Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (33 page)

An attendant entered, flanked by two squires carrying the King’s weapons. ‘Sire,’ he said, ‘it is time.’

*

The military trial held before the assembled army was an ancient and most awesome rite, conceived by the forebears to inflict the maximum of pain and shame on the traitors: it was chaired by the King and was celebrated in the presence of all the soldiers, the generals of the cavalry, the infantry and the auxiliaries. The members of the court, ten in all, were drawn by lots from among the officers of the highest rank and the oldest soldiers.

The army lined up on the desert plain before dawn, called by a high, prolonged trumpet blast, piercing in its single note, as cutting as a blade. The
pezhetairoi
were arranged in seven rows, armed to the teeth, their
sarissae
held firmly in their hands. Before them was the
hetairoi
cavalry. Out at the far reaches of the flanks, almost closing the two long lines in a rectangular form, the light infantry assault troops were lined up, together with the shock troops and the shieldsmen, leaving only a small entrance way on the eastern side, through which the King, together with the judges and the prisoners, was to enter. Neither the mercenary Greeks of the infantry nor the Thracians and the Agrianians were admitted, because only Macedonians could judge Macedonians.

At the centre of the
hetairoi
line-up was a low podium with the King’s throne together with chairs for the rest of the court.

The sun was rising from behind the mountains and its rays struck the points of the
sarissae
first of all, making them shine with a sinister gleaming and then the light moved down gradually to illuminate the men, motionless in their metal armour, sculpting their stony faces, marked by the sun, by the wind and by the ice.

Three trumpet blasts announced the King’s arrival and shortly afterwards came the judges, followed by the prisoners in chains. Philotas stood out among them, much maimed by the torture, and then came Amyntas, who walked forward apparently impassible.

When the King and the members of the court had taken their positions on the podium, the eldest member read the charges out loud. The witnesses were then lined up and a herald repeated each and every statement they made, so that the entire assembly could hear. Then the members of the court voted and the verdict was unanimous for all of the accused – guilty.

‘Now,’ shouted the herald as he repeated the words of the eldest judge, ‘may the assembly vote. Your votes are to be cast for each of the accused individually. Those who do not agree with the verdict will place their swords on the ground. All of you will then take ten paces backwards so that their weapons may be counted.’

The eldest judge called the names of the accused one by one and each time he did a certain number of warriors placed their swords on the ground and stepped back. The accused looked this way and that, first towards the infantry lines, then towards the cavalry, in the residual hope that their fellow soldiers might try to save them, but every time they did so there were too few swords left shining there on the ground. When it came to Philotas’s turn there were more swords, especially from the
hetairoi,
but not enough to overturn the verdict. His haughtiness and his inability to familiarize with the men, particularly with the foot soldiers, cost him dear, and in any case the testimony of Cebalinus the squire, which everyone had heard now, lay heavily against him.

Unlike the other prisoners, Philotas did not turn his gaze groundwards; instead he continued to stare at Alexander, gritting his teeth to stifle his groans of pain. He was still staring at the King when they put him before the stake for his execution. He pushed back the executioners who wanted to tie his wrists and his ankles and he stood erect in all his pride, presenting his chest to the troop of archers who were to carry out the sentence. The officer in command moved closer to the podium, as custom dictated, to hear whether the King wanted to grant a reprieve.

Alexander issued his orders curtly: ‘The heart. First time round. I don’t want him to suffer an instant more than necessary.’

The officer nodded, went to his unit and exchanged a few words briefly with his men. Then he shouted an order and the bowmen notched their arrows and took aim. The camp was brimming with soldiers, but now a leaden silence fell around and the horsemen kept their gaze on Philotas’s body for they knew that even at this extreme moment, even though already on his last legs because of the torture, he would teach them how a commander of the
hetairoi
should die.

The officer gave the order to fire, but Philotas, before the arrows sped through his heart, had the time to open his mouth and shout:
‘Alalalài!’

He fell to the dust, and a pool of blood expanded around him.

Prince Amyntas was executed last of all, and many of those present found it impossible not to cry when they saw what a pathetic end such a noble, valiant young man had come to. Fate had deprived him first of his throne and then of his life in his prime.

Alexander returned to his palace, more upset than he ever had been before in his life, filled with anguish because he had lost a childhood companion, not on the battlefield but before an execution squad. He was still unable to conceive of the fact that a young man of his same age, who had always participated gladly in his enterprises, to whom he had entrusted the highest of responsibilities, could have suddenly come to such a point of rejection and refusal as to turn his back on him completely and to conspire against him.

The season of deceit and blood was not yet over – now an even more terrible decision had to be taken.

He convened a council of his Companions after sunset, under a tented cover that stood alone in the midst of the countryside. Eumenes was present, but not Cleitus the Black, who had been given the job of burying the executed men. There were no guards at the entrance, nor were there any chairs, tables or carpets under the cover, only the bare earth. They stood to discuss matters by the light of a single lamp. No one had eaten supper and only bitterness and dismay could be read on each of their faces.

‘This is unlike you,’ began Alexander. ‘No one said anything to save Philotas from death.’

‘I am Greek,’ said Eumenes immediately, ‘I had no right to say anything.’

‘I know,’ replied Alexander, ‘otherwise you would have spoken in his favour in public, just as you had done in private, but at this point the judgement has been handed down, approved by the assembly and the sentence carried out. What’s done is done.’

‘So why have you summoned us here?’ asked Leonnatus.

‘Because it’s not over yet. Am I right?’ said Eumenes. ‘When one starts something, it must be carried on to the bitter end.’

‘Have you discovered there are other conspirators?’ asked Ptolemy anxiously.

The King turned to him for an instant with a lost expression, as though he now had to face the most difficult, the most repugnant of tasks, and then he began, his voice very quiet, ‘Today, when I came back to my quarters after the executions, I sat at my table and I began writing to General Parmenion . . .’

The very mention of the name was enough to evoke the enormity of the tragedy that was now unfolding and they all realized the nature of the terrible decision that had to be taken.

‘I started writing to him personally to give him the news that his son Philotas had been condemned to death and the sentence had been carried out according to the wishes of the assembled army. I wanted to tell him that as King I had to accept that verdict, but that as a man I would rather die than have to inflict such terrible pain on him.’ Eumenes looked and saw tears were streaming down his cheeks as he spoke; at that moment Alexander’s suffering was the same as the old General’s. ‘However, my hand soon stopped writing. A deeply troubling thought prevented me from continuing and led me to summon you all here. None of us will leave this until a decision is reached.’

‘How will Parmenion react? This is the thought that torments you, is it not?’ Eumenes once again provided an answer with a question.

‘That’s right,’ said Alexander.

He had already given you two of his sons,’ said Eumenes. ‘Hector, who drowned in the Nile, and Nicanor, struck down by a fatal blow. And now you have had his third son, his firstborn, the son he was most proud of, tortured and executed.’

‘Not me!’ shouted Alexander. ‘I had granted him the highest rank after myself. He was judged for his actions,’ and he lowered his head for one long, interminable instant before beginning again in a softer voice:

‘We are alone, stuck here in the midst of a limitless, unknown land, and we are about to embark once more on the enterprise we swore to bring to a conclusion. The slightest error on our part might ruin everything, might grant new strength to an enemy who is still not completely quashed, and who as I speak is preparing to fight to the last; an error might spell the collapse of our entire expedition. Do you want to see our comrades scattered to the winds or made prisoners, tortured and killed, or sold like slaves into far off lands, deprived forever of the hope of returning home one day? Do you want our land to be invaded, our families annihilated, our homes burned by these implacable enemies? Don’t you realize that if Alexander falls, the known world will be thrown into tremendous turmoil? Is this what you want, Eumenes of Cardia? Is this what you all want? I had no choice but to strike without hesitation, suppressing all scruples, all emotion, all . . . mercy.’

His eyes burned with tears as he spoke, his voice cracked with the passions that lashed his soul and his Companions were aware of all this. They felt now the overwhelming force that in some way they had almost forgotten. It was as though Alexander’s breath had penetrated their breasts, as though his tears were running down their cheeks, as though his doubts and his anguish were troubling their souls.

The King looked straight into their eyes one by one, before saying, ‘And the worst is yet to be done.’

‘To kill Parmenion?’ Eumenes asked, his voice trembling.

Alexander nodded. ‘We have no way of knowing what he will do when he hears of Philotas’s death, but should he decide to avenge it, then we are all in trouble – he has all the money for our supplies, he controls the roads and all our contacts with Macedonia for the reinforcements we need constantly – he has it in his power to close the gate behind us and leave us to our destiny, or he might even ally with Bessus or someone else and wipe us out completely. Can we run this risk?’

‘Just one thing,’ said Craterus. ‘Do you believe that Parmenion knew of the conspiracy, or that he was involved in it? Philotas was his son – it is reasonable to assume that he might have informed him.’

‘I don’t believe so, but I have to bear the possibility in mind. I am the King and no one can help me in this – I stand alone while I take such terrible decisions. The only comfort for such anguish comes from friendship – without you, I do not know if I would find the strength, the will, the meaning of all this. Listen to me now – I have no wish to inflict upon you the burden of my remorse, a burden that I alone should bear, but if you think that all this is madness, if you think that I have gone beyond every reasonable limit, if you believe that what I am about to do is the action of a heinous tyrant, then kill me. Now. At your hands, death will not be so terrible for me. Then to take my place elect the best among you, for I have no children; strike some agreement with Parmenion and turn back home.’ He undid his breastplate and let it fall to the ground, leaving his chest unprotected.

Hephaestion was the first to speak. ‘I swore I would follow you to the farthest limit, and I meant this in every sense, even beyond the frontier that lies between good and evil.’ Then, turning to his companions, he said, ‘If anyone wishes to kill Alexander then he must kill me as well.’

Hephaestion undid his own breastplate and let it fall as he took up position alongside Alexander.

There were tears in all of their eyes and some of them hid their faces in their hands. At that moment Craterus remembered a far off day when they had travelled through a blizzard in an icebound pass in Illyria to join Alexander, just to let their exiled Prince know they would never abandon him for any reason in the world, and he called out, his voice hoarse, ‘Alexander’s troop!’

‘Present, Sire!’ they all replied.

E
UMOLPUS OF
S
OLOI
entered the old armoury of the Satrap’s Palace. At the sound of his footsteps the man who had been waiting there turned suddenly.

‘Who are you?’ the spy asked him. ‘And which division are you from?’

‘My name is Demetrius,’ replied the man. ‘Fifth division of the third battalion of assault troops.’

‘I have orders for you from the King,’ said Eumolpus, showing him a small tablet with the Argead star embossed on it. ‘Do you recognize this?’

‘It’s the royal seal.’

‘Indeed, and it is with this authority that the orders you are about to receive from me come directly from Alexander. This task is a difficult one and brings with it much responsibility, but we know that you are no stranger to such duties and you have always acted with great speed and precision.’

‘Who must I kill?’

Eumolpus looked him straight in the eye, ‘General Parmenion.’ The man’s reaction was barely perceptible – the slightest quaver of his eyelashes. Eumolpus continued, still watching him carefully, ‘The order is transmitted by word of mouth and only you know of it. No one, not even the King, knows that you have been chosen for this mission. You will have two completely trustworthy local guides and you will use dromedaries from Satibarzanes’ stables – the fastest and strongest animals hereabouts. You must reach him before news of Philotas’s death arrives in Ecbatana.’ He handed Demetrius a roll of papyrus, ‘This is the documentation with your credentials as royal messenger, but in order to gain access to Parmenion with a verbal message you must know the password used by the King and Parmenion.’