Philip watched the rout while standing on a large boulder at the base of Mount Thurion. He preferred Demosthenes killed in the battle, but knew that he might be useful in the complex peace negotiations that must follow. Let him run; I'll enjoy his humiliation more the next time we meet.
The eagle on Mount Akontion saw and heard the carnage that played itself out far below its nest. Its morning hunt for its young had been conducted on the other side of the mountain, where humans were not making so much noise. Now in late afternoon, when the noise and activity had ceased, it decided to survey the plain more closely. As it glided effortlessly over the battlefield, it was tempted to descend and seize what it thought initially to be food. But it was not food. Dismembered and slain bodies of men and horses littered the flat expanse. The hot sun and late summertime temperatures already had started the process of decay, and the eagle would not eat such carrion. Eagles occasionally fought each other, but only during mating or in life or death contests for food. Its small, uncivilized brain considered briefly what it saw and smelled, and then it returned to its high nest. When her chicks were mature enough to fly, she would lead them away from this place of death. She would seek and find a higher mountain and build a higher nest, far away from humans that kill their own kind in great numbers.
CHAPTER 24
Olympias and Antipater were left alone in Pella for nearly a year while Philip, Alexander, Parmenio, and Attalus led the army into Greece. Although Antipater had long been one of Philip's most trusted generals, in recent years a deepening rift had developed between the king and the man who had once been a trusted confidant. Subtle distrust had started well before Alexander ended his education at Mieza. Against his wishes, the general who was once equal in power to Parmenio and Attalus, was put in ever-diminishing positions of responsibility. His recent, near-servile role as counselor to the prince, occasional envoy, and governor-regent when Philip was absent had only reinforced his growing disillusionment with Philip. Able at everything he attempted, the most cerebral of Philip's generals resented his eclipse and now used his time alone with the queen to express his dissatisfaction.
"Your treatment after a lifetime of faithful service to Macedon and Philip is unpardonable," the queen said.
"Sometimes I think you're the only one who understands that." Antipater responded. "My intuition tells me that the day is coming when we both may be dismissed from Philip's court."
"I know. We must both fend for ourselves and pray for Macedon during the coming months. With Philip’s victory at Chaeronea, events will quicken when he returns. There may come a time when we will have to take concerted action to protect not only our interests, but our lives."
Antipater smiled but shook his head at the queen. "You speak too strongly against the king. He's headstrong and occasionally reckless, but he's not yet a murderer of his comrade and wife. I worry more about his drinking and the influence of Attalus and his highland henchmen more than anything else. The king is intent on invading Persia, but there are internal challenges, to him and to us, that threaten more than Ochus."
"My priests tell me that he had his remaining eye on one of Attalus's nieces before he left. Her name is Kleopatra-Eurydice. Can you believe that he would want a girl who's nearly the age of our daughter? She even bears half her name!"
Antipater was unaware of Philip's most recent amorous adventure. But if Olympias and her priests said it, it was without doubt true. He cared little with whom Philip slept or even whom he took as another concubine. Yet he knew that Attalus' niece could never be gotten as a mere concubine. She was of pure Macedonian lineage and a member of the kingdom's most influential family. If Philip intended to marry the girl, the matter was pregnant with implications. Attalus's status would be elevated, at least equal to the venerable Parmenio's, perhaps even higher.
Antipater's current anxiety was nothing compared to what would happen to him if these events transpired. He tried not to react to what he had just been told. He was unsure of the queen and what intrigues she might be considering. He would have to verify what she had told him. He would decide later what to do, when he could reflect on what it all meant.
"After you return from Athens, we'll talk again. Confirm what I have said for yourself. You can trust me—with your life, if it comes to that. We're both too cunning to do nothing and allow events to sweep us away. I'll receive you privately if you wish. Just go to the Temple of Zeus-Ammon and tell the priest that you wish to see me. There are many places where we can meet unobserved."
Antipater already felt the conversation had gone too far. Were he not in such a precarious position with the king, he would report the queen's words to Philip when next he saw him. But not now. He and Olympias might need each other when the new hegemon of Hellas returned. He bid the queen goodbye and left.
Olympias had watched Antipater's reactions during their conversation. She knew the impact that her words had on the worried regent. Craftily, as was often her style, she had used silence to punctuate her concerns. The effect of that silence on the worried Antipater was debilitating and she knew it. Olympias rose, straightened her slightly wrinkled chiton, and walked serenely to her bedchamber. She had much to do.
After Macedon's stunning victory at Chaeronea, Philip arranged for a peace delegation to be sent to Athens to discuss terms. Alexander, enjoying a false reputation as the architect of the victory, headed the delegation. The king sent the fastest horse messengers to fetch Antipater from Pella as a second delegation member. When the regent arrived at the army's Chaeronea encampment, another officer, Alcimachus, made up the final member of the team.
While Alexander and the other negotiators were in Athens, Philip remained at Chaeronea. The battlefield had become a nauseating hell of rotting flesh. It matched Philip’s state of mind. His drinking increased to the point where days would pass without him leaving his tent. Those closest to him, Parmenio and Attalus, knew that he was incensed at what his men were saying about his son. Although the Chaeronea battle plan had been fully Philip’s, common hoplites and the cavalry spoke only of Alexander's heroics. Only Philip’s inner circle of top commanders knew that Alexander had only charged into an opening that Philip had created. Philip was king, but Alexander was the army's hero.
As Philip passed in and out of his inebriated stupors, he knew that the father-son friendship, so much a joy to him in recent years, was nearing an end. The prince still had a role to play as Greece was unified and made secure for what would soon be his greatest effort, the Persian invasion. However, when Hellas was pacified and most of his army returned to Pella, much would change. Insidious mistrust of Alexander started to grow inside the monarch. Everyone in Macedon knew that when Philip became distrustful, lives would soon be lost.
Finally, Philip got control of his drinking and formulated a plan. It involved marrying a young Macedonian girl and taking her to be his new queen. That would just be the beginning. Olympias would be divorced and exiled. If Alexander could abide that, he could remain as cavalry commander. If not, he would either be sent off to fight the Illyrians for the rest of his life or eliminated. There was no other way.
Peace terms were agreed to by Athens—terms that were far more lenient than the defeated city would have given Macedon if Athens had won at Chaeronea. All two-thousand of her prisoners were returned without ransom. Philip, through Alexander, promised never to send troops into Attica or to require any ships of his small Macedonian navy to occupy Athens's port, Piraeus. The seaport town of Oropus was taken from Thebes and given to Athens. Surprising to Demosthenes and Ochus, Philip even allowed Athens to keep a few Aegean colonies, including Samos and Delos. Philip demanded that Athens become Macedon's formal ally, abandon its political and military actions through her maritime league, and relinquish all her territorial claims.
Alexander told the king, when he finally left Athens after twenty days of being feted by his defeated adversaries, that all treaty conditions had been accepted. The Athenians had even voted to have a statue
of Philip erected in the Agora, an action that carried with it the title of Athenian Citizen. For the man who had never been allowed by his Theban captors to visit the city when he was sixteen, this was a singular honor.
The king then left Chaeronea and turned with harsh treatment in mind to Thebes. His turncoat ally had to be taught a severe lesson. Philip's actions would forever end her power in central Greece. Thebes's Boeotian League cities were given independence. A strong Macedonian military garrison was stationed atop the Cadmea, Philip's first place of captivity when he had been a hostage. Theban prisoners of war—there were not many of them, given the bravery that they displayed at Chaeronea—were ransomed for an exorbitant price or sold into slavery. Democratic Theban leaders were either eliminated or exiled. Philip even brought former Theban dissidents back to Boeotia and placed them in power at the head of a Macedonian-dominated civil government.
The only concession given was to allow them to build a monument to their Sacred Band dead near the Chaeronea battlefield. Theban sculptors created a proud sitting lion, teeth clenched with eyes gazing off toward some distant horizon. It was raised on the mound where the nearly three-hundred members of the Band had given their lives.
After moving his army into the Peloponnese, the peninsula at Greece's extreme southern end, Philip continued his post-Chaeronea divide-and-conquer strategy. Strengthening her former client states isolated Sparta. Macedonian fortresses were built at Acrocorinth and other sites, ensuring that no uprising could come from the Peloponnese.
When these stabilizing actions were completed, Philip sent word to every Greek polis, save Sparta. They were informed that they had to attend a peace conference at Corinth in one month. During that month, Philip at last paused and gave consideration to other less worldly matters that had begun to dominate his thoughts. At a luxurious estate on the outskirts of Corinth, he held a strategy session with his son and top commanders.
"Now is the time for collective wisdom," the king began. "Change surrounds us. We must direct and guide it. Attalus has just informed me that his vizier, Bagoas, has just poisoned King Ochus. The eunuch finally got the bastard."
Everyone in the group, except Antipater, had heard the news. The increasingly isolated general, reduced to near civil servant status, felt fortunate even to be included in the session preceding the peace conference. He was disappointed that Alexander had not told him of Ochus' death. Bide your time, he thought. Work your way back into Philip's confidence. Opportunity waited. The king needs me. My high competence will prevail.
"Persia has to be in chaos," Antipater said. "Who's been chosen to replace Ochus?"
"Bagoas now controls Ochus's youngest son, Arses," Attalus answered sharply. "The boy is young—a near mental defective. Persia is ripe for the picking."
Philip regained control of the session, giving Antipater a rebuking look. The scowl told Antipater, and everyone else, that the king didn't want to hear the group's views about Persia. "Catch up, Antipater, and don't wallow in the obvious. I've made other decisions that I want implemented. After Chaeronea, I received a communication from Isocrates, my longtime Athenian supporter. The old man is nearly a hundred and in poor health. But he still thinks with visionary sharpness. He lauded me for Athens's lenient treatment after the battle. More importantly, he urged me to use the Persian invasion to justify national unification during the upcoming peace negotiations. He's right. That will be our strategy.”
“He also encouraged me in another area, one that I had been thinking about. The old man asked me to recognize my near godlike qualities. Only a god could achieve what I have in the last twenty years."
The group listened awkwardly, absorbing the king’s outrageous self-aggrandizement. Antipater tried not to look at Alexander, but was so exasperated with Philip's remarks that he couldn't help himself. Alexander's face was stone-like.
The king continued. "After Chaeronea, I commissioned three Athenian architects and the sculptor Leochares to erect sculptures at a special shrine. The shrine will be called the Philippeum. It will be built at Olympia, in western Peloponnese. Great sculptures of myself will dominate the edifice. I'm told it will resemble the famous tholos at Delphi. Other sculptures of my parents and Alexander will be added later. Isocrates caused me to entertain thoughts of my divinity. Who knows, when I take Persia, Hellas may demand that I be enshrined with the other twelve gods of Olympus."
The group became more apprehensive. Antipater fumed, but avoided showing it by looking at his boots. Alexander remained impassive. Even Parmenio developed a furrowed brow listening to his pretentious king.
Only Attalus smiled and reacted. "Your godlike qualities are apparent. Future events will justify your enshrinement. The Philippeum will serve a useful political purpose as our military conquests continue. Common people need more than a military hero after the fire of battle has cooled." He looked accusingly at Alexander.
Attalus's sharp comment was not lost on the prince or anyone else.
Philip caught the growing tension and quickly brought up other topics. Teams of negotiators were established with specific goals to accomplish when they met with the members of the Greek states. Terms were dictated by Philip, which every commander memorized. The meeting ended with the king inviting his officers to join him on a royal hunt in the craggy mountains surrounding Corinth.
All accepted except Alexander and Antipater. Both made different excuses why they couldn't go and the session ended.
Later that day, the crown prince and Antipater met at Corinth's temple to Zeus-Ammon to discuss what they heard that morning. Philip's disquieting announcement about his near divinity was not the only topic that the two men discussed.
The Corinth conference ended. Philip, his officers, and most of his army journeyed victoriously back to Macedonia. The Greek delegates, who had no other choice, agreed to every negotiating point the king wanted. A united Hellas was created. The agency that would govern this new nation state, the first in the history of the world, was the synhedrion. This council would have membership based on the military strength of its states and their political importance, as determined by King Philip. Philip was named hegemon. This was largely a political title, but the real achievement was in getting the Greeks to agree that Philip was their military commander in chief. Now he could demand hoplites from them for his army, an army that was already making plans for crossing the Propontus.
Philip stopped at several towns on the journey home. His army soothsayers told him that there was an emotional demand from his new subjects to build additional Philippeums in the temple areas of those cities. He was honored, adored, and king-flattered at each stop. This caused Alexander and Antipater to fabricate reasons why they had to go before the army and return to Pella early.
A grand victory celebration greeted Philip and his army when they at last reached the Macedonian capital. The king declared ten days of national celebration, complete with sporting contests, dramatic presentations, and artistic fairs.
Philip had an audience with Aristotle shortly after his return. It was the last time that they would meet. His son's former teacher had been waiting at court in Pella while the king subdued Athens. Asked how he could repay the great teacher for the quality education that he had provided his son, the king was told that all he wanted was to have his war-ravaged Thracian birthplace, Stagirus, rebuilt and repopulated. Philip granted the request and gave Aristotle three great estates near the destroyed city to show his gratitude. Aristotle soon left Pella with Theophrastus, a young botanist. The two would live, write, and study for eight years in a beautifully rebuilt town, supported fully by a royal benefactor.
Philip waited a month for Alexander to be sent off to fight the Illyrians and for Olympias to assume her religious role leading the annual Festival of Dionysus in the hills outside Pella. Then he shocked everyone. At a royal banquet he announced that he was divorcing Olympias and taking a new queen. She was Attalus's sixteen-year-old niece, Kleopatra-Eurydice.
"I will d
ivorce Olympias tomorrow," the king said as he spilled wine down the front of his white chiton. Any semblance of Attic Greek—the dialect that he had used during the Corinthian negotiations—had disappeared from the king's drunken pronouncement, as he fell deeper into the coarse patois of Macedonia's common speech. "All arrangements have been made. Many of you are wondering, ‘What's the hurry?’ I've only been home a month and the bride is already preg ... pregnant!"
The banquet hall erupted with laughter, obscene shouts, and scattered applause. Yelled quips about the king's continuing middle-age virility were heard. One upland baron stood and proposed a toast. "May we all be so potent when we are forty-six," he shouted.
Antipater sat impassively, apart from his king. He patiently tolerated the banquet clamor, and then left the hall unobtrusively. He sought the company of several of Olympias's priests, men who had just been cast out of their temples by the king's Royal Companion guards. The disaffected and worried men met in several houses around Pella and held hushed meetings. The meetings didn't end until nearly dawn.
The small group decided that horse messengers who could be trusted by Antipater should be sent to the Illyrian border to get Prince Alexander. Olympias would be warned and taken to a secret temple that she had built in the mountains west of Pella. She would stay there until her son returned.
Philip and Olympias: A Novel of Ancient Macedon Page 35