Babylon, page 18
Ptolemy looked at the sky: it was a deep summer blue. ‘I’ll risk the weather. Get the ships in the water first thing in the morning and have the lads on standby to embark.’ With a flick of his hand he dismissed Polycleitus and again looked north. Menelaus, what is keeping you?
‘You have no choice, Ptolemy,’ Thais said, picking the flesh off the bone of a grilled red mullet in a way that Ptolemy, to his surprise, found very sensual. ‘If you don’t secure Cyprus soon, Antigonos will have sufficient ships to beat you to it; and if he beats you to it then you’ll never get the troops to Asander to cause a diversion in the north. You can bet Antigonos’ agents are going around the island stirring up trouble and lacing the petty kings with large bribes; every day they will be getting closer to joining with him. You have to go soon, with or without word from Menelaus; you must not risk losing Cyprus as you’ll be cut off from all your potential allies, Lysimachus, Asander and, dare I say it, Kassandros. And should that happen… well, need I mention it?’
Ptolemy took his mind off Thais’ fingers. ‘I know; if I’m cut off then Antigonos will double his diplomatic efforts to get them onto his side and I’ll end up facing an alliance of everyone. You’re right, I should delay no longer.’
But it was Polycleitus, running into the dining room, that firmed up Ptolemy’s resolve. ‘Sir, I’ve just received word from our scouts to the north: Antigonos’ cavalry will be here by midday tomorrow.’
It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders; the decision had been made for him and it came with added urgency. ‘Start refloating the ships now; we’ll embark the lads at dawn. But keep the cavalry back; they may have to form a screen in case Antigonos tries to harry the embarkation.’
It would have been a sight to warm Ptolemy’s heart and ambition as he stood, with Thais and his commanders, on the sea wall of Gaza’s harbour, looking south along the beach, had it not been for the urgency of the situation: over a hundred transport ships, at thirty-pace intervals, stretching into the dim distance, hauling in their anchors to edge closer to the shore where each had a line of a hundred men trailing out through the shallows of a calm sea and onto the beach waiting for the embarkation to begin. Mounted officers rode up and down overseeing the operation; their shouts, and those of the officers in the water and on the ships, rose over the cries of the gulls heralding the new day, as they urged their men into more haste in the face of Antigonos’ swift advance. Small units of light-horse – helmets and spear-points glowing in the dawn – patrolled to the north of the town, beyond the defensive ditch, keeping in constant contact with the main body of cavalry positioned to the east of the city, ready to delay Antigonos with their sacrifice should he make for the beach.
Ptolemy turned to the Athenian mercenary general he had placed in command of the infantry. ‘Myrmidon, emphasise to Seleukos that I want quick results; he’s to crush Marion and secure the rest of the island leaving Menelaus in command. He’s then to have you and the majority of the men over with Asander in Caria before the end of the sailing season.’
Bull-necked, tanned and scarred, the mercenary grunted, his eyes squinting into the sun. ‘I’ve fought in Cyprus before; they have no stamina. If the force of the initial charge pushes them back, they run. They won’t last long if they decide to face us on the field.’
‘Make sure they don’t. And then when you get to Asander, tell him that in return for these troops, I want him to keep Antigonos busy on the borders of Phrygia. I also expect his attack on Amisius on the northern Kappadokian coast on the Euxine Sea to go ahead; I don’t envisage it to be successful but I do expect it to draw a considerable number of Antigonos’ troops away to deal with it.’
‘I know Asander of old; I’ll make sure he does as he’s told.’
‘Remind him that what he takes from Antigonos, he keeps.’ The mercenary grimaced a smile. ‘That always does the trick.’ With a nod, he walked away bow-legged along the wall to a set of steps at the far end, leading down to his men along the beach, the first of whom, now neck-deep in the sea, had just begun boarding by hauling themselves up ropes in the stern of the vessel, their shields and kit-bags hanging on their backs, dripping.
Ptolemy turned to Polycleitus, who had overall charge of the expedition until they reached Cyprus. ‘Once you’ve landed the army, your fleet will work to Seleukos’ orders as he best understands the naval situation in those waters. When the campaign is complete, if Seleukos decides that you should take Myrmidon and his men to Caria, don’t let Asander try to delay you there by pleading that he hasn’t got the vessels to get to Amisius and needs to borrow some or all of yours; he has plenty, according to my spies. I’m overstretching myself enough without giving away a fleet; I need you to make yourself busy with Antigonos’ shipbuilding, which is progressing far too well.’
‘The fleet will be safe with me.’
‘Make sure it is. Good luck.’
Polycleitus snapped a salute and made his way towards his flagship moored next to Ptolemy’s personal vessel on the opposite side of the harbour as the escort squadron began to cast off, preparing to leave now that the troops had begun embarkation.
Ptolemy returned his concentration to the embarkation, his eyes ever straying back to the north, past Alexander’s great siege hill, searching for the shadow that would herald Antigonos’ arrival; with relief, he saw nothing other than his own patrols ranging out in the growing light. If the estimate of midday is still correct and provided the weather holds, we’ll easily win this race. He looked up to the few high-altitude clouds catching the beauty of the new day. ‘Should I be thanking Poseidon or Serapis for the calm conditions?’ he wondered aloud to Thais.
‘Both will be very happy to take the credit, I’m sure.’
‘A white bull apiece, then.’
‘More than generous.’
Ptolemy’s sense of well-being increased even more as he saw a familiar figure striding along the sea wall towards him, followed by seven Thracians escorting two women and their domestic retinues. ‘Archias, it always gives me great pleasure to see you as it usually portends a profitable move on my part and good fortune for both of us.’
Archias’ round, boyish face broke into a broad smile whose innocence belied the deadly calling of the middle-aged actor turned assassin. ‘“It is a joy to share good fortune with a friend.”’
‘I’m sure we all agree with Euripides on that point. And you’ve brought your little friends along with you; how nice.’ Ptolemy gave a genial smile to the seven foul-smelling killers who aided Archias in his lucrative work. ‘Welcome, gentlemen. I trust you’ve had plenty of leisure time with the money I paid you for that bit of business in Hierosolyma last year. You will receive double that this time as it is a far longer job; payment will be on the safe return of Artonis to Egypt.’
‘It is always a pleasure to take your money, Lord Ptolemy,’ Archias said. ‘In fact, it’s almost as much of a pleasure as escorting your women; at least, what we can see of them.’ He turned and gave a theatrical bow to Artonis and Artakama whose expressions, as far as Ptolemy could make out for only their eyes showed over their veils, indicated that they had long been used to the stench that emanated from the Thracians’ fox-fur hats and undyed woollen tunics and cloaks. ‘“Display to me the beauty of your eyes.”’
‘Indeed.’ Who wrote that? He handed Archias a small scroll no larger than his little finger. ‘Here’s the name of Antigonos’ agent in Tyros.’
‘Tyros? I know the city well.’ Archias opened the scroll, looked at it and nodded. ‘“Death is a debt which every one of us must pay.”’ He crumbled the scroll and threw it into the water.
‘Again, payment on your return.’
‘I am such a trusting fellow.’
I can’t help but like the man. ‘And don’t forget that I am looking after the rest of your wealth in Egypt just to encourage you to come back and not sell Artonis to Antigonos – or anyone else for that matter.’
‘“Not only gold and silver be your currency; virtue is the hardest currency worldwide, be not afraid to use it.”’
‘I couldn’t have put it better myself. Euripides always did have a way with words.’
‘Which is why he was a playwright.’
‘Quite.’ Ptolemy turned his attention to Artonis, who was clutching the urn of her husband’s ashes. ‘I trust that you have both been comfortable here for the last few days whilst awaiting the convoy’s departure; the delay was not my wish.’
‘Most comfortable, thank you. Might I ask what will happen to the Sogdian cavalry who escorted us here? Why did they not return to Alexandria?’
‘I have very few cavalry here so I kept them here until we’re gone. They’re covering the embarkation; once the convoy has left, they will make their way back to Alexandria. They are in my pay, as you requested, and I will look after them and keep them busy.’ He indicated to the urn. ‘Raise a tomb worthy of such a great man.’
‘I thought he was your enemy.’
‘He was also my friend.’
Artonis nodded and then addressed Thais. ‘I am grateful for the courteous way that you have treated me and my sister during our stay in Egypt.’
Thais inclined her head. ‘Civility between women helps balance the bellicose nature of our men.’
That’s the first time I’ve heard of that concept.
‘And yet what I’m about to do is to stoke that bellicosity.’
‘In revenge for your man, my dear; a noble act. Are you ready for a long journey?’
‘I am; but my sister is not.’ Artonis’ eyes hardened; she turned back to Ptolemy. ‘Why do you send her away a second time?’
Ptolemy’s good mood began to evaporate. ‘I don’t have to justify anything to you – or indeed, my wife.’
‘Ah, so you acknowledge her as such, do you?’
‘I have never denied it.’
‘But you deny Artakama her rights as such; her rights, moreover, as your first wife.’
The gods save me from meddlesome women. ‘My domestic arrangements are of no concern of yours, Artonis. If Artakama has an issue with me then let her speak for herself. You should keep your mind on avenging your husband.’
‘As any true wife should. Consider that, Ptolemy, and then consider the proper behaviour of a true husband.’ She held his gaze for a few moments before walking past him towards a ship that Polycleitus had ordered fitted out with a small pavilion for the women’s comfort in the bow.
Ptolemy looked at Artakama. ‘Well, are you displeased by going to your half-sister Barsine?’
‘My place is here with you, even if you don’t come to my bed as I have prayed you would each night I’ve been here; I always prepare myself for you. But I will do as you command as I am a true wife.’
Gods, the brutes know how to labour a point. ‘You will be helping me greatly by providing me with letters detailing the progress of Heracles.’
‘Yes, it will be a pleasure to help you in any way I can. He is a very valuable young man now that he is soon to be thirteen.’
‘You understand well.’ Ptolemy smiled and took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Artakama, the gods have not been kind to you and I have not helped. You go with your sister and, please, take what pleasure you can from life; I would not deny you that.’
Artakama lowered her eyes. ‘I am always yours, my lord. I will wait until you have need of me and call me to your side.’ She bowed her head and walked after her sister.
Ptolemy watched her go, shaking his head, regretting that he had made her life meaningless and so lacking in joy. But it was ever thus for some women; I shall, no doubt, condemn one of my daughters to such a life if it suits my political needs at the time.
‘Don’t feel sorry for her,’ Thais said, linking her arm with his. ‘She has made the decision to stay faithful and deprive herself of life’s foremost pleasure.’
Ptolemy’s sigh caught in his throat; his stomach sank.
‘What is it?’ Thais asked, alarmed at his expression; she turned to follow his gaze. ‘Ah!’
‘Ah, indeed; Antigonos must have force-marched through the night to get so close,’ Ptolemy said as he watched the northern cavalry patrols racing back across the scrubland pursued by a host of cavalry, dark against the dun earth, at least two thousand strong, suddenly visible as they appeared from behind the siege hill now that the sun had cleared the eastern hills. ‘They’re no more than half a league away.’ He looked back at the progress of the embarkation; it had barely begun. ‘This will be a very close-run thing.’
Grabbing Thais by the wrist, he raced along the harbour wall towards the beach where most of the men had still to embark. ‘Get to sea as soon as you can, Polycleitus!’ he yelled over to the flagship. ‘Get all the ships out of the harbour and stand-off the beach waiting for the convoy to finish loading, ready to use your artillery should Antigonos break through.’
The reply was indistinct but Ptolemy trusted the man to do what was best; not that he had any choice in the matter for he needed to warn the beach operation. He pointed to his personal vessel on the other side of the harbour. ‘Get on board, Thais, and have the triarchos bring the ship over to here and wait for me.’ He did not wait for a response. Along the length of the wall he ran, to the southern end where it once more met land; down stone steps, two at a time, he pelted, his feet hitting the soft sand at the bottom. ‘Antigonos is approaching the north walls!’ he shouted at the officers and men of the nearest ship, knee- to neck-deep in the sea. ‘Our cavalry are not numerous enough to hold him for long.’
The news was enough to speed up their boarding for they knew that should they be caught in the water by cavalry many would find themselves guests of Poseidon before even half of the hour was up.
Military precision and order faded as the men doubled their efforts to wade out and clamber up the ropes whilst others scrambled up the sides of the ship to grasp hands reaching down to haul them in.
The news spread from ship to ship relayed by the mounted officers. Ptolemy grabbed a horse from one, once satisfied that everything possible was being done to speed the departure.
Kicking the beast into a canter, before accelerating into a gallop, he headed from the beach over to the city, racing around the walls; dust clung to his skin, now filmed with sweat despite the cool of the morn.
The cavalry, numbering not more than seven hundred, had formed up with their left flank hard against the city’s east gate which remained wide open. They don’t intend to stand; but who can blame them, outnumbered four to one? But then it came to him: delay could be achieved without sacrifice and he had the perfect tool at his disposal. ‘Azanes! Azanes!’ He pulled his horse to the right, riding along the rear of the cavalry formation looking for the Sogdian horse-archers. The Greek cavalry commander either knew his business because he had placed them on the extreme right of the formation, or he had decided that they were the most expendable, being barbarians. ‘Azanes!’ Ptolemy shouted as he reached the easterners mounted on their shaggy ponies, three hundred of them. Two files parted; the Sogdian chieftain pushed his horse through as Ptolemy came to a skidding halt. Ptolemy looked through the gap: Antigonos’ force was no more than eight hundred paces away. The last of the scouts galloped back in, their sense of fear unsettling their comrades as they were absorbed into their ranks.
‘How many?’ Ptolemy asked the dark-eyed and brown-skinned easterner chewing at an unhurried pace on a wad of herbs.
Azanes spat, the brown fluid slopping onto a stone. ‘Two thousand two hundred, my scouts say.’ He looked with scorn at the mercenary light cavalry that formed the other half of the unit and pointed at them. ‘Although they estimate it to be twice that number.’
‘We need half an hour; we can do it. We attack; that’ll surprise them.’
Azanes grinned, his teeth stained brown, his eyes wide with delight. ‘That is always best.’
‘Your normal tactics?’
‘We know no others.’
‘Excellent.’ Ptolemy pushed his horse through to the front of the formation and Azanes followed, taking up his place at the centre of his men. Riding out to the front, Ptolemy turned to address all of the cavalry. ‘We need time to get the infantry embarked! I need time! I won’t ask you to do anything that I won’t do.’ He pointed to the mercenary cavalry officer. ‘Solon, take your men into the town and wait for us to lead the bastards past the gate and then take their rear. You don’t need to engage for long, just enough to make them worried that they’ve fallen into a trap, then get back into the town, close the gates and man the walls with the rest of the garrison. Have you got that?’
Solon saluted and turned to his men. Ptolemy nodded to Azanes as the mercenaries began to file through the gate. The Sogdian raised his voice and shouted in his own language; whatever it was he said, it did the trick for his men cheered him, rearing up their ponies in their enthusiasm before following him forward at the trot. Ptolemy took his place next to the chieftain, unsure of what use he would be but determined to stay with the Sogdians to ensure they played their crucial role; looking left and right at their fearsome faces he had little doubt that they would.
And with a yell they broke into a canter three hundred paces from the oncoming foe; pulling their bows from their holsters with their left hands they clung to their mounts with just their thighs and knees, letting go of the reins to whip an arrow from the quiver, nock it and then draw in one continuous movement; the release was at extreme range, but there was nothing to lose by trying. Their second volley was already flying as a dozen or so enemy troopers fell to the first. And into the gallop the Sogdians went and again they plucked, nocked, drew and released, the elevation coming down as the two forces converged.
Ptolemy was a mere observer but observe he did and was amazed by how each man managed to keep his head level as if he were standing still and not charging across rough ground on the back of a galloping pony. Ululating cries now rose from their throats as their volleys started taking their toll; scores of men and beasts crashed to the ground bringing down those behind or forcing them to slow and negotiate the obstacle, crashing into the troopers next to them. Disorder spread through the enemy – light, javelin-armed cavalry, as Ptolemy could now see – so that when the seventh volley, now delivered at the horizontal, thrashed into the leading ranks, the carnage was great, although Ptolemy had only the merest glimpse of it for at that moment the Sogdians wheeled away, and he was hard put to stay mounted during that brief but critical manoeuvre. Back they now raced towards the east gate, turning in their saddles to deliver one and then two more volleys at the chasing foe, whose taste for the fight was beginning to sour as more of their number were punched from their seats, arms flailing up and a feathered shaft vibrating in their chest or face.
