The Three Paradises

by Robert Fabbri

  And then the shouting changed into something more malevolent as thirty or so men were hauled out of the crowd and thrust into the middle. ‘Kill them!’ the chant became.

  Eumenes signalled for silence and looked at Philotas; the veteran showed no fear. As the shouting died down, Eumenes approached Antigonos’ envoy and addressed the crowd. ‘Do you also think that this man should die?’

  The shouts were in the affirmative.

  Eumenes shook his head, slow and deliberate. ‘And I say no. I say that this man was just doing as he was ordered by his misguided general, as were all these men. No, let’s not kill old comrades for obeying orders; if we start doing that then where will it lead us? Send them back so they can tell their comrades that we wish no harm towards them; we wish only for the soldiers of Macedon to unite behind the Argead royal house.’

  With another flourish, Eumenes unleashed more roars of approval and the erstwhile condemned men were lifted up and drawn into brotherly embraces.

  Eumenes got close to Philotas. ‘Tell your chum that he is welcome to surrender to me anytime without fear for his life.’ He clapped him on the shoulder and made his way through a jubilant crowd. By the time he reached Antigenes and Teutamus, he was bruised from congratulatory slaps. ‘You owe me, gentlemen. Just remember that next time we’re in a tight spot.’

  The two commanders nodded and mumbled their thanks.

  Eumenes sighed. Well, I suppose that is the most thanks a Greek can expect from two such illustrious Macedonian veterans. ‘Tell me when the detachment bringing the strongboxes from Cyinda arrives tomorrow; I want that coinage and bullion loaded onto the ships as soon as it is here.’

  ‘That makes me feel much better,’ Eumenes observed to Sosigenes the following afternoon as the last of the thirty boxes crammed with treasure was safely battened down in the hold of a new-smelling trireme. He turned to Xennias standing next to him. ‘So, we start embarking the lads now.’

  Xennias snapped a salute. ‘They are standing by ready in the camp, sir.’

  ‘Wait, I should check the currents first,’ Sosigenes said, looking up at the cliffs, ‘there’s no point in having them board if we can’t sail.’

  ‘We need to hurry.’

  ‘I know, sir, I will only delay if absolutely necessary.’

  ‘I’ll come with you to be a constant reminder of that fact.’

  ‘As you can see, sir,’ Sosigenes said, almost an hour later, pointing down to a brown stain in the otherwise turquoise water, ‘the effluent from the river is coming south, our way, showing that the current is favourable and will sweep us out to sea.’

  Eumenes frowned and shaded his eyes as his gaze rested on the west in the glare of the afternoon sun reflecting on a smooth sea. ‘And what about for them?’ he asked, his voice tightening. ‘Will the current be as favourable to that fleet?’

  Sosigenes followed his look and drew breath. ‘Whose fleet is that?’

  ‘I’m not sure but I can take a guess and it’s not a nice answer. It would seem that Nearchos has made his repairs to Antigonos’ fleet. How far away are they?’

  Sosigenes studied the three or four dozen silhouettes backlit by the sinking sun. ‘No more than two leagues; less than an hour.’

  Eumenes turned and ran.

  But speed was of no avail to him for, as the approaching fleet came closer, the marks of victory adorning individual ships became clear: the beaks of the defeated enemy were proudly displayed in their bows and the ends of their yards were festooned with captured banners, ripped and torn. And fast they came for they had the wind in their favour and were far enough off the coast to be unaffected by the current.

  And then the first of Eumenes’ ships cleared the harbour mouth, followed by two more in quick succession and after came a steady stream of them. As Eumenes, with Sosigenes puffing behind him, ran along the quay he saw bodies floating in the water and slumped on the ground: the bodies of the officers unwilling to be a part of the mutiny.

  ‘Philotas and his men came as soon as the other fleet appeared,’ Xennias said as they approached. ‘They pointed out to our Phoenician sailors that the fleets were evenly matched, but Antigonos’ was fresh from victory and full of confidence, as was plain to see. So they decided that they were better off joining with them than trying to fight their way out. You know Phoenicians: ever untrustworthy and very quick to back a winner.’

  ‘And steal a fortune,’ Eumenes said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice as he watched the two fleets meld together, cheers drifting across the water. That’s what you get when you spare someone’s life. Well, next time, Philotas, I won’t be so stupid.

  ‘What do we do?’ Xennias asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

  But Eumenes’ attention was distracted by the sight of Teutamus jogging towards him, his mutilated face registering urgency.

  The news can’t be any worse than what’s just happened.

  ‘The scouts have just come in, Eumenes,’ Teutamus said, catching his breath. ‘Antigonos is crossing the Taurus Mountains with a force of over fifty thousand. What do we do?’

  Eumenes smiled. ‘That’s the second time I’ve been asked that in the space of a hundred heartbeats, and both times by Macedonians. I must be looking less Greek all of a sudden.’

  Teutamus ignored the remark and looked, astounded, at the empty harbour, only now registering the lack of ships. ‘Where are they?’

  Eumenes resisted the urge to do a comic double-take and pointed, instead, to the combined fleet now lying off Rhosus. ‘There.’

  Teutamus swallowed. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘I suppose if I get asked that question by a Macedonian a third time it is deserving of an answer.’ He looked west, towards Europe. ‘Well, with Antigonos to our north and without a fleet to take us across the sea then we must forget the idea of combining our forces in Europe.’ Eumenes turned away from the west. ‘We head inland to the eastern satrapies and try to raise an army big enough to deal with Antigonos who will surely follow us.’

  And thus Eumenes headed east, leaving Olympias to face Kassandros and Adea alone.

  ADEA.

  THE WARRIOR.

  DOWN SHE WENT, ducking under the blade that swept not a hand’s breadth over the horsehair plume of her helm, putting her weight onto her right foot and leaning out to stab low into the warrior’s thigh only to strike the leather-bound wood of a hastily lowered shield. Back Adea jumped, raising her shield to cover her throat from a lightning thrust as her opponent stamped his right foot forward, kicking up dust into her face now far closer to the ground than his own. Resisting the urge to rub her eyes, stinging from a mixture of sweat and grit, Adea stabbed down at the foot, striking it just below the greave with the tip of her blunted sword with enough force to make her opponent grunt in pain and withdraw a couple of paces. Now was her chance; she pounced, still keeping low, side on, leading with her shield to crack into that of her opponent, forcing him back onto his injured foot to steady himself. With another pained grunt, the man hopped onto his left leg as Adea brought her blade up between his legs, freezing the motion as it made contact with soft flesh. ‘My kill!’

  Cries of astonishment erupted from the gathered men witnessing the defeat of their commander, Kassandros’ brother, Nicanor, by a woman barely out of her teens.

  ‘You fight like a man,’ Nicanor said with grudging respect, looking down at the blade that would have struck a mortal blow had the contest been for real in the heat of battle.

  Adea whipped off her helmet, handed it to her bodyguard, Barzid, and shook out her hair. ‘You’re wrong there, Nicanor: I fight like my mother who taught me and she was patently not a man.’ She wiped the back of her hand over her eyes, clearing the sweat-clogged dust.

  ‘She taught you well,’ Nicanor said, bending down to rub his foot; the bruising could already be seen between the straps of his sandal. ‘I’ve not been beaten in a long while and certainly never so publicly as this.’ He gestured around the seven
hundred-strong crowd of his family’s personal followers; cavalry of exceptional quality and hard-marching infantry, the balance of those who did not follow Kassandros to Asia, now come to Pella to be the nucleus of the army. ‘And certainly never by a woman; what will they think of me?’ He raised his arms, demanding silence. ‘You have seen how the queen, Queen Eurydike, can fight, have you not?’

  The response was positive, if still a little bewildered, for none of these men knew much of Adea as they had always served in Macedon with Antipatros.

  ‘I will command you in the field but she is the queen, she will command the whole army in the name of her husband, King Philip. Soldiers loyal to my house, do you accept Queen Eurydike as the overall commander of the army of Macedon?’

  This time the response was a rousing cheer accompanied by the raising of weapons and helmets into the air.

  Adea nodded in satisfaction. ‘They think you are right to give me command of the army.’

  ‘Joint command, as I will still be leading my men.’

  ‘Perhaps so, but I will make the decisions in the name of my husband; you will support those decisions, whether you like them or not.’

  Nicanor looked at her, his dignity evidently suffering; it had not been an easy rapprochement since finding himself allied with the woman who had wanted him dead just a few months ago. ‘The men from my family’s estates who always served my father will follow you if I tell them to, and perhaps the new recruits will as well, but what about all the veterans of Alexander’s campaigns who have answered the call? Where do their loyalties lie if they march for a king against a king?’

  ‘We shall tell them tomorrow when we review the complete muster. It’s still not certain that Aristonous got Roxanna and the boy out of Macedon.’

  ‘Coenus and his fellow bodyguards held the mouth of the pass against us, long enough for them to be picked up by an Epirot border patrol,’ the officer commanding the pursuit of the fugitives reported to the council now ruling Macedon that evening. ‘By the time we caught up with them they heavily outnumbered us; we lost nine good lads in the fight.’

  ‘Fools!’ Adea shouted, thumping the council table with her palm, causing Philip to release a squirt of urine in alarm and to hurl his elephant at the man who had clearly upset his wife. ‘How do three men kill nine of you and delay you long enough for the boy to escape?’

  The officer dodged the elephant and narrowed his eyes at Adea as one of two of Philip’s bodyguards to either side of the throne retrieved the toy. ‘They were brave men we faced who had sworn to protect their king. My lads were unwilling, at first, to go at them full-heartedly; it wasn’t until we had lost three men that we realised that we really had to do this. We killed them for doing their duty to theirs and our king; how can that be right?’

  Nicanor, seated next to Hyperia, leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘That king is a traitor.’

  ‘How can a king be a traitor? We were the traitors for going against his bodyguard.’

  Adea pointed to the drooling fool on the throne. ‘You went in this king’s name! He’s the king!’

  ‘And so is Alexander! And he is now with Olympias in Passeron; I know because we followed them there. They arrived seven days ago. Does that mean he is no longer King of Macedon?’

  Adea bit back a reply as the man was absolutely right: now that Aristonous had taken the young king to his grandmother there could never be a chance of the dual monarchy functioning – if it ever could be said to have functioned – again. One of the kings has got to die and I will make sure that it is not my Philip. ‘Just go! And think yourself lucky that you’ve escaped punishment for failing in your duty.’

  The officer sketched a vague salute. ‘So we are threatened with punishment for failing in our duty, whilst his brother,’ he pointed at Nicanor, ‘executes good men for succeeding in theirs. We have all heard what happened to Nicanor of Sindus. Where do the men of Macedon stand now? Answer me that when you have had time to think about it. Who actually do we serve?’ He turned, marched to the door, past Philip’s other two bodyguards to either side of it, and kicking it open, walked out without closing it.

  ‘I should have the man executed,’ Adea spat.

  ‘And have a mutiny on your hands in the morning?’ Nicanor said, indicating with his head to Philip’s bodyguards.

  ‘No one would mutiny against the rightful king!’

  Hyperia put her hand on Adea’s arm. ‘This is a very finely balanced situation; we cannot afford to alienate anyone. A few months ago you were threatening me with all sorts of things because I wouldn’t give up Nicanor here to you, no doubt, for execution. Now we sit at the same table and govern Macedon in Kassandros’ absence in the name of the kings, even though one is now in Epirus. It could easily be argued that the reason we are now on the same side is because you played the traitor by bringing Philip over from the regent who holds the ring of Macedon, given to him by my husband on his deathbed, to the man who feels that it should have been him who received that prize.’

  ‘I’m no traitor.’

  ‘No? And yet you’ve now pitched your fool against Roxanna’s babe; someone has to be in the wrong, surely?’ Hyperia smiled with a mixture of sympathy and amusement and rose to her feet. ‘Sometimes I don’t even know whose side I’m on or, more to the point, sometimes I don’t even know if there are opposing sides or just too many women wanting to influence things.’ It was with a questioning look that she turned and left the chamber.

  Nicanor got up to follow her. ‘She has a point, Adea. And, unfortunately, it’s gone too far to draw back now. The war has come home to Macedon rather than staying in the south and in Asia, and it’s because of you.’

  ‘You think that Olympias will invade?’

  ‘She’s bound to. She has a king with her now; a king who will give her legitimacy. She will come sooner rather than later. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she is already mustering the army of Epirus.’

  ‘Then we had better march out to meet her and prevent her from crossing the border.’

  ‘And we had better be successful because if Olympias wins…’ He left the sentence hanging, gave a brief acknowledgement to the king and left.

  Adea sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating Hyperia’s and Nicanor’s words. Of course they’re right, but I can never admit it. Roxanna, Olympias, me…if it hadn’t been for the rivalry between that eastern wild-cat and me there would still be a dual monarchy and Polyperchon would have a just cause to resist Kassandros. And now that Olympias, through her desire for power and attention, has grabbed Alexander, the fight is against her with absolute right on neither side. We’ve been the catalysts who have brought this war that will rip Macedon apart; it will be a duel to the death with only one survivor. She looked at her husband, who whimpered on his throne, concerned by her serious countenance. ‘When we inspect the army tomorrow, Philip, I want you to play king harder than you have ever done before. We want the men to be right behind you.’

  And it was with his best efforts, the following morning, that Philip stood still, resisting the temptation to fidget or pick his nose, as Tychon dressed him in the uniform of a King of Macedon; bronze, silver and purple topped with gold and scarlet so that, to the untutored eye, he was the very image of his father and namesake: the conqueror of Greece, Thrace and southern Illyria come back to life to review the army that was destined to sweep all before it.

  But the army that this new Philip had paraded before him as he rode, with fanfares blaring and the common populace cheering, from the palace along the Sacred Way was a shadow of the armies that had once graced Macedon. Gone were the numbers, spread now throughout the empire and all fighting for different warlords, so that the army of today resembled more a flying column of yesteryear. But, nevertheless, an army it was; built around a central corps of Kassandros’ followers, ever loyal to Antipatros and now his sons. Men who had stayed behind in Macedon rather than share the great adventure that Alexander had led; me
n whose loyalty was first to the Antipatrid clan, who would follow that leadership whatever king it backed. They cheered as Philip, with Nicanor and Adea to either side, drew up his mount before them and hailed them with a raised hand. And the rest of the army followed their lead, though with less enthusiasm, for these were either young, almost beardless, recruits to whom Alexander was a potent myth or discharged veterans answering their country’s call to return to arms and come to its defence. Middle-aged or even old, these men, beards flecked with grey, were passionate in their loyalty to the now-dead king who had led them on a conquest of half the known world, and, despite Philip’s resemblance to his and Alexander’s shared father, under whom they had all served in their youth, their support for him was expressed with less zest than Adea had hoped.

  It was at the first sign of the ovation dying that Adea rode forward and held her hands to the sky. With bronze cuirass and greaves, leather boots and pteruges, and with helm high-plumed with horsehair and feathers, she looked the picture of a high-ranking officer of Macedonian Companion cavalry: elite, experienced and loyal. ‘Men of Macedon,’ she shouted as the cheering faded, ‘your king is before you.’ The pause she left for a cheer was sparsely filled. ‘It is for him we march to defend our country from foreign invaders, for they are coming from the west and we must counter them. It is no use staying here sheltering behind the walls of Pella and Pydna, no, we must take to the field and repel these trespassers at the border. We must not let the sacred earth of Macedon be soiled by Epirot feet. It falls to us, therefore, to march west and defend our motherland’s honour and integrity. Are you with us, soldiers of Macedon? Do you answer your king’s call?’

  The roar was not overwhelming but it was sufficient.

  ‘Then we march tomorrow at first light; we march for our king and for our country! We march for all of us, for Macedon and for Philip!’

  This time the cheering was thunderous; Adea breathed deep in relief. Now it’s you or me, Olympias.