Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest Read online

  Scratching at his lice-infested beard, Magas turned to issue the orders to move the bridges as Antipatros walked away, hands clasped behind his back, stooped with fatigue, anger rising inside of him as he contemplated the six months and more he had endured in this place. And yet he was still alive which, had it not been for one piece of luck, one fortunate shot, he very much doubted that he still would be. For the killing of Leosthenes, on the day Iollas had broken through, had saved them as Antiphilus, his replacement, was not of the same calibre and seemed to prefer to do nothing other than let his men die of disease rather than force an end to the siege. And it was in this that lay Antipatros’ hope, as many of the contingents from the rebel cities had returned home, sick of a long winter siege and concerned now with the welfare of their farms. The mercenaries had, in the main, stayed; but the fact was that the rebel army was almost a third of its original size. And, as the horns sounded from the lookout towers, the following day, announcing the sighting of Leonnatus’ relieving army, Antipatros had for the first time in months a real spark of hope within him; soon he would be home with his wife; soon he could rest and regain his strength in order to subdue Greece in such a way that he would never be put through this ordeal again in the few short years that remained to him.

  ‘How many would you reckon, Nicanor?’ Antipatros asked as he, Magas and his two sons strained their eyes, looking at Leonnatus’ army deploying from column to line as it arrived along the coast road.

  Nicanor shaded his eyes. ‘All I can see is not enough cavalry; he can’t have more than fifteen hundred with him but they do look to be all lance-armed heavies.’

  ‘Well, at least he has some because we can’t do this with just infantry. Fifteen hundred should be enough to keep the Thessalian light cavalry from taking the phalanx in the flanks; those bastards never like to get too close to the tip of a lance.’ Antipatros turned to look down into the town where his men were forming up in pike-bristling columns along the wider thoroughfares; rank upon rank of them, emaciated, hollow-eyed with louse-ridden matted hair and beards, but still alive. Still alive! Thank the gods for that and let us trust that they still have the energy to unleash the hatred that has grown within them over the winter.

  ‘They’re moving!’ Magas shouted, bringing Antipatros back to events beyond the wall.

  Antipatros slammed a fist into his palm. ‘I knew they would have to. They can’t risk not bringing their full strength against Leonnatus now that so many have left them.’ He beamed at his three companions, the smile lighting up his grey-skinned face for the first time since the hunger began to bite, moons ago. ‘Well, gentlemen, it’s time we said goodbye to Lamia. Magas, you and I shall lead from the front, me with the pioneers and you with the phalanx. Nicanor and Iollas, you bring the peltasts and archers and secure the phalanx’s northern flank.’

  The gates were stuck, having not been used for the duration of the siege and it took the force of many men to get them slowly grating open. Speed now was of the essence and Antipatros resented each hold-up. ‘Put your hearts into this, lads! We need to be on the other side of the siege-lines in some sort of order before the bastards realise what’s happening and set their cavalry upon us.’

  With a chorus of strained grunts and groans, the two heavy wooden gates ground open, pace by pace, until the exit was as wide as could be.

  ‘Clear the way, boys!’ Antipatros shouted at the men on the gates; they filed back to either side revealing what Antipatros prayed would be their way out of Lamia. He raised his sword in the air. ‘Now!’ he bellowed at the hand-picked pioneers handling the bridges. Without waiting to see if they were following, Antipatros turned and ran, on weakened legs, through the gates and into the no-man’s land beyond. Rough and furrowed it was from countless attacks but, thankfully, it was dry; muscles burning and lungs straining, Antipatros led his men across the two hundred paces of deserted ground uncontested. Gasping for breath and with a pain in his side that he thought would cripple him, he reached the first line of trench-work along the wall constructed of stakes twice the height of a man.

  A single arrow slammed into his shield as he jumped down into the trench, taking him unawares, but no other threat came close as the skeleton crew manning the lines fled through tunnels under the wall in the face of such numbers. For numbers there were as each bridge was carried by eight men on four crossbars; they fanned out as they crossed the ground so that there were one hundred bridges in a row, with the other hundred directly behind them as they arrived at the siege-lines. Down the lead men jumped to take the front of their bridge above their heads and then walk it to the other side of the trench, there to secure it in position with wooden pegs. Once fixed at both ends the teams waiting with the bridges behind sprinted across and on over the ten paces to the wall of embedded stakes. Using their bridges now as rams they swung them into the uprights, slowly getting into rhythm and shouting with each strike as archers, under Iollas, and the peltasts, commanded by Nicanor, formed up behind them, leading the rest of the army now streaming from the town.

  With a cheer, the first of the stakes began to topple, jerking forward with each crashing blow from the rams.

  ‘Keep going, lads!’ Antipatros shouted again and again as he patrolled up and down the line. If we can get the wall down without the main rebel army being alerted, then, by the gods, we stand a good chance of being able to form up before the Thessalians are sent to slaughter us.

  And it was with great relief that Antipatros watched the first gaps begin to appear in the wall that had contained them these last months; down the stakes came and, as they fell, the pioneers stepped on them and with their weight and that of the rams they laid them horizontal. On the pioneers ran and Antipatros ran with them, racing for the next trench just paces away. The archers came behind, arrows nocked, to pick off any resistance in the second trench with the peltasts prepared to storm it if necessary; but there was none and the rams became bridges again and were soon secured in place.

  And thus the army of Macedon, so long prisoner within the town of Lamia, burst through the circumvallation and crossed the trenches to either side of it. More and more Macedonian infantry flooded over the bridges, their officers bellowing at their men to form up on them once across; unit by unit the phalanx started to take shape and then grow as file after file was added on the rough ground beyond the breached siege-lines.

  ‘This is more like it,’ Antipatros roared at Magas. ‘This is what we want, my friend: a phalanx facing the rebel army and us forming up behind it. They will not enjoy this one bit.’

  Magas grinned, showing what was left of his teeth, now mostly rotted through malnutrition. ‘An ideal opportunity; let’s make the most of it.’

  And it was with his heart pumping, and feeling more alive than since he had last bedded his wife, that Antipatros ordered the advance as soon as his phalanx had completely formed up.

  With a cheer from thousands of throats, the army of Macedon moved forward to catch the Greek rebels between it and Leonnatus.

  Antipatros could now see, half a league away, the two hosts facing each other, the pike-armed phalanx of Leonnatus opposing the long-thrusting spears of the Greek hoplites; skirmishers swarmed back and forth between the armies with bows, slings and javelins doing little harm to anyone but their opposite numbers. Being short of cavalry, Leonnatus had placed his southern flank on the coast and his fifteen hundred cavalry, with him and his standards leading them, on his right flank as the ground began to dip into a depression before rising up to the coastal hills; the Thessalian light horse formed up opposite them.

  With the uplifting thought that his future was now back within his control, Antipatros took his place next to Magas at the centre of the front rank of the phalanx as it rumbled forward, with the siege-lines around Lamia covering its right flank and loose formation peltasts and archers under his sons on the rising ground to its northern flank to prevent the Thessalians getting around should they turn their attention to the army behind them.


  But the Thessalians showed no sign of trying to outflank either enemy.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Antipatros asked as horn blasts rose from the Thessalians; they peeled off to the north, heading across the depression, and then started to climb the hill.

  ‘I’m buggered if I know,’ Magas replied, sounding equally as confused.

  ‘Whatever it is, they don’t seem to be threatening either us or Leonnatus.’

  ‘You don’t think…’

  Menon is capable of anything so why not defect back to us, now that he can see the tide has turned against the Greeks since we broke out of the siege. ‘I’m beginning to think that I do, the treacherous bastard.’

  ‘Surely it’s only treachery if it is against us; if he’s coming back over to us then it’s loyalty; even if it is expediency on his part.’

  ‘I’ll still make him pay for deserting us in the first place. He’s responsible for me not seeing my wife for months.’

  ‘Well, he’s pulled his men back up the hill and left the Greeks exposed to Leonnatus cavalry.’

  And it was so, Antipatros could well see: the Thessalians had withdrawn, exposing the entire northern flank of the Greek formation to Leonnatus. But if he moves on it then he still has the risk of the Thessalians charging down the hill onto his flank. And then a thought occurred to Antipatros, a thought that did not sit uncomfortably with him having experienced Menon’s treachery at first hand. Unless this has been planned well in advance and Leonnatus has already negotiated with Menon and bought him off as Leosthenes did. That must be the truth of it as Leonnatus would never walk into such an obvious trap; surely?

  And, as Leonnatus brought his cavalry forward to threaten the Greek flank, exposing himself in turn to a Thessalian charge, Antipatros became convinced that it was, indeed, the case. ‘Sound double-pace!’

  The horns blew, the officers bellowed and the lumbering formation broke into a quick march, pikes still at the upright.

  Something isn’t right, Antipatros realised as he saw no movement within the Greek ranks to counter either his move or that of Leonnatus.

  Why aren’t half of them turning to face us?

  It was the whoops and battle-cries of a cavalry charge that provided Antipatros with the answer as the Thessalians, near on five thousand of them, streamed down the hill, leaning back in their saddles against the incline, dust rising from twenty thousand thundering hoofs, straight towards Leonnatus and his companion cavalry.

  ‘Is that treachery or Leonnatus’ stupidity?’ Magas asked as the Macedonian cavalry realised the imminent danger they were now in and tried to turn.

  ‘Halt!’ Antipatros yelled; the signallers blared and within twenty paces the phalanx had come to a stop. ‘Left turn!’

  The phalanx obeyed the order piecemeal, as it rippled to either end.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Magas asked as the first screams of the dying rose from the cavalry battle not more than a third of a league away.

  ‘Even if they do manage to extract themselves from the trap they’ll be so badly mauled they won’t be of any use to us.’ Antipatros pointed at the town and then up the hill. ‘So, unless we want to retreat back to the relative safety of a besieged town, we need to take the higher ground and wait this out to see what happens.’

  So they climbed, their ranks disordered by the rough ground littered with boulders and scrub and treacherous gullies; but climb they did, for every man knew the alternatives: death or retreat to the living hell they had been subjected to. But it was the heavy infantry who climbed; the archers and the peltasts, troops far more suited to the ground because of their dispersed order, formed a screen between them and the Thessalians. And when they were a couple of hundred paces above the two armies below, Antipatros brought them to a halt facing down the hill with the skirmishers before them and the peltasts split on either flank.

  ‘Leonnatus seems to be managing to extricate himself,’ Antipatros observed as soon as he once again had the time to observe the progress of the battle, ‘but he’s left a lot of dead in that depression.’

  ‘Marshy ground, by the looks of it,’ Magas said, ‘see how the horses are struggling.’

  Antipatros’ eyes narrowed. That was a complete set-up and Leonnatus fell for it; how could he have been so stupid?

  The Thessalians mauled the final units of retreating Macedonians with showers of javelins, bringing many down even as they closed on the safety of their own lines. It was a ragged formation that rallied behind the phalanx, at least a third down in number and with no sign of Leonnatus’ banners.

  ‘They dare not attack without cavalry support,’ Magas said; a quiet descended over the field as each side assessed its options.

  It’s time we tried to get out of here. ‘They could stand there for the rest of the day; in fact, I hope they do. Whilst they stare at each other we’ll get behind Leonnatus and then he can fall back on us and we’ll crawl home together.’

  It was an eerie sight, Antipatros thought as his troops slipped away on the higher ground: two armies standing facing each other in silence with the sea sparkling to the south and east in spring sunshine and a ruined town lying raped to the west; to the north the sky grew dark. It came as no surprise to Antipatros when, with a guttural cry from thousands of men, their hoplites moved forward. They must be confident to attack pike-armed troops; I’ve not heard of that done since Chaironeia, fifteen years ago. But the phalanx pulled back as the Thessalians again probed its flank; even with the now-rallied cavalry doing its best to protect it, the risk of standing to receive the charge was too high and so, step by step, the army of Leonnatus retreated as, beyond the siege-lines, a ship set sail from the small port that served Lamia, heading in the direction of Athens.

  News of Leonnatus’ defeat and my escape will be in Athens by tomorrow; that’ll give them far more cause for concern than celebration, although they will savour their small victory. What could have made someone as experienced as Leonnatus do something so stupid?

  ‘Olympias,’ Leonnatus whispered. His strength was barely enough to form the words as he lay on a camp-bed in a rain-sodden tent, half a league from the battlefield. His and Antipatros’ armies had manged to link up on a hill soon after the threatened downpour broke, forcing the Greeks to break off; they, however, had kept the field and could, with justification, claim victory.

  ‘Olympias?’ Somehow this did not surprise Antipatros; the witch was capable of anything. He looked down at the remains of Leonnatus’ right arm, hewn off above the elbow and bound in bloody linen; blood-soaked bandages also swathed his head where half his scalp had been sliced away. Even if the doctors could save him he won’t want to live like that, not someone as vain as he.

  Leonnatus looked up with his one remaining eye. ‘Yes; I trusted her.’

  Well then, you deserve exactly what you got, idiot. ‘To do what?’

  ‘I needed cavalry and she said she would provide it; I believed her because I was to marry her daughter.’

  ‘And she told you that she had persuaded Menon to change sides?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did she also tell you that Menon had already changed sides once before?’

  Leonnatus closed his eye. ‘No.’

  ‘And you hadn’t heard just how I ended up getting shut into Lamia?’ If you did you ignored it, thinking that it was just an old man’s foolishness, you arrogant bastard.

  ‘I…er…I don’t know.’

  Antipatros could see that the younger man was fading fast; his blood loss had been immense when his men had brought him, scraped from the carnage in the marshy depression, and the doctors had given him little hope. ‘And when you saw Menon retreating up the hill it never occurred to you that he might double-cross you?’

  ‘I’d sent him gold.’

  ‘Gold! You can send him as much gold as you like, he’ll still be a Thessalian – as you found out the hard way.’

  ‘And it was the death of me. Will you…will…’


  His voice now was almost inaudible and Antipatros had to lean in closer.

  ‘Avenge me?’ He looked up again, a pleading look in his eye.

  Antipatros put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. ‘I will; either me or one of my sons, if I am not spared. But if it makes it any better for you, as you travel to the Ferryman, she did not do this to get at you; the bitch did it to stop you from relieving me. The last thing she would want is me in Macedon if she has managed to marry Kleopatra to you; you would have been king.’

  Leonnatus was too weak to reply but his expression was one of understanding before it relaxed into death with a sigh.

  The bitch; I’ll have her this time. At least I’ve got cavalry enough to ensure that we can get home relatively unscathed. That’s going to come as a nasty shock to her. ‘Magas!’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Magas said, getting up from a chair in the shadows of the tent.

  ‘Magas, we leave in the morning. A fighting retreat, screened by cavalry, with the wounded on wagons, although I doubt they’ll try anything if this weather keeps up. I don’t want any news of Leonnatus’ death or our escape travelling to Pella before us. In fact, I don’t want any news at all of our movement going ahead. I want to arrive in Pella and give the surprise of her life to Olympias.’

  OLYMPIAS, THE MOTHER

  ‘ICALL UPON ROARING and revelling Dionysus. Primeval, double-natured, thrice-born, Bacchic lord; wild, ineffable, secretive, two-horned, two-shaped, ivy-covered, bull-faced, warlike, howling and pure; you take raw flesh and feast, wrapped in foliage, decked with grape clusters. Resourceful Eubouleus, immortal god sired by Zeus when he mated with Persephone in unspeakable union. Hearken to my voice, O blessed one, and with your fair-girdled nymphs breathe on me in a spirit of perfection.’ So sang Olympias, standing next to a white bull, as the spring festival of Dionysus reached a climax at midnight on a wooded hill to the north of Pella.