The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  Rueful was Antipatros’ smile as he looked to Eumenes and then down at his son. ‘Do your worst, the lot of you: you, Antigonos, Ptolemy, Alketas, Attalus, Seleukos, all of you. You deserve one another.’

  SELEUKOS.

  THE BULL-ELEPHANT.

  THE MOON HAD set and darkness enshrouded the fleet; darkness made to feel more absolute by comparison with the glow in the distant sky to the south: Babylon.

  Seleukos, standing next to the steering oar of the leading ship – the only trireme in the fleet of troop transports – looked to the heavens to estimate the time and judged that it was right; he turned to the triarchos. ‘Remember, as quickly and quietly as possible, no pipes for the stroke, just hand signals.’

  The man nodded and stamped his foot three times on the deck. Below, the stroke-master raised a fist and brought it down; with a repressed groan, the hundred and twenty rowers pulled on their sweeps and the ship moved forward. Behind came the armada of transport vessels, each filled to capacity with men who longed to feel dry land beneath their feet once again; they hoisted sails that filled with the breeze to carry them out into the current. They were underway.

  Now all that mattered was for the fire to be set on time.

  Fire and surprise were the two ingredients upon which Seleukos now relied to oust Docimus from Babylon and install himself as satrap.

  Surprise he felt he had achieved. In the days and nights of sailing down the Euphrates, the fleet had stopped any ship from going ahead of them; that contingency, along with travelling as fast as possible without pause, so as to outrun messengers on land, would, he felt, prevent the news of their coming from reaching Babylon before them. His cavalry, split into two, travelling down either bank of the river added insurance to this hope.

  And so they glided down the Euphrates, sped by the current and the breeze; on either bank, unseen but just audible, the cavalry moved in tandem with the fleet advancing at a speed that would quickly take them to their destination, now just three leagues away.

  But all would be for naught if the fire was not ablaze by the time the fleet sailed down the river to where it bisected the two halves of Babylon. The western side of the city was mainly residential and commercial, and although it was protected by a sturdy wall to the landward side, the river bank itself was embanked with a series of quays and markets, easy to land an army on but useless as there was nothing of strategic value in that half. The palace and the fortresses and the heart of Babylon lay on the eastern bank and this had a formidable wall along it – two, in fact, the second wall thirty paces behind the first; and this was the arrangement for the entire length of the eastern wall, the height of ten men and tiled in deep-blue glazed tiles interspersed with animal and astrological motifs. There was no way to cross that wall without a lengthy siege involving tens of thousands of men, most of whom would, in all likelihood, die of disease before the city fell. And even to get an army there from the landward side, a further outer wall, enclosing the summer palace to the north of the city and its gardens surrounding the entire eastern half – the gardens for which Babylon was famous – would also need to be taken. No, there was only one way in, as far as Seleukos could see, and he had studied the problem in depth when first the idea of him taking the city had entered his mind as Perdikkas grew more and more arrogant: the two halves of the city were joined by one bridge across the Euphrates, two hundred and fifty paces wide. One bridge that led to a towering gate on the eastern side, a gate that was closed each dusk and opened again at dawn. Beyond this gate was a further gate in the second wall and beyond that was the city. Open those two gates at night and the city would fall if enough men swarmed through them. Seleukos had the men, but the gates were locked. And that was why he needed fire.

  Seleukos walked along the deck, through his seated companions, fifty-strong, who would be fighting on foot alongside him this night, muttering a few encouraging words as he did, and went to lean against the rail in the bow of the ship. His thoughts turned to Apama, his Persian wife, who had, along with their two children, remained in Babylon when he had left with Perdikkas’ army, acting as the second-in-command, over half a year ago; if all went well he would be with her by midday. And then there will be time to start working on creating the raw material for dynastic marriages. He chuckled to himself at the way he had expressed the sentiment. But however flippant the thought might have been, it was a serious consideration for once he had Babylon he did not intend ever to lose it.

  He had no concern for the safety of his wife and children in Babylon; no Macedonian would sully his honour by using a woman or a child as a means of attacking a rival – the case of Atalante had been an aberration, a thing never to be repeated – at least, not by honourable men, no matter how hated their enemy was. And this was just the point: he did not like Docimus but nor did he hate him either and neither, as far as he knew, did Docimus hate him, so there was absolutely no need to be excessive in his dealings with him. He would be allowed to depart the city with his family to go wherever he wished, just as Seleukos had given him the chance to leave the camp after Perdikkas’ assassination. This sort of attitude would be impossible if they all started executing each other’s families. No, Seleukos that night wished for nothing more than a simple transfer of power, with as little blood spilt as possible as, with their former master treated with respect and few of their number killed, he might reasonably expect to swear the garrison into his service as he would be desperately short of troops once he sent those Ptolemy had lent him back to Egypt.

  If I do send them back, that is.

  He contemplated the rights and wrongs of keeping the men and decided that it would be impossible to do so against their will; and given the choice between Egypt and Babylonia he guessed that most of them would plump for the first, especially as most of them would have women there by now. No, if he was going to expand his army, and that was essential, then he would have to look for troops elsewhere. But that was a problem for tomorrow, for now, huge against the light rising from it, the silhouetted shape of Babylon was clear ahead of them; it was now time to concentrate on his plan. And as his vessel passed the summer palace, to the north of the city, Seleukos strained his eyes looking for any signs of a fire on the eastern bank, just past the bridge, now only half a league away.

  Nothing unusual could he see as the outer wall, the height of five men, enclosing the palace gardens that surrounded the eastern city, glided by, dimly backlit by the light emanating from the palace itself until that faded and merged into the murk of night. No shouts came from the shore as the fleet drifted on with the current, sails having been furled some time ago to make the ships less conspicuous.

  Soon, the northern fortress loomed ahead, standing outside the city’s main walls and guarding the Ishtar Gate where the Processional Street from the palace entered the city. Now the outer wall was replaced by the blue-glazed city wall with the southern fortress, twinkling with many lights, just beyond it. On the west bank lay the watchtower that marked the beginning of the wall protecting the landward side of the western half of the city; there were now buildings to either side of them and it was with little surprise that Seleukos heard the first cries of alarm coming from both the southern fortress and the western watchtower, having known that detection would be most probable now that there were wakeful eyes on either bank. The bridge was clearly in sight, a little over one thousand paces away, illumined with torches along its length, a strip of fire across two hundred and fifty paces of dark river. Seleukos’ heart leaped for, as he watched, figures streamed onto the bridge from the eastern side; this could only be possible if the gate had opened. And then, sure enough, the flicker of flames could be seen beyond the wall: the outhouses around the Esagila, the Temple of Marduk, were burning; thus threatening the very temple itself. This, and only this threat, Seleukos had judged was the sole thing likely to get the gates opened so that the hydraulic pumps that were used to supply water to the gardens via leather hoses could now be brought to the bridge a
nd used to save the temple just next to it. And save the temple they would, Seleukos would make sure of that. Indeed, it was a crucial part of his plan that he should.

  ‘On!’ Seleukos cried now that stealth was less of an issue than speed. Out went the trireme’s oars and up went the transport vessels’ sails, harnessing the warm breeze and driving the fleet forward at renewed pace. Arrows flicked in from either side but did little harm as the fleet stayed mid-stream, towards the limit of their range.

  ‘Faster!’ Seleukos ordered, just five hundred paces out, as he saw that the men on the bridge were so busy with the pumps and the hoses that they were yet to notice the hostile threat. On the trireme surged, pulling away from the transports and veering towards the east bank. Arrows thudded into the deck with juddering reports as they came more within range. Seleukos and his companions knelt beside their shields taking little notice of the incoming missiles, their concentration focused on the still-open gates.

  Two hundred paces out and the men manning the pumps began to shout and point at the fleet, but they were cuffed back to their duty by officers and priests to whom the lives of the insignificant were nothing compared to the beauty of the Temple of Marduk.

  Seleukos smiled to himself: it was what he had expected. Now he knew that the gates would remain open for the hoses to pass through on their sacred mission. ‘Ladders ready!’

  Ten short ladders, no more than the height of two men, were brought to the front of Seleukos’ companions; five men lining up behind each.

  At fifty paces the ship slewed, the larboard oars backing; round it came. On a bellowed command the starboard oars were withdrawn just before the hull cracked against the eastern-most pillar of the bridge. Up the ladders went and up them streamed Seleukos with his men. Over the bridge’s parapet he leaped to clatter down on the paved surface, his men just moments behind him. Now the bravery of the pump handlers was stretched to breaking point; most ran in the face of armed men charging towards them. But they need not have worried, for they were not the target of the attack, no man was unless he got between Seleukos and his objective: the second gates.

  Through the first gate Seleukos ran, jumping over the leather hoses, knocking a protesting priest out of the way. Chest heaving, he sprinted the thirty or so paces between the walls, his men, beating their shields with swords and howling their war-cries, pounding behind him as, ahead, the second gates began swinging shut, on goose-fatted hinges, at a surprising rate. With a final spurt, Seleukos crashed through the closing gates when they were no more than three paces apart, a dozen or so of his men making it through just before they slammed together, crushing the hoses.

  But a dozen would do; Seleukos punched his sword into a bearded veteran, evidently the commander of the guard, as he charged towards him, blade raised. Down the man went in a spray of blood, as his companions set about those of the guard with the heart to fight. But there were few of them who were willing to risk their lives fighting their fellow Macedonians for a reason that they did not understand; when those few lay dead or dying, the remainder knelt in submission.

  ‘Open them!’ Seleukos ordered.

  In the matter of moments the two gates swung open, aided by a counterweighted system of great antiquity. And there, on the bridge, the first units of his men had formed up while behind them more disembarked as empty transports swung away to be replaced by full ones.

  Seleukos waited for the lead units to come through the second gate and spoke to the general at their head, a Greek mercenary in Ptolemy’s employ. ‘Take a hundred men and deal with the fire, Callias; I want the people to know that it was my men who prevented it from burning down the Temple of Marduk.’

  Callias frowned. ‘But won’t they also know that it was started at your instigation to get the gates to open?’

  Seleukos smiled and clapped Callias on the shoulder. ‘They might think that at first but I shall, of course, deny it and claim that it was divine intervention, proving that the gods are with me in my venture; or some similar twaddle which, if I have it repeated often enough, will soon become the truth. Alternative facts can be very useful. Now, get on with it; I’ve got two forts and a palace to open.’

  The garrison of the southern fortress, set within the city’s walls, saw no reason for continuing in their support for Docimus and opened their gates at the sight of five thousand men – half Seleukos’ infantry – marching towards them along the Processional Way. The commander of the garrison formally offered Seleukos his sword, which was refused. ‘You and your men swear loyalty to me, Temenos, and I will increase what Docimus was paying you and keep you in your posts.’

  ‘You are generous, sir,’ Temenos replied, visibly relieved. ‘Most of the lads have no wish to leave as they have women here now.’

  ‘As do I; do you have news of her?’

  ‘I would have thought she is still in her suite in the Palace of Nebuchadnezzar, along with the other officers’ wives left behind. Docimus didn’t touch them.’

  ‘So much the better for him. Send a party of your men to warn her of my arrival, Temenos. They are to stay with her until I get there.’

  Pleased to be of service so soon to his new commander, Temenos saluted and snapped to his business.

  Seleukos’ generous terms were also gratefully accepted by the guards of the Ishtar gate who opened their charge with happy smiles and clear consciences, but the commander of the northern fortress, just beyond the Ishtar Gate, had a different idea of loyalty. ‘Why should I surrender? We’ve got supplies in here that will last us at least six months, by which time relief would have arrived.’

  ‘And who do you think is going to come and relieve you?’ Seleukos asked, genuinely interested.

  ‘Alketas.’

  Seleukos laughed, throwing his head back. ‘Alketas is dug in in Pisidia; he’s going nowhere.’

  ‘Eumenes, then?’

  ‘Even less likely; his satrapy is Kappadokia. Why would he want to leave the easily defended mountain fortresses there and expose himself by coming to your aid? No, face it, my friend: you’re on your own and likely to be for a very long time. I have half my infantry here with me whilst the other half has gone through the city taking strategic crossings, buildings and gates and garrisoning them. If you would care to wait until the sun rises then you will also see that my cavalry are patrolling in front of all the gates and, as I’m sure you’ve already noticed, I control the river so that no one can leave or enter the city except with my knowledge so it might be quite a while before you manage to get a message out calling for help.’

  Shortly after sunrise, the body of the commander was dropped from the walls and the northern fortress’ gates opened; out walked the garrison under an olive branch of truce, with their hands extended to show that they were unarmed. ‘It’s good to know that I shall be inheriting troops with a decent amount of common sense,’ Seleukos commented to Callias as he arrived, blackened by smoke. ‘How’s the fire going?’

  ‘It’s out, sir. All the buildings around the temple were destroyed, the priests’ quarters, their kitchens and refectory, the storerooms, but the temple itself was unharmed, just a bit of smoke damage that a new coat of paint and gilt will cover up.’

  Seleukos beamed. ‘Good, I don’t suppose anyone will feel sorry for the priests except for the priests themselves. I’m sure they will be very happy to spread the rumour that the fire was divine intervention in my favour in return for me building them an even more sumptuous residence.’

  Callias grinned. ‘Comfort is generally uppermost in their minds, sir.’

  ‘Invariably. Now take some men and garrison the northern fortress along with these prisoners after they’ve sworn loyalty to me and then we shall deal with Docimus before I send for my wife.’

  But Docimus did not want to be dealt with by someone he considered to be socially below him; in fact Docimus refused even to come to the palace walls, resplendent with motifs of Babylonian kings hunting lion and other game on a background of emerald-green
glazed tiles. Instead, he sent his second-in-command, Polemon. ‘And, obviously,’ Polemon said in conclusion to a long list of demands, ‘he will take the entire treasury with him.’

  ‘Have you finished?’ Seleukos asked, his tone exasperated.

  Polemon looked down his nose at Seleukos, a task made easy by his relative height on the wall and the size of the proboscis in question. ‘I believe so.’

  ‘And he expects me to grant him all that?’ Seleukos counted off the demands on his fingers. ‘An escort of a thousand men and the ships to carry them, provisions for a month and spare clothing and weapons for all of them. Plus, his pick of the furniture and artwork in the palace, a retinue of personal slaves for him and his household as well as transport for his entire stables and then, on top of that, he announces that of course he will be taking the treasury. Did I miss anything?’

  ‘No.’

  Seleukos shook his head, incredulous. ‘As supporters of Perdikkas, you are both under a sentence of death which, until a few moments ago, I had no intention of carrying out. If I were you, I would leave that stuck-up prig who believes that people whose family do not come from Pella are nothing better than bumpkins and come down here to throw yourself at the mercy of this rather insulted bumpkin.’

  Polemon, whose views on aristocratic blood were much the same as his superior’s, looked down his nose again at Seleukos, displaying evident distaste. ‘You haven’t got the power to order our executions.’

  ‘Now you’re just being stupid. I am Satrap of Babylonia, despite what Docimus thinks, and can therefore order the execution of anyone I like or, rather, don’t like. And you can tell Docimus that he is climbing higher and higher on that list the longer I am kept standing here – as are you, for that matter. Now go!’

  The force of Seleukos’ voice visibly surprised Polemon and he stepped back before turning away.

  ‘Just kill them,’ Callias said as Polemon disappeared. ‘Macedonians are arrogant enough and look down on Greeks, even on Spartans like myself, but when you get ones who looks down on fellow Macedonians, that’s intolerable; at least take their eyes so they aren’t afflicted by having to look at you.’