God of War: The Epic Story of Alexander the Great (63 page)

Thaïs looked tired and stressed.

Just north of us, the Persians were gathering an army. Arsites was a capable commander, and he had a good name, and the Phrygians rallied to him in good numbers. Thaïs thought he had thirty-five thousand men, and Parmenio, with lower estimates, still thought he had twenty-five thousand real troops and another four thousand useless levies.

We were apprehensive. There were rumours that the Persian fleet was at sea, and since the Great King had just reconquered Aegypt and had absolute control of Tyre and Cyprus, too, we expected that he could put three hundred and fifty triremes on the water to our hundred and sixty. And his would have better mariners, or better than all but the contingent from Athens.

Worse, the money situation was so acute that we had a hard time buying provisions even with the willing help of the people of Priapus. We were down to ten talents of gold.

Parmenio was suspiciously willing to support the king.

Alexander had one simple answer – we were going to go along the coast by quick marches and force the satrap to battle and pay the troops and the campaign with the spoils of his camp.

It was becoming plain that all the Persians had to do to defeat us was refuse the battle.

What was worse, it began to look to me as if Parmenio was pushing the king to commit to whatever battle was offered. I didn’t like the way it was discussed in the headquarters tent, or the undertone of satisfaction to their predictions of doom.

And at the public officers’ meetings, to which Alexander was now always invited, Parmenio deferred to the king in everything, allowing him to make the operational decisions and encouraging his wildest flights of fancy. We were meeting on the portico of the Temple of Athena in Priapus when Alexander, looking at a dozen Phrygian cavalry just captured by his Thracians, commented that if these were the vaunted Asians, he could probably rout them with just his bodyguard.

Parmenio nodded. ‘Lord, you and your friends are all that will be needed – one gallant charge – like Achilles on the plains of Ilium. Scatter the Medes and win undying glory.’

Alexander flushed, laughed and tried not to look pleased by the apparent praise.

I wondered if Parmenio was contemplating using the Persians as a weapon to murder the king.

SIXTEEN

A
rsites chose to await us at the Granicus river.

It was like a miracle from the gods. We needed a battle. If the Persians had retreated and refused battle – well, I assume that Alexander would have done
something
. Or perhaps not – perhaps the gods took a hand, and Arsites, like some actor in a tragedy, had no choice but to stand and fight.

On the other hand, Alexander, for all his flights of fancy, understood the moral vector of war far better than Parmenio. Arsites was the satrap, and Alexander was marching about Asia in his leopard skin, taking cities and threatening to be taken seriously, and that embarrassed the satrap. He wanted to beat Alexander to win glory with the King of Kings. If you look at it, you can see wheels within wheels – our wheels of intrigue, their wheels of intrigue. The gods must laugh.

Their army was considerably smaller than ours, but Arsites had some superb cavalry – easily as good as ours, as you will hear. And he had Memnon – probably the best soldier in Asia, and many men alive today say he was the equal of Alexander in brilliance. Luckily for us, Arsites hated Memnon and ignored his advice.

We had problems of our own.

We got a late start out of Priapus – because Philotas bickered with Amyntas about the dispositions of the scouts. Six hours after marching out of Priapus, near the end of the marching day, late afternoon and the summer sun boiling us in our breastplates and helmets. I was virtually asleep, letting my new mare pick her way.

Suddenly there was a disturbance at the head of the column. Paeonian cavalry scouts galloped up, and their dust moved slowly across us after they drew rein. They were so close to me that I could hear them report that the Persian army was on the move and would probably beat us to the Granicus. The elder of the two reported in bad Greek that the ground was favourable to the Persians, with a ridge dominating the river ford. They reported to Amyntas (who in my book should have been as far forward as his courage allowed) and Philotas together.

I listened with mounting fury as Philotas reacted carefully, after a long conversation with Amyntas about the dispositions of the scouts. They lost minute after minute.

Alexander was too far to the rear in the column, and the column was too narrow and too long for him to come up. I wasn’t even sure he knew what was happening. He was with the main body of the cavalry – well back from the advance guard. Simply by the luck of rotation, I was at the front with the squadron assigned to provide an armoured fist to support the light-armed scouts.

It was like physical pain, listening to the cautious ‘professionals’ debate how to move up the narrow road and where to place the army. In short, Philotas conceded immediately that Arsites would gain the Granicus river line, and began to send Amyntas’s scouts to the right and left, looking for ground on which we could camp.

I knew exactly what Alexander would do – what I would do. I wanted to lunge for the river and beat Arsites there. I hadn’t seen the crossing, but it was not high water at any of the other streams we’d crossed – and I assumed that we would be able either to get there first, or fight our way across in the face of their vanguard before their main army came up.

Before you consider mocking me – keep in mind that our sense of superiority
was
our main weapon. Still is.

And Philotas and Amyntas were frittering it away.

I turned to Polystratus after fifteen minutes. ‘Get Alexander,’ I said. ‘Tell him he is needed here.’

Polystratus nodded, dismounted and ran off down the column. He was smart – a man can run where a horse cannot walk.

And then I sat and fumed. My nerves were transmitted to my horse, who became skittish and started nipping the other horses. I wasn’t on Poseidon – I was on Penelope, my new riding mare, and she had a temper as bad as Medea’s, and Polystratus said she should have been called Medusa. Ajax was home on my farms, helping to make little horses.

Philotas turned and glared at me. ‘Can’t control your horse, Ptolemy?’ he asked.

‘Like me, she’s eager to be moving forward,’ I said. See – not so bad. A
gentle
comment.

His face grew red. ‘You’re as bad as the king,’ he shot back. ‘You cannot charge everything. Stopping to think is an important part of warfare. Arsites already has the good ground.’

I shrugged. I may have made a derisive noise.

Philotas was turning away, and now he whirled back, pulling his horse by the bit in a rather brutish manner. ‘What was that, sir?’ he asked.

I shrugged again. ‘Whatever you like. My horse may have farted.’

The men around me chuckled. The men around Philotas grew as red as he.

‘If you have a comment to make, make it,’ he said.

‘Very well, since you invite it,’ I answered. ‘If Arsites is moving forward – let’s beat him to the good ground. If we lose the race – let’s take it from him.’ I looked around. ‘That’s what we call the “Macedonian Way”.’

I got approving grunts and a lot of nods.

Philotas was so red I was wondering if he’d turn purple.

Amyntas spat. ‘That’s why you puppies can’t be trusted to command,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ I nodded, ‘I’m not very good at caution,’ I said. And after a two-beat pause, I said, ‘But I’m quite good at fighting. So I don’t bother much with caution.’

‘One more word and I will send you to the rear,’ Philotas spat.

Polystratus appeared at my knee. ‘He’s right behind me,’ he said.

So I held my tongue.

Alexander came up with Parmenio at his elbow – but only because of the press on the road, not because they were together.

‘What’s going on here?’ Parmenio demanded.

‘Ptolemy is an insolent puppy,’ Philotas said.

‘Not pertinent to the tactical problem,’ I said. ‘Philotas is a cautious old woman who is sacrificing our needs to his pride.’

Parmenio glared at me.

‘Arsites is moving up to the Granicus river,’ Amyntas put in. ‘We’re seeing to our dispositions and looking for a campsite.’

‘We could beat him to the river,’ I put in. Yes – I was a very junior officer. But I was also an important nobleman and one of the king’s friends. In Macedon, that made me the equal of any man there. ‘Either we win the race and get some Hetaeroi across, or we lose the race and we punch across and take the high ground.’

Parmenio frowned. ‘What high ground?’

Philotas shrugged.

Amyntas pointed at the two scouts. ‘They say there’s a steep ridge behind the ford, with a broad top.’

In fact, they’d said that and I’d heard it, but as I suspected, Philotas had missed it.

Alexander got that look – the look that said he was thinking it out. ‘How high is the ridge?’

‘Have you seen it for yourself?’ Parmenio demanded.

‘No, they’ve sat here talking about it,’ I said.

Philotas gave me a look of pure hate.

Alexander looked around. ‘Give me the Paeonians, Ptolemy’s squadron and . . . the Thracians. I’ll see what can be done.’

Parmenio shook his head. ‘No . . .’ he began. And then he froze. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Philotas looked as if he was going to choke.

Parmenio managed a small smile. ‘At your command, lord.’

‘Send me every armoured cavalryman from the main body,’ Alexander said. While he was talking, I changed to Poseidon. Alexander looked around and grinned. ‘Right – forward.’

And we were off.

It was quite late – and Philotas had wasted at least a quarter of an hour dithering. Now we pelted down the road with a few hundred cavalrymen. Immediately – in the way of men everywhere – I began to question my own intentions. Parmenio’s about-face was suspicious. Was he realising who was in command? Or just betting that we’d go and get killed?

Too late to worry.

We headed almost due south along the coast, and the plain was opening before us. In the distance, less than twenty-five stades away to the south, we could see a great lake spread in rippling fire from the setting sun, and to the north lay the Propontis, the great inland sea between the Euxine and the Mediterranean.

As we came down a low ridge, I could see the Persians moving along the road to the east – and they were already leaving the road and expanding into a battle line, and doing it pretty well, I thought. I could see six . . . seven . . . eight cavalry regiments, their spear-points flickering like flame. Sixteen thousand cavalry – maybe more.

But their attempt to fan out from the road was slowed by ploughed fields. And while I could see horsemen along the river, there weren’t so many.

Just behind their cavalry was a phalanx. It didn’t look any smaller than ours, and it was already in formation.

Five stades away.

It was pretty clear to me that our three hundred cavalry, however bold, were too little and too late. Too late by about fifteen minutes.

The ridge the Thracians had described was lower – much lower – than I had imagined. But I could see that determined infantry atop that ridge would close the road, and that the lake to the south would cover the flank of the Persian army, meaning that their thirty thousand men would fill the field from the sea to the lake.

And if I could see it, Alexander was doubtless ahead of me.

He turned – he was ahead – and waved to me. ‘I need your Polystratus,’ he said.

I brought all my grooms forward.

Alexander reined in, snapped his fingers and a groom came up with Bucephalus. While he changed horses, he issued orders to Polystratus.

‘Straight back – find Parmenion. Tell him to march the phalanx to the right by sections – along the line of hills and around the lake to the south. Use the hills to screen the march. I’ll buy us some time at the ford and fix their attention there. And tell him to send me all the Hetaeroi.’

Polystratus nodded. ‘All the Hetaeroi to you, phalanx to the right, screened by
those
hills and around the lake.’ He raised an eyebrow.

I read his mind. ‘That’s forty stades, lord. They won’t make it before darkness falls.’

Alexander bobbed his head. He was up on Bucephalus, and his cheeks were bright crimson with anticipation, and Hephaestion was holding out his magnificent golden helmet.

‘If this works, they won’t be necessary, and if this doesn’t work, we fight tomorrow,’ he said. His eyes were fixed on the ford, now just three stades away.

The second and third squadrons of the Hetaeroi were coming up. Nearchus saluted. ‘Philotas is ten minutes behind me, lord,’ he said to Alexander. ‘He’s pushing the rest of the Hetaeroi up the column.’

Alexander nodded. ‘I won’t wait. Wedge!’

We formed behind the king – he insisted on being at the point of the wedge – and after all, he was King of Macedon. I fell into place behind him – with Black Cleitus on his right rear and me on his left rear.