A/N – This chapter covers the Battle of the Issus and its aftermath. It also has the little incident in Alexander's tent before the battle, as mentioned by Prof. Zimmerman. I have written it as a homage to Moon71 whose beautiful story 'Joy and Health' captured this scene so brilliantly and cannot be bettered – so I haven't tried!
The Gordian Knot episode or its resolution is straight out of my own head!
Chapter Nine
The next year was taken up with campaigning and consolidating our control in the Western area of Asia. Parmenion was given his own independent command – both he and the King were more comfortable with this arrangement as Alexander had his own way of doing things that did not always sit well with the veteran General. Philotas took his father's place beside Alexander as second and as commander of the Companion Cavalry, much to his ego's delight.
Another myth came unravelled in Phrygia – the Gordian Knot. The legend went that the man who could find the end of an intricately wound leather thong wrapped around the axle of a cart would win the world – what else. I have seen writings of this incident by Kallisthenes and Aristobulus, as well as some who were not even there, saying he pulled the axle out or that Father Zeus sent a lightening bolt to direct his gaze to the end of the knot which Alexander dutifully grabbed and pulled. The one I like the best is that he simply slashed it open with his sword. What really happened?
He looked at it for a while, but not too long, then turning to the guides said "I'll conquer the world without the need of unravelling a knot" and then aimed a kick at it – the whole thing was so old that the this small amount of force cracked the worm eaten wood apart and the whole thing collapsed in front of our eyes! Hardly the stuff of legends but he had dealt with it and it became a part of his own myth.
Another anticlimax were the impenetrable Cilician Gates. We were expecting a hard, invigorating campaign for a change after a period of easy operations and many were looking forward to it. Unfortunately, as soon as they knew Alexander was there in person, they surrendered, his reputation having preceded him. Cleitus' language on hearing this cannot be repeated but it certainly was colourful and very graphic.
Balancing this disappointment was the welcome news of the demise of our resident Greek pain in the ass, Memnon, whilst on campaign for his employer. Now we only had armies commanded by Persians to deal with and not someone who had spent enough years in Macedon to learn Philip's tactics.
Not that our tactics had remained static since Memnon's visit. Alexander was nothing if not innovative in the art of war and fully prepared to change the way he did things as experience showed him flaws or new terrains and types of enemy demanded such amendments. I think he also enjoyed coming up with surprising solutions to problems that would baffle his more hide- bound opponents. Here Cleitus was invaluable – he was a great drillmaster, able to train men to the exacting requirements of his king. In this he found good seconds in Craterus and Perdiccas.
Whilst they drilled, yelled themselves hoarse and generally made the men's life a misery, I was learning my job as logistics officer in charge of supplies and reconnaissance. This required a degree of organisation and administrative skills that Cleitus had no patience for but I loved the logic of it all and the challenge it presented. There was also a positive outcome at the end: full stomachs, well laid out camps and excellent intelligence of what lay ahead of us. To each his own. I might not be comparable to a Cleitus or a Craterus in how to place men in battle but none complained that they returned to a camp, after battle, to find tents raised, water available and food ready. That isn't to say the Generals ever thanked me either. But the men did.
We reached Tarsus after a hard march and I had set the camp near the River Cydnus, a stream that originated in the mountains. It was a perfect site but it nearly caused the death of the King, mainly due to his impatience.
Hot and tired after the march he dismounted from Bucephalus and, throwing off his helmet and cuirass, jumped into the stream to cool down. He cooled alright – coming out of the snow water with cramp and a bad chill that got worse alarmingly quickly. His personal physician, Philippos, saved his life in bizarre circumstances.
Parmenion had intercepted several letters from Darius that implicated Alexandros of Lyncestis and Philippos in treason. The Lyncestian Prince commanded the powerful Thracian cavalry in our army and was therefore in charge of an important offensive weapon. As to the doctor, Alexander had known him all his life. One he placed under surveillance, the other proved himself without any prompting at Tarsus – the medicine could have so easily been poisoned; it was a strong purge instead. I think Alexander would have preferred the poison given a choice.
The following days were a nightmare watching him sweat, then cramp, then shit and all accompanied by growls, howls, snarls and a bloody foul temper – Alexander was not a good patient. I noticed how, when he was particularly aggressive, all his other 'friends' found themselves very busy with making sure the army didn't – what? Disappear? They were happy then to leave him in my care, which was not always gentle or sympathetic. One night he refused to take any more medicine and I, not having slept more than three hours out of forty-eight, couldn't be bothered to argue it out with him – so I punched him instead and he had a black eye to add to his troubles. But he took the medicine.
Once back on his feet we spent the time in more mopping up operations of small towns or tribes who wouldn't accept our rule to protect our flanks and our lines of communication when we moved on again to find the Persian army. It was not long before we heard news that it was on the move and being led by Darius himself this time. Leaving the sick and wounded at a field hospital near the River Issus to recuperate we set out south to meet him at last.
Only he wasn't there. He had marched past us going north so we hastily retraced our steps to the Issus. What we found there was beyond belief and I still have nightmares of what I saw on our return.
The Persians, the gods only know whether it was on Darius' orders, had either killed or mutilated every man we had left there; hacking off hands and feet, gauging out eyes and branding the few survivors. It was the only time I ever saw Alexander and Cleitus weep together openly, as much as I could see through my own tears. This wasn't war, it was confirmation of everything that Aristotle had told us about their barbarity and senseless cruelty, in complete contrast to what we had seen of them so far – they appeared civilised and intelligent with much we could learn.
However, the butchery at the Issus left a more lasting legacy with a great many of the army and certainly the older Generals, a belief that no Persian could be trusted nor treated as a friend, certainly not an equal. Macedonians will kill when angry and are always ready for a fight but the deliberate mutilation of defenceless men? No. This prejudice became so deep rooted in some that Alexander never could fully remove it from the men's souls, however much he tried and commanded. The eunuchs, the palaces, the wealth and the history paled to nothing when they looked at a comrade in arms whose nose had been hacked off at the Issus.
I understood their feelings and concerns – I shared them myself. It took a forceful effort on my part to even talk politely to any Persian that had fought in that army. But the perpetrators were not typical of the Asians we meet as our path led deeper into Persia; the majority were like us in many ways, merely wanting to get on in the world and survive. I made many friends amongst them but I never lost, deep, down that horror.
What soon became apparent was Darius was no general – he had left a perfect position on the plain to confront us in a restricted area bounded by a river and the sea. Parmenion had rejoined us with his troops and they took the left wing, facing the Persian cavalry – but his flank was on the beach. In the centre Craterus and his phalanx faced the remaining Greek mercenaries and Alexander took the right, again, with the Companion cavalry. Sending reinforcements to Parmenion, the King waited until Craterus finally started to push the Greeks back after a truly vicious fight, as is always the same when you fight your own countrymen, and then he charged across the river, smashing into the Persian flank – his target was simple, the Royal Guard of the King of Kings, the Immortals in the midst of which stood Darius himself. No one could miss him; he was as tall as some of the Celts we had encountered back at the Danube and was standing in an ornate chariot.
Alexander saw him, threw back his head, raised the paean and led us in the charge – yelling the battle cry back to our king, I could feel the blood coursing through my veins, heart beating hard against my cuirass, exalted beyond measure – we could do anything when Alexander led us!
Darius thought the same for when he saw Alexander thundering down on him through the dust, he ran and took the Persian centre with him in a total rout. More died then than in the battle, men who had not even been committed to the fight were trampled to death or pushed off precipices into the sea by their terrified compatriots being pursued by howling Macedonians. At this point the commander facing Parmenion also decided there was no point in wasting further lives and retreated. His name was Narbarzanes – he was a man we were to meet again.
Alexander had won again though he was bitterly disappointed he hadn't taken or killed Darius. Sitting on my horse, catching my breath, I listened to him calling the Great King a coward, before he rode off to check on Parmenion and Craterus. I walked my horse back towards our camp, dismounting stiffly only to be nearly sent flying flat on my face by Cleitus walloping me on the back in glee. I turned to look at him sourly, knowing his blood splattered face and armour would be mirrored in my own appearance.
"That's what I call a fight! Pity the churl ran. Well, Athenian, it looks as if you didn't curse us this morning after all!" and he roared with laughter as I felt my own blood rushing to my cheeks.
Trust him to bring up that mornings 'little' incident and throw it in my face.
As always before a battle Alexander spent the evening with his Generals going over the plans for the morrow. Not being part of the Staff, I shuffled about outside until they had all left then slipped into his tent for a small supper with him. He discussed the same plans with me all over again until I realised he had begun to repeat himself.
"Alexander, you need to sleep."
"I'm too excited, Phai. This battle is important – I must defeat him here or else we might as well go home!"
"I know. But he's hardly proven himself a strategist, has he with the placements my scouts noted. You have an army that's been fighting for decades whereas his men are mainly conscripts, forced to come here. That's our strength."
"And?" he looked at me, head cocked to the side, a slight pout on his lips. I sighed.
"And they don't have you leading them, oh Great King. Genius of battle! Beloved of Zeus! The apple of his doting mother's eye, or eyes!"
"Oh, shut up." He laughed, pouncing on me so fast I fell off my stool and we started rolling about the floor in mock play like schoolboys until the physical contact led, naturally, onto something else. Our lovemaking was short, if vigorous, and we both fell asleep in a heap on the small campaign cot.
It was still dark when I awoke alone on the bed. Alexander never could sleep long and he had obviously got up to go over the plans once more. I needed to return to my own tent and start arming anyway. Groping about I found my boots and cloak but no chiton, which I must have 'lost' in the ante-room of his tent. Wrapping the cloak about me and scraping a hand through my tousled hair, I ducked through the partition, mumbling sleepily "Health to you Alexander, I'll…"
I never finished the sentence as the sharp intake of breath brought my head up, from where I was looking for my discarded chiton, to look straight into the shocked faces of six of the Staff, including Parmenion, Philotas and Cleitus. He would have to be there!
"What do you mean by that? Are you saying our King will die?"
I stood there, mouthing air like a beached fish, and looked over to Alexander; he was staring down at his desk trying very hard not to laugh at their faces and my embarrassment, but knew their superstitious worries needed to be placated.
"He meant no such thing, Parmenion. In wishing me 'health' in the morning, as opposed to 'joy', he means I will be victorious and live to the end of the day."
"Oh, I see." Said the old general, his fears allayed.
I gave them all a weak smile whilst surreptitiously picking up my errant clothing and headed out of the tents doorway. As I slithered past them I noticed Cleitus' lips twitch and Philotas' curve in a sneer whilst at the same time trying to look beneath my cloak – he was seated and had a good view. My face burning I hared back to my tent, not sure whether I intended to commit suicide or let the Persians do it for me!
Going to the horse lines I retrieved Aries from the groom and lead him away until I reached Alexander and Bucephalus. The sacrifice had gone well but I could see the men about me looked tense, as I did, but for a different reason. They knew how many men they faced today and it was a daunting proposition at best. Catching my king's eye I walked over to him.
"I am so sorry about this morning, Alexander."
"It all worked out well enough, though I thought Parmenion was going to have a fit!" his grin was automatic as was my answering one.
"Next time can you undress me in your sleeping area – it wasvery embarrassing trying to hide my chiton with the eyes of six Generals, not to mention two pages, following my every move."
"Oh, I think they were more interested in what you were wearing under the cloak – or not. If I thought parading you naked before them each council session would shut them up as quickly as it did today, I'd have done it sooner."
"Alexander!"
He laughed then, a sound of such pure joy and mischief that I couldn't stay angered and joined in. Those tense faces about us saw their king laughing and happy and their own faces relaxed as the tension eased away. Patting me swiftly on the arm, he mounted his horse, waved to the men and then rode off to make the final inspection of his forces whilst I took my place in the cavalry on the right.
Alexander did not pursue Darius for long, returning to the battlefield soon after the man had fled. The Great King left so quickly, abandoning his gold chariot for the speedier escape a horse could provide that he had no time to pack up his belongings – including his tent, his bath and his family! These all now fell into the hands of his enemy who wandered through the opulence of the tent (big enough to house his own command tent and at least all those of the generals) his eyes hardly taking it all in. The bath was huge. The throne was huge, making him look like a child when he clambered up on it – he never sat on it again. And then there were the women.
Darius and his nobles, so cock sure of their victory because they out numbered the little 'upstart', had hauled along on campaign their wives, children and harems. Alexander sent Leonnatus to the Royal Harem tent to assure them that Darius had not been killed, as we heard their wailing the moment we entered the camp, and that he would accord them the same courtesy as if they were his own family. This last pronouncement should not have surprised his Staff, considering how he had always treated women, but it did – they expected him to take the Queen, at least, as his mistress, particularly as she was rumoured to be the 'most beautiful woman in all Asia'. He didn't answer that in that case, he would stay away least he be tempted, as Kallisthenes reported, but merely smiled and shook his head. To have done so would have been too close to rape in his eyes. He never refused love when freely offered but would never take it by force. Besides, even then I sensed he had a plan for the Royal Family that neither Parmenion nor Cleitus would have understood.
He was less sensitive about the harems of the nobles we found there, passing out they're occupants as rewards to his men and as gifts to the officers he commended and promoted after the battle: Craterus and Perdiccas were placed on the Staff; Ptolemy became a general and was given joint command of the Thracian cavalry, as well as orders to watch Alexandros. And I, finally, made it to general too – if I was a sycophant the rewards were a long time coming!
The promotion gave me far better accommodation than I had had before; he gave me the next best tent to the Great King's he could find in the Persian camp, with its own bathing area, sleeping chamber and office space. I was also given three splendid Nissian horses, much to the ageing Aries mortification – he managed to bite their fetlocks, but couldn't reach anything else, until I told the grooms to keep them parted; he was ready for honourable retirement anyway. Alexander gave me two hunting dogs, a trunk load of Persian silks, a new dinner service and four slaves. The one thing I didn't get was a woman.
"Why?"
"Are you that disappointed?"
"Simply curious – you've given me far more than any of the senior generals…"
"They got the same, only in hard currency."
"…except for the harem handout. Why?"
He looked carefully at my face and realised that I was quite put out by it – not because I was that desperate for a female in my life, but how it would look to the others. It's a weakness but I am touchy about my pride and it gets me into a lot of hot water. Which was where Alexander was when we had this conversation and a bath is the not the easiest defensible position you can be in.
"I didn't give you one because you're not going to be about very soon to use one, unless you wish to drag a woman about with you when you go searching up supplies."
"Now that makes sense!"
I went to my huge tent and slept, alone, but had a restless night. Despite sending Leonnatus to them the royal women wailed all night; at one point I swore I heard Cleitus roaring to 'shut them up or kill the bitches' – how I seconded that motion!
So I was surprised the following morning to receive a message from my King: "Full dress armour, my tent (Darius') in half an hour." Which was where I was as ordered, watching him taking another bath before he was dressed in his best armour to match my own. Nodding to me, he led me through a canvas tunnel, followed by a number of similarly dressed officers.
"Where are we going, my King?"
"To visit the Queen, or more correctly, the King's Mother, Sisygambis. Apparently they didn't believe Leonnatus yesterday, so we are going to assure them I spoke the truth."
"Why am I going with you? Surely Parmenion…"
"I need someone who won't scare them to death." I looked behind me and noticed none of the 'old guard' was there. "Besides I want you there. You're much the prettiest general I have. Ouch! Punching your king in Persia is treason."
"Is that so?"
We entered the main audience chamber of the harem tent (the tunnel was there for privacy, whether of the women or the king I wasn't sure) and I got my first view of a breed of person that I was to see far too much of from then on – eunuchs.
Some were fat and bald; others lithe and beautiful, so much so I had difficulty differentiating between them and the harem ladies. Quite a few of the officers never worried about the distinction between the two either would do. None of them looked you in the face, which I found disconcerting. From a curtained doorway two eunuchs in more elaborate attire held back the silk hanging to allow access to the chamber we stood in by three women and two children.
The older, a dignified woman of many years with iron grey hair pulled away from a strong face that had once been beautiful flicked her gaze from Alexander to me and back again. Then she turned fully to me and prostrated herself before me!
Instinctively I stepped back as she started to speak to me, darting a look at Alexander, who only seemed amused and I distinctly heard snickers coming from the officers behind me, which the King silenced with a look. The eunuchs, on the other hand, were as horrified as me. One bent and whispered urgently to her and she jerked her head up, looking from me to Alexander again, not with fear, but realisation that she may have signed her own family's death warrants merely left her resigned to her fate.
She turned to him and began to apologise but he took a step towards the old woman and raised her to her feet with words the interpreter found as perplexing as did the Macedonians behind me.
"Never mind mother, you made no mistake. He too is Alexander."
What exactly she made of that I never found out but he was then introduced to the two daughters of Darius and his small son, who stomped forward with no fear to play with Alexander's sword. Reaching down to pick the child up, the young boy put his arms around his neck and started chattering in Persian. Laughing, the King turned to me and said:
"Pity his father didn't take after the grandmother as his son so obviously does!"
"Yes, my King. But then we may not have beaten him so readily."
"True Hephaestion. Very true."
Using the interpreter now Alexander re-assured them they would be treated with all the respect their royal status required. The two girls, barely sixteen and twelve to my eye, wept in relief – they had obviously expected rape. I could tell Alexander liked the old woman, Sisygambis and he took to visiting her regularly. Their friendship grew and prospered, especially as his treatment of her family was as promised – even the boy was spared against the insistence of some officers, though not, this time, by me.
We saw Queen Stateira once. She was beautiful and tall – very tall, as she was her husband's sister. Perhaps it's the cynic in me but I often wonder if he would have refrained from taking her if she had been a bit shorter. It was apparent on that quick visit that she was pregnant and it was with great sorrow that, six months later, he was informed of her death in childbirth, the child dying also. Alexander was distraught and I couldn't for the life of me see why until I read a scroll he had left open on his desk – it was Xenophon's Life of Cyrus in which the Persian king had returned the wife of an enemy, unmolested, when her husband surrendered and did obeisance to him as his overlord.
So that was what it was all about; playing the myths again. Oh, how he would have loved that – Darius defeated in fair combat and bowing to him in surrender, then he would lead out his lovely wife to him and reunite them. Perfect ending. Sometimes I doubt my Alexander truly lives in the real world.
However, it was not to be and she was buried with all due ceremony. It did send a message to others who were intelligent enough to read it that he was not going to stop at freeing the Greek cities in Asia from their Persian overlords but was preparing to take it all. The business with Stateira was proof of that at least. I knew it because he told me.
"I can do so much more here, Phai, than merely freeing a few cities. We have an opportunity to unite this wealth and power under one leader."
"For why?"
"Because I know I can do it! If there was no wars here think of the riches the people could earn. It would be the beginning of an empire of the mind as well as material things. We could spread Greek culture over the world."
"Whether they wanted it or not. And of course you would become rich in the process."
"And I'd get very rich in the process! It would be quite a legacy, don't you think? Rival Herakles himself."
"Yes – my King. Shall I request one of the servants to empty your piss pot on my way out – Sire?"
"No – you can damn well take it yourself for that insolence!"
Our eyes flashed at each other a moment, then he groaned and laughed. "I can always rely on you to bring me back to earth, can't I?"
"Yes, but only when necessary. Sire."
TBC
