Текст книги "God of War -The Story of Alexander the Great"

Автор книги: Christian Cameron

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But after that, it went like a play. Strakos pounded his spear-butt against a low postern gate – and it opened.

He grinned at me. ‘And it didn’t cost an obol!’ he said, and that was that.

By the gods, that one was sweet. There is a special feeling when you take a great risk and pull it off. I sent a message to Kineas to send me a garrison – by land – and waited to see who would reach me first – Memnon or Kineas. I sent Strako to Thaïs with the same message and a note of thanks for a job well done.

Perhaps Memnon was too busy taking Mytilene, or perhaps he made an error, or maybe, just maybe, Thaïs’s precious agent and his false information about the size of my garrison kept him at home.

However it worked out, I took Knidos with no loss, and ten days later I left Kineas there with his Athenians and four hundred mercenaries.

We heard – from the captured garrison – that the king was in Pamphylia. Whatever the truth of it, he wasn’t communicating with me or with Ada, and he moved so fast that Thaïs didn’t know where he was.

I got quite a nice note of congratulations over the mountains from Parmenio. It was as flattering as the source was unexpected. He wrote from Sardis, praised my energy, diligence and success, and asked me to bring my part of the army to a rendezvous at Gordia in the late spring. The letter informed me that the married men and new recruits under Coenus would meet us there, and the king, as well.

That left me with only the three island forts to deal with.

The problem was that each fort occupied the entirety of its island, and I couldn’t lay siege without a fleet. So I once again hired naval architects – this time with input from Helios and other men to make sure I wasn’t cozened – and I started to build a quinquereme and three triremes – at Queen Ada’s expense. Caria had once been a naval power, and she fancied the idea. Helios felt that this was the smallest squadron that would give us a chance. And we built a mole under the walls of the city – a fortified mole with engine towers, to cover our ships. And to bombard the nearest island, less than a stade off the coast.

Spring burst into flower, and my mole brought my ten engines in range. Over the water, on Lesbos, Mytilene was still holding out, which gave us hope, and Mythymna promised to rebel against Memnon when we gave the word. I suspected that now that the sailing weather was here, as soon as Mytilene fell Memnon would come and try to take Halicarnassus back. And he would, too – but I might hold him long enough for Alexander or Parmenio to swoop down on him. I dreamed of such a victory.

Just after the Athenian spring feast of Demeter, Mytilene fell after a heroic resistance. These days, when men speak of the ease of Alexander’s conquest of Ionia, I want to spit. Men died – good men – fighting for Alexander or just fighting for their own beliefs and freedoms. Mytilene helped us almost as much as victory at Granicus.

A week later, Memnon had seized Miletus, too, and all the other port cities in Ionia and Aetolia hurried to surrender to him.

In three weeks, all our gains of two years were reversed. Memnon had cut Alexander off from mainland Greece, and the rumour that Thaïs’s agents had was that he was going to use Mytilene as a springboard to go to the island of Euboea off the coast of Boeotia, near Thebes, where the population would welcome him as a liberator from Macedonian oppression.

It wasn’t a ‘brilliant’ plan. It was merely an excellent plan that he’d worked out carefully, and he had the money, the logistics and the fleet to make it work.

Antipater had a powerful army, and Macedon had a fleet in the Dardanelles. And Athens, bless them, wavered – they had three hundred triremes in the water, thanks to Lycurgus, and Demosthenes was demanding that his city join Memnon every day.

We were one bold stroke from ruin.

I saw no reason to stop what I was doing, so I sent a message to Parmenio telling him that I would come to the rendezvous at Gordia when I’d finished the task set me. Then I sat in my chair in the warm spring sun and watched my ten-talent engines chip away at the nearest island’s walls.

I had to pretend I had all the time in the world. It really was the most leisurely siege ever – the defenders were sure they’d be relieved, or even become the attackers, in just a few weeks – they had abundant supplies, and I had no fleet. I, on the other hand, had an inexhaustible supply of stones and ten heavy engines and a proper platform for them.

I turned their walls to rubble, and then I went to work on their inner works – or rather, Helios did. We spent forty days pounding their walls, and by the end of it, my artillerists were probably the best shots in the world, and I needed new machines – I’d worn even the crossbars to flinders.

That night, with blackened faces, my companions and I stormed the farthestisland – the one out of range of my machines, the one whose garrison hadn’t had a scratch. They had no idea I had four ships, no idea that I could reach them. Helios had built high ladders on to the triremes – and lashed two of them together. We ran them in under the island’s cliffs and ran up the ladders straight to the top while the sentries tried to figure out what was happening. One sentry – a gifted fighter – killed the first three men on to the wall.

Kineas put him down with a thrown javelin.

And then we were in, and the butchery began.

I thought that perhaps, after the shock of that, the other two islands would surrender, but they did not, and now I had wasted my surprise. Or – not precisely wasted. I could now bombard both islands. I tried a daytime maritime assault on the nearest, and lost fifty men and got an arrow in my behind as a memory. That hurt, and I had scant sympathy from Thaïs. I lay there for five days, feeling like a fool, and Thaïs came and went, and mocked me gently when she had time.

It was growing hot, and the ground was dry. The campaign season was opening, and I had lots to worry about.

Thaïs came in – I remember this vividly. She was skipping like a girl, and she beamed as she took my hands.

‘Memnon is dead,’ she said.

I was speechless, and she laughed.

It took me a moment to realise what she wasn’t saying.

‘You killed him?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘I tried to. I assume that I succeeded.’

I sat there with my arse hurting and shook my head. ‘Brilliant. Don’t ever let Alexander suspect.’

She looked at me with the pity that women use on men who state the obvious.

Memnon died north of Mytilene, of a curious stomach complaint that came on suddenly. The nut of the Strychos, ground fine. It comes from India, and Aristotle taught us about it. Thaïs had her own sources, of course.

Over the next weeks, as Helios cast bronze parts for new torsion engines, as his smiths pounded iron to make new frame supports and as trains of oxen brought timber for new frames from the mountains, we watched Memnon’s plan shatter. There was no successor to his office as the Great King’s strategos. There was no man who could hold his plan, or his army, or the fleet, together.

His death changed everything.

And still the two islands wouldn’t surrender.

Memnon’s death rendered my presence in Halicarnassus somewhat unnecessary. Now there was no threat from the sea. Now there would be no relief of the garrisons. In effect, I had won, or rather, Thaïs had. Game over. No further need even to hold Caria, really. No threat to Macedon.

At the end of the planting season, we heard from Thaïs’s people that Coenus was marching the new recruits and married men by rapid stages across Thrace. And we heard that Charidemus – another Athenian-born professional – had advised the Great King to send him to Ionia to carry out the invasion of Greece. According to our source – a damned good source – Charidemus dug his grave with the truth, telling Darius that he didn’t have the troops to face Alexander in the field and shouldn’t try, but should leave the fighting to Greeks, who could bear the brunt of it.

He was a brilliant fighter, or so men said. I heard he was a good general. Whatever the truth of it, Darius had him executed and started raising an army, and the last of the Persian fleet across from us at Chios broke up and sailed away, and the two garrisons asked to meet me in an hour when we shot news of his execution into their positions.

Both garrison commanders were Athenians. Most of the best mercenaries were Athenians or Spartans, and the latter were as good or better. I gave them wine and told them what I knew.

Isokles and Plataeus, they were. Older men, almost Parmenio’s age. Plataeus was a true believer – one of Phokion’s men. He hated us, and all our ways. But he hated serving Persia, too. I knew all this from Thaïs.

I talked to them for an hour, and they surrendered their islands and I let them keep everything – their loot, their pay, their armour and weapons. Isokles joined me. Plataeus sailed away for Athens.

Pharnabazus, the last Persian friend of Memnon’s still trying to do any work, threw a major garrison into Mytilene, and ordered all the mercenaries and citizens captured there in arms to be used as forced labour rebuilding the walls. I suppose it was better than executing them, as Alexander did, but not much better. Thaïs got her agents in among them, and recruited a dozen to report to us on what was happening in Mytilene. Most of them were ignorant men, but one was literate and so gifted at spying that by the time the last garrison surrendered after the summer feast of Demeter, he himself was running a dozen other agents and had refused to be ‘rescued’. He remained in place until the city fell to us later, leading the life of a slave, leading teams of saboteurs, scouting for weak points.

I wouldn’t mention it, but that’s your friend Philokles. I never met him, until we fought along the Jaxartes river. But I’m sure it was him. It was a huge war, and yet it seemed like a very small world, and it still does. And the irony of it – Philokles hated Alexander, but he loved liberty, and he loved both Mythymna and Mytilene. And a woman, or so I’m told. It’s his story. Ask him.

At any rate, with Memnon went his intelligence-collection apparatus. We never lost another agent. Now we had the better information, and the networks in place to get the earliest reports of changes in policy. It was clear that Darius meant business. He was raising an army. He was levying troops, and raising rebellions where he could.

I sent Kineas to Parmenio with his Athenians and the promise that I would march in three weeks, when Caria was secure. Then I moved fast, south, clearing the coast road as far as Kallipolis. I gave Queen Ada the keys to her own capital, and left it . . . well, better than I might have. She was a bitter woman. But returning to her earlier armour of doubt, and probably healthier for it.

On my march north, I collected Thaïs and all my baggage, and all my men. I had been king in all but name for almost a year. I think I did pretty well. I certainly enjoyed it.

It was a happy time.

I found, as I marched north, that I hadn’t really thought of Alexander in a year.

TWENTY

When I rode into Gordia, I found something more – and less – than an army camp. Gordia in high summer is a nasty place, where waves of gritty dust roll on the slightest breeze and the sun pounds down like a white-hot aspis held a few arm’s lengths from your face. There’s not enough water and not enough greenery and everyone smells.

I had four thousand men behind me on the bad roads, strung out over fifty stades. My cavalry was at the rear, preserving their horses. I had plundered Caria for horses – with Queen Ada’s willing support – and my Hetaeroi had two or even three chargers apiece – and I meant to keep it that way.

The army camp was vast, reaching across the rolling valley to the north and west. At a glance I thought there were more than thirty thousand men in the valley.

And then there was the other camp.

I rode along the edge of it with the taste of grit in my mouth. There were more than two hundred great pavilions, towering edifices of canvas and silk.

Thaïs sneered. She had a very pretty sneer. She was dressed as a man and riding at my side, our preferred method of travel. With a scarf over her hat, she was invisible to most men. These days, she sometimes led her Angeloi in person, dressed this way.

‘Look at them,’ she said.

Theywere a new breed of courtiers, a breed of vermin never before seen in a Macedonian army camp. Artists, musicians, actors, prostitutes, politicians from twenty rival cities and every faction in Greece and some in Asia.

Thaïs shook her head. ‘Alexander must be winning,’ she said. ‘These vultures are usually in the Great King’s camp.’

I found Parmenio at the north end of the town, under the great ridge that rose above it. He was standing in the middle of a dozen Macedonian officers, watching two female slaves fight. They’d torn off most of their clothing and they were hard at it in the dust, and they both meant business.

To the Macedonian mind, this is about the highest form of entertainment.

I slid from Poseidon’s back and hobbled over to the old man. I’d been in the saddle for twenty days and I wanted wine, bread and oil, in that order. A massage. A bed with Thaïs in it, if she was clean.

Heh. Anyway, I got to Parmenio, and he turned at my approach and surprised me by throwing his arms around me.

‘There’s a proper Macedonian,’ he said.

Apparently we were few enough on the ground that we all loved each other. I filed that away.

‘Coenus has a letter for you from Antipater, and another from your factor.’ Parmenio held me at arm’s length. ‘Well done with Queen Ada, lad – brilliant campaign. When we heard that Memnon was landing troops, we wrote you off!’

I grinned. Praise is praise, and he was the greatest strategos of our day, for all that I thought he wanted to be rid of the king.

We even embraced.

‘I think all the troops I have are yours,’ I said. ‘I didn’t lose many and I picked up about eleven hundred. They’ll need a place to camp.’

‘So how many?’ Parmenio asked.

‘Five thousand foot, and five hundred cavalry. You already have Kineas back, eh?’ I said, looking around for him.

Parmenio flashed a grim smile. ‘There’s a good soldier. A little too Greek for my tastes, but a damn fine officer.’

Philotas shook his head. ‘Fucking Athenians think they’re better than us. All of them.’

I wondered what was going on in Thaïs’s head. She was standing right behind me.

‘I’ll assign you a campground. I’m delighted to have my mercenary infantry back. What did you think of them?’

I nodded. ‘First class, really. As good as the pezhetaeroi, in most cases. There’s a new officer – Isokles. I had him from Memnon. He’s Athenian, and a damn sight better than that clown Casides you left me with.’

‘Casides is a Spartan!’ Philotas said.

‘I doubt it, and if he really is, he’s from the bad side of Sparta.’ I made them laugh, always a good sign. ‘Anyway, they’re all yours again. Isokles will be here in an hour. I have the cavalry at the back. Where do I camp?’

Parmenio looked at Philotas, who frowned.

I couldn’t help but notice that Philotas was wearing a fortune in clothes – a silk chiton that must have cost the value of a good farm, Boeotian boots in red and gold with ivory eyelets, a scarlet felt hat. He had a brutish face with a pair of burning blue eyes that showed how smart he really was, and he always stood with his hands on his hips.

‘Why do you have your grooms in with your Hetaeroi?’ he asked. His tone was ignorant. He was looking for a fight.

So much for my homecoming.

‘The king gave me permission when he gave me my commission for Caria,’ I said.

Parmenio gave me an odd glance.

‘You provided me with some good information, last winter,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

I nodded. In fact, Thaïs sent her best tidbits to both Alexander and to Parmenio, and I was, for once, privy to all of it, which was fun.

‘Your troop should be camped in my area,’ Philotas continued, as if his father had not spoken. ‘But I have no more space. Go and camp to the east.’

His tone was so disobliging that I couldn’t ignore it.

‘Philotas, I’ll camp where I please, if you take that tone with me,’ I said.

Philotas spat. ‘You need to learn to obey your superiors, lad.’

This from a man only ten years my senior.

I held his eyes and shrugged. ‘Never seen the need so far,’ I drawled. ‘Except the king. He has the right to give me orders.’

‘Fuck the king.’ Philotas spat again. ‘Being his butt-boy doesn’t make you immune to discipline.’

I looked to Parmenio for help. Parmenio slapped his son – pretty hard – on the arm.

‘What are you thinking, boy?’ he said. ‘If you treat your officers like this, you’ll have no friends.’

‘I don’t need friends,’ Philotas said. ‘Only obedient slaves.’ He ended the comment with a smile to me.

I started to tremble. I wanted to punch him, but I knew where that would end. So I shook my head. ‘You have neither, with me,’ I said. And turned on my heel.

My next stop was Alexander’s tent. He had a whole compound, now, I saw – five red silk tents all together, and the starburst of Macedon on every one in gold.

There was a low but solidly built palisade all the way around his enclosure, and there were four hypaspitoi on duty in full kit. I saluted, but they barred my way. I didn’t know three of them, but the fourth I did.

‘Bubares! I don’t know the password, I’ve been on detachment.’ I waited for the black man to recognise me. ‘I’m somatophylakes, and I’ve had a bit of a morning.’

He saluted. He met my eyes, and he was trying to tell me something. ‘You’ll have to wait for an equerry. It’s orders, and I don’t want to be beaten.’ He said this so quietly I wasn’t sure, at first, that he had spoken.

After ten minutes, a young man in a spotless white military chiton and boots appeared. He had a stick under his arm. He looked at me.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘Ptolemy, son of Lagus,’ I said with exaggerated courtesy. I knew him – he’d been a page until last year, and his name was Simonides.

‘You may not come before the king unless you are clean,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I’m surprised you would even—’

That’s as far as he got before I put him in the sand with a throw. Then I kicked him in the arse for good measure. Then in the balls. Then I raised his chiton, showing his bare arse to the camp.

Bubores laughed. When the young man had run for help, Bubores let the laughter take over. ‘I’ve wanted someone to do that for a long time, boss,’ he said.

‘I’ll come and have wine with you,’ I said. ‘How’s Astibus?’

Bubores positively glowed. ‘Alive, and well enough. Got himself a Persian girl at Granicus – he’s besotted.’ He bowed past me at Thaïs, who had watched the whole exchange impassively from mule-back.

‘My lady,’ Bubores said.

She laughed. ‘Most men can’t even tell who I am,’ she responded.

Bubores tossed his head a little impatiently. ‘I can hunt a fly on the ocean,’ he said.

Alectus appeared in armour, with twenty men and a rather rumpled royal officer. When he saw me, he laughed and we embraced.

He escorted me around the compound, and I saw more slaves than I thought existed in the palace at Pella, and more courtiers than soldiers, and a tent full of scribes busy writing, with Callisthenes, Aristotle’s useless nephew, leading them. Then I found the king, and walked in.

He was being massaged. Hephaestion was arming. He smiled when he saw me.

‘Look who’s back,’ Hephaestion said.

Alexander raised his head and smiled. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Ptolemy. Well done. A little too well done. I dangled you to draw Memnon, but instead of drawing him, you singed his nose and then he died.’ Alexander smiled, and put his head back down. ‘Why did you go to Parmenio first, Ptolemy?’

‘I had his troops, and I needed to have a place for them to camp,’ I said.

‘You see?’ Alexander said. ‘Always an excellent explanation.’

I didn’t like that. ‘If I wanted to dissimulate, I’d tell you that it is difficult to gain access to the king. I was refused entry at the gate.’

Alexander raised his head again. ‘Then how is it you are here?’ he asked.

‘I cut the comb of a rooster who needed it,’ I said. ‘The hypaspitoi all know me.’

Alexander lay getting his back pounded for a long minute.

‘I will let this pass this time,’ he began.

I laughed. ‘No, my lord, Iwill let this pass this time. I am somatophylakes, and I have the right of access to you at all times of the day and night, and even you cannot restrict me.’

Alexander sat up. ‘Leave me,’ he said to the masseur. When the slave was gone, he frowned at me. ‘This is not Macedon,’ he said.

‘I can tell, because your tent is full of Greek prostitutes masquerading as politicians,’ I said. ‘But this is the army of Macedon, and we have laws. Parmenio wants to let you run free, lord, so you will let power go to your head and become an oriental, so he can depose you. Or so Thaïs and I think his thought tends.’ I shrugged. ‘I won’t let you drift, and neither will Hephaestion. You are not the Great King of Persia. You are the King of Macedon.’

‘I am your king, and I may decide who comes and goes from my enclosure!’ he said. He was angry, and red spots were forming on his cheeks.

I nodded. ‘Yes – with the exception of your closest friends and bodyguards.’ I shook my head. ‘This is foolishness, lord – I am, of course, your willing servant and officer, and you may strip me of my rank in a moment. But even you must obey the law.’

‘A few months of independent command have only increased your arrogance,’ Alexander shot back. ‘You are insufferable.’

‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Hephaestion said.

‘Fuck off!’ Alexander said.

‘Why?’ I asked Hephaestion, as if the king weren’t right there.

‘He’s going to face the prophecy this morning, and the whole camp is coming to see him do it,’ Hephaestion said. ‘He swore he could solve it, and everyone expects he can, and now he’s touchy—’

‘Get out of my sight, you ingrate,’ Alexander barked, and he was on the verge of tears.

‘Darius has sixty thousand men moving on the Euphrates, and he means business,’ Hephaestion said. ‘Although you must know that, since we had it from Thaïs. We don’t have that many men, and Darius has a whole second army forming in Ionia to hit Greece if we lose. Our supply lines to Macedon are largely cut by Pharnabazus and his fleet, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Athens is teetering on the brink of open rebellion, which will be the end of our fleet. But Golden Boy here had to mistreat their ambassadors yesterday, just to show them who’s in charge.’

‘Leave me!’ Alexander roared.

‘No!’ Hephaestion roared back.

They glared at each other.

‘Lord, your camp is full of vultures in silk and you have boys at your gate keeping men at bay. That needs to be fixed. It makes you appear weak.’ I bowed my head.

Alexander was crying.

Cleitus – Black Cleitus – caught me outside the pavilion and embraced me.

‘What in Hades is happening here?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘I just obey,’ he said. ‘He’s getting harder and harder to handle and he has all these new friends and a lot of useless tits.’ He looked around, clearly afraid he’d be overheard.

‘And he swore to everyone that he’d solve the Gordian Knot, today. The prophecy says that he who solves it will be Lord of all Asia,’ Hephaestion put in.

I made a face, and Thaïs giggled.

Cleitus looked at me. ‘What?’ he said. ‘It’s the prophecy.’

‘Was Cyrus the Great Lord of Asia?’ I asked. ‘Darius? Xerxes?’

Cleitus nodded and looked around. ‘Oh. You know, sometimes you remind me of fucking Aristotle, Ptolemy. With your snide laugh and all.’

‘I’m not well loved today,’ I admitted. ‘Was that Callisthenes I saw in the Military Journal tent?’

Cleitus nodded. ‘We call it the “School of Lies”.’

Ouch.

‘The Military Journal is now for public consumption in Greece and Macedon,’ Cleitus said bitterly. ‘So its contents now reflect our unvarying path to victory.’

‘Make that up yourself?’ I asked.

Cleitus barked his laugh.

‘Come on, and I’ll find you a place to camp,’ he said. ‘Maybe now that you’re back, everything will be all right.’

Cleaner and more richly dressed, I was in the middle of a long procession of soldiers, sycophants and priests processing up the ridge to the temple at the top. At the head of the procession was Alexander, who looked as scared as I’d ever seen him.

My invitation to attend had come too late to allow me to be up at the front with the other philoi. I assumed that was done on purpose. But Alexander looked sobad when I saw him that I began pushing forward through the crowds on the steps. I had Polystratus and his new sidekick Theodore at my heels, and we pushed pretty effectively. Most people got out of our way.

I caught up with the king at the base of the temple steps. His eyes passed over me without recognition. The whites showed all the way around his eyes, and if he’d been a horse, he’d have been on the edge of bolting.

Hephaestion caught my eye, and he was desperate, somehow.

I pushed through to the king’s side.

Alexander looked at me. ‘Ptolemy!’ he said.

I touched his shoulder. He didn’t always like to be touched, but sometimes he did, like a nervous horse when you need to get a pebble out of his hoof. When he didn’t flinch, I put my arm around his shoulder.

‘Cyrus the Great,’ I said. ‘Xerxes,’ I added softly.

He looked at me.

‘It’s all horseshit,’ I said. ‘Something to draw the credulous.’

Alexander had the oddest habit of clinging to superstitious nonsense – as if his mighty brain took rests from reason.

He glared at me, but I smiled resolutely, and he finally returned my smile and straightened his shoulders. I took away my arm and he looked around. In a moment, he was through the great bronze doors and into the temple.

Well – you know the story. Everyone does. There must have been five thousand men and women there to see it, crushing so close we could simply have trampled the Gordian Knot.

The old wagon – it wasn’t a chariot at all, but a four-wheeled wagon – had a long draught pole attached to the harness bar by a massive and very complex knot. The knot was done in an ancient rawhide, and whoever had done it – about eight hundred years earlier, was my guess – whoever had done it had had a lot of skill, and both ends of the rawhide strip were buried in the knot, and the rawhide, like all rawhide, shrank as it dried, so that the fastening was almost like a solid lump of rawhide, shiny and dense.

The king looked at it for a long time, and people began to mutter.

Alexander was no longer nervous. Of course not. In his head, this counted as combat, I’m sure. Now he was cool and professional.

‘Tell me the prophecy again,’ he said, aloud.

‘He who opens the Gordian Knot shall likewise be Lord of Asia,’ a priest intoned.

There was a buzz from the crowd. Alexander, the performer, waited it out.

They fell silent.

‘So it doesn’t really matter how I open it,’ he said. His eyes glittered.

The priests talked among themselves.

Alexander turned, drew his sword and slashed down, as hard as he would in cutting an armoured opponent.

The ancient rawhide shattered into a thousand dry fragments, and the yoke-pole crashed to the floor.

Alexander lifted his sword. People looked stunned, and he smiled. ‘I do not intend to take Asia by my wits,’ he said, ‘but by my sword.’

That night, I attended my first command meeting in almost a year. Parmenio was there, and Coenus and Philotas, but many men I knew were gone. Nearchus had his own command in Phrygia, Seleucus was sick, Alexander of Lyncestis was under arrest, Antigonus One-Eye was off in Paphlagonia.

There were new officers and, for the first time, Asian officers – mostly Phrygians, mixing with the Greeks and the Macedonians.

Alexander came in and we all saluted, and then he went to the head of a table on which lay a set of itineraries for the roads to the coast.

‘Darius is in the field with sixty thousand men,’ he said. He smiled. ‘It is my desire to bring him to battle at the earliest opportunity, smash his army and lay claim to Asia. One field battle, and we will be the masters here.’

There was an almost imperceptible murmur.

‘I’m sending Amphoterus to the coast to take command of the fleet in the Hellespont,’ he said. The gentleman in question bowed. Alexander smiled at us, and I knew he was about to say something meant to shock.

‘And then I’m cutting the cord, gentlemen. The way to defeat the Persian fleet is to hold all of their land bases. We’ve made a good start. This summer, we’re going for the coast of Syria. If Darius remains as indolent as he has been, we’ll work our way down the coast to Aegypt and close the sea to him for ever.’ He looked around, expecting opposition.

He got it. Parmenio shook his head. ‘You’ll be out of touch with Macedon, and if Amphoterus is beaten, we could lose Pella. What if Athens rises? Sparta? What if—’

Alexander’s grin was a wolf ’s grin. ‘Pella is not worth the effort of defending if we can win Asia, gentlemen.’

‘It’s our home!’ Philotas said.

Alexander shook his head. ‘It is a huddle of mud huts at the edge of the wilderness. We have Ephesus. We have Sardis. We have Halicarnassus.’

‘We hadMiletus,’ someone said aloud.

‘We have Gordia, too,’ Parmenio said. ‘Lucky us.’

Alexander looked around. ‘We are here to conquer Asia. I have every confidence that Antipater can hold Macedon behind us, and in the worst case, if he fails’ – and here Alexander’s confidence sounded more godlike than brash – ‘if he fails, well, we’ll return and take it back next season.’

Parmenio shook his head. ‘Syria? How do you plan to get there?’

Alexander’s smile grew softer. ‘Ankyra – and the Cilician Gates.’

Parmenio put his hands on his hips. Now I saw where Philotas got that habit. ‘It cannot be done,’ he said. ‘A goat path through tall mountains. Fifty men could hold us for days.’

Alexander nodded. ‘It will be glorious,’ he said.

We lingered at Ankyra while the Prodromoi went far to the east, looking for Darius, looking for news, and while contingents from all of western Asia came in to make terms with the conqueror. I found their terms too lenient, and most of them were allowed to go with little beyond a promise of submission. The king was in a hurry, and when he was in a hurry, he didn’t bother with minutiae like the conquest of eastern Phrygia.