Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (36 page)

Being once again part of Alexander’s enterprise made them feel as though they had been sucked up in some vertiginous current, by an invincible and irresistible force. They felt that they were once again engaged in an incomparable adventure that no one else in the world would ever live through; no one except them had had the fortune of encountering such a man, assuming he was a man. Indeed, many of those who followed the army, used to seeing him from far away, shining in his silver breastplate alongside the red standard with the golden star, had now come to think of him as some superhuman being.

As soon as they reached the plain, they set off towards the capital of the region, a city by the name of Bactra, which stood at the centre of a verdant oasis where they would finally find refreshment. The city surrendered without a fight and Alexander confirmed the existing satrap, Artaozos, in his position. He was the one who welcomed the King to the place and informed him that Bessus had retreated, razing the earth in his wake.

‘He never imagined that you would reach us so quickly, that you would have crossed the mountains in a matter of days, overcoming snow and hunger. He wasn’t able to assemble a sufficiently large army to face you on the open field, so he has crossed the River Oxus, one of the largest of those that flow down from our mountains, and he is now in the midst of those cities which are his allies, and he has destroyed all the bridges behind him.’

On hearing this news the King decided not to waste any time and set off again on their march with the intention of crossing the river where he could. When they reached the banks, he called Diades, his chief engineer, and pointed to the other side, How long will it take you to build a bridge?’ he asked.

Diades took a javelin from one of the guards and drove it as deep as he could into the riverbed, but the flow immediately tilted it until it was almost lying flat on the water. ‘Sand!’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s just sand!’

‘What does that mean?’ asked the King.

‘It means that no supports will hold, just as the shaft of that javelin failed to hold.’ He looked around before speaking once again, ‘What’s more, there are not enough trees nearby.’

‘I will send men back to the mountains to cut fir trees.’

Diades shook his head, ‘Sire, you well know that nothing has ever stopped me, that there has never been any enterprise that I have ever felt was impossible, but this river is five stadia wide, its flow is very strong and its bed is pure sand. There are no supports that can hold and without supports there can be no bridge. I advise you to look for a ford.’

Oxhatres moved forward and in his uncertain Greek said, ‘No ford.’

Alexander started walking up and down the bank in silence, under the gaze of the entire army, as well as his puzzled Companions. Then his attention was drawn by the work of some peasants who were busy in the fields alongside the river. They were separating the straw from the chaff, making the most of the windy day as they threw it all up into the air with shovels and forks. The straw fell not far from them while the chaff, lighter as it was, fluttered in the wind and was carried to the edges of the threshing floor. It was beautiful to watch – a sort of golden vortex of thousands of shining golden strips fluttering in the air.

As the handsome young man approached them, the peasants stopped their work and looked at him keenly in wonder as he bent over to gather a handful of chaff.

He turned back towards Diades who in the meantime had stuck other poles into the riverbed, not far downstream and was watching them despondently as they were flattened by the current.

‘I have found a way,’ said Alexander.

A way of crossing? How?’ asked the engineer as he opened up his arms in disbelief.

The King raised his hand and let the chaff he was holding fall to the ground. ‘With this,’ he said.

‘With the chaff from the straw?’

‘Exactly. I’ve seen it done on the Ister. They fill cattle-skins with chaff, then they sew them up and put them in the water. The air trapped in the chaff will make these leather bags float for long enough to let us cross the river.’

‘But we don’t have enough skins for all our men,’ said the engineer.

‘No, but we have enough to build a walkway. We can use the skins from the tents . . . what do you think?’

Diades looked at him incredulously. ‘It’s an ingenious idea. We can grease them with tallow to make them more waterproof

A council of the Companions was called and everyone’s duties were specified: Hephaestion was to collect the chaff, Leonnatus to gather up all the skins normally used for the tents and to requisition those of the locals as well. The boards for the floors of the war engines were to be used for the walkway, and stones with ropes tied to them were to be the anchors.

The material was ready as evening fell and Alexander inspected the army, but when he found himself there before the veterans, exhausted after their long crossing of the mountains, he looked on them with compassion as though seeing them for the first time. Many were almost sixty years old. Others were even older and they all bore the signs of the ordeals they had been through – the battles, the wounds, the various hardships. He knew that they would follow him anyway, but he saw in their eyes their awe at the sight of that enormous river that they were attempting to cross with sacks of straw and beyond it the empty vastness of the desert plain.

So he called Craterus and ordered him to assemble all the veterans in front of his tent immediately after sunset because he wanted to dismiss them. Craterus obeyed, and when the old soldiers were all gathered at the centre of the camp, Alexander climbed up on to a podium and began speaking.

‘Veterans! You have served your King and your army with honour, overcoming every difficulty and every trial without ever sparing yourselves. You have conquered the greatest empire that has ever existed and you have now reached an age at which it is right that a man should enjoy the rest and privilege that he has earned in honourable combat. I free you of all your bonds and I send you back to your homes. You will each have two hundred silver staters as my personal gift and your salary will be paid until you reach Macedonia. Greet our homeland for me and live there happily for the rest of your days. You deserve this.’

He was quiet now, expecting an ovation, but instead there was only a buzz through the ranks, the noise of subdued chattering, then an elderly division commander stepped forward and said, ‘Why do you no longer want us, Sire?’

‘What is your name, Commander?’ Alexander asked.

‘My name is Antenor.’

‘Do you not want to see your family?’

‘I want to see them . . . yes, of course.’

And don’t you want to see your home once more and spend some time there eating and drinking and being looked after?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Then you may all leave now happily and let the youngsters who are about to join us take your places. You have done your job.’

The man did not move.

What else is there, Commander?’

‘I am thinking to myself that the first day will of course be wonderful – I will see my wife and my children, a few of my friends, our house. I will buy new clothes and plenty of food, but the day after that frightens me, Sire. Do you see what I mean?’

‘I understand, Commander. The day after that frightens everyone, myself included. This is precisely why I cannot bring myself to stop . . . ever. I must rush to reach it, to go beyond it.’

The veteran nodded even though he had not understood and said, ‘You’re right, Sire. You are young and we are old. It is time for us to return home. But at least—’

‘What?’

‘At least . . . may I embrace you for all of my companions?’

Alexander held him fast like an old friend and then the men broke out in an ovation because the veterans, from the first to the last, felt that the King was embracing them all and that he was much moved, and they all felt the tears come into their eyes.

That night Callisthenes wrote a long letter to his uncle Aristotle and gave it to one of the departing veterans who lived near Stagira. In payment he received a golden stater, the first one minted by Philip and bearing Alexander’s image, an Alexander who for Callisthenes no longer existed and who had not existed for some time now. The veterans left at dawn, saluting with all arms presented and great trumpet blasts as they moved off towards the west, following the line of the mountains in the direction of Zadracarta.

The echo of the drums that marked their march could still be heard when Diades set about assembling their bridge as quickly as possible and then, immediately afterwards, the crossing began: first the
hetairoi
on foot, leading their horses by the bridle, and then the infantry.

The entire contingent were on the other side by afternoon and the engineers continued to work until after nightfall to recover the material on the northern bank of the river. While the men were setting up the tents, Oxhatres and his horsemen carried out a far-reaching reconnaissance mission and then returned to Alexandria to report that they had found many horse tracks and that these must have come from the army accompanying Bessus the usurper.

The King immediately called a council of his Companions, Cleitus the Black and some battalion commanders who had performed particularly well during all their recent operations. He also admitted Oxhatres and some Persian cavalry officers and this was received very coolly by Cleitus and his commanders.

‘Our Persian friends have provided us with precious help,’ he began, ‘in putting us on our enemy’s trail. Now we know where Bessus is going and we know what must be done. We have to catch him now or we never will. Ptolemy will take command of the Vanguard, together with a squadron of
hetairoi
and two of light assault troops and he will give chase as rapidly as possible. Oxhatres will accompany you with his division.’ At this point Ptolemy gave a slight sign of irritation that Alexander did not fail to notice. Any objections, Ptolemy?’

‘None whatsoever,’ came his prompt reply.

‘So that is settled then. You will leave immediately. Your guides know the way even through the darkness.’

Ptolemy put on his helmet and left, followed by all the other members of the council. Only the Black remained.

‘Was it strictly necessary to send those barbarians with Ptolemy?’ he asked. ‘Haven’t we always managed on our own?’

Alexander looked firmly into his eyes. ‘Yes, it was necessary, and for two reasons, Black. The first is that they know these lands like no one else, the second is that they will soon be part of our army at the same level as our cavalry and infantry.’

Cleitus lowered his head as though having received some terrible blow. ‘You are making a terrible mistake, Alexander.’

‘Why?’

‘Because sooner or later you will have to choose us or them,’ and he left without saying goodbye. Not long after, Ptolemy’s trumpets sounded the signal for his army to fall in.

O
XHATRES IMMEDIATELY PROVED
to be indispensable. He sported Scythian leather trousers and a bodice of reinforced leather with metal plates, his bow and quiver over his shoulder and a long Hyrcanian sabre hanging by his side. He rode a horse typical of the steppes – small and with a long-haired coat, but very strong.

He made sure they all had torches, then he lit his own and stared into Ptolemy’s eyes with an eloquent expression, as though to say, ‘Let’s just see if you’re as tough as you make out you are.’ He then set off at a gallop, the flaming torch held on high to illuminate the path and to be as visible as possible to the troops following on behind. As they advanced, the tracks they were following appeared progressively fresh and evident, a sign that they were gaining ground.

Ptolemy noted that the Asian horsemen never stopped at all, even urinating while still astride their mounts. When he finally gave the order to stop, to give the animals some rest and a few hours’ sleep to the men, Oxhatres shook his head to manifest his disagreement, then he let himself fall forward on to his horse’s neck and dozed for a while, as did his Hyrcanian and Bactrian horsemen. The others had just settled on the ground, wrapped up in their cloaks, when the barbarian straightened his back once more and grabbed the bridle, saying, ‘It’s late, Bessus will not be expecting us now.’ He lit a second torch from the smoking remains of his first and set off at a gallop, followed by his men. He came to a halt just before dawn, dismounted, gathered up some horse dung and showed it to Ptolemy. ‘It’s fresh . . . we’ll have them tomorrow.’

‘If we haven’t died of exhaustion before then,’ replied one of the officers of the Vanguard.

Ptolemy, who did not wish to appear any less valiant, shouted, ‘To your horses, men! Show them what you’re made of!’

Pride and self-respect were enough to awaken some residue of energy in the tired horsemen’s limbs, but Ptolemy noted that some of them were bleeding from wounds on the inside of their thighs.

‘Perhaps you understand now why they wear trousers? Let’s move, let’s go now!’

The sun rose shortly afterwards and in its clear light their shadows lengthened along the completely deserted steppes of the plain. All the colours of this apparently godforsaken land were called up out of the darkness and at that moment of pure peace and quiet, the landscape was truly lovely. There were the small yellow flowers of the wild daisies, tufts of purple thistles and occasional silver-coloured bushes that shone like jewels on the ochre of the sandy earth. At a certain point they met a long caravan of gigantic camels – hairy and with two humps and called ‘Bactrians’ – filling the morning silence with strange, mournful bellows.