Babylon, page 35
‘I don’t want to see one stone still standing when I return,’ Ptolemy said to his brother as he readied himself to leave with his fleet. ‘And bring the elders from each of the kingdoms here to witness the fact that Marion no longer exists.’
‘It will be done. What about Pygmalion?’
‘I think you’ll find he will come here himself in a few days to see what happens to disloyal cities; well, his head at least will come, I’m not sure about the rest of his body.’
Menelaus took his brother’s proffered forearm. ‘How long will you be?’
‘Just long enough to make Demetrios and Antigonos think I’m going for the treasury at Cyinda.’
ANTIGONOS.
THE ONE-EYED.
NOW WAS THE time to make his move. If he went now, now that Asander was dead, Caria suppressed and all of Anatolia under his control and with Kassandros distracted by his nephews in Euboea, he could get across the Bosporus and winter in Pella as the Lord of Macedon. But if this were to happen, Antigonos knew that he would have to move with the speed that Alexander used to display in order to catch Lysimachus – currently fending off another Scythian raid over the Danubus, paid for, again, by his spies – off-guard so as to cross the Bosporus unopposed. But still he needed the cooperation of Byzantium to be able to ferry an army across that narrow stretch of water in safety without him recalling one of his fleets from Greece. ‘You can make a deal with them, Hieronymus, if anyone can,’ Antigonos said to the man he thought would be the best emissary to the city. ‘You’re eloquent and can explain the advantages of an alliance with me over neutrality which manages to annoy everyone and please no one.’
‘They won’t see it that way.’
‘Well, make them. I need to get across the Bosporus and it has to be there. If I cross the Hellespont, I land on a peninsula on the European side; I can’t risk getting trapped on it so a pontoon bridge across the Bosporus it must be.’
‘And the Byzantines know that so will charge a heavy price for their cooperation, especially as Lysimachus is paying them handsomely to remain neutral.’
‘Pay whatever they ask; if it’s too outrageous they will suffer for their insolence at a later date. But, for now, I need them.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ the Greek historian and erstwhile friend of Eumenes said as he took his leave.
‘Do better than that. Peucestas will have the army ready to march tomorrow, I’ll be there with it in twenty days, perhaps less, and I want to see that bridge being constructed.’
‘As I said: I’ll do my best.’
Antigonos watched Hieronymus board the ship that would take him on his mission from Miletus. ‘He’s right not to be too optimistic,’ Antigonos said to Aristodemus as they watched the ship leave the harbour, ‘but it has to be tried. I dare not bring Dioscurides and his fleet away from Tyros and leave Demetrios with no naval support in the south, and if I were to recall a fleet from Europe, Kassandros would realise immediately what’s going on and race north to oppose me.’
‘Which will have the advantage of leaving Greece open for the taking.’
‘True to a certain extent but he will leave his half-brothers there with enough men to make things difficult for Ptolemaios and Telesphorus; and now that neither Epirus nor Illyria are any longer a threat to him he’ll have the numbers to force me into a fight that I might well be wise to avoid.’
‘Then Hieronymus had better succeed despite not being optimistic.’
*
And so the race began: in a series of forced marches Antigonos led his army, of almost thirty thousand men, up through Caria into Lydia where he picked up the old Persian Royal Road at Ephesus. Travelling ahead of the baggage train he managed a steady ten leagues a day, passing through Sardis and then Ipsus before arriving at Gordium just twelve days after he had set out. It was here, as he was about to leave the road and turn north to follow the line of the Sangarius River into Bithynia and then onto Chalcedon on the southern coast of the Bosporus, that the messenger from Dioscurides caught up with him.
‘When did he write this?’ Antigonos asked the messenger, his face grim as he looked again at the letter and then handed it to Aristodemus.
‘I sailed from Tyros ten days ago,’ the man replied.
‘I assume my nephew also sent a message to Demetrios.’
‘He did, sir; we left Tyros at the same time.’
Antigonos dismissed him with a wave and turned to Aristodemus. ‘Well?’
‘Well, there is not much that you can do about it; if King Pygmalion has been executed and Kition and Marion are back under Ptolemy’s rule then Cyprus is temporarily lost to us.’
‘And the Cilician coast is open to Ptolemy.’
‘Cyinda!’
Antigonos nodded. ‘That was my first thought too. I can’t turn around now that I have the chance of getting an army to Europe but, equally, if Ptolemy gets the contents of the treasury at Cyinda it could cripple me; there are over ten thousand talents in there. You go; I need you to coordinate the response should Ptolemy make a move for the treasury. Get a message to Demetrios that it’s his responsibility to see that Cyinda is safe. Winter’s coming; Ptolemy won’t try anything this late in the year so the lad will be safe enough taking a force north.’
‘I’ll leave right away and won’t stop until I’m on a ship at Ephesus.’
‘Do that, my friend, and you will be well rewarded.’
With the threat of disaster in the south it became even more imperative for Antigonos to succeed in the north and so on he drove his men through the rough terrain between the Royal Road and the coast, keeping the Sangarius River to his right as he followed it along its course north-west until it made a dogleg, heading back north-east to the sea. It was here he left it, four days after Aristodemus had set out from Gordium, to make the final approach to the Bosporus. To reach the divide between Asia and Europe it took the thirty thousand men of his army three days out of a journey of nineteen days in total and on each of those they had covered at least ten leagues. Thus it was an exhausted army that stood and looked across the narrow stretch of water over to the walls of Byzantium, barely a quarter of a league away; an exhausted army and a thoroughly demoralised one for instead of a pontoon bridge awaiting them, there, on the glittering blue water, stood a fleet and it was facing them, preventing them from crossing.
‘My arse!’ Antigonos growled as his one eye surveyed this most unwelcome sight. ‘My pox-ridden, fetid arse! Where’s my fucking bridge? Find Hieronymus and get him here, now!’
‘They refused,’ Hieronymus told Antigonos as they watched the squadrons patrol the Bosporus below from the high walls of Chalcedon. ‘No matter how much I offered they kept on saying no.’
‘Why?’
‘Because those are Lysimachus’ ships down there, not Byzantine ones; they sailed in from the Euxine Sea the day before I arrived and have blockaded Byzantium’s harbour. Lysimachus is paying them at the same time to remain neutral as well as threatening to put them under siege.’
‘But he’s meant to be busy up on the Danubus.’
Hieronymus gestured to the ships below. ‘Well, he’s busy here now. He told me that he realised that the Scythian raid must have been your doing in preparation for a move across to Europe so he paid the Getae, a Thracian tribe, to hold his northern border for him.’
Antigonos was astounded. ‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘Yes; actually I’ve had a couple of dinners with him. He’s been telling me of his northern wars; I’ve been taking notes for my history as it’s definitely worth a couple of chapters.’
‘Fuck your history! I sent you to Byzantium to organise me a bridge across the Bosporus, not to fill out your book with what Lysimachus has been doing to hairy-arsed savages from the north.’
‘The reason I had dinner with him was because, seeing as he intends to prevent you from crossing as he fears what you may do to him, I thought it prudent to try to arrange an alliance with him against Kassandros whereby he gives you free passage through Thrace.’
Antigonos’ eye lit up.
‘And?’
‘And he wasn’t at all keen on the idea. In fact he said, and I quote, that I “could go and fuck Antigonos’ pox-ridden, fetid arse that he’s always going on about”. I think that makes his views quite clear.’
‘And then you stayed to chat about his campaigns?’
‘I’m a historian, Antigonos; it was too good an opportunity to miss; and besides, the food and wine were excellent.’
‘But a waste of time from my point of view as I’m still stuck here in Asia; meanwhile, you are hobnobbing with my enemy with a view to glorifying his deeds.’
‘Antigonos, when I entered your service after you defeated and killed my friend Eumenes, you said that I would be free to write whatever I wanted in my history; and that is what I will do. And no, it wasn’t a waste of time from your point of view because I did manage to extract this from Lysimachus: he would be prepared to recognise your rule over the whole of Asia provided you do not cross to Europe.’
This was too much for Antigonos. ‘Oh, will he now! How very kind of him. I’ll show the bastard what comes of trying to dictate terms to me. I’ll get across this piss-streak of a channel and see if Lysimachus is prepared to recognise my cock up his arse. I’ll get Ptolemaios to send his fleet to get me across, even if it means abandoning Euboea to Kassandros.’
KASSANDROS.
THE JEALOUS.
OREUS, ON THE north coast of Euboea, was the most strategically important town on the island after Chalcis; it controlled the Mallian Gulf along which any navy sailing in close support of an army marching north or south via the Pass of Thermopylae must travel. And this was Kassandros’ second attempt at taking it. But nothing had gone right for him, indeed he had had no luck in his first siege which he had been forced to abandon after Aristodemus’ replacement, Telesphorus, had surprised his brother Pleistarchos’ fleet with a superior force and burned four ships before forcing the rest to retire. Kassandros had, soon after, caught the enemy fleet on the beach and managed to destroy a couple of vessels and take three as prizes. This act had only drawn Ptolemaios north, from the isthmus, into the conflict and now he was encamped outside Chalcis, the chief city of Euboea and loyal to Kassandros, intriguing with a faction within to open the gates for him.
‘If he gets into Chalcis, Oreus is worthless to me,’ Kassandros said to his twin half-brothers Philip and Pleistarchos as they digested the news from the south on his flagship, cruising the waters off Oreus. ‘So I’ll leave you two here to conduct the siege and keep up the naval blockade and force-march the fifteen leagues to Chalcis and surprise Ptolemaios in his camp.’
‘If he hasn’t been let into Chalcis by the time you arrived,’ Pleistarchos cautioned.
‘Of course, if he hasn’t been let in by the time I arrive. Why do you always have to point out the obvious, Pleistarchos? It’s not helpful. I need a bit of luck and being negative won’t encourage the gods to look kindly upon me. In fact, I’m beginning to wonder whether it isn’t you who whose luck is cursed.’
‘Me?’ Pleistarchos looked at his twin appealing for help; Philip averted his gaze.
‘Yes, you; you seem to lurch from one mishap to another, whereas Philip manages to corner and kill King Aeacides in Epirus and then come south and secure Aetolia whilst you just drift around Thessaly losing ships and men, not to mention being late coming with the assault force after I had opened the gates at Corinth.’
‘That is not fair, Kassandros,’ Pleistarchos said, getting to his feet, ‘you’re always going on about that. I do everything you ask of me. Had you asked me to go to Aetolia instead of Philip then I’m sure I would have done just as good a job.’
He’s not sure, is he? One look in his eyes tells me that. ‘Then prove it to me: get me Oreus whilst I’m gone. And Philip, don’t you dare lift a finger to help him unless he’s going to lose the whole campaign with another blunder.’
‘I do not make blunders,’ Pleistarchos shouted.
‘No? Good. I’m pleased to hear it. Let’s hope that is still true when I return. Philip, keep an eye on him. Oh, and send a message to Demetrius of Phaleron that I need him to send as many Athenian ships as he can spare to meet me at Chalcis.’
*
It was to be the last time, Kassandros swore to himself as he headed south at the head of his small field army, the last time that he would personally lead on a campaign rather than stay in the comfort of the royal palace at Pella. Now that Philip had proven himself to be a talented and trustworthy general he would leave the fighting to him and his subordinate, Prepelaus, who had shown himself capable of independent command in the recent war against Aeacides. With Atarrhias commanding the small garrisons on the Epiriot border, Crateuas guarding the king and his mother in Amphipolis as well as looking after the Thracian border and Philip doing the work in the south, Kassandros could, he hoped, spend more time securing his position in Macedon. But first he needed to push Ptolemaios and Telephorus out of Greece and then, by linking up with Athens, Thebes and the redoubtable Penelope, or Cratesipolis as her people now referred to her, on the isthmus, perhaps Greece would finally be his again; the past three years of campaigning would not prove to be as futile as it now looked from his current position. It was Antigonos acquiring so many fleets and Ptolemy being unconcerned about any of the cyclops’ ships operating further north than Rhodos that has proved the turning point in this war. I should have known that he would abandon me once I’d served my purpose.
Through the narrow valleys of the interior of Euboea, Kassandros led his men, shielded from the coast by Mounts Telethrius and Macistus so that on the evening on the second day they navigated the pass between Macistus and Mount Dirphys to approach Chalcis from the north-east. And it was with speed that Kassandros sent his Companion Cavalry down scrub-bearing foothills to the city that controlled the Euripus Strait, the narrowest point between the island and the mainland. And it was speed that caused them to sweep through Ptolemaios’ camp, catching many by surprise and leaving a trail of dead in their wake. By the time Kassandros had brought the infantry down – a far less hazardous task, and better suited to his temperament – Ptolemaios’ forces had retreated to their beached ships and were struggling to refloat them whilst fending off repeated mounted attacks.
Seeing the work almost done, with the enemy in such disarray, Kassandros had no hesitation in leading his infantry, mainly peltasts and archers, into the fray, for surely he would be safe pitted against a crumbling perimeter. Headlong they ran down to the beach, passing through their own cavalry, to slam their shields into those of the defenders trying with increasing desperation to keep their comrades launching the ships from danger. And it was just before his shield crunched into an adversary’s, bearing a grotesque caricature of the snake-haired Medusa, that Kassandros’ courage failed him. Try as he might, he still could not thrust himself into the line of danger, even with vigorous support on either shoulder. Down he went in a manufactured slip, to fall short of his target as the man behind him cleared his prostrate body in one bound to fling himself at the Gorgon-faced shield, hurling his javelin as he did with a cry of fury cut short by the spear-blade ripping into his exposed throat. Blood spurted from the wound, sloshing down onto Kassandros’ outstretched arms and increasing his panic with its cloying smell and viscous nature. With a great concentration of the will, Kassandros managed to keep himself rigid upon the ground, resisting the urge to jump up and rush away, bladder draining, as far as possible from the stench of death. And thus did he remain until the fight had moved four or five paces forward, away from him; only then did he dare to get to his feet, rubbing the blood onto his face for good effect. Forward he staggered, his sword extended before him, as if he were about to leap into the melee. But Ptolemaios’ men had no reason to continue the fight as their ships were now afloat and the marines and rowers aboard. Back the troops went as the marines, now higher on the decks, covered their retreat with short-range volleys of arrows. Down onto their knees the attackers went, to hunker down behind their shields, too small for complete protection. With their tormentors immobilised, Ptolemaios’ men turned and fled into the churning sea, dark and heavy with the sand dredged up by the passing of many hulls, and waded out to their vessels as their comrades kept up the strafing of the beach. Almost in tears with fear, Kassandros hunched behind his shield, the sand between his feet moist with urine, struggling to restrain the tide of panic that surged with each shaft juddering into his meagre protection. How long he remained immobile, he knew not, but slowly his mind registered a change in the atmosphere; no longer did projectiles hiss by or thump into his shield. With care he peered over its rim to see the ships, oarsmen at full stretch, heading away to Aulis on the far side of the strait, taking the marine archers out of range.
The danger past, his confidence and authority soon returned; he stood and strode forward to the water’s edge and, holding his sword aloft, shook it at the retreating enemy. ‘Cowards! Come back and face me!’ It was an idle invitation and he knew it but his men were impressed and many joined him in his taunting, ridiculing the masculinity of the foe, for none knew the truth of Kassandros’ behaviour, none save the man behind him when he had purposely thrown himself down, and that man now lay on the strand with an open throat and glazed eyes.
The sight of the Athenian fleet, two days later, sailing up the Euripus Strait, gave Kassandros and his men heart for they had been dreading a counterattack from Aulis which, with but few ships in Chalcis’ port, they would be at pains to repel. On they came, fifty triremes, majestic with their sails full and their oars spread like wings beating soft on the water. One by one they tacked, gliding into the port, furling their sails and shipping their oars as they slowed; all except one: the very last ship turned the opposite way and docked at Aulis.
