Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest

by Robert Fabbri

  ‘Why wait when there is already a living heir?’ The voice came from the fringe of the gathering. Nearchos, the Cretan admiral, stepped forward. ‘Heracles is four years old, the regency would therefore be only ten years rather than fourteen.’

  ‘Greek!’ Peithon thundered. ‘Macedon first!’

  ‘You’re speaking out of turn, my friend,’ Eumenes said, wagging a finger at Nearchos. ‘We must defer to our betters for our blood is but the thin Greek sort, not the strong, thick stuff that surges in Peithon’s veins. But with patience I’m sure you’ll get the chance to promote the interests of your bastard half-brother-in-law.’

  Very good, Eumenes, Ptolemy thought as Nearchos was forced to step back to the fringes with the Macedonians shouting down his protests, that’s got rid of that. As a mark of esteem, Alexander had given to Nearchos Barsine’s eldest daughter, only twelve at the time, at the Susa weddings, making him Heracles’ brother-in-law, and no doubt he fancied himself as his young relation’s regent despite his Cretan blood.

  ‘A bastard can never be king,’ Perdikkas said, putting an end to the matter as the shouts died down.

  ‘But a brother can,’ Meleagros said, his voice rumbling through his beard. ‘Listen to you talking about half-breeds sitting on the throne of Macedon. The children of the conquered. Roxanna!’ He spat on the floor. ‘She’ll whelp a soft easterner no matter how much good Macedonian spunk Alexander pumped into her. And as for Barsine, being half Greek doesn’t make up for the rest of her eastern blood; the Greeks have knelt in submission to us too, have they not?’ He looked hard at the few Greeks in the meeting, challenging them to dispute the fact; none could. ‘Let’s stop all talk of mixed blood because, as with the eastern recruits coming into the ranks, the men don’t like it; and why should they when we all know we have a pure-blooded mature male of the Argead dynasty ready to be crowned right here in Babylon.’

  Now’s my time. ‘Arrhidaeus is a halfwit,’ Ptolemy said.

  ‘Give me a Macedonian halfwit any day,’ Meleagros thundered, ‘over a foreign half-breed.’

  ‘Especially one with some Greek blood in him,’ Eumenes said, his face a picture of innocence.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘But a halfwit cannot rule without a regent,’ Ptolemy pointed out. ‘Not even a Macedonian halfwit.’

  Eumenes looked up at Peithon, standing next to him. ‘And Macedonian halfwits are the best halfwits in the world, I believe; am I not right, Peithon?’

  Peithon frowned as he considered the question but refrained from expressing his views on the prowess of Macedonian halfwits.

  ‘So who will be the halfwit’s regent?’ Ptolemy asked. ‘In fact, who will be the half-breed’s regent, come to that? Because Alexander named none of us.’ Ptolemy slowly turned his head towards Perdikkas with a countenance of deep regret. ‘Did he, eh?’

  Perdikkas’ eyes narrowed. ‘Are you putting yourself forward as king just because you might be Alexander’s bastard half-brother?’

  ‘My dear Perdikkas, whatever else I may be, I’m no fool. I like my luxuries and I know my limitations, militarily; the question is: does everyone else in this room? I would not be king for two reasons: firstly, my claim is a bastard’s claim and, as you said, a bastard can never sit on the throne of Macedon.’ But that is not the only throne in the world. ‘And, secondly, if we are going to carry on with Alexander’s plans and go west I would be the wrong person to lead the army. And would you be the right person, Perdikkas?’ Ptolemy pointed at Leonnatus. ‘Or you, Leonnatus? Or perhaps you, Aristonous, or Lysimachus or Peucestas?’ That Peithon lacked the qualities did not need to be questioned. ‘There is only one person who would stand a chance of having the whole army behind him and he is three hundred leagues away: Krateros. Alexander himself almost named him, in that he sent him home to replace Antipatros as regent in Macedonia.’

  ‘My father was not to be replaced!’ Kassandros erupted. ‘It was to be a temporary thing whilst he came east to give Alexander the benefit of his counsel. If anything it should be my father who rules, whether as king or as regent.’

  It was Lysimachus’ turn to spit. ‘Do you think the army assembly will accept a man who has stayed at home for the last ten years and not shared one of its hardships?’

  Kassandros turned on him, rage simmering within. ‘A king can be made both in the army assembly or in Macedon at an assembly of the people.’

  Lysimachus spat again. ‘The people! I piss on the people and so would the army if they ever tried to inflict a king on them, especially one with such an ugly heir as you, Kassandros. Because that’s what you want, isn’t it? You and that ancient father of yours, who skulked in the west whilst better men won glory and died for it, think you could fill Alexander’s place!’

  Perdikkas pulled Kassandros back as he went for Lysimachus. ‘Enough!’

  Aristonous helped Perdikkas restrain him. ‘Ptolemy’s right, Krateros was named regent by Alexander and he also has the qualities of a general far greater than anyone here.’

  ‘But he’s leagues away.’

  Ptolemy spread his hands. ‘So how can he rule when it’s immediate leadership that we need if we are to keep the army united and prevent the empire from fracturing?’

  ‘Then if we want immediate leadership,’ Aristonous said, letting go of a simmering Kassandros, ‘Perdikkas is the solution. He may not be an Argead, but he does have royal blood, nonetheless, which Krateros does not.’

  ‘And he was given the ring,’ Peucestas said.

  So that’s where you stand. ‘But who would Alexander have given it to had Krateros been here?’ Ptolemy quickly held a palm up. ‘Don’t answer that, it’s immaterial. The fact is Krateros isn’t here and none of us who are could rightly claim to take Alexander’s place. And if you did claim the crown, Perdikkas, what do you think Krateros and his ten thousand veterans will do? Especially after you’ve done what you would have to do in order to secure your crown and prevent a civil war in the not-too-distant future: kill Roxanna and Alexander’s child.’

  Perdikkas shook his head. ‘Which is why I would never accept the crown.’

  You lying bastard. ‘Ah, so you’ve thought about it, have you?’

  ‘Of course I have; who here didn’t as we stood round and watched Alexander die? Go on, be honest. We all did.’

  I doubt Peithon did.

  ‘So, what do you suggest, Ptolemy?’

  It was the hitherto silent Leonnatus who had framed the question, Ptolemy noted, marking him down as a potential ally. ‘A council comprising of four men, voted for by the army, who meet here, before the throne in the presence of the ghost of Alexander.’

  Perdikkas looked at Ptolemy, incredulous. ‘An army run by a committee? How would we ever manage to conquer the west?’

  ‘We don’t go west.’

  ‘What? But Alexander—’

  ‘Is dead,’ Eumenes cut in. ‘Ptolemy’s right, we don’t go west, if we do that then we’ll lose all that we’ve already won.’

  ‘So what would we do?’ Perdikkas asked, looking at Ptolemy.

  ‘We consolidate. We each take a satrapy and we rule in the name of Macedon with internal and external policy being decided by the committee of four.’

  ‘That would never work.’

  ‘Why not?’ Because you won’t let it. But you now need me to help you out of the situation that I’ve put you in; and all it will cost you is Egypt.

  PERDIKKAS,

  THE HALF-CHOSEN

  ‘WHY NOT?’ PTOLEMY asked in reply to Perdikkas’ assertion.

  That bastard of a bastard, Perdikkas thought, he’s shown a way whereby we don’t need a king, nor, therefore, a regent. What does he want? ‘Because how would a committee of four be able to agree on anything, even assuming we could even decide who the four would be?’

  ‘The army votes for them, as I said,’ Ptolemy replied.

  ‘You can’t have the army voting for just anyone; we would have to put the candidates up for
election.’

  ‘Macedon must have a king, not a committee.’ It was Peithon who had made the statement and when put so simply as that, it clarified the issue for Perdikkas and, indeed, for almost everyone else in the room, for all eyes turned to Peithon and most heads were nodding in agreement.

  Perdikkas noticed a quick look shared between Ptolemy and Leonnatus and knew he had to act quickly. ‘Peithon is absolutely right, we must have a king and that king must be of the Argead dynasty. Therefore I propose this: we wait until Roxanna gives birth and if it’s a boy we then decide between him and Arrhidaeus. Either way, a regent will be needed, in the boy’s case for fourteen years and in Arrhidaeus’ case, for life.’

  ‘And who will that regent be?’ Ptolemy asked.

  ‘Perdikkas,’ Aristonous said.

  ‘Perdikkas,’ Peucestas agreed.

  ‘I agree,’ Lysimachus said.

  ‘So do I,’ Ptolemy followed, surprising Perdikkas. ‘In conjunction with Leonnatus in Asia whilst Antipatros remains regent in Europe aided by Krateros when he arrives there.’

  Perdikkas stared at Ptolemy, whose face remained neutral. I’ll wager that you’re smirking behind that mask, you bastard. But I suppose the idea does have the merit of encouraging Krateros back to Europe and out of my way leaving me just Leonnatus to deal with. I would also get rid of Kassandros, he’ll go back to his father, unless I give him something here so as I can keep an eye on him. Yes, it might work well for me. ‘So be it. Is there anyone who does not agree?’

  It being such a fudged compromise, nobody could find any fault with it for it seemed that no one’s position was directly threatened; even Meleagros showed no signs of dissent, Perdikkas noted with relief. ‘Then I suggest we take an oath, here before Alexander, vowing to uphold this solution.’ He glanced down to the other end of the hall where the infantry continued to pay their respects to Alexander. ‘Furthermore, I suggest that we present the idea to the cavalry first as they have already completed their duty to Alexander.’

  ‘Why not address the army as a whole?’ Aristonous asked.

  ‘If we have the support of the cavalry, the infantry might be more inclined to accept the compromise.’

  ‘When did the infantry ever do anything because the cavalry did?’ Eumenes questioned.

  Meleagros grunted into his beard.

  As Perdikkas administered the oath to all the senior officers, he prayed to Ares that the veteran infantry commander would have enough influence over his men to get them to back the decision without too much dissension.

  ‘And what will we do if the infantry don’t agree with the plan?’ Eumenes asked Perdikkas as, the oath complete, they walked out into the courtyard; the cavalry had formed up and were being informed of the decision by their officers.

  ‘They will.’

  ‘You mean that you hope they will. Don’t forget the infantry and cavalry nearly went to war with each other in India when the infantry wanted to turn back and the cavalry were for going on with Alexander. There is no love lost between them.’ Eumenes looked at the three thousand or so cavalry troopers, on foot, discussing the proposal in their units. ‘And which is the bigger arm?’

  ‘But one can’t survive without the other, not here, so far from home.’

  ‘I know that and so do you,’ Eumenes observed as the cavalry began to shout their approval, ‘and so, in all likelihood, do they. But, tell me, do you really think that they do?’ He pointed over his shoulder to the queue of infantry filing into the throne-room to pay their last respects to Alexander.

  Perdikkas glanced back and did a double-take. ‘Where are they? There were at least another few hundred of them to go when we came to a decision.’

  Eumenes turned and looked to where the queue had once been. ‘That doesn’t bode well.’ He gave Perdikkas a wry smile. ‘I think you might just have engineered a situation whereby you either have their king or two kings. Not very satisfactory, I’d say. You see, you really do need my help; you’re a soldier not a politician and with Alexander dead one really has to be a bit of both.’ Eumenes shrugged and spread his hands. ‘If you want to survive, that is; because, if that meeting taught us anything, there won’t be many of us left by the time this is all over.’

  ‘It’ll never come to that; we’ve shared too much. We’re comrades.’ But Perdikkas heard a plaintive tone in his own voice and he feared that the little Greek may have the right of it as a roar rose above the cheering of the cavalry, coming from the direction of the infantry camp just beyond the palace walls. They’ve rejected the proposal before we’ve even had a chance to put our case to them; they’ll demand that we make the halfwit king.

  A knot developed in Perdikkas’ belly as an infantry officer came striding through the gates into the courtyard and hurriedly made his way across its vast length to Meleagros.

  ‘Well,’ Perdikkas asked after the man had spoken with the old veteran. ‘Have they rejected the proposal?’

  Meleagros’ eyes hardened and he gave a mirthless smile. ‘They’ve done more than that. Eukleides here tells me that they’ve found Arrhidaeus, crowned him king and are calling him Philip, the third of that name.’

  ‘They can’t!’

  Meleagros shrugged. ‘Well, they have.’

  Panic spread across Perdikkas’ face. ‘You have to stop them.’

  ‘Why? It’s what they want.’

  ‘It’s not what we decided and what we all swore to in front of Alexander’s shade. Do you want to break that oath?’

  Meleagros considered the issue before replying. ‘Very well, I’ll go to them.’

  ‘Give them time to calm down and bring them to a full assembly of the army tomorrow morning.’

  ‘That really wasn’t clever,’ Eumenes said as Meleagros and Eukleides walked away.

  Perdikkas looked down at the Greek in surprise. ‘Why not? It has to be stopped and he’s the only man who the infantry will listen to.’

  ‘I agree, he is the only man who the infantry will listen to; but the question is, what will he say to them?’

  ‘He’s sworn to our agreement.’

  ‘If you had a choice between keeping an oath to a dead man or becoming regent to a halfwit with the support of the infantry, which would you choose?’

  ‘I’d choose honour.’ But Perdikkas’ tone was again uncertain.

  ‘You’re right not to be sure, Perdikkas, because honour is the first thing that we will all lose when it comes to winning our share of the spoils; and that is what this will come down to, trust me. Now, if you want to win, you really do need my help, if only to stop you making mistakes like the one you’ve just made: re-uniting the mutinous infantry with their leader.’

  The sly little Greek does have a point, Perdikkas conceded as he watched Meleagros disappear through the gate, if he were referring to one of his kind, but Meleagros isn’t Greek, he’s a Macedonian with honour; he’ll bring them to order. Gods, how I hate the infantry.

  ANTIGONOS,

  THE ONE-EYED

  ‘YOUR INFANTRY WERE just standing there doing nothing, Father!’ Demetrios shouted, his voice cracking. ‘I led my cavalry over the bridge to kill as many of the bastards as I could. They were running and we slew scores.’

  Antigonos gripped the edge of his campaign table, restraining himself from taking a swipe at the young pup still splattered in blood from his two-day rampage; the lad’s dark eyes were hard with defiance and the jaw-muscles on either side of his beardless face pulsed. ‘And what if you had run into an ambush, eh? Had you thought about that before you went blundering around Kappadokia for two days, killing a few fugitives who were already well beaten?’

  Demetrios dismissed the suggestion with a wave and slumped down on a three-legged stool; from outside the tent came the sound and smells of a victorious army breaking its fast: clinking pots and wood-smoke mixed with harsh laughter and freshly baked flat-bread. ‘There was no organisation, Father; that was never going to happen.’

  ‘But how coul
d you be sure, Demetrios; you’re fifteen and you’re here to learn. When you’re leading men into a dangerous situation you have to have certainty otherwise they die. You never advance somewhere that hasn’t been scouted and that’s exactly what you did.’

  ‘If I had brought back Ariarathes we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  ‘My arse, we would; the only difference would be a rebel satrap with a pointed piece of wood up his arse decorating the front of my tent. So, you listen to me, whelp, I may be your father but I am also a general and, as such, I know that a general’s first concern is for his men, even the cavalry! What I’ve witnessed you do was an act of foolish bravado that has absolutely no place in my army or any man’s army, come to that. Now, as a general, I can’t have my men put in that sort of unnecessary danger, so therefore, Demetrios, you have a choice. You can either promise me that you’ll never advance onto unscouted ground again and that in future you will always obey my orders to the letter, or you can go home to your mother and learn how to sew.’

  Demetrios’ expression was one of outrage. ‘You wouldn’t dismiss me! I’m your son; I should naturally have a command.’

  ‘No! Not naturally. If I think you’re a hazard to yourself and my men then I would naturally relieve you of that command; if I did not, the men would lose confidence in you and you would wake up one morning dead with your throat cut and I’d be forced to execute some good lads for mutiny. Now go and get some rest and think on it because I’ll say no more on the matter until I have your answer.’

  Demetrios got to his feet; there was no sign of weariness in his eyes or in his movements. ‘You can have my answer now, Father. I won’t ever lead my men into the unknown again.’

  ‘Good. And?’

  ‘And I will obey your orders to the letter.’

  ‘Good; now come here,’ Antigonos said, rising. He walked towards his son and wrapped his heavily muscled arms about him. ‘I was proud of you in the battle, Son; you killed well and you enjoyed it.’

  ‘Thank you, Father; it was a good feeling the first time.’