Babylon, page 26
‘But not down in the south. Not for a couple of months, maybe. And anyway, it’s the same for everyone.’
‘Not if you’re nice and warm behind your walls and we’re freezing our balls – sorry, my dear – our behinds off in frozen trenches.’
‘You won’t be; sieges won’t be necessary if you send money in advance and prepare the ground. Some of the democracies have been in power now for almost five years since your father declared the freedom of the Greek cities; such a weak form of government is never popular after so long.’
He’s correct again; the right time has come. And then a thought struck Thessalonike. Of course; it’s the right time in more ways than one. ‘We must go soon, Kassandros; this needs to be done as soon as possible.’
‘I know; before Alexandros comes back.’
‘No, before that even. If you want to be seen as the power in the Peloponnese then there is a great opportunity coming up to advertise the fact. Early next year is the Nemead. Nemea is just south of Corinth, right at the centre of what we’ll subdue; let’s take advantage of the only games held in winter and have the whole of Greece take the message of you presiding over the Nemean Games as Alexander himself once did.’
It was with promises of a lasting alliance with Ptolemy and permission to use the Athenian naval base on the island of Lemnos for operations in the northern Aegean, as well as an undertaking to give Artonis an escort of cavalry on her journey to Thrace, that Seleukos set sail from Pella the following day to return to the siege of Erythrae. From the high walls of the palace, Thessalonike watched his ship glide out through the harbour mouth, passing an arriving vessel, and then head along down the inlet that led to the sea. Artonis stood with her, with Archias in attendance; not that she felt threatened, it was just that she was so valuable to the Exile-Hunter that he would not let her stray from his sight. His Thracians, however, Thessalonike had banished from her presence on hygienic grounds.
‘Tell me, Archias,’ Thessalonike said as she watched the newly arrived ship dock, ‘after you have taken Artonis to Lysimachus how do you plan to get her back to Egypt?’
Archias had an unconcerned air. ‘It depends on the situation. “The right moment decides all things; take it and win.”’
‘I would prefer not to travel by sea,’ Artonis stated. ‘And I would also like to visit my half-sister Barsine in Pergamum, so we can mourn Artakama together.’
Archias made no reply.
Thessalonike moved her point along. ‘It may be that I would have some employment for you on the way back should you not mind a diversion.’
Archias’ boyish face took on an interested aspect. ‘Work is always of interest to me and my men.’
‘Good, then come and see me before you leave tomorrow.’ With a nod, Thessalonike turned and walked away, pleased with herself. If he’s successful, it will deflect Antigonos’ gaze from us when Kassandros takes Greece.
She decided, however, not to mention to her husband her dealings with the Exile-Hunter, preferring instead for the results to come as a pleasant surprise to him.
And it was a pleasant surprise that Kassandros appeared in need of when she eventually found him in his study with his half-brother Philip; for his normally pallid face was burning with fury as he looked up at her with anger bright in his eyes.
‘What is it, Husband?’ Thessalonike asked, stopping still at the sight of him.
‘Tell her, Philip.’
Philip shrugged. ‘I just arrived from Athens; news reached us there that Antigonos has had the army assembly declare Kassandros an enemy of Macedon unless, and I quote: firstly, he releases Alexander’s wife and son and hands them over into Antigonos’ safe custody; secondly, he destroys the three cities that he has, in his arrogance, brought into being; and thirdly, he yields to Antigonos, the established general of the empire and guardian of the throne.’
Kassandros slammed his fist down on the desk. ‘Me! An enemy of Macedon! I am Macedon. I’ll show that drunken cyclops just who is the enemy. And it gets worse, Thessalonike: he has also proclaimed the freedom of the Greek cities, which could mean that Megalopolis and Nemea may well have thrown out the oligarchies loyal to me by the time I reach them.’
‘Then you had better hurry.’
Thessalonike’s pleasure at the despatch with which her husband mobilised his army was matched only by the pleasure she felt as she surveyed the new harbour at Thessalonike, the city named after her. It was to here that Kassandros had summoned his troops for he intended to sail south with as much of the army as possible to gain maximum surprise, whilst the rest of the men followed by land with Kassandros’ half-brothers, Philip and Pleistarchos. And now the lucky ones who would be ferried south stood in lines along the water’s edge as they boarded, under Crateuas’ and Atarrhias’ supervision, the huge fleet that represented the entire naval strength of Macedon; the fleet that Antigonos had lent Kassandros to take Greece and Macedon; the fleet that he had refused to return along with the army that had stayed with Crateuas and Atarrhias after Antigonos had executed Crateuas’ son, Peithon. And now, commanded by Antigonos’ former generals, that combined naval and land force was being used to bring the war to the allies of its previous owner.
Such was its size that it could not have been accommodated in the small harbour at Pella and thus it was to Kassandros’ new city, rising from the coast along the shore from the small port of Therma, that he had summoned his strength.
Much had been achieved in the year since Thessalonike’s founding: the main thoroughfares, the agora and the harbour district had all been laid out and great construction sites now sprang from their midst, clad in wooden scaffold, peopled by thousands of slaves toiling in dull rain to ensure that her name was not to be forgotten.
Thessalonike kissed the man who had ensured her immortality and looked up into his pinched, avianesque face and caressed his pockmarked cheek. ‘Take care, Husband; I will travel south as soon as I’m delivered of our child and will be at your side at the Nemean Games.’
Kassandros’ face contorted into what passed for a smile for his physiognomy. ‘Four months will be a long time to bear without you.’
‘You’ll be busy, you won’t notice the months, and by the time I’m with you again you will be master of Greece.’
‘And Antigonos’ sworn and most bitter enemy.’
Thessalonike dismissed the notion with a shake of her head. ‘That’ll be easily overcome: with Polyperchon and Alexandros defeated we’ll be safe; Antigonos won’t be able to get at us. We can withdraw from Ptolemy’s alliance and perhaps do a deal with the cyclops; one of mutual recognition. I’m sure that, by then, he will be only too glad to have one less opponent to worry about. The army assembly vote can easily be overturned and we’ve got a few things that Antigonos would want in return for that.’
Kassandros frowned. ‘Like what?’
‘Perhaps I should’ve said: would not want in return for that.’
Thessalonike was rewarded by a look of understanding that spread over her husband’s face.
‘He would not want us to send him Alexander and Roxanna.’
‘No, Kassandros; they would be the last thing he would want to be lumbered with and just the threat of that will be enough to bend him to our will when the time comes. Now go.’ And with a tender kiss she sent her husband off to war.
KASSANDROS.
THE JEALOUS.
KASSANDROS KEPT LOW, loping at the crouch, as he led his men across the open ground between his siege lines and the city walls of Corinth. Dark was the ground as the moon had already set in a sky laden with cloud. Rain fell in soft drops, adding a fresh fragrance to the vegetation they trampled over. Weapons muffled with rags beat with dulled slaps against thighs as careful footsteps took the night assault closer to its objective.
On they went, hunched and silent, breathing in steady lungfuls of night air, careful not to gasp and wary of stumbling.
Excitement welled in Kassandros’ breast for this was something that he could do – and be seen to do – without great fear, for, as yet, he was in no danger. Here he was, leading his men from the front, in an action that, if all went to plan, would give him one of the great cities of Greece, and he could do it without fear of his bladder disgracing him or of his resolve failing to the point that he would become a quivering, sobbing wreck or just bolt in terror. And most importantly, should it be a success, he would be able to tell Thessalonike of his feat and impress her; his desire to shine in her eyes was great but he knew that his abject cowardice made that almost impossible. I can’t wait to see her face when I tell her that I led the mission that took the city.
Even as their objective neared, he still felt little fear; he looked to his brother Philip, to his right, and confidence increased knowing that he had someone who cared for his safety next to him should events not pass as planned at the gate.
And it was a gate that was the goal of the mission: not one of the three main gates of the city but, rather, a lesser portal. And that was why Kassandros led only thirty men, for more would have been of little use as they would certainly have encumbered one another, and besides, that number was exactly right for what he had planned.
‘Over here,’ a voice said in a light-breathed whisper that carried on the breeze.
Following the sound, Kassandros veered to the left as the shadow of the great wall materialised as a darker solid against a black sky rimmed with the faintest of red glows from one of the very few torches on this section of the wall still burning so far into the night and with dawn still distant.
‘Quick!’ the voice said again, this time with urgency.
And this, Kassandros understood, would be the crucial stage of the plan, for it was one thing to creep up on the city in the dead of a moonless night, it was quite another to slip through a sally-port, unnoticed, whilst the city was under siege and on guard against such events. But that was what was planned, and that was what they would do, and Kassandros had enough confidence in his ability to be able to lead the operation for he knew that should they be discovered he would not fight but immediately surrender and then pay his ransom. It was a comforting thought and it gave him strength as he approached the source of the whisper.
A figure appeared in the gloom. ‘Do you have it?’
‘Who are you?’ Kassandros demanded.
‘Demochares.’
‘And what have you to say to me?’
‘Athena stands over me.’
‘Philip,’ Kassandros hissed, satisfied that he had the right man, ‘bring the sacks.’
His brother came with two men weighed down by heavy loads; Kassandros turned to Demochares. ‘Be quick counting it.’
The Greek judged the weight of each sack and then took a sample of the coinage within, squinting at it and placing it on the tip of his tongue. ‘It seems about right. If it’s not, Kassandros, I’ll make sure it is widely known that you are not a man to do business with.’
That will be hard from beyond the Styx. ‘It’s all there. Now hurry.’
Demochares turned to a couple of men, hitherto unseen in the shadows, and handed them a sack each. ‘Follow me,’ he said, beckoning to Kassandros.
Within fifty paces they had reached the wall as it fell a few feet into a dell at the bottom of which was a recess. Demochares disappeared inside and gave a knocked signal on a wooden gate. Within a few heartbeats, Kassandros heard the creak of hinges lacking in usage and the scraping of wood across stone. They were in.
With haste Kassandros hurried forward, dipping his head as he entered the recess, passing through the open door, and then jogged on through a dank and odorous short tunnel.
‘To the left,’ Demochares whispered. ‘Follow Laetes here.’
Doing as he was told, Kassandros followed a figure climbing up some steps as behind he was aware of Philip and the rest of the men tramping up after him. Up they went with just the occasional window looking out over the town to give any semblance of light; but Kassandros needed none, for by now his ears and eyes had sharpened to the high sensitivity brought on by a long time in the dark and he could judge his steps and the distance between him and the man ahead.
With his chest heaving, they came out onto the walkway running along behind the wall’s parapet. Two bodies, guards, lay on the ground; dark pools had formed on the wet stone under their heads. Two more guards stood close by. ‘They’re ours,’ Laetes said, as Kassandros paused.
Relieved, Kassandros stepped over a body, moving away from the doorway as the rest of his men came out into the open and began to form up into a column, two abreast.
Philip came up next to Kassandros. ‘The men are ready; I’ve reiterated to them that they should act as if they have every right to be marching along the wall.’
And that was the crux of the plan: get to the wall unnoticed and then march along it not worrying about being noticed; hiding in plain sight. Off came the men’s shield covers to reveal the Pegasus motif of Corinth, painted on a white background; that and their full-faced Corinthian helmets with white horsehair plumes would be enough to deceive a curious inquisitor into thinking that a unit of the guard had been called out – especially as Laetes naturally had the flat and toneless accent of Corinth.
Off they went at the jog – a sense of urgency adding to the deception; Kassandros next to his brother in the front of the column with Laetes in the lead, ready to deflect any questions.
His pulse quickening and his stomach churning, Kassandros fought to stay calm, focusing on what Thessalonike would think of him for his leading role in the night’s escapade: finally he would be able to claim that he was a general who led from the front – albeit occasionally.
‘Wait where you are and identify yourselves!’
Laetes held up his hand, halting the column, and then walked forward to address the guard standing at the entrance of a tower through which they had to pass. ‘Laetes with an enomotia of the guard called to the main gate.’
The man’s face was in shadow; Kassandros could not tell how he had taken the explanation. Above the guard, on the flat roof of the tower, were stationed two more men with a bell to raise the alarm – as with all the towers around the circuit; their silhouetted forms could be seen peering down at the confrontation below. Kassandros felt his bladder strain.
‘On whose orders?’
‘How would I know? Demochares orders us up here and I obey; where the order came from is none of my business.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘How the fuck should I know seeing as we haven’t got to where we’re meant to be yet? As soon as I know I’ll write you a nice love-letter telling you all about it and how much I wish you were with me and the sooner you let us through the sooner you’ll get it.’
‘All right, all right, I was just asking.’ The guard stepped aside; Kassandros realised he had been holding his breath and had to check himself from sighing. Through the tunnel under the tower Laetes led them, keeping their eyes to the front and their demeanour relaxed.
Two more such obstacles did they pass with the same result – such was the audacity of the move that none thought it anything but genuine. Thus they approached the gate tower; torches burned around it, speckling it with flickering light. Down a set of steps, at ground level, guards milled – at least a half dozen from what Kassandros could make out – leaning against the wall, or pacing up and down, talking in low voices to one another, evidently bored of doing the night watch on gates that had not opened for four months.
‘Identify yourselves!’ came the customary cry.
Again Laetes halted them and walked up to the guard. ‘Laetes with an enomotia of the guard called to the main gate.’
‘To do what?’
‘This.’
The dull, butcher’s thud, exhalation of breath and choking in the throat told the story only too well.
‘Now!’ Kassandros hissed, pointing to the steps.
Philip did not pause; down he led his file at the charge to hit the unsuspecting night-guards with bloody menace as Kassandros set about his task of signalling their success to the waiting assault troops by throwing as many torches over the wall as he could. Laetes, meanwhile, secured the tower with the rest of the men.
Leaving a line of torches burning on the ground before the walls, Kassandros ran down the steps to where Philip’s men had formed a perimeter shield-wall in front of the arch while he and three others struggled to open the bar across the gate after so long a time in place.
Cries from within the city heralded the first of the troops rushing to the aid of their comrades on the gate – all of whom now lay in bloody heaps as obstacles beyond the shield-wall. Down the main thoroughfare they ran, towards the gate, in various states of dress, their numbers being fed all the time from side-streets.
‘Harder!’ Kassandros shouted at the men pushing up the bar, hurrying to lend his weight hoping that it would take his mind off the incoming clamour of voices and swords beating upon shields. A javelin hit the ground and clattered along the stones just a pace from him; he pushed at the bar with his shoulder; a creak and a groan and loose it came, dropping to the floor. Kassandros and one other were quick to drag it clear as Philip pulled back the heavy bolts, one by one. A mortal shriek caused Kassandros to turn; the shield-wall was in contact, death was being dealt. Kassandros’ bladder failed him.
But that was the least of his worries for there was nowhere to run to as the gate remained closed and the shield-wall blocked his route to surrender. He had no choice. He pulled at the gate, hauling with his brother at the great rings now that the bolts were freed. Grinding and slow they moved, until fingers could be got in the gap between them and more pressure was brought to bear; by degrees they opened, revealing the flaming torches still burning on the ground outside. Kassandros peered out but could see nothing as the flames dulled all that was in darkness beyond; a glance over his shoulder told him that the shield-wall was holding and getting aid from the comrades in the tower above as javelins rained down. I must wait; don’t give in to panic.
