Alexander's Legacy: To The Strongest Page 7

  ‘Perdikkas? He’s no Alexander; he’s not even a Hephaestion. He’s where he is for his prowess on the field, not his ability in diplomacy or politics. Why Perdikkas? Surely Ptolemy would have been the better choice, or even Aristonous.’

  Polyperchon scratched the back of his neck. ‘I agree, but did you ever know Alexander to do anything without a reason?’

  ‘Apart from burning down the palace at Persepolis when he was drunk, no. Even killing Kleitos The Black in a fit of rage had a purpose.’

  ‘There, you have your answer, then.’

  He’s right, Alexander did this on purpose and it’ll be us to suffer for it. Is that all the thanks we get after all these years? Krateros marked three points in a row in the sand and traced a line between the middle one and the one furthest away. ‘If I go forward then the risk of conflict with Antipatros will be even greater because of Alexander’s death; why would he possibly want to give up power now?’ And what would he say if he knew that I was bedding his daughter? He then linked the middle point with the closest. ‘But if I go back it would be seen as a declaration of war on whoever comes out on top in Babylon.’

  ‘That’s exactly how I saw it, general.’

  Krateros smiled, it was wan. He rubbed out his sketch. ‘Therefore we have no option but to wait here until we can decide who is the least threat: Perdikkas or Antipatros.’ But maybe Phila can help.

  ANTIPATROS,

  THE REGENT

  ‘EIGHT DAYS AGO? Are you sure?’ ‘Of course I am, Father,’ Iollas said. ‘I saw the body myself.’

  Antipatros slumped back down onto his study chair and, resting his elbows on the desk and rubbing his temples with his fingers, stared up at his fifteen-year-old son. ‘How did he die?’

  ‘Fever…Father.’

  The slight hesitation in his son’s voice caused Antipatros to wonder whether that was the truth. Would Kassandros really have done something like that to protect me? No, but he would have done it to protect himself as what would he be if I were regent no longer? He looked at Nicanor, his second son, in his late twenties, the full brother to Kassandros and half-brother to Iollas. His face, far more pleasing, open and full than his elder brother’s, showed genuine shock. This comes as a complete surprise to him.

  ‘What sort of fever?’ Nicanor asked, his voice quavering.

  ‘They call it marsh fever or Babylon’s bane; it affects the lungs. Alexander had been wounded by an arrow which pierced his lung in India and would have died there had Perdikkas not have pulled it out.’

  That was more information than I asked for; Iollas is unaccountably nervous. He was Alexander’s cup-bearer, after all; who better placed to poison the man? And who has more of a motive than my eldest son? Is that why Kassandros insisted on travelling to Babylon to read my request for Alexander to clarify his orders to me when an ordinary messenger would have served? Antipatros got to his feet and walked to the open window; the sun was setting over Pella, the ancient capital of Macedon, laid out in a grid-plan around the central agora on a coastal plain. He stood, trying to take in the enormity of what had occurred, looking down from his study in the royal palace, perched on a small hill to the north of the square city. The sun, just clear of the mountains to the west, shafted down the east–west streets leaving the north–south thoroughfares in deep shadow. A chequerboard city; it was a sight he never tired of, he mused as he looked out to the port on the south side, where Iollas’ jet-black trireme was berthed, connected to the sea five leagues away by a navigable inlet. A sight Alexander will never see again; although, after the wonders he has seen, Pella would seem very dull, I’ll wager. But to me this is everything, my whole life and should my sons have brought dishonour to me, then… Then what? He took a deep breath of the evening air, laden with the scents of cooking and pine-resin, and turned to face the third of his five sons born thus far. ‘So tell me, Iollas, what happened after Alexander’s death from marsh fever?’

  ‘And so I left immediately the compromise had been agreed,’ Iollas said as he came to the end of his tale. ‘Kassandros wanted you to know as quickly as possible, from a trusted tongue, that you had been named one of the council of four. I hardly slept for three days, using the imperial relay, until I boarded the fastest ship I could find, three days ago, in Tarsus.’

  ‘Tarsus? Did you see your sister, Phila, whilst you were there?’

  ‘Phila? I didn’t know she was in Tarsus.’

  ‘Yes, she’s been there since her husband was killed completing the subjugation of the Pisidians.’

  ‘If her husband is dead then why doesn’t she come home?’

  ‘I don’t know; she’s been coy about her reasons in the couple of letters she’s written.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t have the time to see her, Father, as I had to get a ship; Kassandros had given me a warrant in your name and luckily I managed to get a swift vessel because there’s a good choice there at the moment as Krateros is assembling a fleet.’

  That news did not register well with Antipatros. ‘For whom?’

  ‘For Alexander…’ Iollas’ face showed gradual understanding. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Do you? So this is where we are: there are four members of the council; two in Babylon, both good soldiers but one of whom, Leonnatus, is so puffed up in his vanity that failure to smile appreciatively at his sculptured good looks is enough for him to take permanent umbrage. The other, Perdikkas, is not made for the contest that Alexander has initiated, although he won’t be aware of that and perhaps will continue unawares until he feels the blade slide between his ribs. Then there is Krateros, with the best troops in the army under his command, somewhere in Cilicia; and not only does he have the best troops but he also now has a fleet to transport them. And, finally, there’s me here in Macedon with Krateros to the east with a mandate from Alexander to take over my position which, if I were to let him do that, would mean my death. To the south I have the restless Greek cities who will, no doubt, at Athens’ behest, rebel once they hear the news and have time to get an army together; which will be early next year. And then to the east I have that Molossian bitch-queen, Olympias, lurking in Epirus, who will now do anything to destabilise me as soon as she learns of her son’s death and she has no one to rein her in.’ Antipatros thumped his fist on the desk. ‘What is it with that woman that all she desires is power?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone, Father?’ Iollas asked, his voice forceful, taking Antipatros by surprise. ‘Look at us: it’s power that we’re clinging to as a family. As you just said: you’ll be dead if you give up your power to Krateros.’

  Antipatros blinked, regarding his son with a new respect; he had grown in the two years that he had been away serving as one of Alexander’s pages. He had evidently been listening and learning. ‘You’re right, Iollas, but Olympias is different from me in one major respect: I would preserve the kingdom and keep it safe and intact for the rightful heir to inherit. She, on the other hand, would ruin all that Philip and Alexander have built because, to her, power is the ability to behave as vindictively as you wish to your enemies and take whatever you want for yourself and your friends.’ Much like your older half-brother’s view of power, unfortunately.

  Iollas’ face showed that he was having difficulty in seeing his father’s objection to his analysis of Olympias’ motivations.

  You too, Iollas? And yet you are Hyperia’s boy and not whelped by my first wife like your two elder brothers. Zeus, why am I blessed with such short-sighted sons and yet have three daughters who understand that duty is to one’s family before oneself. Antipatros looked with regret at his Iollas. ‘Go on, leave me, both of you, I need to think. Iollas, go find your mother, she will be dying to see you after so long. But, mind, she’s pregnant again.’

  ‘Again, Father! But you’re seventy-six.’

  Nicanor grinned at his half-brother’s prudish outrage.

  Antipatros shrugged it off. ‘And she’s thirty-eight; what difference does it make? I’m still a man and she’s
a very attractive woman; in general, you’ll find that pregnancy is the result of putting those two ingredients together in the same bed. Now go and tell her that I shall come to her rooms soon; I need to talk to her. And then don’t forget to greet your sisters; Eurydike and Nicaea are both still here. Yes, your sisters, Eurydike and Nicaea, as well as absent Phila. My beautiful girls; I’m going to have to spend each one of you well if I’m going to forge enough alliances to keep us all safe before I meet the Ferryman. His sigh was long and deep. Am I getting too old for this? If I am then it certainly is the counsel of the young that I need. Each day I thank the gods for Hyperia.

  ‘We need to deal with the threats in the order that they present themselves, Husband,’ Hyperia said once Antipatros had acquainted her with his analysis of the situation, sitting in the shade of her veranda, looking north to the foothills swathed in pine forest. Her raven hair was ringletted and a single pearl hung on a fine chain at the base of her throat. ‘And the first problem will be Greece. Demosthenes, for so long Athens’ most anti-Macedon demagogue, remains in exile on Calauria and there he must stay. You should write to Aristotle and ask, in the name of the friendship that has passed between you since he was here as Alexander’s tutor, to ensure that Demosthenes and Hyperides do not settle their differences; if they do they will most certainly carry the assembly towards exiling the leader of the pro-Macedon faction and then war will become inevitable seeing how much bitterness there is in Athens towards Alexander’s Exile Charter.’

  Antipatros groaned. ‘Gods above and below, the Exile Charter! Why oh why did he force the Greek states to take back their exiles?’

  ‘His reasons don’t matter now, it’s done. Since the decree was read out at the last Olympic Games every Greek knows about it. Athens hates the fact that it must give up its colony on Samos so that the original inhabitants, whom they expelled when they illegally annexed the island, can return. Unless you neutralise Hyperides and Demosthenes, they will use the Exile Charter as a rallying point for rebellion.’

  Antipatros contemplated his wife’s advice, resisting the temptation to carry on the conversation after a visit to the bedroom as he looked into her dark eyes and tried to ignore the pout of her lips. He took a sip of wine, closed his eyes and turned his face into the cool breeze blowing down from the hills to help his battle against desire. ‘You’re right, Hyperia; it’s crucial to keep Demosthenes and Hyperides from reuniting and ousting Demades; if that were to happen then not even the pragmatism of Phocion would be able to stop the hotheads in Athens. I shall write to him as well, telling them what I fear; as Athens’ oldest and most experienced military leader he must realise that war with Macedon is a foolish policy; he has but to point to the ruins of Thebes and remind the assembly that a quarter of the slaves in Pella, and other towns in Macedon, were once citizens of that proud but rash city.’ Antipatros took another sip of wine and smiled at his wife. ‘Yes, between them, Aristotle and Phocion should be able to keep the assembly tame and where Athens does not lead, the other cities cannot follow.’

  ‘Precisely, but we must not take that for granted. We should mobilise once the harvest is in and send money to Thessaly and Boeotia to ensure their continuing loyalty; if you need to go south then it’s vital that you have Boeotia to aim for and that you don’t have a hostile Thessaly at your back.’

  ‘Not to mention the fact that I need her cavalry. I’ll be forced to leave a lot of my Macedonians here as I can’t trust the Molossian witch not to persuade her cousin to take advantage of my absence; Aeacides would love to expand Epirus to the east.’ Again he sighed long and deep. ‘Why are we surrounded by enemies?’

  Hyperia reached over and stroked her husband’s knee. ‘Everyone is surrounded by enemies, no matter how large or small the kingdom. The trick is to fight them one at a time or, preferably, get them to fight one another and do your work for you. That or, sometimes, just make them friends; which is what I suggest you do with one of your problems.’

  Antipatros took his wife’s hand and moved it to his thigh, pulling his chair closer to her to facilitate what he had in mind. ‘Krateros?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hyperia said, keeping her hand firmly away from where she knew her husband wanted it to be. ‘Have you noticed a rather interesting coincidence?’

  ‘In what respect?’

  ‘Tarsus.’ She moved her hand a fraction higher.

  ‘Tarsus? Phila’s there. What of it?’

  ‘And who else is there?’

  Antipatros shrugged and looked down at the slowly advancing hand, feeling blood surging towards its objective. ‘Krateros.’

  ‘Well done, dear husband. And what do those two have in common?’

  But Antipatros was finding it hard to concentrate.

  Hyperia gave a look of mock exasperation, as if dealing with a gifted but obtuse child. ‘Krateros has been there for far longer than he need; he could have had any one of his officers assemble a fleet and yet he chooses to stay.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s thinking of sailing his army to Macedon.’

  ‘Now you’re being really stupid.’ She moved her hand further up his thigh. ‘Do you happen to have your mind on something else? I’ve noticed with you, and I’m told it’s the same with all men, you can have a very analytical mind and a very powerful erection but never both at the same time; apparently it’s no coincidence. So I’ll spell it out to you before I put you out of your misery. Krateros could have left in the spring but didn’t; Phila became a widow in the spring and went to Tarsus, probably to take a ship back home to us, but didn’t in the end. Now try to think with your head for a moment.’

  With a mighty effort, Antipatros managed to tear his mind away from what those pouting lips promised. ‘Ah, I see. You don’t really think so, do you?’

  ‘As the most important Macedonian in the city, Krateros would have been the obvious choice for her to go to for protection; she knows him, after all. Admittedly she was only a child when he went east, but still.’

  ‘And she’s…’

  ‘Doing to Krateros what I’m just about to do to you.’

  ‘The bastard!’ Antipatros felt his ardour dying.

  ‘Really? I’d say that he’s playing right into our hands. He’s coming back to Macedon with Amastris, the Persian wife whom he was forced to take at the Susa weddings. Don’t you think he will be far more inclined to come home with a Macedonian wife?’

  The decline in Antipatros’ ardour reversed. ‘Krateros as a son-in-law, not a rival? Now there’s a thought.’

  ‘Not only will Phila be marrying Macedon’s greatest general – after you, of course, my sweet – but also she will be securing his fleet.’

  ‘And if we go to war with Athens then we will be able to blockade the Hellespont and cut off her grain supply from her colonies around the Euxine.’

  ‘And thrash her navy if she objects.’

  ‘And I’ll double the size of my army with the best troops Alexander had, who, until just now, I thought might be my foes. Brilliant! I shall write to the great general and make the offer.’

  Hyperia wagged a finger at him. ‘Impetuous man; don’t write just yet. Let’s see which way he moves, first, if he moves at all. Let’s not give him what he wants until we know everything that we would like to gain from him.’

  He took his wife’s face in both hands. ‘Hyperia, you are a genius.’

  Coquettish was her look. ‘Why thank you, kind sir. Do I get my reward now?’ With a smile, Hyperia pulled away from his grasp and sank to her knees.

  Antipatros closed his eyes and thanked the gods for wives and daughters, and always in that order.

  EUMENES, THE SLY

  ‘YOU HAVE NO choice,’ Eumenes pointed out for the third time.

  Meleagros thumped his palm on the table, once again spilling his wine. ‘I will not be talked into a corner by a Greek,’ he growled, again for the third time.

  And for the third time, Eumenes drew breath and tried to keep an even temper. What is it wi
th this brute that he fails to recognise the reality of the situation and instead thinks it’s all some sort of Greek conspiracy? He reflected on the observation for a moment. Actually, I suppose he does have a point there, after all. ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ he lied once more, for the third time. ‘It was Perdikkas who ordered the city blockaded once he escaped the assassins you sent to kill him. And I can tell you, Meleagros, that had he not have faced them down and shamed them into slinking away, your situation could be a lot worse.’

  ‘How could it be worse with Perdikkas dead?’

  ‘Do you think every man in the infantry would applaud his death? The great Perdikkas himself, killed by Macedonians upon your order? Do you think even a half of them would approve, despite the current animosity between the infantry and the cavalry? Do you think that the Macedonians really want to start fighting each other after all their conquests?’

  Meleagros was silent, frowning.

  Eumenes looked across to Eukleides, seated next to Meleagros, silently beseeching him for help. All he received in turn was a puzzled stare. Zeus, but it’s hard work dealing with the Macedonian military mind. ‘A quarter of them, perhaps? No, they would have been appalled by the murder and you would quite probably be dead by now. Think! If even the men who volunteered to kill him couldn’t do so out of shame and loyalty, what do you think the less extreme of the rank and file would feel?’

  Meleagros clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘Are you threatening me, Greek?’

  ‘How many times must I say it? It’s not me; I am but the intermediary. It’s Perdikkas who is doing this; remember him? The man you drove out of the city when you tried to have him killed after he ceded the throne-room and Alexander’s body to you. He’s the one responsible. It’s his cavalry patrolling all the gates on both sides of the river, along with Nearchos’ ships, that’s keeping the food out of the city.’ Eumenes slapped his chest. ‘It’s not me, look, I’m here; I have no hand in this. All I’m trying to do is help the two sides reach a compromise before blood is spilt.’