Alexander (Vol. 2) (6 page)

‘In that case you will be at my side,’ said Alexander.

‘Are there any other orders, Sire?’ asked Parmenion.

‘Yes. I’ve noticed we already have quite a following of women and merchants. I want them all out of the camp and kept under surveillance until the attack is over. And I want a detachment of light infantry ready for battle stationed on the banks of the Granicus all through the night. Naturally, these men will not fight tomorrow – they will be too tired.’

Supper finished in due time, the commanders retired for the night and Alexander did too. Leptine helped him take off his armour and his clothes and washed him, having already prepared his bath in a separate area of the royal tent.

‘Is it true that you yourself will fight, my Lord?’ she asked as she rubbed his shoulders with a sponge.

‘These things do not concern you, Leptine. And if you eavesdrop again from behind the curtain, I will have you sent away.’

The girl looked down at her feet and stood in silence for a while. Then, when she realized that Alexander was not angry, she started again. ‘Why does it not concern me?’

‘Because nothing bad will happen to you should I ever fall in battle. You will have your freedom and sufficient income for you to live your life.’

Leptine stared at him intensely and sorrowfully. Her chin trembled and her eyes brimmed with tears – she turned her head so that he wouldn’t see.

But Alexander spotted the tears running down her cheeks. ‘Why are you crying? I thought you would be happy.’

The girl swallowed her sobs and said, as soon as she was able, ‘I am happy as long as I can be with you, my Lord. If I cannot be with you then there is no light nor breath nor life for me.’

The noises of the camp faded away. All they could hear were the calls of the guards shouting to one another through the darkness and the barking of the wild dogs scavenging for food. For a moment Alexander seemed to listen out, then he stood up and Leptine approached, ready to dry him.

‘I will sleep fully dressed tonight,’ said the King. He put on fresh clothes and chose the armour he would wear the following day: a helmet of bronze, laminated with silver and in the shape of a lion’s head, its jaws wide open and adorned with two long heron feathers, an Athenian breastplate in crushed flax with a bronze heart-plate in the shape of a gorgon, a pair of bronze greaves so shiny they seemed to be gold, a sword-belt of red leather with the face of the goddess Athena at its centre.

‘You will be easy to spot from a great distance,’ said Leptine, her voice trembling.

‘My men must see me and must know that I risk my own life before risking theirs. And go to sleep now, Leptine, I no longer need you.’

The girl left, her steps rapid and light. Alexander arranged his weapons on the stand near his bed and extinguished his lamp. His armour, his panoply could be made out in the darkness nonetheless – it was like the ghost of a warrior, waiting motionless for the first light of dawn to bring him back to life.

A
LEXANDER WOKE UP WITH
Peritas licking his face and he jumped to his feet to find two servants standing there before him, ready to help him put on his armour. Leptine brought his breakfast on a silver tray – Nestor’s Cup, raw egg beaten with cheese, flour, honey and wine.

The King ate standing up while they laced up his breastplate and greaves, hung his sword belt across his shoulder and attached his scabbard, complete with sword.

‘I don’t want Bucephalas,’ he said as he left. ‘The river banks are too slippery and he would risk his legs. Bring me the Sarmatian bay.’

His attendants went to prepare the chosen horse and Alexander joined them in the centre of the camp, carrying his helmet under his left arm. Almost all the men were already lined up and there was constant movement from those running to take up position alongside their companions. Alexander mounted the steed and rode to inspect first the Thessalian and Macedonian cavalry squadrons, then the Greek infantry and the phalanx.

The horsemen of the Vanguard waited for him at the far end of the camp, near the eastern gate, perfectly lined up in five rows. In silence they lifted their javelins as the King passed by.

The Black took up position alongside Alexander when the King lifted his arm to give the order to move off. There came the rumble of thousands of horses setting off, together with the muted clanking of weapons as the foot-soldiers began their march in the darkness.

At just a few stadia from the Granicus they heard the noise of horses galloping, and a patrol of four scouts suddenly came out of the darkness and stopped in front of Alexander.

‘King,’ said their leader, ‘the barbarians have not yet moved and are encamped at some three stadia from the river, on a slight rise. On the banks there are only patrols of Median and Scythian scouts who have our side under observation. We cannot take them by surprise.’

‘No, of course not,’ said Alexander, ‘but before their army covers the three stadia between them and the eastern bank, we will have crossed the ford and we will be on the other side. At that point most of our work is done.’ He nodded to his bodyguard to move nearer. ‘Tell all the divisional commanders to be ready to cross over to the other bank as soon as a suitable landing site is identified. At the sound of the trumpets we will rush towards the river and ford it as quickly as possible. The cavalry will go first.’

The guards moved off. Shortly afterwards the infantry stopped to let the two columns of horsemen on their flanks move forwards and line up before the Granicus. A pale light was just beginning to fill the sky to the east.

‘They thought that we would have the sun in our eyes, but instead not even the moon will be bothering us,’ said Alexander, indicating the bright crescent that was just setting to the south behind the hills of Phrygia.

He lifted his hand and guided his horse into the river, followed closely by the Black and by the entire Vanguard squadron. At the same time they heard a shout from the other bank, then ever louder calls culminating in the drawn-out, plaintive sound of a horn accompanied by other signals. The Median and Scythian scouts were sounding the alarm.

Alexander, who was already half-way across the ford, shouted, ‘Trumpets!’ and the trumpets sounded one single, sharp, piercing note, which sped like a bolt to the other side and mixed with the deeper sound of the horns so that the mountains echoed repeatedly with all the various signals.

The Granicus seemed to boil with foam as the King and his guards crossed it as quickly as they possibly could. A shout was heard and a Macedonian horseman, wounded, fell into the water. The Median and Scythian scouts were grouped together on the banks and were firing wildly into the approaching group without even taking aim. Others were hit in the neck, in the belly, in the chest. Alexander undid his shield from its bracket and spurred his bay horse forwards again. He had reached the other side!

‘Forward!’ he shouted. ‘Forward! Trumpets!’

The sound of the trumpets became even sharper and more piercing and in response came the neighing of the steeds, excited by the confusion and the shouts of the horsemen kicking them on and even making use of the whip to urge them on against the strong pull of the current.

The second and third rows had crossed the centre of the ford now, and the fourth, fifth and sixth were just entering the water. Alexander with his squadron were now climbing up the slippery bank. Behind them came the booming, rhythmic marching of the phalanx as they advanced in their regular lines in full battledress.

The enemy scouts, having run out of bolts, turned their mounts and spurred them on at full speed towards the field, from which came a terrible, confused din of weapons, while the indistinct shadows of soldiers ran everywhere in the darkness, torches in their hands, filling the air with calls and shouts in a hundred different languages.

Alexander had the Vanguard assume formation and took his place at its head, while two squadrons of the
hetairoi
and two of the Thessalian cavalry arranged themselves behind and on the flanks, in four rows, under orders from their own commanders. The Macedonians were led by Craterus and Perdiccas, the Thessalians by Prince Amyntas and the officers Oenomaos and Echekratides. The trumpeters waited for a signal from the King to start sounding the charge.

‘Black,’ called Alexander. ‘Where are our foot-soldiers?’

Cleitus trotted over to the end of the line and looked out towards the river. ‘They are scaling the banks now, Sire!’

‘Then sound the trumpets! Forward!’

The trumpets sounded again and twelve thousand horses galloped off together, head to head, panting and neighing, their pace dictated by Alexander’s massive Sarmatian bay.

In the meantime, on the other side, the Persian cavalry was gathering together at full haste and with considerable confusion – those already lined up were waiting for a signal from their supreme commander, the satrap Spithridates.

Two scouts arrived at top speed. ‘The Macedonians are launching an attack, Lord!’ they shouted.

‘Then follow me!’ ordered Spithridates without any further delay. ‘Let’s send these
yauna
back where they came from, we will throw them back into the water as fish food! Forward! Forward!’

The horns sounded and the earth shook under the hammering gallop of the fiery Nysaean steeds. In the front line were the Medians and the Khorasmians with their big double-curved bows, while behind came the Oxians and the Kadusians with their long curved sabres, finally the Saka and the Drangians brandishing enormous scimitars.

As soon as the cavalry was under way, the heavy infantry of the Greek mercenaries, already in battle trim, followed at a march and in close formation.

‘Mercenaries of Anatolia!’ Memnon shouted to them, raising his spear. ‘Your swords are sold! You have neither home nor homeland to which you may return! For you it is either death or glory. Remember there will be no mercy for us because even if we are Greek, we fight for the Great King of Persia. Men, our homeland is our honour, our spear is our daily bread. Fight for your lives – for our lives are the only thing left to us ‘
Alalalài!
’

And he set off, forwards, briskly at first and then at a run. His men responded: ‘
Alalalài!
’

They ran up behind him, maintaining the solid formation of their front line, a terrible din of iron and bronze clanging as each foot touched the ground.

Alexander saw the cloud of white dust at less than a stadium and shouted to a trumpeter – ‘Sound the charge!’ The trumpet sounded, unleashing all the fury of the Vanguard as it galloped into battle.

The horsemen lowered their spears and lent forwards, their left hands gripping the bridle and mane of their steeds, right up until the impact, up until the frightful, violent tangle of men and animals, of shouting and neighing that followed the first clash of the long shafts of ash and cornel wood and the deadly rain of Persian javelins.

Alexander spotted Spithridates off to the right, fighting furiously, his sword red with blood, covered on the left by the giant Rheomithres, and he spurred his horse in that direction. ‘Fight, Barbarian! Fight against the King of Macedon, if you have the mettle!’

Spithridates spurred on his steed in his turn and let fly with his javelin. The point tore into the shoulder-piece of Alexander’s breastplate, grazing the skin between his neck and his collarbone, but the King unsheathed his sword and galloped at full tilt towards Spithridates, crashing into him head on. The satrap, knocked off balance by the shock of the impact, had to grab wildly at his steed to avoid falling, exposing his flank in the process. Alexander wasted no time in sticking his blade into his opponent’s armpit, but by this stage all the Persians were homing in on him. An arrow brought his horse to its knees and Alexander failed to duck in time to avoid Rheomithres’s axe.

His shield only managed to deflect the blow in part, so that it hit his helmet, splitting the metal, cutting through the felt lining and reaching his scalp. Alexander was on the ground now, with his horse, and from the head wound the blood flowed copiously, covering his face.

Rheomithres raised the axe again, but the Black broke in just at that moment, shouting wildly and brandishing a heavy Illyrian sword which cut clean through the barbarian’s arm with a single blow.

Rheomithres fell from his horse screaming and the blood spurted from the truncated limb, taking his life even before Alexander, on his feet once more, delivered the final blow.

Then the King leaped on to a steed that was running free on the field and threw himself into the reel of the battle again.

The Persians were utterly devastated by the deaths of their commanders and they started to fall back, while the impetus of the Vanguard was added to now by the considerable weight of the four squadrons of
hetairoi
and the Thessalian horsemen, led by Amyntas.

The Persian cavalry fought valiantly, but their ranks had been thrown into disarray not only by the Vanguard, which penetrated ever deeper now, but also by the lateral action of the light cavalry which struck their flanks in waves. These were Thracian and Triballian warriors, as ferocious as wild beasts, and they galloped along the flanks unleashing swarms of arrows and javelins, waiting for the right moment to launch themselves into hand-to-hand combat as soon as it was clear the enemy were exhausted and on their last legs.