Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest Read online

  ‘We found this in the cellar of your new house after we arrested you just now.’

  ‘You searched my house? By what right?’

  ‘By my right, Cleomenes,’ Ptolemy crooned. ‘Because what I say goes in this beautiful land. Lucky, aren’t I? Now open it.’

  Cleomenes grunted but opened the box nevertheless and then dismissed the contents with a wave of his hands. ‘Drachmas, so what? I have millions and these are just some of them. This goes no way to proving that I was responsible for robbing the caravan.’

  ‘And killing every one of the people riding with it, don’t forget.’ Ptolemy rubbed his chin in exaggerated thought. ‘Do you know what, Cleomenes, I think you could be right: drachmas in themselves would not prove that you robbed the caravan. A very good point. Have a look at one of those drachmas, would you?’

  With a shrug, Cleomenes reached into the box and pulled out a coin.

  ‘What do you notice about it, Cleomenes?’

  ‘It’s newly minted; so what? I have boxes of newly minted coins legitimately acquired.’

  ‘I know you do; we found the whole treasury in your cellar, eight thousand talents in gold, silver and coin; a small percentage may have been acquired legitimately. However, you’ve never acquired any like that legitimately, no one’s ever acquired any like that because the only boxes of them to ever exist were on that caravan. Look at the face, Cleomenes.’

  The fat man did so and his jowls dropped. ‘Alexander! I’ve never seen—’ He clapped his hand to his mouth.

  ‘Never seen a mortal on a coin was what you were going to say, was it not? No, you haven’t, you’re quite right, Cleomenes; no one has ever seen a mortal depicted on a coin because it’s never been done before and you just stole the first batch ever to have been minted.’

  Porcine, bloodshot eyes blinked as Cleomenes looked around the room in search of aid or a means of escape. ‘But Alexander wrote to me saying that if I built a fine memorial to Hephaestion here he would forgive all my misdemeanours past, present and future. You’ve seen it, Ptolemy, it’s going to be a beautiful memorial.’

  This is more fun than I thought it would be. ‘I know it is but I’m not Alexander, he’s dead, don’t you know? Nor did I care overmuch for Hephaestion as he was jealous of me for being Alexander’s bastard brother – allegedly – and did me down at any opportunity; so I rather think that I’ve got you there, Cleomenes. I shall write to your friend, Perdikkas, saying that unfortunately you stole all the money that I was sending him as a peace offering and hid it; I was only able to retrieve this one small box as, even under torture, you wouldn’t reveal the whereabouts of the rest before you died; so this little box is all you can expect from Egypt, dear Perdikkas.’

  Cleomenes had gone puce. ‘Torture?’

  ‘No, I just said that as a joke. Paris, impale him.’

  ‘Please, no!’ Cleomenes screamed.

  ‘Of course not, that was just a joke too. Take his head.’ To the wails of a terrified man, Ptolemy took Thais’ arm and walked from the room. Gods I enjoyed that, although sometimes I think I am too forgiving; I would have so liked to see him squirming on a stake.

  ANTIPATROS, THE REGENT

  ANTIPATROS FELT THE strain; his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and his joints ached from constant activity. He rubbed his aching head as he stared out of the window at the Macedonian army, bristling with upright pikes, mustering to the north of the palace to the backdrop of shimmering, heat-hazed mountains. Blocks and blocks of men in glistering bronze or hardened-leather or -linen cuirasses, paraded, marching into position under the strengthening sun as, unit by unit, the army took shape under the supervision of Magas, his kinsman by marriage to his niece, Antigone, and his second son, Nicanor. With regret Antipatros shook his head and then studied the letter in his hand one more time, trying to discern any hidden meaning within the words, placed there as a precaution against interception. He could find none. With the barked orders of officers ever-present on the warm air, laden with the scent of wild thyme and resin, he walked to his desk, placed the scroll back down, took a bite of the hard fennel and donkey sausage that was his midday meal and then, sitting, picked up a second scroll-case and unravelled its contents. He read it, chewing on another bite of sausage.

  ‘You look weary, Husband,’ Hyperia said, walking through the light curtain that covered his study door; a pleasing floral scent came with her, sparking an interest deep in his belly and he felt his concentration waver. ‘Who is it this time? It’s been nothing but letters, letters, letters, in the two months since Alexander died; why do they all trouble you?’

  ‘Because people all think that I can give them something; and it’s more than two months since he died, twenty-five days more, to be precise.’ He indicated to the letter that he was currently perusing. ‘This is the only one who asks nothing of me, Aristotle. He gives me information and makes no request in return; that is the sign of a true friend.’

  Hyperia sat on the corner of the desk, looking down at her husband. ‘What does he say?’

  Trying to ignore her tempting aroma, Antipatros looked back down at the neat writing. ‘Hyperides goads the mob into more nationalistic fervour, playing upon their view of us as barely civilized northern yokels, and Aristotle believes that he and Demosthenes will soon be reconciled and the latter will be recalled from exile. Indeed, the Exile Charter all but ensures that will occur. He says that once that transpires then war will be inevitable. Apparently Athens has already employed the services of the mercenary general, Leosthenes, and has started to negotiate the enlistment of a mercenary army, which, with all the mercenaries flooding back from Asia, will not be difficult.’

  ‘But with what gold?’

  ‘Ah, that is just it. When Harpalus fled Alexander’s return due to his financial excesses, he went to Athens with his ill-gotten wealth and when he was forced to flee from there at least half of it was left behind; Aristotle writes that the haul has just been found and it amounts to over three hundred and eighty talents in silver and gold.’

  Hyperia whistled and laid a comforting hand on Antipatros’ shoulder. ‘That’s enough for a very large army.’

  ‘Very large, and, no doubt, growing.’ And that’s not the only thing growing at the moment. He shook his head to try to regain his concentration. ‘It may be that they have already assembled a large enough army in the time it took this letter to arrive. Things are moving fast. Aristotle has been accused of pro-Macedonian actions dating back to Philip’s time and as a non-citizen he finds it hard to defend himself against them. A certain so-called patriot called Himeraeus tore down the tablet on the Acropolis recording the city’s gratitude to Aristotle for his teaching in the Lyceum; the same has happened to the one in Delphi that he set up in honour of his father-in-law.’ He pointed to the letter. ‘He says here: “I don’t care too much; but I don’t not care. It’s dangerous for an immigrant to stay in Athens.” And now, to prove it, his enemies have brought a charge of impiety against him, the same charge they used against Socrates, eighty years ago, and so he’s fleeing the city, saying he won’t let the Athenians sin twice against philosophy. When my old friend tells me all that then I know that war is becoming unavoidable and it is now certain that it’ll be Athens that I have to deal with first.’ He indicated to the first letter, discarded next to his lunch. ‘That is from Diamades, our paid stooge on the assembly. He’s asking for money and free passage to Macedon. The first whiff of danger and the scented dandy is scuttling away as fast as his fat legs can carry him.’

  ‘Forget Diamades, what of Phocion; surely he’s been able to keep a level head?’

  Again Antipatros pointed to Diamades’ letter. ‘That’s the most telling thing of all: Phocion’s been made commander of the newly formed City Guard which means that they plan to take offensive action against us if they feel the need to have a defence force to leave behind.’ Antipatros shook his head again, weariness of mind now overpowering physical desire for his wife; he indic
ated to the open window beyond which the muster of Macedon continued apace. ‘It left me no choice but to mobilise now, even before all the harvest is brought in which will be very unpopular but necessary. I have to act fast, leaving tomorrow if I can; if Athens is planning a move north then I must counter by striking south first; I need to get through the pass of Thermopylae before it can be garrisoned against me. If I can join up with our Boetian allies and sack a couple of cities quickly before the end of the campaigning season then that ought to bring the rest of them to their senses.’

  Hyperia slipped from her seat on the desk to perch on her husband’s lap; with one hand stroking the back of his neck, she kissed him on the forehead. ‘Can you be sure of the Thessalians?’

  Antipatros ran his hand down his wife’s back. ‘I’ve exempted them from any taxes for this year and the next; that should keep them with us. I’ve just despatched a letter to Menon, their cavalry general, naming the place on the border where we shall rendezvous on the way down south. With their numbers, I can leave a reasonable sized garrison here but I’m still concerned about the security of the kingdom whilst I’m away both from Epirus in the west and also Krateros in the east; I think it’s time to write to him and officially offer what he has already taken.’

  Hyperia smiled and took his face in both her hands, kissing his nose and then his mouth. ‘That is what I came to tell you, Husband; I’ve just received a letter from Phila: Leonnatus and Lysimachus passed through Tarsus on the way north to their satrapies. She spoke with them; in fact they dined together with Krateros, although she makes no mention of why she was invited.’

  Antipatros managed to divert his mind from the breasts so close to his face. ‘The first real news from Babylon. What did they say?’

  ‘All the successors to Alexander – as they’re now calling themselves, seeing as they all rule parts of the empire in his name – have dispersed and are now in their satrapies, apart from Perdikkas who stays in Babylon along with Aristonous. You are still named regent in Europe and Krateros has been given some grand but meaningless title like Master of the Army or some-such rubbish.’

  Antipatros’ face brightened. ‘So he can no longer lay claim to my position?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Which means that I don’t necessarily have to secure his loyalty by giving him Phila.’

  ‘No, you don’t; in fact, now that he has no personal reason to come here, it’s best if he stays where he is.’

  ‘And his troops?’

  ‘Those who want to, will come home, the rest will, I’m sure, find employment in the many armies that will spring up in the near future.’

  Antipatros nuzzled his face against Hyperia’s chest. ‘I’m sure they will.’

  ‘I know they will.’

  Antipatros was now too busy to reply.

  ‘I said: I know they will.’

  Antipatros tore himself away from his sport. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, the main topic that was discussed at this dinner was Antigonos’ defiance of Perdikkas.’

  With all thoughts of breasts now banished, Antipatros gave what his wife had to say his full attention.

  ‘He has refused Perdikkas’ command to help Eumenes pacify Kappadokia; apparently he sent a reply to the written order consisting of two words: “my arse”. He saw it as humiliating, in effect a demand for total submission to Perdikkas. Leonnatus, who was also charged to help Eumenes, has yet to declare himself one way or the other; Krateros and Lysimachus have not yet been ordered to help and so are keeping out of the whole issue as neither of them like the sly little Greek, either. So Eumenes has no one to turn to but Perdikkas who will have to support him unless he’s to look totally impotent in front of the whole empire.’

  Antipatros could see where his wife’s thoughts were heading. ‘And assuming he does subdue Kappadokia and install Eumenes therein, then he will have to punish Antigonos in some way, otherwise he might just as well slink off into private life because no one will ever take him seriously again.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘So war is now inevitable between these so-called successors; they all will have seen that and their minds will be focused on it; how have they let it come to this, and so quickly?’ Antipatros’ face brightened. ‘Still it does have its advantages: it allows me to prosecute my campaign, whilst leaving the kingdom relatively open to the east, by concentrating the garrison against Epirus.’

  ‘If you’re quick, you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be quick, my love; and I’ll leave tomorrow. Which leaves me one duty to do before I go that won’t be quick.’ He cupped her breasts in his hands and nestled his face between them; banishing all the thoughts and cares that weighed him down in the course of his duty he concentrated entirely upon what faced him.

  ‘How many are there facing us, Magas?’ Antipatros asked, his brow furrowed with concentration, as he tried with old man’s eyes to estimate the size of the rebel Greek army holding the pass of Thermopylae, banners flying and shields presented.

  ‘At least thirty thousand,’ Magas, his niece’s husband and second-in-command, mounted to Antipatros’ right, replied, shading his eyes. In his forties with the bearded, rough-hewn look of the Macedonian uplands, he had been, along with Nicanor, his military mainstay for his entire regency.

  Antipatros spat. ‘Almost five thousand more than our number.’

  ‘But all Greeks,’ Iollas said, with the drawling arrogance of youth.

  Antipatros turned to his younger son on his left, next to Nicanor. ‘Never underestimate your enemy. True, they may be Greeks, but many of them are experienced mercenaries having fought for Alexander and the Persians before him.’

  ‘But we are well supplied with cavalry, Father,’ Nicanor observed, indicating to the dust-swathed multitude of Thessalian cavalry forming up on the deploying Macedonian army’s extreme right, taking the higher ground. ‘They have very few.’

  Thank Aries for the Thessalians. And so Antipatros had prayed since the rendezvous with the Thessalian cavalry and their supporting light troops, on schedule, five days previously at the River Peneios on the border between Macedon and Thessaly. Wild, javelin-armed horsemen, born to the saddle, five thousand of them in their wide-brimmed, leather hats and sleeveless dun and ochre tunics, matching the pelts of their mounts, they boosted not only his numbers but also his men’s morale for their bravado and prodigious skill in horsemanship inspired confidence. And it was full of confidence that Antipatros had led his army south through Thessaly, and then west, along the coast, with the fleet keeping pace with him to his left, past the city of Lamia and on to Thermopylae.

  But now, nine days after setting out from Pella, marching at a blistering rate, Antipatros had arrived at his first objective only to find it already held against him. We shall need the Thessalians if we are going to break this army. He glanced at the sun, falling to his right and then addressed Magas and Nicanor. ‘We have four hours until sunset; once order of battle has been formed give the men something to eat and drink and then let’s get this thing over with.’

  ‘Your orders, sir,’ Magas asked.

  ‘Nothing special; we’ve the sea to our left and hills to our right. You take the phalanx, Magas, it will roll forward with archers, slingers and light-javelinmen covering the advance; place half the peltasts in the surf on the left preventing any outflanking.’ He looked out to sea to the fleet formed up, opposing the Athenian navy also ready for battle. ‘Let’s hope our lads can stop their fleet getting around behind us.’ He turned his attention back to his army. ‘The other thousand peltasts station on the phalanx’s right flank between it and the Thessalians. Nicanor, have our heavy cavalry in wedges behind them waiting for my signal to charge the break in their line. The Greek mercenaries I’ll keep in reserve, I wouldn’t like to test their loyalty unless absolutely necessary.’

  Nicanor’s face clouded. ‘If it gets to the stage that it becomes necessary then I don’t think we’ll be able to count
on them at all.’

  Antipatros considered the thought. ‘You’re right. In which case have them sent back down the road a couple of miles; they could be a useful rallying point if it comes to it.’

  Iollas’ eyes widened in astonishment. ‘You don’t think it would come to that, Father?’

  Antipatros sighed with the weariness of one who would rest but was being constantly thwarted in that ambition. ‘I’m seventy-eight, my boy, I have seen most situations in war and the one common factor they have is that there is no predicting the outcome so, therefore, I try to plan for all possibilities.’

  ‘Including the enemy’s surrender?’ Magas asked, pointing.

  Antipatros followed the direction of Magas’ finger to where the Greek line was parting to allow three horsemen through, one of whom carried a branch of peace. ‘Well, I can’t imagine that they have come all this way just to surrender; let’s go and hear what they have to say.’

  ‘My name is Leosthenes,’ the leader of the group announced as both parties drew up their horses midway between the opposing armies, ‘General of the free Greek army.’

  Antipatros gave a wan smile. ‘That’s a novel way of terming a mercenary army; I’ve never heard of a mercenary fighting for free.’

  Leosthenes laughed, it was genuine and infectious; dark eyes glinted with amusement. Although battered by many campaigns and extremes of weather, his bearded face remained handsome in a scarred and rugged way. ‘Very good, old man; you have the better of me on that point. Although there are some Athenian citizens and four thousand Aetollian’s in our number, I grant you that most of my men don’t give a horse’s arse for Greek freedom; so long as they have the money to freely plough their own furrows and drink wine freely, they are happy.’

  ‘Men of conscience; admirable.’

  Leosthenes shrugged. ‘Men of business, certainly. And, right now, their business is to prevent you from passing, which, when you look at the positions, I would have thought a man of your experience could see as being quite likely. So what I propose, Antipatros, regent of Macedon, is this: you take your army back north, leave the Greek cities to govern themselves. I have already defeated your only allies, the Boeotians, three days ago so you’ll find no friends south of here apart from a few Macedonian garrisons holed up in their citadels and now under a state of siege. If you go now, then Hyperides and the Athenian assembly will guarantee those garrisons’ safe passage home. If you fight, they will all die even in the unlikely event that you triumph on this field. What do you say?’