“After your nearly bloodless Egyptian conquest, only King Agis and a group in Thrace are now revolting. Everyone else, including Athens’ leaders, is either undecided or fearful what would happen if you return to Greece. I’m pleased that you took my advice about the one hundred triremes. Once they sail for the Peloponnese, the Spartan threat will all but be over.”
“Antipater, in Pella, can handle the ground battles. You chose your regent well. He is extremely able. He does need more money, however.”
Alexander did not respond to the money request.
Harpalus continued. “I recommend that you release all Athenian prisoners captured at Granicus. It will create an immense amount of good will.”
“I agree,” Alexander said tersely. “It will be done today. Is there anything else?”
“Don’t worry anymore about matters in our homeland. Go get the bastard Darius.”
“You have done well, Harpalus. Tomorrow, I will reinstate you as my treasurer and quartermaster. I will tell anyone who needs to know of your successful mission. Your actions have been worth 5,000 cavalry to me; I want that known to our officers. Any anger about what they believed was your defection will vanish. Keep up your brilliant fiscal work on my behalf. I will greatly reward you when Persia’s treasure is mine.”
“Later, we will discuss establishing mints in several of the conquered cities. I have several likenesses of myself in mind that I want used. I’ll show you some drawings when I get time. Most of the designs are based on my Siwah experience. Men will value these coins for thousands of years. I want it done right.”
Harpalus agreed and told the king that he would begin establishing the mints immediately. Before leaving, he gave Alexander personal messages from Aristotle. They discussed the awkward position in which his former teacher found himself. “He is respected for his intellect and the quality of his school, the Lyceum,” Harpalus said. “However, he is rejected by many Athenians because of his support of you.”
“I know this,” the king said peevishly. “We correspond regularly. It’s a burden he will have to learn to live with. I have mine as well.”
The men spoke of older, simpler times when they were boys in Macedonia. Then Alexander rose, signaling that the meeting was over. He bid Harpalus goodbye, escorted him to the tent entrance, and asked Eumenes if anyone else was waiting to see him.
“Barsine comes here daily,” his secretary answered. “I have used every excuse that I know why she cannot see you. Nevertheless, she’s insistent. Should I send her away again?”
Alexander rubbed his eyes, sighed, and then ran both hands through his wavy hair. It had grown long during his time in Egypt and now nearly covered his shoulders. “No, send her in. Is she pregnant?”
“She is not,” Eumenes answered. “She wants to be, but she is not.”
Alexander had not given Barsine any thought since their nightlong intercourse session and he was surprised. How was that possible? He motioned for his guard to bring in Barsine.
Barsine floated into the king’s presence and greeted him. “Zeus-Ammon has smiled on you, Alexander,” she said. “You radiate his glory.”
Alexander, pleased with her remark, walked to her and gave her a halfhearted embrace. “A gift of a son would have pleased me,” he said, getting right to the point. “I thought your body was ready that night.”
“My body was ready, Alexander,” she said without hesitation. “Perhaps it was your body. Men always assume that something is wrong with women when conception does not occur.”
Alexander grimaced and was irritated. “I am the oracle-declared Son of God, Barsine. When Zeus-Ammon is ready, I will father a child. It won’t come from you insulting your king.”
“It was not an insult,” Barsine replied apologetically. “I spoke the truth. I have given birth to children before. I know my body—it is in perfect working order for birthing.”
Alexander was growing tired of this tedious exchange and was about to dismiss his troubling mistress. However, Barsine wasn’t done.
“While you were in Egypt, I consulted several physicians. Some were Greek; some were local Ionian doctors. They will never reveal their identities for fear of your retribution, but each one feels that the problem is yours. More than one told me that your sexual potency has been reduced by excessive drink. Persian women have centuries-long traditions and special knowledge about men’s virility,” she added with a knowing expression on her face.
Alexander was now furious. “Get out of here,” he yelled. “How much I drink is my concern. If you ever speak of this again, I will have your womb torn out and fed to the lions. Do you understand?”
Barsine realized that she had gone too far. It had been a calculated gamble. “I did not mean to offend you, Great Alexander. I am trying to give you a son. You could be killed in the final battle with Darius.”
“Get out!” Alexander shouted a second time.
Barsine left. Never again would she be intimate with Alexander, although she never gave up trying. Alexander found sexual pleasure and relief with Hephaestion and local eunuchs. These men-women would never trouble him with matters of conception. For now, that was all he needed.
≈
Great King Darius would have liked to have six more months to prepare for Alexander, but now his enemy was moving. The day Alexander’s army left Tyre, Darius knew it one day later. The Persian fire-signaling system was still functional even if his army was not. The fire system was the fastest communication system in the ancient world. The Macedonians were currently moving north through Syria. The Great King’s provincial agents informed him that they were expected to cross the Euphrates River and charge straight south towards Babylon.
It was there that Darius’ vast army waited. It was mid-summer and Darius counted on the sweltering heat of the Mesopotamian plain as an ally in the coming battle with the heathen invaders. It was a battle that must be won. The Great King and every Persian fighter knew that national survival was at stake.
“Where will they cross the Euphrates?” Darius asked his intelligence chief.
“We don’t know,” the officer answered. “When he makes the crossing, we will know it almost immediately. Our forces are well situated; we expect the enemy to reach Cunaxa in an enervated condition. The battle should be quick and decisive. Cunaxa’s plain is ideal for our 34,000 cavalry units and hundreds of chariots. That’s five times what we think Alexander has. Our total forces exceed 100,000. We think that our number is twice that of the enemy. All we must do is wait for their foolhardy rush south and the battle will be ours, Great King.”
Darius recalled an earlier Cunaxa battle. Xenophon, a Greek invader, had met a disastrous defeat at the hands of the Persian Great King, Cyrus. Xenophon’s book, Anabasis, had been required reading for every Persian leader and commander ever since. He wondered if the barbarian Alexander had read it. Perhaps he couldn’t even read.
“Who watches the invaders on the ground?” Darius asked his commander.
“The satrap of Babylon, Mazaeus, is there, Great King. He has 3,000 cavalry but has orders not to encounter the enemy. He understands that he is just to observe their movements and report to us. We get daily reports from his scouts telling us of their actions. It seems that a pontoon bridge is being constructed now across the Euphrates at Thapsacus. After the crossing, we expect them to then move south along the river and fall into our trap.”
Darius was pleased with the report but was still troubled. All of his battle strategy depended on Alexander moving due south and attacking his army’s unassailable position. “I want to meet with you daily,” he said to the intelligence chief. “Make it more often than that, if it’s necessary. Inform me of any change in Alexander’s movements. If he is as impetuous as he was at the River Granicus, we will have him this time.”
Darius dismissed his commander and walked to an open balcony window that afforded him a sweeping view of magnificent Babylon. The great city was Persia’s economic heart. Anyone who def
eated a Persian army outside Babylon would effectively win his entire empire. Babylon was the doorway to Susa, the Persian administrative capitol. Persia’s southernmost capitol was Persepolis. It was the empire’s religious center and burial place for Persian kings. If the Persian forces failed to annihilate Alexander, all of this would be within the barbarian’s easy grasp.
Darius kneeled and uttered a mumbled prayer to the Persian great god, Ahura Mazda. “Let me not be the one who loses all of this to a coarse hoard of uncivilized Macedonians,” he said. “Give me wisdom and strength against these godless invaders. Make me a mighty leader; empower me as I command our forces and defeat the heathens. You have stood with your chosen people for centuries—we need your great power now.”
Darius rose and walked slowly to his baths. Hot steam and water always cleared his mind. He was ready for Alexander.
≈
“The asshole thinks I’m going to charge right into his trap,” Alexander exclaimed. “When I have him at my feet, I’ll tell him that I keep Anabasis with my other books in his casket that we captured at Issus. Leonidas, my first tutor, made Cunaxa’s defeat required reading for me. Xenophon’s disaster won’t be repeated.”
“We are observed from a distance by his advance scouts,” Parmenio said. “A defector informed us that Mazaeus plans a scorched earth policy and then an orderly retreat to join their forces outside Babylon. You’re right, Alexander. The Persians are trying to pull us into a trap.”
“We’re heading northeast, Parmenio. They don’t expect it. I want to cross the second great river before we encounter them. What is its name?”
“It’s the Tigris,” Hephaestion answered. “I built a bridge over the Euphrates; I can do it again over the Tigris.”
“We will draw them north, out of their excellent defensive positions near Cunaxa,” Alexander said. “It’s cooler there; we won’t be withered in the summer heat as they want. I can barely breathe here. Let the summer pass—along with their advantage. Our supply lines will be more established there as well.
“I want better maps of where we are going. Have the Persian defector create one from what he recalls. Once we pull Darius north, I want to know where he might go. They may slightly outnumber us by the time of battle. I even want that. It will result in a more crushing defeat when we win this final battle. Persia will be ours by late fall.”
≈
Fatefully, Darius left his unassailable defensive position northwest of Babylon to pursue Alexander. He chose what he considered another site that would afford him the best chances of encountering the enemy, near the ancient city of Arbela. Close to the small city of Gaugamela, he began leveling the anticipated battleground to give his cavalry and scythed chariots maximum fighting advantage. It wasn’t as good as Cunaxa, but Alexander would still be at a disadvantage.
Macedonian scouts detected the Persian’s move north, and Alexander reacted quickly by crossing the Tigris River northwest of Mosul. It was now early fall and the heat of summer was slowly subsiding.
A month later, the two armies made scouting contact with each other and initial skirmishes resulted in Alexander’s forces gaining the hilltops above Gaugamela’s battlefield. Alexander spent days observing and counting his enemy’s disposition. As best he could tell, the Persians forces exceeded 100,000—mostly in cavalry. His allied Greeks and Macedonians numbered only 47,000.
Alexander had underestimated Darius’ ability to raise new recruits. A new Macedonian battle plan was now essential, a plan that modified Alexander’s usual battle tactics to counter the enormous Persian numerical advantage.
Alexander rested his army while he worked on a new strategy. Facing him was a challenging set of military requirements. Failure would mean death and humiliation for him and his fighters. The stakes were enormous.
Days passed during which the king rarely saw his officers. Each of them knew that their leader must come up with a new model of tactical creativity that was different from past formations that he had employed at Granicus and Issus. Somehow, the Macedonians and Greeks had to convert a numerical weakness into a strength.
≈
Just before the battle, Darius made a third and final attempt at a negotiated peace settlement. Almost in desperation, he offered all Persian territory west of the Euphrates, 30,000 talents for his wife, mother, and daughter, and Alexander’s marriage to one of his daughters. Finally, he offered to let Alexander keep his son, Ochus, as a permanent hostage.
“He doesn’t know that his wife just had a miscarriage and died,” Alexander said wryly. “It was the second time I had tried to impregnate her. She may have been the most beautiful woman in Asia, but she clearly wasn’t mothering stock.”
Alexander’s companions laughed knowingly. More than one of them had been intimate with poor Stateira. Several believed that it was they who had made her pregnant, not Alexander. Some, like Parmenio, thought that both miscarriages had been the result of Barsine’s actions. No one knew the truth.
“Allow one of Stateira’s eunuchs to escape and make his way to the Persian lines,” Alexander said with a pitiless look on his face. “I want Darius mourning when we meet.”
“You must take Darius’ new offer to our war council,” Parmenio said. “It’s attractive. If I were Alexander, I would accept.”
“So would I, if I were Parmenio,” Alexander shot back. “The offer will go to our war council this afternoon, but I already know their decision. The die is cast. Tomorrow, we will meet Darius for the final time. Their offer is insulting and worthless.”
≈
Parmenio sat on a sturdy field stool with his head lowered. He was more than frustrated. Meeting late in his private tent with his son, Philotas, and his son-in-law, Coenus, the trio evaluated Alexander’s behavior the night before the great battle.
“I will never see my homeland again,” Parmenio lamented. “He aims to conquer the entire world. That was never our mission. Neither Philip, the Corinthian League, nor most Macedonians would ever have supported this insanity. I think he is afraid of returning to Macedonia. His demons are strongest there. He lives for the intoxicating elation that comes from incessant, nearly impossible conquest.”
“Give him one more victory, father,” Philotas said. “Perhaps then he will slow down and let some of us return. He needs you now, but once he stops moving east, others of us can take your place. I must admit that I am thrilled by the victories.”
Coenus was more critical of Alexander’s most recent actions. He considered his rejection of Darius’ offer of great Persian land tracts and gold to be folly. “His nightly drinking is clouding his judgment,” he said. “He’s also experienced a personality change. He became a different person after Siwah. Back home, the Assembly of Fighting Macedonians would never tolerate his manipulation of facts and events. We are but toys to help him achieve some mystical destiny that his mother pounded into his head. Already, unrest is starting in the phalanx ranks.”
“I will not support him forever,” Parmenio said ominously. “He knows that. He has started removing my relatives and supporters from key command positions. You two are immune, right now, because of your heroism and leadership. That could change if his disregard for our needs continues.”
“Father, you grow more alarmist with the years,” Philotas said as he rose and put his hands on Parmenio’s broad and powerful shoulders. “Things are not as bad as the two of you think. Let’s get through this next decisive battle. Then I will approach Alexander and reason with him. His brilliant mind always responds to reason.”
“We’ve said enough,” Parmenio said as he rose and walked his relatives to his tent’s entrance. “Speak to no one of our feelings. We could be killed for what was said. I will help him win tomorrow, as I always have. We’ll give the situation more time. Events sometimes saved Philip. Perhaps they will save us. I will see you both on the battle line. Rest well.”
Parmenio couldn’t sleep. He realized that his options were few. Not a religious man, he m
anaged a short prayer to Zeus asking for not only victory but also for wisdom in dealing with an increasingly difficult monarch. Just before sunrise, he fell into a dreamless sleep.
≈
Alexander did not finalize his battle plan until the night before the battle. When he did complete it, he was at peace with himself. Then, with haughty self-satisfaction, he drank himself to sleep.
He awakened late the next day and lingered in his bed. He knew that the act showed bravado and supreme confidence in his plan. The impression it left on his men was one of confusion. His absence forced Parmenio to go to the king’s bedroom to make sure he was up. Finally, Alexander emerged, bright and full of energy.
Standing on a small hill, well back from the front lines, he exhorted his commanders. “Everything I know about tactics has gone into this plan,” he began. “It shows that great leaders must accept what the gods give us and make it work. That is what I have done. My first challenge was to minimize the numerical advantage that Darius has over us.”
“Here is how we will do it: It’s going to be a battle of wings, theirs and ours. I want our line to appear weaker than it really is, inviting an early Persian charge of their more numerous cavalry. Look at this map. Here, and here, I have strengthened our wings. Both wings will be slanted back at forty-five degree angles. Our cavalry units on the right wing will hide a massed group of mercenaries. More than we have ever allowed in past battles, Greek mercenaries and infantry will protect our rear.
“The battle will begin with an invitation to exploit our seeming weakness on the left and right wings. Everything is based on us absorbing their initial charge. We will even let great numbers of them through. This will let them think that their charge will be decisive. As I have done before, I will wait for a gap to occur. It always does. Timing and patience will be critical, so every commander must wait for my signals. Flags will give some signals; others will come from trumpets.”
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