Coenus nodded, understanding what Aristonous had implied. ‘Then that’s there we shall hold true to our oaths.’
Roxanna was reminded of the brave men of her father’s household, sworn to the death in the service of her house, lesser lives sacrificed for those of greater worth, as she pushed her mare to the limit of her endurance, ever up, her footing sure despite the loosened scree, in a desperate race for the pass.
The shouts from behind were clearer now, echoing around the hills through clear mountain air; cries assured of success at the end of a long chase.
At last the gradient lessened and the tired horses produced one final surge as the summit was gained; down the slope beyond it they galloped, praying to whatever god seemed the most appropriate in the circumstances that their mounts should not stumble. Ahead, through a maze of scattered boulders, the next ridge climbed aloft but it was not one solid wall of rock, it was two, not quite contiguous but overlapping, and a path led between them into the valley that divided Mount Tymphaea and Mount Lyncus. Up to that path they raced, knowing that a chance of safety lay along it as it entered the pass.
‘Go ahead, Aristonous,’ Coenus shouted as the first of the party slipped between the gap amid the two ridges. ‘We will hold them for as long as possible.’
Roxanna’s mare pounded up the path, in the midst of the group before the bottleneck of the entrance slowed them and they were forced to enter just three or four at a time; and then she was through and into a valley that opened up to the west, flanked by steep sides and overlooked by the heights of the Pindus Mountains.
‘We will see each other again soon, one way or the other,’ Coenus shouted as the last rider was through. With that he and his two comrades turned their horses in the entrance and faced downhill, waiting for the pursuers to close.
It was to the sound of combat that Roxanna and her rescuers fled west: the cries of battle, both triumphant and agonised, the clash of iron and the equine shrieks of the beasts. On they went as the noise faded until it was brought to their ears by just the faintest of echoes whispering on the wind; finally they could relax and let their horses slow to relieve their aching chests.
It was with relief rather than fear, that Roxanna saw an approaching troop of light cavalry, for they came out of the west, from the land of Olympias, from Epirus, into which realm they had just crossed.
‘Halt! Come no further,’ the officer commanding the Epirot cavalry cried. ‘Identify yourselves.’
Aristonous walked his horse forward. ‘I am Aristonous, former bodyguard to Alexander himself. We have brought his son and namesake to seek the protection of his grandmother, Queen Olympias, and her kinsman, Aeacides, the King of Epirus.’ He lifted the still-unconscious body of the young king. ‘He badly needs a physician.’
The commander rode over and looked at Alexander, lifting his chin. ‘Then you had better come with me, Olympias is with the king at Decemta.’
Never had words come as such a relief to Roxanna; she looked over her shoulder to see the arrival of their pursuers back down the pass, their number visibly depleted and their threat nullified in the face of a superior force. Now I’m safe; now I have Olympias to protect me thanks to that man. She looked at Aristonous and smiled; he nodded back, his expression neutral, but was that desire she saw in his eyes? A thrill ran through her belly.
‘Come forward,’ Olympias commanded, her voice betraying no familial affection. ‘Let me see the child.’
Fighting to keep her temper at being thus addressed, Roxanna advanced, her hands on Alexander’s shoulders and her eyes fixed on those of Olympias as she sat, upright and rigid, on an elevated chair looking down at her and her son; Thessalonike stood behind her resting one hand on the chair’s back. She treats me as her inferior. And what is that woman doing, standing behind her? I thought she was no more than a lady in waiting.
Olympias beckoned to Alexander. ‘Come up here, child.’
Still groggy from his fall, the boy froze. Roxanna steered him to the dais’ steps.
‘Just the child.’ Olympias’ voice was imperious.
Roxanna hesitated. How dare she speak to me like that? But her position as a supplicant had been made abundantly clear to Roxanna since her arrival at the palace earlier that morning: forced to wait for an interview with Olympias for over six hours, Roxanna had been shown into an apartment that was clearly for low-grade diplomatic missions of little import rather than a suite commensurate with her rank as a queen. She had suffered the insult in mute fury, determined to do nothing that would harm her chances of creating a good impression with the woman in whose hands her safety, and that of her child, lay. She would have appealed to Aristonous but, to her disappointment, he and his men had disappeared immediately after they had announced their arrival and placed her in the hands of Thessalonike, of whom she had never heard and with whom she had developed an immediate mutual antipathy.
The look of wicked amusement in Thessalonike’s eyes as Roxanna hesitated caused her much cause for concern and she regretted the way she had spoken down to her earlier. She must be far more in Olympias’ confidence than I had imagined. She pushed Alexander forward to mount the steps on his own, his head low.
Olympias reached out and cupped the boy’s chin, raising his gaze to meet her own; she surveyed him for a few moments and then nodded, her lips pursed, as if she had just confirmed what she already suspected. ‘You have the look of your father, child, but it is stained by your mother’s colour.’ She looked down her nose at Roxanna, as if she were a slave barely worthy of notice, and then back to Alexander. ‘Tell me your name, child.’
‘A…A…Alexander.’ The voice was almost inaudible.
Olympias slapped him across the cheek. ‘That is not how the true Alexander says his name. Tell me it again, child, this time as if you mean it.’
Alexander recoiled and turned to his mother, who reached up the steps to collect him.
‘Leave him! The child must speak for himself and stand on his own feet and not cling to the skirts of his mother. Say your name, child.’
Alexander looked at Roxanna, who encouraged him with a nod; he turned back to Olympias, pulled himself up as tall as his slight stature would allow and puffed out his chest. ‘Alexander.’ The voice was clear and loud.
‘That’s better; we shall make a king out of you, despite the barbarian colour of the vessel that bore you.’
This was now too much for Roxanna. ‘If you wish to insult me, insult me not to my son but to my face.’
Olympias got to her feet without looking at Roxanna, easing Alexander towards her. ‘I’ll insult you anyway I like, barbarian, seeing as you have deliberately kept my grandson from me for these many years, despite my pleas to see him. I eventually had to send Aristonous to get him seeing as you were doing nothing to bring him to me and ensure his safety.’
‘I wasn’t free to come; I was no better than a prisoner.’
Olympias sneered. ‘No queen lets herself become a prisoner; any status you thought you had back in Macedon, you have left there. Here you are nothing but what I say you are.’ She turned to go, putting her arm around Alexander’s shoulders. ‘But now that you are here, just remember that you are the supplicant and try not to antagonise me too much; after all, it is now me protecting you from Kassandros and Adea, not Polyperchon.’ Without looking back, Olympias glided from the room, taking Alexander with her.
‘It’s been such a pleasure meeting my nephew,’ Thessalonike said as she too turned to leave.
Roxanna was shocked. ‘Nephew?’
‘Yes, I’m Alexander’s half-sister, something that you were evidently unaware of when you treated me with such contempt when we met earlier; perhaps you should have done a little more research before you came running here expecting to be treated like a queen.’ She gave a deliberately false smile before following Olympias, leaving Roxanna, stunned, on her own, wishing herself anywhere but there in the clutches of such women.
After a few moments of contro
lling the urge to slump to the floor and weep, she walked from the audience chamber resolved to appeal to the last person who might help her; she would write to Polyperchon.
POLYPERCHON.
THE GREY.
POLYPERCHON STARED AT the two heads lying on the ground with a trident next to them, and then read the letter that had accompanied them. He sighed with deep regret and looked back down at the gruesome objects, now a playground for maggots. Kleitos, what have you done? You’ve lost my fleet. How can I move north along the coast without it? He turned to Alexandros, looking grim beside him. ‘Burn them and have the ashes treated with respect.’
‘Yes, Father.’ Alexandros pointed at the letter. ‘What does it say?’
Polyperchon weighed the scroll in the palm of his hand; it felt heavy, foreboding disaster. ‘It’s from Lysimachus. After Kleitos defeated Nicanor of Sindus, Antigonos caught him unprepared and, between him and what was left of Nicanor’s fleet, completely destroyed Kleitos. Only he managed to escape with Arrhidaeus here,’ he nodded to the other head, ‘but a Lysimachid patrol took them in Thrace when they landed to pick up water. Lysimachus just announced his support for Antigonos and Kassandros by sending me their heads.’ He ripped up the letter and threw the pieces to the breeze. ‘To lose the fleet just days after losing so many of my elephants…’ He looked over to the walls of Megalopolis, still intact, with bodies littering the ground before them; bodies of men and beasts, huge beasts. The town had refused all offers of terms, unwilling to allow the wild, democratic faction back to rule with the abandon that it had showed before Antipatros had imposed oligarchies on the Greek cities after the Lamian War. ‘No,’ they had said, rejecting Polyperchon’s decree granting freedom to the Greeks, ‘it’s nothing more than a ruse to gain your support.’ And so they had declared for Kassandros and defied Polyperchon to get through or over the strongest walls in the Peloponnesus. Thus, after a few days’ constant bombardment with the heaviest artillery in his possession, he had sent his elephant herd in to batter the weakened masonry until it fell. But almost every town or city had a veteran of Alexander’s wars in the east and Megalopolis was no exception; knowing what to expect, the veteran had advised the city’s elders to commission the forging of hundreds of four-pointed caltrops, so designed so that however they fell there would always be a wicked spike, a hand’s-breadth long, pointing straight up.
Unaware of the danger that awaited them, Polyperchon had sent his elephants forward, supported by artillery, archers and slingers to keep the walls clear. But no one needed to be on the walls for the damage was already done. On the great beasts had come; on into a field sown with pain as each step impaled their feet on yet more sprouting iron, sending them trumpeting onto their hind legs. Down did their full weight press on the caltrops already imbedded in them, forcing them to buck and land on shredding forelegs taking the agony to new heights, until, unable to bear it any more, they rolled onto their sides and backs, crushing their mahouts, and lashing out at the light infantry support as they tried to remove the wicked barbs from their feet. In agony they thrashed on the ground, trumpeting their pain to the skies, covering themselves all over in the spiked menace, bleeding from every wound so that they seemed covered in a red skin sprouting ghastly bristles. And there they had lain, their blood flowing freely and their understanding unable to comprehend a way out of their predicament. The first had died on the second day and, even now, four days later, one of the great carcases would occasionally twitch betraying the faintest sign of life.
It was as if the gods had taken all favour from him, Polyperchon reflected, as he considered his position. He turned to Alexandros. ‘What news of Kassandros?’
‘His army was still disembarking when our scouts returned this morning; it seems pretty certain that he is aiming for Tegea.’
‘If he takes that then we’ve lost the entire Peloponnesus.’
‘We’ve already lost Attica. The Athenian assembly voted the death sentence for Hagnonides and many of his democratic faction; they were executed three days ago shortly after Kassandros arrived back from Macedon.’
Polyperchon rubbed his bald pate and sighed, long and deep. I need to be decisive or I might just as well go and meet Kassandros and offer him my sword with which to kill me. I have no choices left now; it has to be north. He drew himself up and looked at his son with what he hoped was a confident expression. ‘Take your part of the army and reinforce the garrison in Tegea. Kassandros will be loath to bring his army north until his rear is secure; the city’s well stocked so you should be able to hold out until I return.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘North. I’ll travel fast ahead of my army. If Kassandros has been to Macedon that must mean he now has control of it through Adea. I’m going to Epirus; Olympias cannot refuse me now; not with her grandson in such obvious danger. No, she’ll bring the Epirot army to my aid; together we can secure Macedon, kill Adea, take the fool back into our protection and then come south to relieve you at Tegea and crush Kassandros between us early next year.’
Alexandros considered his father’s plan for a few moments. ‘And if she doesn’t come?’
‘She will.’
‘I will,’ Olympias said, turning from Polyperchon to Aeacides, seated on his throne in the palace throne-room, looking out over the wooded mountains that surrounded Passeron, ‘provided my flabby kinsman will provide me with an army.’
The King of Epirus chuckled mirthlessly, his premature double chin wobbling in an unsightly manner, his eyes bleary with alcohol. ‘You have such a way with words, Olympias, it is almost impossible to refuse you – almost.’ He quaffed half a cup of wine.
Polyperchon had known that this would be a difficult interview but had not been prepared for the amount of animosity that was evident between Olympias and Aeacides. He needed to make his point vigorously; he stepped forward in what he hoped was an energetic and decisive manner. ‘If we do not take an army into Macedon now, when we have Kassandros preoccupied in the Peloponnesus with his siege of Tegea, then Macedon will be lost to the true Argead house for ever. Kassandros is taking advantage of Adea’s naivety at the moment. He’s using her and Philip to hold Macedon for him until he is free to bring his entire army north and, when he does, he will kill Philip and give Adea the choice between death or becoming his wife, thus legitimizing himself by marrying into the Argead house and opening the door for him to declare himself king.’ He slammed a fist into a palm. Olympias and Aeacides both stared at him, momentarily surprised by his vehemence as he stepped back, clearly uncomfortable with his melodrama.
Aeacides recovered first and was dismissive. ‘And why would I care about what happens in Macedon? Why would I care about the Argead house?’ he asked, quaffing the other half.
‘Because if you don’t,’ Olympias said in the tone of a parent talking to a recalcitrant child, ‘then your grandson won’t get to sit on the throne of Macedon.’
Aeacides looked confused, holding out his cup for a refill. ‘My grandson?’
‘Yes, your grandson. Are you so steeped in wine as to have forgotten the conversation we had five years ago when the eastern bitch was about to whelp? The son born of your eldest daughter, Deidamia, and fathered by my grandson, Alexander, son of Alexander. That promise still stands if you help me.’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten,’ Aeacides lied.
Polyperchon tried to disguise his surprise as he looked at Olympias with a new respect. That is a brilliant plan; both children may only be five years old but they would represent stability in the future. Only the hardest-bitten supporters of Kassandros and Antigonos would find that unacceptable.
Aeacides was also making that mental calculation, pulling on the lobe of an ear and swilling his wine around. Eventually his expression indicated he had come to a decision. ‘That would be a powerful union indeed, a glory to my house.’
‘A glory to both houses,’ Olympias corrected.
‘Indeed, to both houses.’ He looked
fleetingly anxious. ‘And the mother, Roxanna?’
‘Is irrelevant now that I have Alexander in my power; she will do as she’s told if she wishes to live. She’ll be comfortable enough, although, naturally, she will not be allowed access to anything with which she can brew her potions, so she won’t be able to pursue her little hobby.’
‘Wouldn’t it be better if…’ He left the question standing, and concentrated on his cup.
‘I’ve thought about that too, but if I kill her it might adversely affect the child, turn him against me, which wouldn’t do for what I have in mind.’
Ruling through him; I don’t doubt. Where will that leave me? Dead, unless I voluntarily submit to her. He took hold of the Great Ring of Macedon, twisted it from his finger and offered it to Olympias. ‘It would seem that now Alexander is reunited with his grandmother and Adea and Philip have turned traitor with Kassandros, my duty is done; take it. It is yours now and I shall serve you.’
Olympias’ eyes lit up with power-lust. She took the ring, slipped it onto her forefinger and then raised her hand in the air to admire it. ‘Very pretty; very pretty indeed. You’ve done well, Polyperchon, not many people could give up such power. I thought that I would have to kill you for it.’
Polyperchon was relieved that he had guessed correctly. ‘To tell the truth, I never wanted it; I have always preferred to follow rather than lead.’
‘Now you have your chance again to do so.’ She lowered her hand and turned to Aeacides. ‘So that army we were talking about; when can I have it by?’
The king shook his head, smiling to himself. ‘You don’t ever give up, do you, Olympias?’
‘Not when I’m pursuing what is rightfully mine, no. The army? When?’
Aeacides raised his hands in surrender. ‘Alright, we’ll invade Macedon.’
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