Babylon, page 27
Again he tried to peer into the night. Surely they saw the signal? And then it became obvious what he could do in order to be seen to be active but staying away from the action: picking up a couple of the torches he waved them over his head, crossing them back and forth, bellowing at the top of his voice for Pleistarchos and the flying column of cavalry that would lead the assault in through the open gates.
The combat escalated, the shield-wall dwindled, pushed back into the archway, now barely ten paces away from him. Kassandros gave one last mighty set of waves, knowing that his nerves would not stand to look behind him one more time. Down he threw the torches and as he was stepping forward the dark surge of cavalry came out of the night and he managed, just, to turn the forward motion of flight into a sideways jump.
Through the flame and the gate Pleistarchos’ men thundered, knocking the shield-wall aside, crashing into and then through the scrum around it; swords slashing down on heads and shoulders, cleaving arms and necks in sprays of torch-lit gore. Surging on, with the weight of those coming behind pressing upon them, the cavalry ploughed through the defence, haphazard as it was, and clattered up the main thoroughfare leading to the heart of the city, its agora. And behind came the infantry rank upon rank running to keep up the momentum of the attack now that Corinth was laid open to pillage and rape.
Relief that it was over weakened Kassandros’ knees and he sank to the ground, watching his army pass by, breathing deep gulps and trying to keep down a rising tide of vomit welling within.
‘We did it,’ Philip said, standing in front of Kassandros and looking down at him. ‘You did it. We’re in.’
Kassandros nodded and then shook his head, not in disbelief at the feat achieved but, rather, in disbelief at his part in it: he had not run – just – and he had played an active role. He would be able to look Thessalonike in the eye and tell her that he had taken Corinth and had led from the front; fortunately his fearful release of his bladder had gone unnoticed by all save him and he would not be mentioning it to anyone.
Long did the cries of pain and anguish go on through the morning, for part of Demochares’ price for betraying his city was the freedom to massacre his enemies, whether real or imaginary. But this was of no concern to Kassandros for his garrison was soon installed and the new oligarchy in place before the last of the screams had been stilled; the shocked citizens of Corinth ventured out of doors to find that their streets were free from foreign troops, as Kassandros had business elsewhere.
Speed had been the key to the campaign over the last few months, speed and ruthlessness. The drive south had taken Polyperchon completely by surprise and, within a moon, two of his largest defences along the isthmus line had been taken. Most of the garrison in both sets of fortifications had surrendered, willingly coming over to Kassandros, the equipment and turnout immaculate, their morale low and their opinion of their commanding officer lower still. Many of the mercenaries, newly recruited by Aristodemus, had also crossed over to Kassandros, preferring, they said, to earn their daily pay without always fearing an inspection at any moment.
And thus Polyperchon had been pushed aside, his positions now manned by troops under the command of Atarrhias, whilst Crateuas had driven south, leaving Kassandros free to engage Corinth. Now that the city had fallen, thanks to treachery that had been negotiated for three months, Kassandros could lead his army away, south and east, for news of a concerning nature had come from Crateuas.
Kassandros looked back at Corinth still writhing under the convulsions of a change in leadership, as the city faded into the distance. Let them do what they like to one another, my garrison will keep them in line. And with that thought he pressed on to Argos.
‘They’ve taken Antigonos’ decree to heart and thrown out the oligarchy,’ Crateuas told Kassandros as they stood looking at the barred gates of what had been until just recently his main city base in the Peloponnese. ‘And they’ve sent to Alexandros for help.’
‘Alexandros?’
‘Yes, he arrived back in Greece a couple of days ago. It was news of his arrival that acted as the catalyst to the rebellion.’
‘Well then, we’d better do this fast; I can’t preside at the Nemean Games next month if Argos is not in my hands, without looking like a fool.’ And Thessalonike will tell me so to my face. ‘What are your thoughts?’
Crateuas’ lined and scarred face creased into a squint-eyed grin. ‘Walk straight in.’
‘Walk straight in?’
‘Yes. Our garrison is still in the citadel, they couldn’t dislodge them. They have hardly any decent troops, just a citizen militia that hasn’t fought an engagement for a good few years; that’s why they’ve sent to Alexandros for help.’
‘And Alexandros, even if he wanted to help, couldn’t afford to spare the troops.’
‘No, not since Polyperchon managed to scare so many of them away with his obsessions.’
‘Straight in it is then; any particular way?’
‘Straight through the gates.’
It was without preamble that Kassandros sent in the attack to storm the gates once the four rams had been fashioned from mighty plane trees. Ancient, even by Greek reckoning, the walls of Argos needed much in the way of repair, but the gates were of relatively recent manufacture, no more than a hundred years old.
The four attacks, each comprising a thousand men, set off simultaneously, under the cover of light archers and slingers strafing the walls to either side of each of the objectives, keeping the return in missiles to a minimum.
Kassandros sat with his half-brothers and watched the northern and western attacks from a knoll a safe distance from the town, pleased that because he had ordered four separate assaults he could quite legitimately stand back on the pretext of having to oversee all of them – he already had his story to tell his wife and needed no more, especially as his heart still raced and he broke out in a sweat every time he recalled the final few moments before the arrival of his cavalry.
But now there was a far more pleasant memory in the making as the hollow boom of the ram’s metallic head striking hardened wood echoed off the walls and over the surrounding fields; each strike slow and deliberate, receiving nothing in return for the defenders had ceased to appear on the walls above the gates. It was easy, as if taking a stable manned by children with wooden weapons. The northern gates burst, their timbers shattered by the ram, their hinges wrenched from the ancient stonework; over them the assault troops piled, their cries rising though the air, their joy at being released on yet another city, so soon after Corinth, palpable. Within a few moments the western gates too split asunder and Kassandros’ victorious men surged, their hunger for soft flesh and loot yearning to be sated.
‘Shall we?’ Kassandros suggested to Philip and Pleistarchos, gesturing with a hand to the now burning city.
‘I think we should,’ Philip said with a grin. ‘I’ll be interested in what the democrats have to say on the subject of you sparing their lives.’
‘They can say whatever they like if they choose to waste their final breaths in a futile exercise.’
And futile it was for the elders of the democratic faction of the city could not deny that they had executed the leading members of the oligarchy during their rebellion.
‘And why should I not just do the same to you?’ Kassandros asked, his tone reasonable and light, as he sat upon his horse outside the municipal building in which the democrats had taken refuge.
The elders looked at one another; the oldest stepped forward, his gnarled hand grasping a stick, his beard fluttering in the breeze. ‘They had caused much pain during their rule and had appropriated property and goods for their own use during their time in power. The people demanded justice.’
‘The people! What care I for the people? The people do what they are told and then they get left alone. As soon as the people start making demands it starts to go badly for the people. You executed my supporters because the people wanted it and so I shall make an example of what happens when the people have too much say in their affairs.’ He pushed his horse forward into the old man, knocking him down so that the back of his head cracked on the stone ground; unconscious he lay there, blood seeping from a wound to the skull. With his eyes fixed on the other elders, Kassandros pulled back on the reins, rearing his stallion up, so that its front legs scraped the air, before forcing it down on the prostrate and unconscious man, crushing his ribcage; the elders turned and ran back into the building.
‘Block up the doors and windows and then torch the place. Let’s send a lesson to the whole of Greece as to just what happens if they take Antigonos’ decree seriously.’
It was with the screams of the Argos democrats burning alive still ringing in his ears that Kassandros took the surrender of Orchomenus a few days later. The lesson he had sent was enough for citizens who wished for life and the town was delivered up to him by treachery without any need for military action. Kassandros had no need to punish the democratic faction that had previously held out against him as they were gratifyingly massacred to a man, over five hundred of them, by their own neighbours, as they sought refuge in the Temple of Artemis.
Thus Kassandros was able to rightly claim the honour of presiding over the Nemean Games for control of the Peloponnese was his, putting the whole of Greece in his power. It was with pride – and a deal of surprise – that he acknowledged the cheers of the crowd in the stadium as he made his entry with Thessalonike, newly arrived in the south, holding his firstborn son, Philip.
‘They seem pleased to have you here despite your overturning Antigonos’ decree,’ Thessalonike observed as she kissed her baby and handed it to the wet-nurse for safekeeping for the remainder of the day.
With his arms in the air as if he were already a victor in the games about to commence, Kassandros milked a rare moment of popularity. ‘Most of these men are from the propertied class and have much to fear from democracy where those with nothing, and therefore nothing to lose, hold a majority in the assembly. Although, I have to admit, I didn’t expect this kind of welcome.’ Still reaping the crowd’s approbation he made his way down to the arena and the altar set at its centre.
Having performed the opening sacrifice, reciting the ritual prayers, he presided over the games throughout the day, presenting the wreaths of wild celery leaves to the winners of the foot races, boxing, equestrian – both chariot and horseback – and pentathlon events, adding, at Thessalonike’s insistence, generous prizes of his own to each man.
As the final victor, the pentathlete, walked back down the steps to the track from the elevated seats, high in the middle of the western stand, Thessalonike eyed his firm-muscled buttocks dusted with arena sand. ‘I hope our Philip will be as well built, Kassandros.’
‘Rather than thin, spindly, ugly and pockmarked, like his father, you mean?’
Thessalonike laughed, throwing her head back. ‘Is that what you think of yourself? Really?’
‘It’s what most others think; I know, I’ve heard them say it enough, behind my back and to my pinched, pockmarked face.’
‘Let them say it, Husband; what harm can it do you? I admire your physique for what it is. Whatever they may say won’t take Greece from you.’
‘Then why do you wish for Philip to be like that athlete?’
‘It’s normal to wish the best for one’s child and that man was very pleasing on the eye.’
‘From behind, perhaps, but from the front I found him, well…’
‘Yes, it was hard to know where to look; he was so very, well, well…’
‘Yes, he was.’ Kassandros tapped the arm on his chair and, feeling a lesser man and trying to get the image out of his mind, waited for the fanfare of horns accompanied by the beating of many drums to announce the end of the games and his departure. He gave a sidelong glance at his wife who, seeing him, pulled a face of disbelieving wonder. ‘Very funny.’
Thessalonike shook her head, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Oh, Kassandros, I love you for what you are.’
Kassandros turned to her, his eyes puzzled, not believing what he had just heard. ‘Say that again.’
Thessalonike smiled, squeezing his arm with soft pressure. ‘I love you for what you are.’ She leaned over and kissed him on his astonished mouth. ‘And you are right, I never thought that I would say it, let alone believe it; but I do, Kassandros, and the birth of our child has shown the truth of the matter to me. I love you.’
So overwhelmed was he that the ending of the games passed him by completely and he had to be guided to his feet by his wife. He accepted the acclaim of the crowd in a daze and then walked as if in a trance out of the stadium. Never in his life had anyone loved him unconditionally: his father had barely tolerated him, his mother had died when he was young and his step-mother had made sure that he knew her low opinion of his character; his two half-brothers were, perhaps, the closest people to him but it was hardly love that they shared. No, he now found himself in completely new territory and it had taken him totally by surprise, for he had never imagined that Thessalonike would ever have such strong feelings for him. It completed his triumph. I have Greece and the love of the woman I adore.
As he held his child later, its head cupped in his right hand, he looked down into its scrunched face and he could see that the boy would have his fiery red hair and, no doubt, his pinched face; but he did not care, nor did he feel sorry for the infant for if he had negotiated life so well as to be the ruler of Macedon and Greece and overlord of Thessaly and Epirus, and also have the most beautiful woman in the world at his side, then the young Philip would be able to do the same. And then it occurred to him; he looked up at his wife sitting opposite in the soft lamplight of their suite in Nemea. ‘This child is born to be king.’
‘That was my first thought when he was presented to me after I gave birth to him. He will be a king. And what you have achieved this winter has done much to secure his kingdom. Now you need to look to our neighbours to the north-west: King Glaucias of Illyria has been taking advantage of your absence and making raids into our territory as well as into Epirus; he needs a sharp lesson so that we can concentrate our forces on looking east. I would suggest you take the west coast route home with a show of force.’
Kassandros looked down at his child again. ‘Yes, and maybe I can get Glaucias to hand over Aeacides’ son, Pyrrhus, who has taken refuge in Illyria according to my spies; he could be a major threat to our Philip in the future.’ He handed the baby back to the wet-nurse who, cooing, took it from the room. ‘As to the kingdom, the crown, do we…?’ He left the question hanging.
‘No, it’s still too soon; we cannot afford to be the first and, besides, we are still not strong enough to have Alexander’s death on our hands. And also, I have been thinking about how to go about making our claim completely legitimate.’
Kassandros was interested. ‘How?’
‘We need the support of two people: my half-sister, Kleopatra, and the, arguably, legitimate regent, Polyperchon.’ Thessalonike raised her hand as she saw her husband redden at the reminder that he had been passed over by his father in favour of Polyperchon. ‘It may not be palatable but it is a fact that needs to be lived with and used to advantage. Now, Kleopatra I can deal with but Polyperchon has seen me witness his constant humiliations by Olympias and will be less likely to respond to my advances than he would to yours, I would judge.’
‘Polyperchon come over to us so soon after he has made a pact with Antigonos?’
‘Of course and why not?’
‘Because… well, because he has a pact with Antigonos.’
‘Who is in Asia and without enough ships to get an army to Europe, even if he had one to spare with all the trouble that Ptolemy has stirred up for him.’
‘But Polyperchon would never come over to us without his son.’
‘Then make advances to Alexandros. Lure the son to catch the father.’
Of course; why didn’t I think of it before? At our meeting in front of the gates of Tegea, all those years ago, he said that he would always be open to serving under me. Antigonos just got there first this time but there is no reason why I shouldn’t change that. ‘I’ll write to him, suggesting that he has chosen the wrong side but it’s not too late to change.’
Thessalonike smiled as she stood to take his face in her hands. ‘It never is, Kassandros.’
He leaned down and kissed her and, placing his hands beneath her buttocks, lifted her off the ground and carried her off to the bedroom, all thoughts of intriguing with Alexandros and his father banished for a good while.
POLYPERCHON.
THE GREY.
‘AND YOU WILL go and meet him?’ Polyperchon looked at his son in amazement and then snatched the scroll from his hand.
‘Of course I will, Father.’ Alexandros pointed to the scroll. ‘He asks you to come too.’
‘He’s guaranteed you both your safety if you come to Corinth,’ added Penelope, Alexandros’ wife, walking up to her husband and taking his hand. ‘I believe it’s always important to hear what your enemy has to say. You may find that he’s not your enemy after all.’
Polyperchon grunted as he perused the letter recently arrived from Kassandros to their base in Sikyon, seven leagues west of Corinth on the north coast of the Peloponnese.
‘He makes the point that it is not too late to reconsider our alliance with Antigonos.’
Polyperchon crumpled the letter and threw it to the ground. ‘You’ve only just got back a few days ago from sealing that alliance. And now you want to go back on your word.’
‘I’m not saying that I will, Father; but as Penelope said, it’s best to hear what Kassandros has to say; especially as he is now the master of Greece and we hold a few villages and Sikyon in an insignificant scrap of land with no strategic value, which is why Kassandros left us here and went to preside over the Nemean Games instead. Face it, Father, we are so irrelevant that the Nemean Games take precedence over us.’
