Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (29 page)

‘But Alexander, we . . .’ Leonnatus sought to reply, but the King simply stood up and left.

Philotas raised his head and looked around at his companions, ‘He has no right to treat us in this manner. He has no right.’

Alexander in the meantime reached his tent and entered. Eumolpus of Soloi was waiting for him.

‘Is there any more news of Satibarzanes?’ he asked, sitting down on a chair.

He is preparing for battle, but his troops are disheartened: I don’t think they will fight to the bitter end. How did the council go?’

Alexander shrugged his shoulders.

‘Don’t let it get to you. They simply have to come round to the novelty of the situation. They are all very much attached to their own traditions and in my opinion they’re also jealous – they’re afraid that you are somehow moving away from them, that they are no longer as close to you as they once were.’

‘You seem to know them very well.’

Well enough.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I mean that after Issus, when I started working for you again, I took an interest in your friends as well. Who do you think put the girls in their beds?’

‘You. But I didn’t . . .’

‘Ah! Nonsense! If a job’s worth doing . . . and then pillow talk is my speciality. You know that men are inclined to talk much more freely after a good fuck? Interesting point, don’t you think?’

‘Stop it.’

‘And the girls told me everything.’

‘My friends would never betray me.’

‘Perhaps not. But some might be more easily led into temptation than others. Philotas, for example, your commander-in-chief of the cavalry – a man with an important role.’

Alexander was suddenly much more alert: ‘What have you heard about Philotas?’

‘Not much – but back then he was telling everyone that you were simply a presumptuous little boy, that without him and his father you would never have won any battle – neither at the Granicus, nor at Issus – and that you treated them unfairly.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about this immediately?’

‘Because you wouldn’t have listened.’

‘And why should I listen now?’

‘Because you are in danger. You are about to cross through completely unknown lands, to face savage peoples. You have to know who you can count on and who you can’t count on. Be careful of your cousin Amyntas as well.’

‘I have had him kept under discreet surveillance ever since that first episode when I had him arrested in Anatolia. He has always behaved valiantly and has always been loyal.’

‘Indeed – a loyal and valiant prince. If you should ever fall out of favour with your men, to whom would they turn?’

Alexander stared at him in silence and it was Eumolpus who gave verbal expression to the answer he read in the King’s eyes, ‘To the only survivor of the Argead dynasty. May the gods grant you a peaceful night’s sleep.’

He stood up, nodded gently and then, having made sure that Peritas was not following, set off towards his own tent.

A
LL
A
SIA UNFOLDED
before Alexander’s army, and its landscapes became ever harsher and more desolate; these now were rocky terrains, realm of scorpions and snakes, rendered arid by the sun as it shone relentlessly. Here and there thorny bushes grew in dried-up riverbeds and ponds, all bordered with vast expanses of salt deposits. For days on end the soldiers marched in silence without any relief, without a single breath of wind bringing any freshness to the suffocating heat.

The very sky itself was empty and incandescent, as dazzling in its brightness as a polished bronze shield, and whenever they spotted the slow movement of wings off in the distance, the birds always proved to be vultures drawing circles around pack animals that had lost their way or had already given up in the battle against death and were now laid out for the scavengers among the deserted rocks.

Not even the journey to the Oasis of Ammon had been as anguish-ridden as this because the dunes of the desert had their own majestic beauty with their sharp crests, their clear contrasts of shadow and light – the purity of their graceful, changing shapes, sculpted by the wind. Like some golden ocean that had suddenly been left motionless by a gesture from some god’s hand, the dunes had been a grand and solemn setting for an imminent epiphany.

These rock-strewn lands, however, inspired thoughts of nothing but death, of empty solitude, of immutable desolation, and in his heart each of the men nurtured some deep nostalgia, a harrowing desire to return home. There was no objective, no meaning that gave any sense to their endless fatigue, and they took each step with growing reluctance, overwhelmed by the dread of that limitless, featureless landscape in which their local guides’ only certainty appeared to be knowledge of some destination beyond the shimmering horizon. The most glorious days of their enterprise now seemed so very far away, and many of the men appeared to regret having responded positively to the King’s call. None of them could understand what he was looking for so far inland, in these wastelands that provided sustenance only to occasional villages with homes made of mud bricks covered with camel or sheep dung.

Then, gradually, the landscape began to change and the very air became fresher and sharper. Highlands appeared, watered occasionally by the rains and covered by a light green veil of vegetation, nourishing here and there a solitary tree or small herds of shaggy dromedaries or bristly-haired horses. They approached a river valley and then the banks of a huge lake on whose waters they finally saw a reflection of the walls and towers of Artacoana, the capital of the Arians, the fortress of Satibarzanes.

The army did not even have enough time to spread out before the doors of the fortress were flung open and a squadron of horsemen rushed out to attack, shouting loudly and lifting a cloud of red dust that billowed up over the plain. Philotas and Craterus had the alarm trumpets sounded and the
hetairoi
spurred on their tired and thirst-stricken horses.

Immediately after the initial clash they seemed to be having the worst of it. Their opponents were rested and fresh. Nevertheless they fought valiantly as they moved in measured retreat, always seeking support from their comrades who ran forward in waves to join them as the trumpets sounded.

Alexander then sent the Persian soldiers into the attack. Up until that moment he had kept them in reserve to protect the carriages and the entourage of courtiers and concubines. Their Parthian horses, more inured to bear the heat and the fatigue, threw themselves into a gallop with just as much impetus as their adversaries. The Median and Hyrcanian warriors, together with the last remaining Immortals, keen to make a good impression before the King, drove into the enemy ranks, opening up breaches and spreading confusion as they went. Dressed in similar fashion to the enemy, they did not stand out and this was a great advantage as they struck with devastating force during that first charge.

The intensity of the battle gradually lessened, the front fragmented into smaller clusters of furious fighting and the horsemen of the Vanguard, who up until that point had not taken to the field, mounted their steeds and rushed towards the enemy’s flank, led by the King in person. Satibarzanes’ men were hit hard and pushed backwards, enough of a shock to leave them suddenly disheartened, and at that point Perdiccas unleashed the Agrianian foot soldiers, armed with their knives and their long, sharp hooks. The thick dust protected them as they moved like ghosts, singling out their victims and striking with precision so that none of their blows was wasted.

On seeing that his attack had failed, Satibarzanes had the horns sounded for their retreat and his troops turned back, not without more losses, through the walls and into the city. Soon a wind rose up, sweeping away the dust and revealing hundreds of bodies scattered over the field, many of them already fatal casualties, but some of them wounded, crying out for help in their pain.

The Agrianians moved from man to man, cutting the throats of all the enemy soldiers and stripping them of their weapons and ornaments – all of this under the eyes of the women who looked on from the top of the walls, tearing their hair and crying out heart-wrenchingly to the sky.

Eumenes had given orders to set up camp and to build defences all around it in the form of a trench and a dyke. As he supervised the works he could hear the soldiers’ grumbling about the King’s decision to use the Persians in the attack on Satibarzanes’ army.

‘Why did he need to use those barbarians?’ they asked. ‘We could have managed perfectly on our own. Our infantry wasn’t even deployed.’

‘That’s right,’ someone agreed. ‘The King was obviously out to humiliate us and this simply isn’t right, after all the hard work we have put in and all the dangers we have faced.’

‘But what can we do?’ commented another. ‘He’s one of them now, surrounded by Persian guards, taking his bath with that eunuch who gives him massages and who knows what else, and then he drags around all those concubines while we’re left to stand guard . . .’

Eumenes listened on in silence because these were words that hurt.

Eumolpus of Soloi listened too; even though he stood to one side and spent most of his time sitting under his tent, he had many ears and eyes and very little, if anything, escaped his notice. Despite all of this information, however, Eumolpus had no idea that for the first time in his life events were about to surprise him.

The camp was set up now and everyone was getting ready to rest for the night. As the sun descended behind the ochre walls of Artacoana, the long, plaintive sound of a horn rose into the air. Oxhatres, who had been the King’s guide on the road to Ecbatana and Zadracarta, drew close to Alexander and said in his rapidly-improving Greek, ‘This is a herald. One of Satibarzanes’ heralds.’

‘Go to them, Oxhatres, perhaps they want to negotiate . . . to surrender.’

Oxhatres mounted his horse and rode towards the city walls while a lone emissary came towards him. They soon met up and exchanged a few words before they both returned to their respective camps.

In the meantime the King’s Companions had all gathered around him to report on their losses in the battle and to make their proposals for the following day’s action. Oxhatres appeared just then and made his own report: ‘Satibarzanes challenges the strongest of you to a duel. If he wins, you leave; if he loses, you take the city.’

The blood immediately rushed to Alexander’s head as his mind filled with all the scenes of duels between Homeric champions that had populated his childhood imagination. ‘I will go,’ he said, without hesitating.

‘No,’ replied Ptolemy immediately. ‘No King of Mace-don will stoop to fight a satrap. Choose someone to represent you.’

Oxhatres intervened at this point, ‘Satibarzanes is big and strong,’ and he lifted up his arms to suggest the imposing mass of their opponent.

‘I will go,’ said Leonnatus. ‘I too am big enough and strong enough.’

Alexander looked him up and down and nodded, as though reassuring himself and his Companions. Then he clapped a hand on his friend’s back. ‘I agree. Tear him apart, Leonnatus.’

*

The two champions faced each other at dawn the following day on a flat, open space and the two armies, with almost everyone present, lined up in semicircular formation on each side to watch the duel. Word had spread quickly among the Macedonian soldiers and with the news came febrile excitement. They all knew of Leonnatus’s strength and his impressive physical ability and had had plenty of opportunity to admire it during their many decisive battles; they broke into cheers of encouragement as soon as they saw him appear, armed from head to foot, bearing his great shield with its silver star on his left arm, wielding his shining steel sword in his right hand, and sporting a red-crested helmet.

When the Persian lines opened up to let Leonnatus’s opponent through, however, many of the Macedonians were stunned into silence: Satibarzanes was truly gigantic in stature and moved forwards with slow, heavy steps. In his right hand he held a long, curved sabre, its blade obviously extremely sharp. His shield was of wood, covered with highly polished scales of iron, and his helmet was of the Assyrian type. Attached to it was a studded leather neck covering that reached his shoulders, together with a chain-mail throat band. His thick raked moustache and his black eyebrows, united across the bridge of his nose, all combined to grant him a fierce and daunting air.

Soon they were facing each other and looking into each other’s eyes without saying a word, simply waiting for the signal from the two heralds – one Macedonian, the other Persian. The interpreter translated: ‘The noble Satibarzanes proposes a fight to the death with no fixed rules – strength and valour alone will win this day.’

‘Tell him I agree,’ replied Leonnatus, gripping his sword tightly and readying himself for the first blows.

The heralds gave the signal for the duel to begin, the duel that could now only finish with the death of one of the two warriors.

Leonnatus moved closer, seeking out some opening in his opponent’s defences, while the Persian managed to cover himself almost completely with his shield and held his sabre low, as though not in the least worried. But when Leonnatus attacked, Satibarzanes unleashed a swiping blow that caught him full on the helmet, making him rock and sway in confusion.