The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  He looked again at the offer from Antigonos; he skipped all the formalities and went straight to the relevant passage. Go to Leonidas and swear loyalty to me and you shall have your freedom and satrapy of Kappadokia back, provided you serve on my staff.

  He mulled over its exact implications before turning back to Olympias’ letter. Again he jumped to the relevant passage. If I were to take up Polyperchon’s offer would you be prepared to become the child’s protector with responsibility for my own safety as well?

  He smiled to himself. So everyone is now acting as if I were never condemned to death by the army assembly; my killing of Krateros has been conveniently forgotten. Well, well, Eumenes, you sly little Greek, how are we to take advantage of both offers as it would be a shame to offend one of the two by refusal.

  He then read through the oath that Antigonos wanted him to swear and shook his head, tutting. Me swearing loyalty to you and to you alone, Antigonos, when I know that you have to rid yourself of the kings; you must think I’m stupid and that won’t do. He took a pen and rewrote the oath in a manner more to his liking.

  Satisfied with his efforts, he rose and, placing both letters in a strongbox and locking it, walked out of his room, brandishing the new version of the oath, and on into the noise and chaos of the castle courtyard. Fifty horses were suspended with slings under their chests from a frame built across the entire width of the area; they stood just on their hind legs and were being goaded to thrash their forelegs and buck until the sweat foamed from them. He watched for a while, pleased with himself for having come up with this way of keeping the mounts fit. Once they were exhausted, they were taken down and a further fifty brought out to be exercised. ‘How are they today?’ he asked Parmida, who was overseeing the exercise.

  ‘No injuries so far, sir.’ Parmida went back to supervising the hoisting of the next batch. Many hands pulled on the ropes which, through means of a pulley system lifted the front quarters of the snorting, whinnying beasts who, even after so many months of the same routine, still objected to each new session.

  But the regime had worked and the horses had remained, if not battle fit, then fit enough to endure a march should they ever get out of Nora. Indeed, until the arrival of the two letters, first from Antigonos and then, that very morning, that of Olympias, Eumenes had begun to despair of ever getting out. It had been a long, tedious time, but he had kept the men occupied and, in general, he was also happy with their fitness; the raids and the daily exercise of running around the courtyard, wrestling, weapons training and gymnastics had, along with their frugal diet, kept them lean and well-toned and as fit as the horses. Congratulating himself for what he saw as a triumph of leadership, he sought and found the man he was looking for.

  ‘Well, what do you think, Hieronymus?’ Eumenes asked after his compatriot had read his work.

  ‘It favours the kings and Olympias much more than the original did.’

  ‘The original only mentioned Antigonos, as you well know. With this I swear loyalty to Antigonos as he seeks to protect the Argead House in the persons of Alexander, Philip and Olympias; I think that is perfectly reasonable.’ A cacophony of shouts and a scream made him look back to where a man lay with blood gushing from a head wound; the beast that inflicted it screeched and pummelled the air with its hooves whilst bouncing up and down on its hind legs, completely out of control. Seeing that Parmida was there to contain the situation, he turned back to Hieronymus. ‘I still swear loyalty to Antigonos first; it’s just that I’m not swearing to support him if he moves against the royal house and I don’t think anyone could be asked to do that.’

  Hieronymus scratched the back of his head and reread the oath. ‘I suppose you could argue that.’

  ‘Take it to Leonidas and ask him what he thinks; say that we think that it’s a fairer oath as it doesn’t force me into a position that I would have to become a traitor.’ He gave his best look of innocence. ‘No one would want me to do that, would they?’

  Hieronymus chuckled. ‘Never in life, dear Eumenes; we all know you to be the most loyal man there is, although why you choose to give your loyalty to a Macedonian child and a Macedonian fool is beyond me; but perhaps I remain too much of a Kardian to really understand. Still, it makes for interesting times and I enjoy observing them; definitely worthy of a history.’

  ‘Perhaps you should begin writing it?’

  Hieronymus rolled up the oath. ‘Yes, I’ve been considering it; I would take my starting point as Alexander’s death and then carry on until mine. I can foresee some momentous years ahead.’ He tapped the scroll. ‘I’ll bring you Leonidas’ answer by nightfall.’

  ‘He debated the matter with his officers,’ Hieronymus said upon his return at dusk, ‘and they all agreed that it was fair and even, just that you should also name the kings and Olympias in your oath; after all, who would not be loyal to them?’

  ‘Antigonos for one, judging by the original wording.’ Eumenes gestured for his friend to sit opposite him at his study desk and poured him a cup of wine. ‘So Leonidas is fool enough to accept the wording of my oath? Unbelievable; Antigonos will be furious. What happens next?’

  ‘Leonidas has the authority to take your oath so in theory you could walk out tomorrow and resume your role as Satrap of Kappadokia; you won’t even have to remove Antipatros’ son, Nicanor, as he fled to Macedon last month.’

  ‘That is very convenient.’

  ‘More interesting than that though: Leonidas heard today that Kassandros has crossed into Asia and is with Antigonos, who’s besieging Arrhidaeus in Cius on the Propontis; he’s asking for his help.’

  So, he’s gone to Antigonos; that means he intends to fight for Macedon and he will be no friend of the kings. So if I take Antigonos’ oath but then go to Macedon at Olympias’ request, I will have Antigonos and Kassandros as enemies; whereas, if I stay here assembling an army, waiting to see what happens under the pretence of staying loyal to Antigonos then a clearer course may present itself. Eumenes contemplated his options for a few more moments. ‘So, if I accept Antigonos’ offer, I would technically have to refuse Olympias.’

  ‘Technically, yes,’ Hieronymus responded after some thought. ‘But that doesn’t mean an outright refusal.’

  Eumenes nodded and sipped his cup, holding it in both hands. ‘You’re thinking along the same lines as I am. If Leonidas has been so stupid as to accept the wording of my oath then I could quite happily serve as Alexander’s and Olympias’ protector without breaking my oath to Antigonos and still be able to serve on his staff without seeming to be disloyal to Olympias. I would, as the saying goes, have a foot in both camps.’ He leaned over and filled Hieronymus’ cup. ‘Would you take a letter to Olympias for me?’

  ‘Gladly. I’d be fascinated to meet her.’

  ‘I’m going to advise her to do nothing for the time being; neither decline nor accept Polyperchon’s offer until I better know what Antigonos is planning to do with Kassandros.’

  KASSANDROS.

  THE JEALOUS.

  HE WOULD ALWAYS have a limp. A slight limp, granted, but a limp nonetheless; and a limp would always be a sign of weakness. That he got it from a boar hunt was not a mitigating circumstance as it had not been he who had made the kill but his younger brother. Kassandros sighed to himself; it was just another thing that life had sent to try him. It was all mounting up against him but now he intended to fight back; now was to be his time, limp or no limp.

  He looked at the great fleet, out in the Propontis, backlit by the sun sinking in the west, blockading the port of Cius where Antigonos had Arrhidaeus cornered, having chased him from Cyzicus and prevented him from sending a force to relieve Eumenes; he was the last of Antigonos’ enemies in Anatolia now that Kleitos had fled to Macedon. Eumenes was still trapped but negotiating in Kappadokia, Alketas dead and Attalus, Docimus and Polemon safely locked up in a fortress near Celaenae. One more to go and then Antigonos would be free to turn his attention to the south and maybe, just maybe, he
would lend him the great fleet – or at least a part of it – for his expedition to Athens, his starting point for the defeat of Polyperchon and the acquisition of Macedon, his birth-right.

  But he still had to wait and during that waiting period there would be more humiliations and he knew that there would be another this evening. He sighed again, turned away from the imposing sight and limped towards Antigonos’ tent at the heart of his camp on the Asian shore. Away to the north, trading vessels could be seen sailing to and fro through the mouth of the Bosphoros dominated by the town of Byzantium over on the European side.

  The guests were already assembling when he was ushered in; laughter was raucous and wine flowing for Antigonos was entertaining Lysimachus who had just crossed, unexpected, that evening from Thrace.

  ‘Money, that’s all you ever ask for,’ Antigonos boomed with a grin, slapping Lysimachus on the back and slopping his wine over the cup’s rim.

  ‘Money!’ Demetrios scoffed. ‘We all need money.’

  Lysimachus glared at the youth. ‘Be a quiet puppy or be a whipped puppy; your choice.’

  Demetrios opened his mouth to reply but was silenced by his father clamping a hand over it.

  Kassandros did not hide his pleasure at Demetrios’ embarrassment; the youth had never failed to make a point of his upright posture at dinner and had also taken to imitating his limp. As a guest of his father there was little that Kassandros could do about it other than endure. But once I have no need of them, well, then we shall see, you cocky dandy.

  ‘Money,’ Antigonos boomed again, steering Lysimachus away from Demetrios, ‘I’ve barely enough for my own needs.’

  Lysimachus attempted a smile; it had never been considered a warm smile and Kassandros could well see how false it was. ‘You need money, Antigonos, as you say, for your own needs; I, on the other hand, need it for all our sakes and safety.’

  ‘Are you still building fortresses?’

  ‘I’m fighting the Getae and other hideous tribes to the north, expanding my satrapy, as well as building our defence against the threat from even further north; a real threat; a threat which is heading this way and I need money to carry on. Antipatros promised me a lot, and he was good to his word for a portion of it, but since his death I have received nothing.’ He saw Kassandros taking a cup of wine from a slave, and pointed at him. ‘Did he not bring my request when he came to you from me?’

  Antigonos looked to see who he was talking about. ‘Who, him? Kassandros? Well, he did mention something about money but he was more anxious to get an army and a fleet out of me so he didn’t labour the point too hard.’

  ‘Only thinks about himself, that one,’ Lysimachus said with a sneer.

  ‘Don’t we all?’ Kassandros retorted.

  The look Lysimachus returned was poisonous; their relationship had not improved during Kassandros’ sojourn in Thrace. Lysimachus had flatly refused any military help, despite Nicaea’s pleas, on the grounds that he completely agreed with Antipatros’ choice of successor and just because he was Kassandros’ brother-in-law did not mean he had to like him. ‘Speaking personally, I think about everyone; why else would I be spending what very limited resources I have building a vast network of fortifications.’ Lysimachus turned back to Antigonos. ‘Money is what I need and money is what you have.’

  ‘It’s not that simple; Antigenes and his Silver Shields guard the treasury at Cyinda and he won’t let me make a withdrawal without the permission of Polyperchon who, as far as Antigenes and his second-in-command, Teutamus, are concerned, is the legitimate regent as he holds the Ring of Macedon.’

  ‘Well, then you should kill him and the Silver Shields.’

  ‘My lads wouldn’t stand for that; a lot of them have fathers and grandfathers in the Silver Shields.’

  ‘Fuck what your lads think; do what’s best for you. But forget Antigenes; I’ve heard about what happened at Tarsus and I want some of those five hundred talents.’

  Antigonos face took on a hurt countenance. ‘Is this the only reason you came to see me, old friend?’

  ‘Five hundred talents!’

  ‘We could at least get drunk before you start making demands on me in my own tent.’

  ‘I’ll get drunk once you’ve promised me money,’ Lysimachus growled, his voice low.

  Antigonos looked at him in earnest. ‘And how do we know this threat that you are on about is real? What proof do you have?’

  Lysimachus made another attempt at a smile, this time it was more successful, although no less chilling. ‘That is the other reason why I’ve come.’ He turned to a Thracian officer accompanying him. ‘Bring them in.’

  It was with a gasp and an unrestrained look of open-eyed awe that Kassandros stared up at the two giants, in their early twenties, shuffling into the tent; they were led by Thracians, holding chains fastened to iron collars, and were weighed down with the heaviest of manacles and leg-irons. At least half a head taller than anyone present – or anyone who Kassandros had ever seen for that matter, Seleukos included – the captives looked taller still with their flame-red hair stiffened to stand upright in spikes; strange swirling patterns, in greens and blues, covered their pale skin, stretched taut over beautifully sculpted physiques that would inspire jealous admiration at the Olympic or any other games. Pale-blue eyes stared straight ahead, disdaining to look around, as they were paraded before an incredulous audience.

  ‘This, gentlemen,’ Lysimachus said, evidently pleased at the reaction to his exhibition, ‘is what we have to fear: Keltoi. These are two of hundreds of thousands just like them, some even bigger. They have been migrating from the north-east, pushed, no doubt, by other tribes from way beyond the imagination. So far, we have been lucky, they by-passed us and went further west killing and pillaging as they went and then taking whatever land they wanted to settle upon and enslaving the peoples whose ancestral home it was. But soon they will run out of land in the west and then their eyes will be turned back towards us.’ He walked up to the nearest captive, grabbed him by the testicles and squeezed.

  The man’s jaw clenched, his body tautened and his eyes flickered, watering slightly, but he emitted no sound nor displayed any sign of pain.

  ‘You see?’ Lysimachus let go of the ravaged scrotum. ‘They are either oblivious to pain or just too proud to show it; either way it makes them the most formidable foe.’

  ‘Where did you find them?’ Antigonos asked, visibly impressed.

  ‘They were prisoners of the Getae; some of my own Thracians captured them in a raid across the Danubus.’ He looked up at their motionless faces, shaking his head in wonder. ‘Despite having heard all about them, these are the first that I’ve seen and they have made me even more determined to keep them away from our lands. Now, Antigonos, before I ask you for money again I shall give you a little demonstration of their prowess.’ He turned to the Thracian guards. ‘Has the fighting ring been constructed?’

  ‘It is near done, sir.’

  It was full darkness by the time the ring was ready: its fencing high and strong so as not to be scaled or broken through; flaming torches burned around it as the two Keltoi were pushed into the middle by their Thracian guards, who beat a hasty retreat leaving a trembling slave to remove their manacles; he was strangled by one as his reward and none of the spectators tried to intervene. Two long slashing swords were thrown into the ring. Lysimachus gestured to one of their Thracian guards to come close; he whispered something in his ear. The Thracian shouted down to the two men in their own language.

  The winner gets to live, I suppose. Kassandros was looking forward to seeing this battle of giants.

  They looked at each other, nodded, then each picked up a sword and retired to opposite sides of the ring, fifteen paces apart.

  For a moment all was silence but then, with a mutual consenting nod, the two men howled, their backs arched, arms down and faces turned to the sky. Their voices mingled in a deathly din that rose and fell.

  Kassandros’ bl
ood froze. What formidable allies they would make. A thrill surged through him at the thought

  And then they charged, accelerating at one another at lightning pace, whirling their weapons around their heads before leaping high and slashing them down at their opponent’s neck; with a trail of sparks the blades met, resounding in metallic clarity, and bending at the impact. Thrusting their chests out, the Keltoi crashed into each other like two rutting beasts engaged in a mating battle for the pick of the females. Back they rebounded, their footing sure, to slash again with bowed blades at necks, thighs, arms and hips, in a whirr of frenzied motion, parrying, dodging, leaping, ducking as the swords hissed through the air in constant, random cuts, down, across and up, all the while howling their war-cries. And then the first blood splattered onto sweat-sheened flesh but whose it was Kassandros could not tell nor did the combatants seem to care; on their gore-streaked blades scythed. A wet, heavy chop and an incredulous look of the face of one as he watched his arm, sword still gripped, fly through the torchlight; it was the last thing he saw. His head fell from his shoulders and hit the ground at the same time as his knees, blood pulsing from his wounds as his heart pounded on for a few fading beats. The victor looked down at the vacant, staring eyes of his opponent and threw down his sword in disgust.

  ‘That, gentlemen,’ Lysimachus said, ‘is true fury. And if you think that was impressive then you should know that I had the guard tell them that the winner would be impaled, not freed as you must have supposed. Neither would countenance the shame of offering himself up for an easy death and escape the stake. That’s how they think. Now imagine a migration of two hundred thousand of those coming over the Danubus, through the Succi pass in the Haemus mountains and then down into Thrace and from there either into Macedon or across the Hellespont and into Anatolia. Imagine that and then try to refuse my request for money, Antigonos.’