Forging Kingdoms, page 12
Gelon puffed himself up, his cheeks bulging with self-importance. ‘That is the wish of both Kassandros and Lysimachus: peace on those terms.’
Antigonos glanced at Aristodemus next to him; the Greek nodded. Satisfied, Antigonos looked around the packed agora. ‘Did you hear that, soldiers of Macedon? We have a basis for peace. What say you?’
It was loud and unanimous; at least from the soldiers it was – they cheered the announcement with gusto, their voices ringing out in celebration of the thought of the empire coming together. But there was one present who did not share everyone’s joy. Lycortas got to his feet and stood before Antigonos, his arms crossed and his hands hidden in his flared sleeves, waiting for the noise to die down. By degrees it did as more and more of the jubilant officers noticed him waiting to speak.
Silence soon fell.
‘Yes, Lycortas,’ Antigonos said, looking forward to slapping the steward down.
‘Lord Antigonos,’ Lycortas said, bringing his eyes up to meet the cyclopic glare. ‘The agreement is unacceptable.’
Antigonos’ smile was ice. ‘Oh, is it, Lycortas? And just why would you consider an agreement that has nothing to do with you unacceptable?’
Lycortas held the gaze. ‘Because my master, Ptolemy, is the overlord of Africa. He controls Egypt and Cyrenaica and has influence in the lands to the west as far as Carthage. Your territory, Lord Antigonos, ends at Gaza, which, I believe I am right in saying, is Asia. My question is: how can you consider yourself overlord of lands you do not control?’
The ice cracked, revealing fury beneath. Antigonos jumped to his feet and thrust an accusatory finger at the steward. ‘You dare to come here and tell me what I am overlord of and what I’m not? An effete eunuch such as yourself making judgements on me! I’d have your balls, if you had any, for that. I am master of the whole empire and everyone should either understand that or they will be made to understand it; even your precious Ptolemy.’
Lycortas stood silent as Antigonos fumed at him.
Red-faced, his chest heaving, Antigonos continued to point at Lycortas, his finger shaking. ‘Well, what have you to say, eunuch?’
Lycortas did his best surprised face. ‘Did you mean me, lord? If so, you are very much mistaken as, last time I checked, which wasn’t that long ago, I was still the proud possessor of a full set of testicles. But that is neither here nor there. What is pertinent to my assertion is Ptolemy remains in Egypt and doesn’t recognise you as his overlord. However, as an equal, he has sent me here to negotiate peace between you both.’
‘Peace! Why should I want peace with Ptolemy when I have just made peace with Kassandros and Lysimachus? Now I don’t have to look behind me, I can concentrate on going forward despite your master’s treacherous Nabatean friends.’
‘I don’t believe that would be a wise move, Antigonos. I think accepting Ptolemy’s offer of peace would be the sensible course of action in your position.’
The cyclopic eye narrowed; a clear, red fluid flowed from the empty socket next to it. Antigonos took a step forward. ‘What do you know that I don’t?’
Lycortas stood his ground and indicated to all the officers filling the agora. ‘I know that to keep an army of this size in the field you need the wealth of the entire empire. Now, if you accept that Egypt is closed to you—’
‘Which I do not.’
Lycortas held up a hand. ‘To put it another way: if you accept that to gain the wealth of Egypt you might have to concentrate all your strength in this direction for a good while – which is the reason you made peace with Kassandros and Lysimachus as you have just asserted – then what happens if the east, and, more importantly, the treasury at Susa fall into another’s hands?’
‘Seleukos, you mean?’
‘Indeed.’
‘Nonsense. Nikanor, the satrap of Media, is dealing with him along with an alliance of other eastern satraps loyal to me.’
‘How long since you’ve had a message from him?’
Antigonos paused. Longer than I can remember. Nearchos was the last person who had contact with Nikanor and that was a couple of months ago. I need to make this private. Antigonos composed himself. ‘I had a message from him a few days ago telling me his campaign against Seleukos was proceeding as planned. This meeting is over.’ As he turned to walk away, he muttered to Aristodemus: ‘Have the eunuch brought to my study; and find Nearchos too.’
‘So, you’ve heard nothing,’ Lycortas said, ‘judging by the brazen lie you’ve just told.’
‘Don’t accuse me of lying,’ Antigonos snarled, spinning round from the view over the harbour out of his study window.
‘Well, what you said was not the truth. The truth is Seleukos defeated Nikanor on the Tigris and captured his entire force, but you haven’t heard that yet. However, Ptolemy has as the news came across the desert directly to Egypt. Also, Seleukos has taken control of the roads to the north so no messages can come through from Media. You are cut off from your eastern army. You don’t know what’s happening. You don’t know whether Seleukos has taken Susa yet and already has control of the wealth of the east. Not knowing that, do you really not wish to make peace with Ptolemy?’
Antigonos stared at Lycortas and then looked at Nearchos. ‘Well? What do you think? I’ve been concentrating on the Nabateans and negotiations with Kassandros and Lysimachus and so haven’t given much thought to Nikanor as I assumed he’d make easy prey of Seleukos and his tiny army.’
‘But we still haven’t heard from him,’ Nearchos said. ‘And none of the messengers I’ve sent out have returned yet. But it’s impossible Seleukos could have defeated Nikanor; he must be just leading him on a chase.’
‘He was inspired by what your son Demetrios did, Lord Antigonos,’ Lycortas said. ‘He attacked at night and captured the camp with very little loss. Nikanor escaped but his cousin Euagoros was killed. Seleukos signed on most of his men and the last information I had was that he was on his way to Susa; with that army, he has probably taken it by now. Unless you act soon, you’ve lost the east. It would take your whole force to perhaps defeat Ptolemy or half of it to keep Ptolemy in check whilst the other half wins back what you have just lost. Can you take that gamble, Antigonos? Ptolemy offers you not just peace; he offers you time as well.’
Antigonos restrained his desire to strangle Ptolemy’s smooth-talking steward, his fists bunching and his arm muscles tense. ‘Get out!’
Lycortas responded immediately.
Antigonos turned on Aristodemus. ‘Get Demetrios back here to Tyros, now!’
‘I told you, Father,’ Demetrios said upon his arrival the following day, ‘Malichus said the bad news would come from the east, but when it didn’t come after a month, I thought the greasy bastard was just bluffing.’
Antigonos looked at his son morosely. ‘So did I; but if what Lycortas says is true then we must act upon it, otherwise our dreams of controlling the whole empire are dead and we’ll become just another family trying to forge a kingdom out of its wreckage.’
‘I’ll go, Father.’
Antigonos squeezed his son’s shoulder. ‘Good lad. I’ll give you fifteen thousand men; that should be more than ample to take Babylon and then retake Susa if necessary. Oh, and I’ll give you Telesphorus as well. He can prove just how sorry he is in the field with you; if there is the slightest doubt about his loyalty, you know what to do.’
Demetrios nodded. ‘Yes, Father.’
‘And you can keep Cilles to command your mercenaries. How’s he been doing for you? I hope you keep reminding him of all that wine you left for his men.’
Demetrios’ eyes widened. ‘Haven’t you heard, Father?’
‘Evidently not as I seem to be the last to hear anything!’
‘Cilles has disappeared; he hasn’t been seen for five days now.’
Antigonos dismissed the news. ‘Drunk, no doubt. Now go and work out what you need and we’ll talk later. Send Aristodemus in as you go.’ Antigonos poured himself a large measure of resinated wine; he did not bother with the water. ‘Well, old friend,’ he said as Aristodemus came into his study, ‘am I doing the right thing?’
‘Yes; if there’s the slightest chance of losing the east then that must be thwarted.’
Antigonos nodded and sat back in his chair, his cup in both hands. ‘Go with Lycortas back to Egypt and negotiate the details with Ptolemy in person. Make it a peace that could last at least a year, until the end of next summer, by which time Demetrios should be back.’
‘I will, lord.’ Aristodemus paused and looked at his master. ‘May I ask what your plans are until then?’
Antigonos downed the remains of his wine. ‘I’m going to use the peace I’ve just negotiated to foment trouble between Lysimachus and Kassandros.’
KASSANDROS.
THE JEALOUS.
HIS WIFE WAS right, that much was obvious to Kassandros; but just because Thessalonike advised a bold course – radical even – did not mean he necessarily had the stomach to see it through. Moreover, even if he did steel himself into ordering the deed, did he have the strength and latent popularity to survive the opprobrium that would come with such a move? The answer, he had to admit, was no – or at best, not yet.
Yes, he had despised Alexander with all his being for the many humiliations he had heaped upon him through his life, not least leaving him behind on the greatest adventure of the age – not that he would have wanted to go as his innate cowardice would have, inevitably, been exposed for all to see. But publicly left behind he had been and thus forced to endure the sniggering of women behind his back and the scorn of discharged veterans returning home. And so, he had avenged that shame with the woman’s weapon of poison in Babylon, thirteen years previously; a deed his father, Antipatros, had refused to acknowledge up until his death. But that crime had been a personal score-settling, as had the execution of Alexander’s mother, Olympias. The pleasure he had felt watching her being gradually stoned to death by the families of her victims in her brief but deadly assumption of the regency of Macedon had almost made up for the desecration of his kin’s graves and the murder of his step-mother and young half-siblings the harpy had instigated. Almost, but not quite: the sight of his father’s and brother’s bones – as well as those of scores of ancestors – exposed to the elements still burned in his heart and even the image of the bloodied and broken corpse of the perpetrator of that outrage did not assuage the raw hatred he felt for her.
And it had been the same feeling he had harboured for the rest of Alexander’s family: he had rejoiced when Olympias had murdered his fool of a half-brother and his wife, Adea, Alexander’s niece. The news of Cynane’s death, the mother of Adea and Alexander’s half-sister, came as a pleasing surprise, and then the fact that Alexander’s full sister, Kleopatra, was restricted to a cloistered life in Sardis was of no cause for concern to him other than it would make it harder to send assassins should he choose to do so.
His hatred of Alexander was such that he had once come across a statue of him and had almost broken down as its shadow fell upon him, shaking uncontrollably as his loathing – and yes, he could now admit it to himself, his fear – had overwhelmed him.
But suddenly his world had changed: he had been smitten by love with a force so strong and swift it had transcended the barriers of his hate, for it had been Thessalonike, the second half-sister of Alexander, who had captivated him. And, despite his pinched, avianesque face, his lanky, thin-chested, stooping body and his limp, she had consented to be his wife – although, he had realised, it had suited her ambition as much as his desire – and had now borne him three sons, Alexander’s nephews.
And thus, it had not surprised him when she had made the suggestion.
Suggestion? In fact, it was closer to being an order.
Kassandros looked sideways at Thessalonike, with her golden hair piled high, save for a ringlet falling to either side of a milk-skinned face jewelled with sapphire eyes, and felt his unsteady heart leap even more than when she had made her suggestion just moments ago. ‘Now?’
Thessalonike stared directly ahead as they progressed in regal state from the throne room in the royal palace of Pella, Macedon’s capital. ‘If not now, when? Gelon’s negotiations have brought the peace we desired: Antigonos has recognised us as sovereign in Macedon and rather pompously appointed you commander-in-chief of Europe. The peace means you have no threat from Ptolemaios down south, which now leaves you free to conduct your overdue campaign against the Dardani and take the army into Paeonia as a show of force to keep the local chieftains in their place and punish them for their constant raiding. Lysimachus has everything he wants and will keep his eyes on the Istros and continue with building his defences along the river. Now, therefore, as the cyclops fights to retain the east, is the perfect time.’ She paused as the double doors of the chamber were pushed open on goose-fatted hinges and they progressed, footsteps echoing, into the main hall of the palace, guards snapping to attention as they passed. Colonnaded and brightly painted with scenes from the Iliad, illumined by shafts of sunlight piercing down from high windows, the hall felt cool after the late-summer fug of a packed throne room listening to Gelon’s report. ‘Let us face it, Kassandros, what Ptolemy did in joining the peace process is force Antigonos to admit there are four separate entities to the empire in order to give him time to prevent the birth of a fifth. He has admitted that kingdoms have been forged by recognising ours, Lysimachus’ and Ptolemy’s areas of influence as Gelon reported the cyclops putting it. Now, if we admit that kingdoms have been forged, it is only a matter of time before someone claims a crown; and once one makes that move then we can all do so – but it can only happen after you have done what only you can do.’
Kassandros swallowed, his throat dry. ‘I know, Thessalonike.’
‘Then give the order; or better still, let me travel to Amphipolis and watch Roxanna’s face as I order the death of her and her son.’
And that was the dilemma Kassandros now faced: since Gelon, fresh from Tyros, had finished briefing them on the peace concluded with Antigonos, not two hundred heartbeats ago, Thessalonike had proposed he should immediately effect the deed they had both prepared for: the assassination of Alexander, the fourth of that name to be king of Macedon; the son of the greatest – in most people’s eyes – Macedonian ever to have lived. And he, Kassandros, was going to be the man to take responsibility for this huge step. He looked again at his wife from the corner of his eyes; she held her countenance expressionless. She knows if this were to go wrong and the opprobrium of the Macedonian world falls upon me, she will still be safe as she has the sacred blood in her veins and not on her hands. Whereas I… He did not want to admit it to himself but it rang in his head nevertheless: he was from lesser stock. And what was more, he was only tolerated by the people of Macedon because of the love they bore for his wife whose resemblance to her half-brother was palpable. Has she been playing me all along to get to this moment only to throw me to my enemies, denouncing me as the murderer of Alexander’s heir and then rule by herself as his half-sister and mother to his nephews? Again, he sneaked a quick look at her and, again, she gave nothing away. And yet she says she’s willing to go and order the deaths herself; is that the act of one who would betray me?
Kassandros shook his head as he struggled with the issue, for, in his old self, he would have simply negated it by having his wife executed along with the boy and his mother, and any man who found fault with that would share their fate in a slower manner. No, it was a problem and it was the only problem that he was unable to share with Thessalonike, obviously, for she would give the same answer whatever her true feelings. She will just tell me not to be so ridiculous and get on with it. Uncertain how to proceed, he took his wife’s arm, now they had crossed the expanse of the main hall and were about to mount the stairs to the first floor. ‘Come, Wife, let’s retire for a while and then afterwards I’ll think on it. I’ll make the decision when I return from the Dardani campaign.’
‘Why wait so long?’
‘Because if I am to order the murder of Alexander’s son, the manner of my return will have a great impact on my ability to weather the consequences of the deed.’
It had been a quick campaign thus far and one in which Kassandros excelled as there had been little actual fighting and that had been left to his twin half-brothers, Philip and Pleistarchos. Kassandros had learned long since that any exposure to danger resulted in an uncontrollable urge to flee and the loss of control of his bladder. Three years previously he had led from the front in a night attack to open the gates of Corinth from the inside. That had proved to be more than he was able to bear and he had collapsed in a sobbing wreck, with urine gushing down his legs; fortunately, darkness and the arrival of supporting cavalry had masked that humiliation. He had, therefore, been able to boast to Thessalonike afterwards that he had led the attack which had taken the city and also counter some of the rumours within the ranks that he was shy of a fight.
But today was to be the second occasion he would lead from the front for today Kassandros would take Bylazora on the Axius River, the largest town in Paeonia, commanding the pass from Dardania into Macedon through the Scardus Mountains. With this move Kassandros hoped to show himself to be a concerned and caring ruler of Macedon, as the Dardani, an Illyrian tribe, had not been a part of the peace he had negotiated with Glaucias, the king of the largest conglomeration of Illyrian tribes, and thus constantly raided the farmsteads of the northern part of the country.
With his heart rate climbing, Kassandros looked left and right along the front line of his army as it formed ready for an assault of the town walls, crumbling with age and no more than the height of two men; those closest to him punched fists into the air and cheered. ‘The men seem to be enthusiastic,’ he observed to his half-brother Philip as the younger man drew his horse up next to him in a flurry of dust.
