Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (25 page)

When word spread that the Queen Mother was travelling up to Persepolis to bury her son, all the people gathered along the road – men, women, the elderly and children together greeted the old grief-stricken Queen in silence and escorted her to the frontiers of their lands, to the edge of the highlands from which the ruins of the burned capital could now be made out – the columns of the luminous Palace of the Solstice, petrified trunks in a forest devoured by fire.

She stopped at the gates of the destroyed city and had her tent pitched there and she fasted for days until she saw, way down on the road leading from Ecbatana, the carriage pulled by four horses bearing her son’s body.

*

Alexander immediately set off once more in pursuit of Bessus and his accomplices. On the following day they came to the city called Hecatompylos, where the Persian commander surrendered without any resistance and from there they moved on to Zadracarta, the city of the Hyrcanians. Before them now lay the limitless extent of the Caspian Sea.

The King dismounted and began walking barefoot over the wet pebbles on the seashore, and his companions, surprised and somewhat puzzled, followed him along the watery frontier that marked the extreme point of their march.

‘Whereabouts in the world are we exactly, do you think?’ Leonnatus asked Callisthenes when they found themselves there before the sea.

‘Give me your spear,’ replied the historian.

Leonnatus gave it to him with a puzzled look on his face. Callisthenes stuck it into the beach as straight and as deep as he could manage and then carefully measured its shadow.

‘More or less at the same level as Tyre, but I have no idea how far from Tyre we are.’

‘And where does this sea end?’

Callisthenes sent his gaze out across the great liquid expanse that was just beginning to turn red in the sunset and then he turned to Nearchus who at that moment was approaching and perhaps had an answer to this question. The navarch bent over, picked up a pebble and threw it with all his strength as far as he could. The stone fell into the sea and produced a series of concentric ripples that moved through the water and died on the shore. He replied:

‘No one knows, but if I could build a fleet I would like to sail over that horizon, over there towards the north. That way we would discover whether this is a gulf of the northern Ocean, as many say, or whether it is a lake.’

As they spoke, they heard voices coming from the encampment, growing in excitement until they became cries of joy and songs of exultation.

Alexander turned to look back: ‘What’s happening at the camp?’

‘I don’t know,’ replied Leonnatus, picking up his spear again.

‘Go and find out then.’

Leonnatus leaped on to his horse, set off at a gallop towards the camp and, as he approached, heard increasingly loud and distinct shouting and singing. Then he realized what it was that had generated all these celebrations – the soldiers had heard of Darius’s death and thought the war had finished, and rumours were spreading that they were finally returning home. They danced and drank and shouted for joy, singing old Macedonian songs that had almost seemed forgotten and some even started preparing their baggage for the long journey.

Leonnatus jumped to the ground and stopped the first soldier who passed before him, an infantryman of the
pezhetairoi:
‘What’s happening here, by Hercules?’

We’re going home! Haven’t you heard? The war’s over!’

‘It’s over? Who told you it’s over?’

‘Everyone says it’s over – Darius is dead and the war’s over. We’re going home! We’re going home!’

‘You fool!’ Leonnatus shouted into his face. ‘Tell all these imbeciles to calm down and stop this din. There is one man and one man alone who will tell us when the war is over – Alexander! Understand? Alexander! And he has said nothing, I can assure you of that.’ He left the soldier standing there like a halfwit in the middle of the camp and the deafening racket of the groundless celebration and returned quickly to the King.

‘Well then?’ Alexander asked.

‘It’s difficult to—’

‘By Hercules, speak, man! What’s happening in my encampment?’

‘Nobody knows how, but a rumour has started that the war is over and that we’re all going home . . . ever since you told the Greeks they could return our men have been sure that it was their turn next, and since Darius is dead now . . . they’re all celebrating wildly and—’

Alexander leaped astride his horse and galloped to the camp. As soon as he entered, he called the trumpeters and had them twice sound the signal to fall in. The racket subsided, mutating into a suffused buzz of voices, then the men, in groups, in divisions or one by one, gathered in the middle of the camp around the assembly podium. Alexander, surrounded by his Companions, stood upright at the very centre, his face thunderous. He lifted his hand to ask for silence and began:

‘Men! What are you doing? Come on, I want an answer! Send me your commanders and tell me what you are doing!’

The buzz grew in volume again and it was clear they were all shocked by this sudden dampening of their celebrations. One by one the commanders of the various units moved forwards, conferred for a moment among themselves at the base of the podium and then their spokesman said, ‘Sire, after you dismissed our Greek allies, news spread that you were about to dismiss the Thessalians as well, and they started preparing their baggage. At that point, when news reached us that Darius is dead, we all thought the war was over and that you would send us home too. The men started celebrating – they all want to return to their wives and their children who they haven’t seen for four years.’

‘This is true,’ replied Alexander. ‘I intend to dismiss the Thessalians just as I have already dismissed the Greeks. They are our allies in the pan-Hellenic League and their task is complete now. We had promised freedom for the Greek cities of Asia and defeat for the longstanding enemy of the Greeks and we have kept those promises. We have conquered the four capitals, the Great King is dead, but our own task is not yet over.’ The buzz of disappointment grew at these last words. ‘No, men! My veterans of so many battles! My friends! To the east, the rebel Satraps are preparing a counterattack; they have assembled a new army of thousands and thousands of warriors and they are simply waiting for us to turn our backs to them.

‘They will attack us from every possible direction with their fast horses; they will not relent for one moment, neither by day nor by night; they will poison the wells along our path; they will burn the crops; they will destroy the villages where we might seek shelter from the harsh winter. Our return journey, after having accomplished such glorious feats, will be transformed into a catastrophe. Is this what you want?’

The answer to the King’s question was a silence full of despondency and disappointment. These men who had always fought with such formidable courage, who had faced up to every danger without ever worrying about their own lives, were now full of doubt and uncertainty. What they saw stretching before them were completely unknown lands and seas; even the positions of the very constellations in the skies seemed to be changing and they had no idea of where they were. Suddenly they felt they were too far away from their homes. For the first time they felt sure that Alexander himself had absolutely no intention of returning home, that he simply wanted to move forwards, forwards into eternity. Their fear now was that they would never return.

The King spoke once more: ‘We must move onwards! We have to seek them out, defeat them and establish our authority over all the empire that belonged to the Persians. If we fail to do this then all we have done so far will be wasted, all we have built will collapse, none of us will ever be sure of being able to return home. Men! Have I ever betrayed your trust? Have I ever deceived you? Have I not paid you generously for your labours, and don’t you think I will do even more for you when we bring this enterprise to its conclusion? I know, you are tired, but I also know that you are the best soldiers in the world, you have no equals in terms of bravery and daring. I have no wish to force you, no one knows more than I do just how much you deserve your rest and your recompense. So I will not detain you any longer – those who wish to leave may leave now, with honour and with my gratitude, but you must know that even if you should all abandon me now to return to Macedonia, I will go forward anyway with my Companions until my undertaking is complete, and if necessary . . . I will do it alone!’ He fell silent as he crossed his arms on his chest. There followed another interminable moment of silence.

Alexander’s Companions, those who years before had travelled through the snows of Illyria to join him in his exile and who at that moment stood behind him, took a step forward as though obeying some command, lining up alongside him with their hands on the hilts of their swords, and together with them Philotas and Cleitus the Black also stepped forward.

On seeing this, one of the men of the Vanguard, who had been ready for the off and was standing in the middle of the field, let his bundle of possessions fall at his feet as he unsheathed his sword and beat it against his shield so that it resounded like a thunderclap in the silence. Everyone turned towards him and another soldier replied immediately with a similar noise. A third joined in and then a fourth and soon all the horsemen of the Vanguard, wherever they were, near the gates or the fence or in the middle of the field or busy preparing their baggage, they all unsheathed their swords and one by one started beating them against their shields as they gradually approached the podium until they were standing there before the King, and they continued, incessantly, rhythmically, to make the deafening din of bronze on iron. After them came other soldiers – cavalrymen and infantrymen, assault troops and scouts, Thracians and Agrianians – they all lined up in ranks and joined in with the horsemen of the Vanguard in beating their swords on their shields. Then the standard-bearer of the first battalion lifted the red flag with the Argead star and everyone stopped and stood stock still where he was. The standard-bearer took a step forward, dipped the flag and shouted, ‘Your orders, Sire!’

Alexander, visibly moved, came forwards and lifted his arms to the sky to thank his soldiers for not abandoning him. Ptolemy, who was standing very close by, saw that his eyes were full of tears. He stood there for what seemed like a long time while the entire army shouted his name in a voice of thunder:
Alexandre! Alexandre! Alexandre!

Then, flanked by his Companions, the King came down from the podium, crossed the field between two arrays of shining spears, and came to Bucephalas. The great horse stood waiting, stamping impatiently.

T
HE ARMY MOVED
on to Zadracarta, the capital of the Hyrcanians, and there Alexander found the court of Darius III, which Bessus had abandoned in his retreat towards the farthest provinces of the empire. At this point the King discharged the Thessalian cavalry, giving the horsemen the possibility of remaining as mercenaries, and then ordered his army to prepare for the long march eastwards. They were to depart as soon as the new contingents they were waiting for arrived from Macedonia, reinforcements which Parmenion was to send on to them as quickly as possible.

The members of Darius’s court were all staying in one particular area of the city under the surveillance of the eunuchs and Alexander gave orders for them all to be put under the protection of his army. Indeed, he requested precise information regarding which members of the royal family were still part of the court.

The master of ceremonies – a man of about sixty, his body completely hairless and his head shaven – came before the King to report.

‘All the King’s concubines are here with their children, as is the Royal Princess Stateira.’

‘Stateira?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

Alexander recalled the letter in which Darius had offered him dominion over Asia west of the Euphrates and the hand of his daughter in marriage, and he recalled how he had rejected this offer, going against Parmenion’s wishes.

‘I want you to arrange an audience with the Princess for me,’ he said. The eunuch took his leave and in the early afternoon sent a messenger to announce that the Princess would be expecting him after sunset in her apartments in the palace that had belonged to the Satrap of Parthia.

He arrived for the audience dressed in a very plain Greek
chiton,
white and ankle-length, together with a blue cloak held in place by a gold buckle.

The eunuch was at the door, ‘The Princess is in mourning, my Lord, and begs your pardon for not having been able to adorn herself in a mode befitting your presence, but she is glad to receive your visit because she has heard that you are a man of noble spirit and sentiment.’

‘Does she speak Greek?’

The eunuch nodded, ‘When King Darius offered you her hand in marriage, he had her instructed in your language, but then—’

‘Would you care to have me announced now?’

‘You may enter straight away,’ replied the eunuch. ‘The Princess is expecting you.’

Alexander entered and found himself in a small atrium decorated with floral motifs and festoons of fruit, and there before him was another door, framed in sculpted stone with a lintel supported by two griffins. The door opened and a handmaid showed him in before she herself left, closing the door behind her.