Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (42 page)

As soon as the narrow passage opened up into a stepped and undulating plain, Craterus lined them all up in five rows of six hundred men and shouted to them, ‘I will not stop until we have captured these barbarians and cut them to pieces. Follow me, men, and remember what they have done to your comrades!’

The enemy’s tracks were fresh and clearly visible and the squadrons were even able to maintain their formations. They set off at a gallop in a cloud of dust, rushing down into a steppe-like hollow and rising up the long slope on the other side until they came to a rise that hid another hollow from view. Koinos was among the first to reach the top, together with Craterus, and down below them they saw the enemy cavalry at a distance of less than three stadia, moving forwards at a walk and completely oblivious of the danger they were in.

‘It’s them!’ shouted Craterus. ‘Trumpets! Charge! Don’t stop, men! Annihilate them! Tear them to pieces! Forward! Forward!’

The signal to attack was repeated several times and the cavalry set off down the slope like an avalanche. The earth shook, the air was rent by the bronze cry of the trumpets, by the fury of the attack. Spitamenes, who was leading an army made up of Bactrians and Massagetae Scythians, was taken by surprise and gave orders for his men to turn and face the enemy, but the manoeuvre succeeded only partially because the Macedonians were now on top of them with their spears lowered. They fell in hundreds in the first clash -thrown this way and that, dashed to the ground and trampled under the horses’ hooves. The centre was completely overwhelmed and dispersed, the wings put up some resistance and sought to effect a series of diversionary manoeuvres, but Craterus did not bite. He called his men back, regrouped and led them once again in a second massive, frontal attack. In less than an hour Spitamenes’ remaining troops were completely wiped out. The satrap barely managed to save himself together with a few hundred Massagetae Scythians, all of them fleeing into the desert.

Craterus took his men back to put their fallen soldiers to rest, but before the funerals he called Koinos to one side and said, ‘Do you know who our opponents are?’

‘Scythians.’

‘Massagetae, the tribe which two hundred years ago defeated and killed Cyrus the Great. I want you to spread sheer terror through their ranks, make sure they never dare attack us again . . . never again. Understand?’

‘I understand,’ replied Koinos, and then he added, ‘Send me the ballistae, all you have, and a division of Agrianians.’

Craterus nodded and took his
hetairoi
back to the camp, the site of the massacre, which the infantry had already reached. The soldiers had laid down their arms and were now gathering up the dead, recomposing the mutilated bodies as best they could and carrying them with tears in their eyes to the edge of the field, where others were cutting down trees and building funeral pyres.

Koinos waited for the arrival of the ballistae and then had the Agrianians decapitate the bodies of all the Massagetae Scythians they could find. Then he went to the border of their land, marked by the river Artakoenes and watched over by patrols of their cavalry who rode up and down the opposite bank. He loaded the ballistae and fired the severed heads in clumps across to the other side, sending them rolling across the ground so that they ended up under the horses’ hooves. Then he made an about turn to join up once again with the rest of the army. They marched towards Bactra and along the way received the surrender of all the villages that had participated in Spitamenes’ rebellion.

*

In the meantime the part of the army that had fought with Alexander had been quartered for some time at Samarkand and from there the Persian officers were recruiting as many young men from Bactriana and from Sogdiana as they could for the royal army, which was now very different from the one that had set off from Pella seven years before. This also left the enemy with ever dwindling human resources to help fuel its resistance against Alexander.

The fact remained that the successes of the expedition had been limited and this somewhat damaged the King’s prestige, so that more than a few of his companions had sought to dissuade him from pursuing his strategy. Alexander for his part tried to make them all forget the precise nature of the situation they were in by throwing parties and banquets in which the Persian officers also took part and this once again created tension among the Macedonians and among his friends. Many of them now disliked Hephaestion because he seemed to appreciate Persian customs every bit as much as the King did and he often dressed in the oriental manner.

Many delegations came to negotiate, including the leader of a Scythian tribe who lived on the other side of the Oxus. On these occasions the King had the Persian protocol applied to everyone, including the ‘prostration ritual, and he often received guests while wearing a

kandys
or even a tiara. This simply exacerbated the discontent.

From Greece and Anatolia came philosophers, seers, rhetoricians, poets and actors, all of them attracted by the King’s fame and the news of his achievements, not to mention the rumours circulating regarding the limitless riches his army had expropriated. They all hoped they might be able to grab a little of that immense fortune, or at least be introduced to the young conqueror. Alexander received them and admitted them to the banquets. He liked to think that in this way a part of Greece was being transplanted to these remote regions; also he had a natural inclination for philosophical conversations and rhetorical disputes. All they had in mind, however, was to ingratiate themselves with the King and so they quite simply fawned over him in every possible way, often cunningly, so that it was not blatantly obvious what they were up to. This too irritated those Macedonians who were used to a relationship of rough camaraderie with their King where the only formal element was the kiss on the cheek reserved for those most intimate.

One day a man arrived with a load of dried fruit and nuts to offer the King. He had come directly from Greece with figs, almonds and walnuts. Alexander tasted the offerings and they seemed so good that he thought he would offer some of them to Cleitus the Black as a sign of friendship, following the numerous clashes they had had over protocol and his determination to introduce Persians and Asians not only into the court, but into the army as well. Indeed, some of these arguments had been quite heated.

The Black, despite his irascible and rather haughty character, was actually deeply religious and he was offering some sheep in sacrifice to the gods when the messenger arrived with the summons from the King. He left the sacrifice half-finished and followed the orderly, without realizing that a couple of sheep in their turn were following him.

When he reached the courtyard of the palace with his woolly entourage, Alexander started laughing: ‘Black!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have you taken up shepherding now?’ But when he learned that the animals were destined to be sacrificed he was troubled. He gave Black the gift of the fruit and nuts and as soon as he had left, he called Aristander and told him what had happened. The seer’s face darkened. ‘This is a bad sign,’ he replied. ‘It is a bad portent.’

That same night, perhaps influenced by the words of his seer, Alexander dreamed of Cleitus, dressed in black from head to toe, sitting alongside Parmenion’s three sons, all of them dead. He woke up gripped by a most profound anxiety and did not dare recount the dream to Aristander. He chose instead to throw a party that very evening to chase away the deep sense of anguish that was crushing him. Despite their frequent clashes, he was deeply fond of Cleitus, the man whose sister had breastfed Alexander; in Macedonian tradition this fact created a very strong bond, almost a blood tie.

That same evening Perdiccas was nominated master of the symposium, and he decreed immediately that there were to be two craters – one for the Macedonians with straight wine and another for the Greeks with one part wine and four parts water. This decision in itself was enough to generate some dissatisfaction, and Alexander was somewhat disgruntled because the Persian guests were not even mentioned.

Among the Greeks, as well as Callisthenes, there was a philosopher by the name of Anaxarchus, a man who had arrived recently and who, despite being presumptuous and arrogant, was actually extremely able; he had also brought along with him two poets and they immediately set to drinking and stuffing their faces with food. The party had proceeded well with jokes, comments, and lewd stories, all this with the contribution of some women who were no less daring than any of the men. They had all started drinking too much and it was not long before everyone, especially the Macedonians and including the King, was merry.

At that stage one of the two poets who was with the philosopher, a man by the name of Pranikos, exclaimed, ‘I have composed a small epic poem! Would anyone care to hear it?’

Alexander laughed, ‘Why not?’

Encouraged by the King’s approval, the poet began declaiming his masterpiece, soon provoking much laughter from his friends, but the Macedonians, as soon as they realized what the topic was, suddenly went quiet, even though they were all drunk, because they simply could not believe their ears. This pathetic poet was declaiming some sort of stupid satire on the commanders of the garrison at Bactra who fell in Spitamenes’ ambush during the spring campaign, making fun above all things of their age:

The Black stood up and threw his cup of wine in the poet’s face, shouting, ‘That’s enough, you disgusting Greek shithead!’

Alexander was drunk and half naked as he sat between two female ‘companions’ who were doing all they could to keep him amused, and he had understood nothing of what he had seen take place before him, but simply that the Black had insulted his Greek guest, and so he shouted, ‘How dare you! Apologize to him and let him continue! I like poetry.’

Cleitus, already very much under the influence of the wine, on hearing those words went completely out of his mind with rage. ‘You short-legged, presumptuous, arrogant little boy! How dare you allow this shit of a Greek to fart over the memory of two valiant officers who gave their blood on the battlefield?’

‘What did you say?’ shouted Alexander, realizing the full enormity of the insult.

‘You heard what I said! Who do you think you are? Do you really think you are the son of Zeus Ammon? Do you believe in the nonsense that freak your mother spreads around about your divine birth and all that claptrap? Just look at yourself! Look at the state you’re in, dressed like a woman, with all that embroidery and all that lace!’ He pointed at the Persian clothes the King had been wearing until the two girls had started undressing him.

Alexander stood up pale with rage and gave orders to his attendant: ‘Sound the call for the shieldsmen! Sound it now I tell you!’

This was an extreme gesture that Macedonian Kings made only when their person was under direct threat, and as soon as the shieldsmen burst into the room they would immediately kill the guilty party; for this reason the attendant hesitated in astonishment at the command. Alexander punched the attendant in the face and as the man fell to the ground he called out with all the breath he could muster, ‘Shieldsmen! Come here!’

‘Yes!’ shouted Cleitus in his rage. ‘Call the shieldsmen! Call them right now! Do you want to know the truth? You are nothing without us . . . nothing! We have won your battles, we have fought, we have conquered. You’re not even worth one iota of Philip, your father!’

Ptolemy, alarmed at the way the argument was developing, grabbed Cleitus by the shoulders and tried to drag him out. ‘Black, stop it now, you’re drunk, don’t offend the King! Come on now, come away!’

Perdiccas helped him as well and they had almost managed to drag him outside, but Cleitus got an arm free and started shouting, waving his hand in the air. ‘Ha! Son of Zeus! See this hand? See it? This is what saved you at the Granicus . . . had you forgotten about that?’ He gave another powerful twist and pulled free, turning back, still shouting and insulting Alexander.

Alexander took an apple from the table and threw it at his head to drive him backwards, but Cleitus dodged it and came forwards, taunting the King even more. Blind with fury, outraged by the disobedience of his attendant, and ridiculed before his guests, the King went wild: he grabbed a
sarissa
from one of the
pezhetairoi
standing behind him and threw it at Cleitus, never imagining that it would find its mark, wanting only to give him a fright, a lesson . . . it was an interminable instant, it seemed to last a lifetime, that moment in which the hand that had thrown the weapon, still extended, wanted to grab it back to stop it from reaching its target, and wanted the Black to save himself. But none of this happened – at this precise moment the Black was being held fast again by Ptolemy in an effort to save him from the King’s wrath and drag him outside. The
sarissa
caught him in full, its iron head passing straight through his body.

Alexander cried out, ‘No! Black, no! No!’ and he ran towards his friend who lay vomiting blood on the pavement. He pulled the spear from his Companion’s body, propped the shaft up on the wall and tried now to throw himself on its head. Seleucus and Ptolemy caught him just in time, and as he writhed like a man possessed, he shouted through his tears, ‘Let me go! Let me go! I don’t deserve to live!’