm among neighbouring states if he were allowed to keep his throne. The Macedonians would be loyal to their native king, more loyal than to a foreign conqueror. Since Alexander was frightened of him the boy would obey orders.
On the other hand, Alexander had tried to murder him. He might try again. Must Demetrius always have guards at hand, when he was trying to think out a policy, when he was fondling a pretty girl? Young Alexander, in his palace at Thessalonice just over the border from Hellas, would be a perpetual vexation.
Very well, it would be easy to dethrone the little fool. He would get away, of course, because cowards flee in good time. He couldn’t flee to Lysimachus, because his brother would kill him; but Ptolemy or Seleucus would give him shelter. That would not be .the end of it. A king in exile has always a few adherents, desperate men who will profit from any change of rulers. Only one assassin would be needed. Demetrius would be in hourly danger of death for so long as the contemptible little creature should live.
The best solution would be to kill him in fair fight. Invade Macedonia, and in the decisive battle make sure that the enemy leader did not get away. But little Alexander might stay at home while his army fought, and the Macedonians would resent the humiliation of conquest. Besides, Pyrrhus would join in. To get the better of Pyrrhus might take years of warfare, and victory would bring nothing but the barbarous kingdom of Epirus, which no sensible man wanted. By then he might be too old to embark on the conquest of the world.
It was very difficult. He could not decide on a plan. In the meantime there was this banquet tonight, this very evening. There he would take no chances, he would have a strong guard very close to him. But this was not the right time for an open break. He must go through with it. He must entertain the little scoundrel as his honoured guest. Later he would make up his mind. In due time the right path would open before him.
The banquet was not an enjoyable party. The food was bad. The wine had been jolted in wagons over half the mountains in Thessaly. In any case Demetrius still suffered from a queasy stomach, and had been advised to drink sparingly. On his right was the couch of King Alexander, on his left lay Pantauchus. He found it hard to converse with the guest of honour, who had recently tried to kill him. It was nearly as difficult to talk to Pantauchus without betraying that the Macedonian commander-in-chief was secretly his adherent. Luckily a group of bad poets had turned up (whoever heard of a good poet in Larissa?). They were eager to declaim their compositions to two kings at once, Demetrius encouraged them to rant by the hour, one after another.
Two rival bodyguards lined the walls. They shifted position restlessly, their eyes sweeping up and down the tables, hands hovering near their swords. A guard standing properly to attention, eyes front, was embarrassing enough; it was really uncomfortable to eat with so many anxious men watching each mouthful.
Alexander was at his worst, by turns boastful and fawning. He would talk of the famous deeds of his grandfather, and in the next breath remind Demetrius that he needed protection from Pyrrhus. He drank too much, to steady his nerves. Presently he gave a great belch and loosened his belt. As his shaky hand fumbled at the buckle Demetrius caught a glimpse of something hard under the fine linen tunic. When Alexander shifted his position to grab again at the wine cup he looked more closely. There was no doubt of it. The young ruffian had come to a formal banquet with a dagger concealed under his tunic. The couches were close together. His target was within easy reach.
There were guards in plenty. If Alexander struck he would not leave the hall alive. But the hare-brained nervous fool might be too stupid to see that. The next pull at his cup might give him the courage to strike. He came of a family given to murder. The sudden revelation of deadly danger twisted Demetrius’s bowels. He must get to the latrine before he disgraced himself. With a muttered grunt of apology he sprang to his feet.
Alarmed at the sudden move, Alexander jumped up to follow him. He was only a pace behind, babbling that he had meant no offence and that there were important matters to be settled. Presumably he thought that he had accidentally insulted his host, a thing he managed to do fairly often. But Demetrius could think of nothing but that hidden dagger a yard behind his shoulders.
Heaven be thanked I Flanking the nearest door stood two trustworthy guards, veterans who had shared the flight from Ipsus. The man on the right had spotted that something was wrong; he knew his lord well enough to see when he was frightened. He was loosening his sword in his scabbard. Only three more steps to be safe beside him. He must walk; to run might be fatal. The murderer behind him was very close.
As Demetrius passed through the door he muttered to the guard: ‘Kill that man behind me.’ Hurrying on, he heard the hiss of a sword drawn swiftly.
When he got back from the latrine it was all over. Alexander was dead, with a dozen of his guards who had tried to defend him. Demetrius was surprised that so many had stood by their unloved king to the death; but Macedonians kept faith with their lords.
Unless they showed fight Alexander’s guards had been allowed to flee
unmolested. Their camp outside Larissa was in turmoil, with trumpets sounding and watch-fires blazing. Of all Alexander’s following Pantauchus alone remained in the hall.
‘You did right, Poliorcetes,’ he said cheerfully. ‘It had to come, tomorrow if not today. He would have murdered you if you hadn’t murdered him first. I suppose you don’t want a general massacre of his guards? Leave it all to me. Don’t do anything until the sun is well up tomorrow. I shall now rejoin my troops. See me tomorrow, and we shall arrange a peaceful retreat.’
Demetrius was barely half aware of what had happened. A scoundrel held a knife at his back, he extricated himself from a dangerous situation. It had been done very quickly, without any conscious planning on his part. He could still taste the wine he had drunk as he chatted with Alexander; and now Alexander was dead. Important events should not move so fast. He must sit down and think. Dazed, he wandered along a narrow passage to his bedroom.
The state apartments of the palace were hushed in suspense, though in the servants’ quarters someone had raised the keen for Alexander. Slaves are always eager to drop their work and mourn instead. He ought to be issuing orders. The town was full of soldiers, on the brink of war. His mind would not function.
As he reached his bedroom Phila hurried up. She laid a hand on his shoulder so that he was compelled to gaze into her face.
‘What’s this I hear?’ she asked sternly. ‘Have you murdered a guest while he drank in your hall?’
At once his brain was alert; the dazed feeling was swept away like a curtain. Those blunt words were just what he had refused to let into his consciousness, but now they could no longer be denied. He had murdered his guest. That was the fact. He must think quickly, think of excuses.
‘I killed King Alexander before he could kill me. It happened in my hall, and he was there at my invitation. So you may call it guest-murder if you like. Under his tunic he had hidden a knife. I saw it as he stepped behind me. At my orders a guard cut him down before he could sink his dagger between my shoulders.’
Elephants and Castles Page 23