Babylon, page 11
She was walking in a private garden in the shade of the western wall of the royal palace with Apama, Seleukos’ Sogdian wife, talking and waiting for the woman she had not seen since the mass wedding at Susa all those years ago. Fountains cooled the air baked by a merciless summer sun.
‘I am ready to go at a moment’s notice,’ Apama said, indicating to her masculine trousers and riding boots. ‘Seleukos told me to dress like this all the time now; I’ve been out riding every day getting used to the saddle again. It’s been many years since the long rides of my youth.’ They were speaking in Greek as Apama was Sogdian and Artonis was from Hellespontine Phrygia. ‘I don’t think Seleukos will be sending you off on your own; we’ll be coming with you if I know Antigonos.’
Artonis caressed the flower she had been admiring and then stooped to catch its scent. ‘Yes, I think you will too. Perhaps you might lend me some suitable clothes if we are to be riding.’
‘I have already asked one of my bedchamber women to find some for you.’ Apama, a head taller than Artonis, looked down at her. ‘Although I’m afraid they might be a little baggy for you.’
‘As long as I can ride.’ Artonis moved on to another flowering shrub, savouring the beauty after so long in the squalid and crowded confines of the baggage train. ‘What will you do with your children? They can’t ride, surely?’
Apama smiled. ‘We’ve already sent them north; they are waiting for us at the port of Is. Seleukos is not a man to risk being blackmailed for the lives of his children.’
Artonis felt a stab of jealousy as she heard the love in Apama’s voice as she spoke of her husband. I must keep that feeling, no matter how it pains me, as it will keep me focused on what I must do. ‘You’re lucky to have such a man.’
‘I know; and I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘As am I, Sister.’
Artonis turned to see Artakama, her younger sibling, walking towards her. They ran to each other’s arms. Tight they held one another, for many a racing heartbeat, having been so long parted.
Artonis stepped back and held her sister at arm’s length to better study her. ‘Eight years, Artakama; eight years. You are a beautiful woman now.’
‘Rather than the pubescent runt given to Ptolemy as a plaything.’
Artonis paused, remembering the tears in her sister’s eyes as she described the things that Ptolemy had made her do and endure on their wedding night. ‘Yes, you were too young to be married.’
‘I was just thirteen and had barely had my first moon. I knew nothing of what a man and a woman could do other than the basics and then after all I went through, everything I did to satisfy him, he leaves me here, discarded and forgotten.’
Artonis held her sister close. ‘Not forgotten, I’m sure; never forgotten.’
Artakama smiled. ‘Well, we’ll soon find out; I’m coming with you to Egypt. Apama has persuaded Seleukos to take me as well.’
Artonis tried to keep the smile on her face from slipping. Coming before Ptolemy in the company of his scorned wife is not going to be the best way to induce him to do what I wish. ‘It will be like when we were young again, riding out into the hills; I’m looking forward to it.’ She hugged Artakama again, realising that there was nothing she could do to prevent her sister joining her; she stroked her hair and kissed it.
But the reunion was brought to a sudden close with the arrival of Temenos. ‘Ladies, prepare yourselves; we’re leaving.’
That it had been well planned in advance was evident by the smoothness of their departure. Quick they ran to Apama’s rooms where her slave had suitable riding apparel ready for both Artonis and Artakama; her baggage, including the urn containing her husband’s ashes, was also waiting. Once changed, and the essentials packed, Apama led them down into the cellars, where more people joined them, and then on to a small door in the northern wall. Guarded by half a dozen men, it was open; through it Artonis went with her companions to find herself in a stable containing many horses.
‘We have all you need,’ Seleukos said, taking his wife’s hand and leading them towards the open doors at the far end where six horses awaited held by grooms. ‘Two mounts each,’ Seleukos explained, ‘so that we can alternate horses and keep going as fast as possible.’
Artonis took the reins offered her and stroked her mare’s neck, examining the creature. ‘She’s in fine shape.’ She checked the saddle cloth and then examined the two saddlebags hanging to either side. ‘They’re heavy; what’s in them?’
Seleukos grinned. ‘Don’t lose them; they are our travelling expenses. Each horse is carrying half a talent in silver or gold as well as bread and dried meat. Mount up and be ready to leave.’
Around them Seleukos’ Companions fastened small packs to their second horse, checked tack and swung up into the saddle, their voices low in the manner of men about to embark upon a mission fraught with danger.
Artonis strapped her bag containing Eumenes’ ashes and the few clothes that had fitted around it on the spare horse, mounted the other and then kicked it forward, through the gates of the stable into the dry heat of the afternoon sun. As Apama and Artakama joined her, she looked back at the building and saw to her surprise that it was a temporary structure, built against the walls of the palace.
‘Seleukos had it built as soon as he got back from Susa,’ Apama explained. ‘He wanted a way to leave the city without opening any of the gates, so he knocked a hole in the wall instead and built somewhere to keep the horses ever ready.’
‘With luck we shall get away unnoticed,’ Seleukos said, pulling on the reins to control his skittish mount as he turned to check that his men were ready, formed up in column.
Temenos came up to him on foot. ‘All is set, lord.’
‘Well done, Temenos. You know what to do?’
‘Wait three hours and then inform Antigonos of your escape.’
‘Good man; let’s hope that is enough for him to take you into his service.’
‘I hope so, lord; if so, I shall be waiting for your call when you return. Good luck.’
‘And to you, my friend.’ Seleukos leaned down and clasped the proffered forearm. ‘I’ll keep in contact through the priests of Bel Marduk.’
‘I shall become a devotee of the god.’
Smiling, Seleukos sat tall in his saddle, raised his arm and signalled for the column to move off. As Apama took her place next to her husband, Artonis and her sister moved in behind her, their spare mounts’ reins held in their left hands. Raising much dust with the speed of their acceleration, the fugitives from Babylon raced north following the well-worn road along the eastern bank of the Euphrates.
With her head forward over her mare’s neck, Artonis felt the power of the beast surging beneath her; to either side of her, her spare mount and that of her sister kept easy pace tossing their heads and snorting, nostrils flaring, as the excitement of the sudden rush communicated its way through the equine members of the column. The sense now of urgency came to Artonis; finally after months of progressing at the slow pace of the oxen in the baggage train, she was moving forward with a speed that was suited to her purpose.
It was with an image of Eumenes fixed in her mind that Artonis let the leagues pass beneath her, conversation being impossible over the thunder of the hooves, and too tiresome during the short breaks to change and water the horses.
And so it was upon her dead husband that Artonis concentrated in order to keep her mind from the growing pain in her body as it clung to the horse. It was the difference between him and the other invaders of her country that first attracted her to Eumenes. The brash, arrogant uncultured Macedonians whom her father, Artabazos, had resisted right up until Darius’ death were the antithesis of the people she had grown up amongst – she had been born after her father’s return to the Persian empire from his exile in Pella. Yes, Alexander and his Companions had been educated by Aristotle and took pleasure in some of the finer things in life: the poetry, for example, that her mother, a Greek from Pergamum, had instilled in her; but they also destroyed: the burning of Persepolis was a crime that she could never forgive. Despite this sin, Alexander had triumphed and Darius had been defeated and then murdered, leaving her father a fugitive. But Alexander had pardoned Artabazos, taken his eldest daughter, Barsine, as his mistress. Thus, at the mass weddings at Susa with their half-sister Barsine installed in Alexander’s bed – and having already given him a bastard son, Heracles – Artonis and Artakama found themselves to be prized gifts.
And her terror at being given to a Macedonian had been great, for small in stature as she was the thought of being given to a huge brute of a man was terrifying; it was therefore with relief that she stood before her husband-to-be and only had to raise her eyes slightly to meet his. And then to find that he was a Greek from Kardia and Alexander’s secretary caused relief to flow through her and for her to smile at Eumenes with an openness that, she hoped, would attract him; and on their wedding night, and those subsequent, she found herself not disappointed. Despite their being apart for almost five years after the death of Alexander, she remained his wife for he did not repudiate her as so many of the Macedonians had done.
Artonis choked with emotion as she remembered their reunion in Susa and the passion that she had felt for her husband; she forgave the long absence for it was due to his determination to fight for Alexander’s heirs against a one-eyed brute who would steal all for himself. And now the one-eyed brute had triumphed and her husband was no more but she was to be the instrument that would fashion Eumenes’ revenge and the destruction of Antigonos.
It was in good heart that Artonis rode north.
On and on they rode through the lessening heat of the afternoon; the beasts settled into a steady canter, sweating beneath the saddle-cloths.
It was a cry from the rear that was relayed up the column which caused Seleukos to slow and look behind. Artonis followed his gaze. Distant it was, but unmistakable as the westering sun picked it out, rising in the air: dust; dust from many horses travelling at speed.
‘So Antigonos would rather not let me go,’ Seleukos said to Apama. ‘And that is before Naramsin has told him of the prophecy. We were right not to wait.’ He turned and urged his mount forward, his followers surging after him; now that the possibility of capture had found space in a corner of their minds, they pushed their horses as hard as they dared for none had any doubt as to what the orders of the pursuers would be or the size of their number.
The light began to soften and as the heat lessened so their pace increased having changed mounts once again. Golden glowed the desert all around as the sun drew close to the western horizon but Seleukos showed no sign of relenting the pace. Chancing a glance over her right shoulder, Artonis could see the dust cloud glow red in the distance but it seemed to be no further away. If anything, it might have gained; they will keep going and so must we.
And so they did; and as the sun faded and dusk brought with it a light dew and a cooling breeze their pace slackened, but they pressed on for it was forty leagues between Babylon and Is and they still had the majority of them to go.
Long through the night they rode, keeping the Euphrates within earshot, to their left, until the moon rose and gave them a degree of clarity. Sleep fought a losing battle with Artonis for she was determined not to be the first to succumb and fall from her horse. At midnight, Seleukos called a halt, more for the sake of the exhausted beasts than his fatigued followers. Water was distributed to the grateful mounts and then nosebags were attached, allowing them to feed with contented snorts, swishing tails and the stamping of hooves; the harnesses, however, remained on. When she had taken care of her horses – for there was no one to do it for her – Artonis took a loaf from her saddlebag and sat next to her sister on a rug; breaking the bread, she handed a hunk to Artakama who grunted her thanks, took a small mouthful and then lay back, closed her eyes and fell to sleep, bread still clutched. With a smile, Artonis could fight no more; lying down, she wrapped an arm around Artakama and pulled her close. Dawn was the next thing that she was aware of; dawn and a great pang of hunger.
The bread was quickly consumed by the sisters as they saw to their horses, watering them again and tightening any tack that had loosened. Having taken it in turns, with Apama joining them, to hold the blanket up so that each could ease themselves in relative privacy, they mounted and were ready before the main column had completely formed. Artonis shared a smile with her sister, relieved not to be seen as the slowest element.
And then they were off again. The sores from yesterday, still raw, burned and chaffed and the aching muscles cried out for reprieve; but none came as the leagues passed for they could not pause or even slow as the dust cloud following them was closer than before; much closer.
‘They must have stopped for half the time that we did in the night,’ Artonis shouted at her sister. Artakama did not respond, her eyes squeezed tight with pain. Artonis could tell that beneath her veil her sister’s teeth would be gritted.
Urgency transmitted through the column and the speed increased to a level that the horses could just bear, but for how long Artonis could only guess. Speed was becoming a cause for worry to her now as she considered the possibility of being overtaken by the pursuit. What would Antigonos make of me trying to escape with Seleukos? It would certainly arouse his suspicions. I could hardly say that I wanted to get to Kardia quickly to bury my husband when it is obvious that Seleukos would run to Ptolemy.
But there was naught that she could do to change the situation and so she concentrated on blocking the pain from her mind; pain that was coming close to being unendurable.
A quick pause at midday to change horses and grab a hunk of bread and a strip of dried meat was all Seleukos allowed, but it was enough for Artonis to see the blood stains coming through her trousers on the inside of her thighs.
As she hauled herself back into the saddle, she looked behind to see the chasing dust cloud was less than a league away and the shadow of the riders beneath was now visible. ‘Don’t they ever stop?’ she said more to herself than anyone else.
‘It’s less than five leagues to go,’ Seleukos shouted to give heart to the men. ‘I sent a messenger on last night to warn the garrison at Is that we are hard-pressed; let’s hope he was not delayed.’ Again he raised his arm and flung it forward, kicking his mount into action as he did.
And on they went, the slow-moving Euphrates ever to their left, two hundred paces wide, flowing past them back to Babylon; it was for this reason that they had not taken ship earlier, for rowing against the current would have been slower than the speed of a horse. However, that was becoming more irrelevant now that the pursuit was drawing so close: what was the point in transferring to ships at Is, if their pursuers could outpace them? If that were to happen, Antigonos’ allies to the north would be alerted in time to block the river and they would be trapped.
Looking back over her shoulder she could now make out the mass of horses following them and thought that sometimes individual riders could be discerned; indeed, many of her comrades felt the same and an attempt to quicken the pace was made. The first horse stumbled. Down the beast went, sending its rider tumbling to the ground to disappear beneath the hooves of those following with a curtailed scream. A groan rose from the column as the realisation of the inevitability now of being caught hit home: the horses could go no faster and must therefore soon slow unless they stopped completely to change mounts.
But surely they must have to stop to switch horses as well. And then, as she looked back again she saw what had given their pursuers the edge over them: each had a second mount but they did not pause to change, they leaped from one to the other as she watched. It was then that she realised that it was not Macedonians chasing them but, rather, tribesmen from the east; men born to the saddle and deadly with the bow: Bactrians or Sogdians or maybe Arachosians. Sogdians, let them be Sogdians. ‘Apama,’ she shouted, ‘Apama!’ Urging her horse closer to Seleukos’ wife, she pointed back to the pursuit. ‘Apama, can you recognise where they are from?’
Apama looked back for as long as she dared and then turned to Artonis, shaking her head. ‘Horse-archers, but who I don’t know. Antigonos must have incorporated them from Eumenes’ army.’
‘Exactly; they were loyal to my husband, and if they are Sogdian they would have been loyal to your father too.’
The relevance of that observation was not lost on Apama who immediately passed it on to Seleukos.
And the race continued, although it was with a flicker of hope now that Artonis rode; hope that, although Antigonos had chosen the right men to outpace Seleukos and his Macedonians, he may have chosen the wrong men to stay loyal to him. We shall soon find out.
It was as the first arrows landed amongst the column that Seleukos realised that further flight was impractical; their numbers would just be whittled down slowly but inevitably. It was time to try to fight. He held up his hand, palm forward and then signalled to the right to wheel the column. Around they went, his men taking their lances from their holsters. Into line they formed as arrows rained down on them, taking a couple down and a few horses.
Artonis knew little of war, but she could see that the situation was hopeless: unshielded lance-armed cavalry at a standstill were useless against fast-moving horse-archers. Even if they charged, the best that they could hope for was to chase the lighter cavalry off for they surely would not wish for contact.
There was nothing else for it but to gamble. ‘Come, Apama, it’s down to us to save our lives.’ She made sure her veil was secured as she did not want to cause offence by showing her face and then pushed her horse forward, breaking the line with Apama following; pressing their horses into a canter, they each held a hand in the air signalling to the enemy to stop losing arrows. She felt her mare buck at the quivering thump of a hit to its rump but with a sharp tug on the reins managed to get the beast under control, the skills of her youth coming back to her. ‘Stop! Stop shooting; we come to parley.’
