The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  THE REGENT.

  I’M TOO OLD to be shouting like this. Antipatros tried to make himself heard over the baying of the furious mob of soldiery pressing close around him so that the shields of his dozen bodyguards were compressed back into their wielders’ chests. ‘Will you let me speak?’ he roared with as much volume as his octogenarian form would allow.

  ‘Where’s our money? Where’s our money?’ the crowd chanted, raising fists in the air in time to the beat; the veteran Hypaspists, grizzled and grey, to the fore, leading the insubordination.

  Seleukos didn’t exaggerate; I’ve never seen the lads so het up. He looked over to Adea, seated on a raised chair next to her husband, smiling at him with a calculating look. Adea has a lot to answer for and, by Aries, answer she will; what does she expect to gain from a mutiny? He dodged a half-eaten onion but a well-aimed apple found its mark. ‘How can I address your grievances if you won’t let me speak?’

  But it was no use. On and on they went with the same chant, never allowing Antipatros to respond, and all the time Adea sat there doing nothing to control the beast she had birthed.

  It had been thus since Antipatros had arrived at The Three Paradises in advance of his main army, such was his determination to stifle the nascent revolt. Antigonos and Seleukos had both offered to come with him but he had refused their suggestion, vastly underestimating the depth of feeling in the camp across the river.

  Impotent, Antipatros stood in the midst of the Assembly, to be verbally abused and the target of many a shied fruit or vegetable. Never had he felt so humiliated; never had he seen the soldiery of Macedon so mutinous. But then I wasn’t in India when the infantry forced Alexander to turn back; I imagine it was something like this, with the Hypaspists leading the revolt, but without a teenage harpy stirring them up.

  Once more he tried to make himself heard and once more the chant drowned him out; so it was with a great degree of surprise that he witnessed Adea silencing the crowd solely by getting to her feet.

  ‘Soldiers of Macedon,’ she cried. ‘Loyal subjects of my husband.’ She pointed at Antipatros. ‘This is the man to whom Peithon and Arrhidaeus wish to bequeath their regency. Here he stands before you and his king. I will put my husband’s question to him; a question that is very dear to his heart because it concerns the welfare of his soldiers. Antipatros, where is the back pay of the army of Babylon and where is their promised bounty?’

  Antipatros drew himself up and cleared his throat. ‘You will all have your money but it will take a bit of time as it has to be transferred from the treasuries out in the east. It is in the east that Alexander left his wealth and it is from the east it must be carried.’

  ‘Ha!’ Adea exclaimed over the discontented murmuring that met this answer. ‘Ha! What use is this old man as regent for my husband if he cannot even pay his troops when they ask for their dues? What use, I ask? Three days ago, Attalus came and addressed you; he gave out money; he paid debts that were not even his to pay. Would he not be more suitable as regent to my husband? He would consult with me, I who have the ear of the king; I who alone can speak for him. King Philip would finally have a voice; the brother of Alexander would finally be heard. Soldiers of Macedon, I put before your army assembly the notion that Antipatros should be deposed and Attalus made regent with King Philip, the third of that name, having an equal status with him. What say you, soldiers of Macedon?’

  And what they said was demonstrated by the way they broke through the thin cordon protecting Antipatros, seized him and held him bodily aloft. ‘Let me down, comrades,’ Antipatros said in as dignified a manner as possible for a man being carried against his will, ‘and we will talk further.’

  ‘There ain’t nothing to be said, old man,’ a disembodied voice in the crowd shouted, ‘except by you deciding whether you want to throw a lot of money at us or would rather we throw a lot of stones at you.’

  Harsh laughter greeted this statement; Antipatros was tossed up into the air and then caught by ungentle hands, fingernails grazing his skin and tearing his tunic.

  ‘We’ve already killed one commander, old man, what difference would a second make?’

  Seleukos, Antigenes and Peithon also have a lot to answer for, the bastards. ‘Put me down!’

  Up again he went, limbs flapping and back arching, to the accompaniment of growing laughter, raucous and overflowing with disrespect. And then down he came, but this time the hands were not nearly so quick in grappling him and his back jarred against stony ground. Grimacing and straining with every fibre of his being not to cry out, undignified, in pain, Antipatros ceased to struggle, realising that his fate was, literally, in the hands of his men and there was little he could do to influence them.

  ‘Put him down, you mutinous maggots! How dare you manhandle the regent of Macedon, appointed by Alexander himself?’

  At the mention of that sacred name the laughter died and the grip on his person grew slack; Antipatros found himself sitting on the ground looking up at bearded faces who could barely meet his eye. To be treated like this at my age! I’ll have some heads for this. He pushed himself to his feet, trying not to wince as his aged knees and hips clicked, slapping the dust from his tunic as he rose. Twenty paces from him, sitting upon a horse was Antigonos, in full armour as if he were going into battle; which, indeed, he could well be, Antipatros reflected, feeling the anger all around him.

  ‘Hand him over!’ Antigonos ordered; behind him came Seleukos with a substantial cavalry escort, ploughing their way through the mass of disgruntled soldiery.

  ‘We keep him until he’s paid,’ a veteran replied, placing an iron-hard grip on Antipatros’ shoulder; others crowded around him, preventing flight.

  ‘The longer you keep him, the longer and more severe the punishment will be,’ Antigonos barked.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ Adea shrieked. ‘He has no authority over my husband and my husband orders Antipatros to be detained until he has paid what is owed.’

  ‘Quiet, bitch!’ Antigonos’ one eye roved over the crowd. ‘Is this what it has come to? Is it? Grown men of pure Macedonian blood listening to the uninformed words of some pubescent amazon?’ He pointed to Adea and Philip, sitting drooling next to her, his face creased with confusion. Barzid put his hand on his sword’s hilt, tensing. ‘Look at her! Guarded by an Illyrian and yet claiming to be a Macedonian queen. What is she really? Yes, she’s Philip’s granddaughter and, yes, she’s married to Philip’s son. And yes, she is of the Argead royal house and should she bear her husband’s child and it be a boy then it would have the strongest claim to the throne of Macedon than anyone else alive – even over Alexander’s son sired upon the eastern wild-cat – because we men of Macedon choose our kings, we don’t have them foisted upon us, we choose them from the Argead house.’ He looked at Antipatros and gave him the briefest of nods as he carried on. ‘But that is where our choices end, soldiers of Macedon, choosing the king. After that it is by his choices that we are ruled and Antipatros was chosen by Alexander to be regent; it is not down to us, or that harpy over there, to question those decisions.’ Again he gave Antipatros a surreptitious nod as Seleukos and his men pushed their way to the heart of the crowd, mere paces from Antipatros.

  He means to provide a diversion so that Seleukos can get to me.

  ‘And yet you let yourselves be influenced by her, a woman, a very young woman at that. Would you take the advice or act upon the whims of your daughters? Of course you wouldn’t; only fools are swayed by women’s opinions. The only influential part of a woman is her cunt and the last time I looked at one it was free of opinion.’ This produced the ribald laughter that it was meant to and grabbed the men’s interest.

  With a wife like mine I wouldn’t necessarily agree with that assertion, but I’m not going to argue the point here. As Antigonos expanded on his theme, at great length, Antipatros felt his captors’ concentration slipping away from him. He glanced up at Seleukos who winked back and nodded at a riderless horse amongs
t the troopers next to him.

  Antigonos spoke on, developing his premises of loyalty, obedience and patience, arguing that although money was important, indeed, of prime importance, there was just as great a consideration to be taken into account and that was unity. ‘And she,’ he bellowed, levelling an accusatory finger at Adea, ‘she is not conducive to unity. All she has done on the march north from Egypt, if I understand matters correctly, is try to divide and thereby rule. Is that the way that Alexander ruled? Or his father before him? No, brothers, it is not, for had it been then we would still be confined to the limited boundaries of Macedon and not rulers of the world. She is a corrosive influence who must put up and learn her position.’

  ‘He lies!’ Adea screamed, causing all to turn their heads towards her.

  It was the moment Antipatros needed: barging through the cordon surrounding him, he scrambled towards the horse as Seleukos drove it in his direction. With a strength that he had not felt in years, such was his awareness of the desperation of his situation, he grabbed the saddle as his legs launched him onto the beast’s back and, in a fluid continuation of the motion, he pulled the bridle, turning the animal and driving it into the relative safety of Seleukos’ cavalrymen.

  Outrage erupted, drowning out Antigonos as he raged against Adea and her perceived undermining of Macedonian unity and he, too, became a target for the men’s fury; as Antipatros was hustled away by Seleukos and his cavalry troopers, beating the mob back with the flats of their swords, he glimpsed an isolated Antigonos being pulled from his horse.

  ANTIGONOS.

  THE ONE-EYED.

  BLOOD SPRAYED FROM the flattened nose, soaking Antigonos’ knuckles as he sprang to his feet, hitting out and roaring defiance at the attackers surrounding him. His horse reared, forelegs beating the air and cracking open the heads of a couple of the Silver Shields who had recently dragged its rider from its back.

  ‘Don’t be bigger fools than you’ve been already,’ Antigonos shouted at the men squaring up to him. ‘Pulling me from my horse is the same as striking a superior officer; that’s death in any army. Death!’ This last word was growled with the same ferocity with which the fire of anger burned in his single eye. ‘Death!’ he repeated, looking around at the soldiers encircling him. ‘And leave my horse alone,’ he shouted at the men trying to calm the beast before it killed anyone else.

  His evident fury and absence of fear caused his assailants to pause and glance at one another, seeking reassurance; they found none, for the collective madness which had overcome them had dispersed with the sight of two of their number lying dead on the ground, skulls shattered and brains oozing.

  ‘That’s better,’ Antigonos snarled. ‘You seem to be thinking for the first time today.’ He pointed at each of the veterans surrounding him. ‘I know your faces; all of you! Your lives are now in my hands. Sure, you could try to protect yourselves by killing me but I promise you that if I don’t return to my army, alive, the Silver Shields will cease to exist due to the demise of every one of its members.’ Again he stared at each man, none of whom could look him in his eye. ‘Now, if you want me to forget your faces, start telling your mates to stop listening to that silly little girl and to wait until we’ve all sat around the table with Antipatros and decided upon how things will be organised in the future.’ He turned and pushed through the crowd of veterans, who gave way, muttering, and, taking his horse’s bridle, swung himself up into the saddle. ‘Lysimachus is due here the day after tomorrow, lads, then the talks will begin and your back pay will be high on the agenda.’

  ‘Make them go and get it themselves,’ Lysimachus said, leaning on the polished cedar wood table around which the successors of Alexander had gathered. ‘I believe the contents of the Susa treasury should easily cover the back pay for the entire army; a one and a half thousand league round trip on foot to bring it here should keep the Silver Shields quiet. As the saying goes: there have been more tears shed by wishes granted than by those still unfulfilled.’

  Antigonos smiled to himself. Lysimachus was always a ruthless bastard with a poetic sense of justice. Robbing the east of a great bulk of its wealth when the satraps aren’t there to defend themselves and at the same time punishing the Silver Shields is a master-stroke; Peucestas will be furious. He looked around the table at the ten other men present: all but Antigenes and Peithon seemed to be appreciating the idea.

  ‘That will take us months,’ Antigenes complained.

  ‘They should feel themselves lucky that they have months,’ Lysimachus retorted. ‘Had they been in my army the whole lot of them would have been given the choice of losing their hands or their head and then having the one that they didn’t choose removed.’

  Antigenes folded his arms and looked, hard, at Antipatros. ‘And if I refuse to go, what then?’

  Antipatros gave a weary sigh. ‘Then you won’t get to your satrapy.’

  ‘My satrapy?’

  ‘Yes. I think that everyone here recognises that you should be rewarded for your part in removing the problem of Perdikkas; Seleukos seems to have been awarded Babylonia and Peithon, well… Anyway, Susiana seems to me to be an appropriate gesture of our thanks.’

  ‘But Peucestas—’

  ‘Has Persis as well as Susiana. Once I’ve emptied the treasury at Susa he won’t argue for fear of me taking the treasury at Persepolis; now do you accept?’

  Antigenes’ face brightened. ‘I do.’

  ‘Good. I will tell your mutinous command that when, and only when, they have brought the Susa treasury to the fortress of Cyinda in Cilicia will they get their back pay.’ Antipatros looked around the table. ‘Now that deals with the Silver Shields. I will speak to them when we’ve finished here for the day. Any questions?’

  Lysimachus leaned forward again. ‘Yes, why have we been wasting time talking about the Silver Shields’ back pay?’

  ‘It’s the whole army’s back pay and also it’s the issue of whether to give the one talent of silver bounty to every man and not just those who are being decommissioned.’

  Lysimachus’ face, now covered in a black, fertile beard, grown since Alexander’s death, crumpled into a frown of shocked disbelief. ‘Pay them before they’re decommissioned? Who in Hades came up with that ridiculous notion? You’ll be telling them next that just because they’re in the army it doesn’t mean that they have to risk their lives by fighting and, oh, by the way, here’s a free boy each to enjoy instead of going on parade and route marches.’

  Antipatros sighed again. ‘It’s because the Silver Shields and some other lads took the bounty and either didn’t go home, like the Shields, or did but then re-enlisted with me and still kept the money.’

  ‘Well, that was their choice, wasn’t it?’ Lysimachus waved his hand dismissively. ‘I’m certainly not going to pay my army a talent of silver each. What about you, Antigonos?’

  ‘My growling arse, I will.’

  ‘Nobly put. For a start, can we afford it, Antipatros?’

  Antipatros rubbed his temples with his middle fingers, looking down at the desk. ‘Perhaps, but it would come close to bankrupting the empire.’

  Lysimachus slammed his fist down. ‘Then why in Aries’ name are we even contemplating it, let alone actually discussing it?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Seleukos said. ‘The contents of the Susa treasury will sort out the back pay issue and then that is as far as we should go. A bounty is only payable on demobilisation and, once paid, if they decide to re-enlist then that’s up to them but they won’t receive a second bounty the next time they are decommissioned.’

  Good man, Seleukos, now perhaps we can get on with discussing things much more important. ‘And anyone who doesn’t like the terms will just be drummed out of the army without any bounty and they can moan about it in poverty. Now, let’s get on. Peithon and Arrhidaeus have both resigned their positions as joint regents.’ He looked at the two men who confirmed this statement with a nod, Arrhidaeus placing the Great Ring of Macedon on the t
able. ‘I move that we offer Antipatros the regency of the kings and that he takes both of them back to Macedon where they and their troublesome female appendages can far easier be managed and silenced; a repeat of the near mutiny we witnessed here, three days ago, would be intolerable.’

  ‘I agree.’ Kleitos the White, commander of the fleet, boomed with nautical force. As he was not aboard ship, he was dressed in military uniform and not as Poseidon – naked apart from bits of seaweed – much to all’s relief – although he had brought his trident, which was leaning in a corner by the main door. ‘We need one central leadership with which we all agree and whom we trust not to try and lord it over us as did Perdikkas.’

  ‘Yes,’ Asander, the Satrap of Caria, said. ‘And if I may say so…’

  This is going to be a long and dull few days if everyone is going to have their say on every topic. And as Asander said so, to great length, Antigonos sat back in his chair and looked out of the large window, dominating the western wall of the commodious, high-ceilinged audience chamber of the main palace in the sprawling hunting groves and fields. It was a refreshing sight: huge cedars speckled the parkland that stretched as far as he could see towards the sun, dipping into the west, back-lighting the monster trees so that each was defined with an exactness that made them seem as if they had been painted on the wall and were not actual living things in the distance.

  With everyone in the room taking their turn to praise Antipatros and add their support for him becoming regent to the two kings as well as of Macedon, Antigonos let his mind wander, keeping half an ear out for mention of his name during the discussions as he pondered his position. Antipatros, as all could see, was not going to last much longer; indeed, the recent exertion of the wars against the Greeks and then Perdikkas had left the old man looking every one of his eighty years. And what then? Who will take his place? Kassandros? I think not; no one will stand having that pimpled prick lording it over them. He may well get to hold Macedon and he’d be welcome to it; but the east, where the wealth really lies, will be up for plucking by the strongest. And just who will that be?