Forging Kingdoms, page 9
Seleukos swore under his breath. ‘Now I’ll have to follow him.’
‘But at least you now have the men, lord,’ Polyarchos reminded him.
And that thought calmed Seleukos as he looked around the camp; all through it prisoners were being untied, having taken their oath to Seleukos, for it mattered not to them whom they served as long as they were paid, and paid well and regularly. Seleukos would soon be able to afford to pay them very well indeed for with them he was heading south to Susa and the royal treasury therein. And once I have that under my control, I’ll look to the east and settle with Nikanor before either Antigonos or his pup come to try to wrest Babylon from me.
DEMETRIOS.
THE BESIEGER.
IT HAD TAKEN longer than Demetrios had wished to get the four thousand infantry and a similar number of cavalry together and still leave Gaza secure against a surprise attack from Ptolemy – a serious consideration seeing as his information about the last raid into the Nabateans’ territory had been so accurate. And then the time it had taken to provision the expedition in order to be self-sufficient for fifteen days had also added to the delay; thus it was eleven days later that Demetrios sat on his horse next to Hieronymus, looking in amazement at the Salt Sea. It was not the sea itself, remarkable though it was, that caught his attention: it was an area along the southern shore that fascinated him.
‘What is it?’ he asked, looking at the almost black, viscous substance that oozed from the ground. All around, men, stripped almost naked, worked with wooden spades collecting the stuff in reed baskets.
Hieronymus dismounted and knelt to sniff the ground whence it oozed. ‘I’ve not seen it before although I have heard of an oily black substance that hardens when cold and melts in the heat. Apparently, it was used in the mortar between the bricks in the walls of Babylon. This must be it.’
Demetrios turned to Mantias. ‘Have you seen this before?’
‘Yes, but I don’t know its name, lord,’ his guide replied. ‘But it seems to be of value as each time I’ve passed this place men are harvesting it and then they send it south.’
‘South? To the Nabateans?’
‘I assume so; although what they would want with it, I don’t know.’
Demetrios looked again at the workmen, black with the sticky slime. ‘Well, we shall find out.’
Leaving the southern tip of the Salt Sea behind, Demetrios led his men into an unremitting desert of crags, ravines and sharp hills above whose rough floor no clouds formed, leaving the sun to burn down onto already scalding stone adding heated misery to the parched column. But Demetrios took no notice of his men’s discomfort for he ignored his own growing distress, telling himself it was but a three-day journey to The Stone and the sooner it were done the better.
And so, with a pause for a couple of hours during the full heat of the day, Demetrios pressed on, following where Mantias led until, on the evening of the third day, they passed through a narrow passage between two towering red-rock peaks into a bowl surrounded by scraggy hills on all sides. Demetrios blinked a few times unable to believe his eyes for what he saw within the bowl: nothing. There was no man nor beast nor dwelling to be seen; nothing but scrub and rock. Apart from the occasional call of an unknown bird there was silence.
‘I had at least expected to see some sign of habitation,’ Demetrios said to Mantias. ‘Some evidence, perhaps, that a great many people live here.’
‘But they don’t, lord. This is where they gather for festivals and meetings of the clans. They would have moved their families and flocks long before we arrived had they been here in the first place.’
‘Then how do we threaten them?’
Mantias pointed to a large monolith set at the centre of the bowl. ‘That is sacred to them.’
Demetrios smiled. ‘Yes, that should do it.’
Just how the monolith had come to be there, Demetrios could not tell; it was old, that was certain, for there were symbols engraved on it which were worn to almost invisibility through age. Ten times the height of a man and thrice the circumference, it was of a stone that did not match the type prevalent nearby. ‘Who brought it here, I wonder,’ Demetrios mused.
Mantias shrugged. ‘But it’s here.’
‘And very useful that it is.’ He turned to Hieronymus. ‘Organise a party with ropes, wedges, hammers and levers. I want this thing ready to topple by the end of the day.’
The historian was shocked. ‘You’re not really thinking of destroying this, are you?’
‘Why not? Well, at least I want to look as though I’m going to destroy it to get their attention.’
Small figures standing on the skyline, high above the bowl, appeared as the first of the ropes were lassoed around the top of the monolith. More and more came as the work continued. In a circle around the sacred stone the cavalry stood formed up, with the infantry, mainly archers, acting as a screen; Demetrios was taking no chances of sharing Athenaios’ fate.
As the sun fell into the west and long shadows engulfed the bowl, a single horn sounded, echoing mournful tones off the rock, slowly fading into the distance. Again, it sounded and then again. On the third call, Demetrios halted the work. ‘Get your lads to stand away, Hieronymus. Everyone is to pull back now.’
As The Stone was cleared of men, Demetrios looked around; the heights above the bowl were now teaming with people, men, women and children, standing in silence, their numbers growing with every heartbeat.
It was another horn, a deeper call, which announced the arrival of a small party, mounted on camels, through a narrow pass at the northern rim.
‘Let them approach!’ Demetrios shouted as they drew closer showing no fear of the archers aiming at them. ‘Lower your weapons and let them through.’
Demetrios stood before the monolith as the group approached, one foot on a rock, his forearm resting on his thigh, watching the leader, a man in his mid- to late forties in long, flowing white robes and a wound, white headdress, contrasting sharply with his full black beard and matching eyes; any skin visible was the colour of ancient wood.
‘Demetrios, my friend,’ the man said as he brought his camel to a halt, ‘I welcome you to the heart of my realm.’ With a couple of taps of the goad and a pull of the reins, his camel knelt on its front legs and then lowered the rear two so the man could dismount. ‘I am Malichus, the King of the Nabateans, and you and your men are most welcome to spend the night here under my protection.’
It was as much as Demetrios could do to keep a straight face at Malichus’ audacity in implying he and his men needed protection. ‘And you are welcome to share a meal with me in my camp,’ he replied with as much grace as possible.
Fires lit the rock surrounding the bowl with faint flickers of orange and gold, giving the scene an eerie quality amplified with the constant drone of many voices, whose soft echo rebounded around the camp.
Demetrios cut a leg from the lamb roasting on the spit and, placing it on a trencher, offered it to his guest.
Malichus’ dark eyes twinkled with mirth in the firelight. ‘You are very generous to offer me such a tender morsel of the beast which I presented to you. Had I not ordered one of my flocks to be slaughtered I believe we would have been eating dried meat and stale bread.’
Demetrios returned the smile, finding the king’s humour infectious. ‘I think it was the least you could have done seeing as I could have given the order for your death at any time during your approach.’
Malichus waved the thought away with a chuckle. ‘You know perfectly well that, had you done so, none of you would have left here alive and I – or my heir – would have been richer by three of four thousand horses. No, my friend, you didn’t spare my life, I spared yours.’
Demetrios’ smile transformed into a laugh at the absurdity of the notion. ‘And just why did you do that? Was it because if you had offered any violence, I would have given the order for your sacred stone to be toppled?’
Malichus looked over his shoulder at the monolith that still wore its ropes, dangling loose down its sides. ‘Egypt would have sent me another one, had you done so.’
‘Egypt?’
‘Yes. It was Egypt who sent our ancestors that stone as a sign of friendship when we harried the Sea Peoples who settled along the coast, having invaded Egypt and been beaten off hundreds of years ago. The Philistines we called them in Aramaic. But enough of history and down to practical business: I spared your lives because Ptolemy asked me to – told me to, even.’
‘Ptolemy?’
‘Do you always repeat what has just been said? Yes, Ptolemy. He was upset I killed so many of his fellow countrymen repelling your last raid, even though they were his enemies – you have strange customs I can never quite get used to. Anyway, Ptolemy asked me to make peace with you and give you hostages and gifts, which I am very happy to do. So, to make up for the seven hundred hostages I took back from you I will present you with seven hundred camels.’
Demetrios stared at the king, unable to understand his motivation. ‘But if Ptolemy wants you to make peace with me then what threat is there to the east that would prevent us from marching on him in Egypt?’
Malichus picked a piece of well-cooked meat from his leg of lamb and chewed on it with obvious pleasure before licking his fingers. ‘The fact is there is nothing to stop you, except Ptolemy judges you may have more serious priorities now.’
‘What does Ptolemy know about my priorities?’
‘Oh, he knows much. Tomorrow you should return to your father and you will find news will soon come from the east that has changed the situation entirely.’
‘Nonsense. How can Ptolemy possibly know what news is going to come before it arrives?’
‘What you must remember is that Ptolemy gets his news from the east from us, straight across the desert.’
‘Just as you took Seleukos straight across the desert.’
‘Exactly so.’
‘We still have a score to settle with you on that account.’
Malichus shrugged as if it were a matter of little import. ‘It was a favour to Ptolemy and I do a lot of business with him. Two or three times a month, I send a caravan with bitumen from the Salt Sea to Egypt – they use it for embalming, you see, and they pay well – with it goes the most up-to-date news from the east. You, on the other hand, have to wait for it to travel up the Euphrates, over into Syria and then down the coast to Gaza. By the time you or your father has heard what Seleukos is up to, Ptolemy has known for half a moon.’
PTOLEMY.
THE BASTARD.
INEVITABLY, PTOLEMY KNEW from bitter experience, bad news would always sour a pleasurable situation; and this was no exception. His leading of Nearchos on a personal tour of his defences around Pelusium, now that he had fallen back to the Nile Delta in the face of Antigonos’ advance, had amused him, especially as he had been able to share the enjoyment with his old friend and comrade of imagining the look on the resinated cyclops’ face when Nearchos recounted his visit and Ptolemy’s exact words accompanying it; just because they were on different sides in this war did not mean they could not enjoy a joke together. This pleasing incident had been followed by the equally pleasing news from Ophellas, his governor in Cyrenaica, that the Carthaginian general, Hanno, had won a decisive victory over Agathocles, the Tyrant of Syracuse, at the Himera River in Sicilia. Agathocles was now under siege in Syracuse, a city so well defended it would take the Carthaginians months, if not years, to take it, thus ensuring there would be no threat on his western borders for some time to come. This would give him ample time to complete the construction of the three ports he had commissioned on the coast closest to Sicilia, one of which he would name after himself, another after his most recent wife, Berenice, who had just delivered him a second daughter, Philotera, and the third after their first child, Arsinoe. Disappointed to have been presented with a second daughter, he was now contemplating working on begetting a son with Berenice when he returned to Alexandria, thus ridding himself of what was becoming a growing problem in his dynastic planning. It was an undertaking he would take seriously; nevertheless, he would thoroughly enjoy himself during what he would ensure would be an intense process.
‘It was all looking so good and all going so well,’ he bemoaned to Thais as they walked the walls of Pelusium in the lessening heat of late afternoon sun, admiring the strength of the army of Egypt encamped outside the town and the fleet at anchor in the distance out to sea – the harbour itself being full of transport ships. ‘Seleukos planning to set off east against Nikanor was wonderful news: whether he wins or loses – and we should be hearing soon, one way or the other – it will distract Antigonos’ attention away from us. And then what with Carthage and Syracuse keeping each other amused and Nearchos explaining to the cyclops how well Egypt is defended plus Antigonos’ failure to overcome Malichus’ threat on his flank, I was looking forward to a peaceful couple of years building my position here and in Cyprus and Cyrenaica. And then this.’ He pointed accusingly with his thumb over his shoulder at his steward, Lycortas, following him, seemingly gliding as all leg movement was hidden under his long white robe. ‘I should have his bowels removed and wrapped around his neck for spoiling my day in such a manner.’
‘Indeed, lord,’ Lycortas agreed, ‘it is no more than I deserve and I marvel at your forgiving nature in allowing my copious viscera to remain within me. It is not so many years ago that the rulers of Egypt would have had the messenger’s entire family, village even, relieved of their innards for bearing such ill tidings.’
‘But the news would not have changed, would it, Lycortas,’ Thais pointed out, ‘no matter how many coils of colons were wrapped around people’s necks?’
‘Alas, no, mistress, unfortunately the disembowelment of messengers has never proven to be an effective antidote for bad news. As far as I’m aware the only thing it changes is the messenger’s mind as to the wisdom of his bringing the news in the first place; if, indeed, he is still capable of reasoned thought with someone else’s hands rummaging around his insides.’
‘Yes, Lycortas, you make a good point.’ Ptolemy scratched the back of his neck, prickling with summer heat despite the westering of the sun. ‘But how should I act on this news?’
‘I should have thought it was obvious,’ Thais said, her voice reprimanding. ‘If Kassandros and Lysimachus are both prepared to engage in Antigonos’ offer of peace and their representatives really are travelling to his camp with Aristodemus, there can be only one outcome should the talks be successful, and I wouldn’t wager against them being so as it would be in the interests of all three.’
Gloom fell upon Ptolemy. ‘Antigonos will be free to concentrate all his energy on me and Seleukos at the same time.’
‘Exactly; therefore, you have to make him an even more tempting offer.’
‘Which is?’
Thais looked at him, disappointment in her eyes, and linked her arm through his. ‘If you can’t think of something so obvious then I don’t see why I should help you.’
Ptolemy sighed, his gloom deepening. ‘Why is it that you always make me feel as if I’m a student who is a constant disappointment to his grammaticus?’
She gave him her most severe expression of exasperation. ‘Ptolemy, did you not just complain that Kassandros and Lysimachus entering into peace talks with Antigonos will mean you won’t have the couple of years you were looking forward to for building up your position in Cyprus and Cyrenaica?’
Ptolemy frowned. ‘I believe I said something along those lines.’
‘And why will Kassandros and Lysimachus making peace with Antigonos have that inconvenient effect?’
‘Because it will free him from concerns in the north and the west thus allowing him to concentrate on me.’
‘Ah, well done, you remembered that part. But what about the other detail: the one about Seleukos?’
Ptolemy felt his impatience rising. ‘Antigonos can concentrate on me and Seleukos if he has peace with… wait.’ His impatience disappeared as the strategy took root in his mind. He smiled at his mistress. ‘Of course; you’re a very clever girl. I throw Seleukos to him. The cyclops knows if he loses the east then his wealth and military power will be greatly reduced and therefore it would make sense for him to deal with Seleukos’ threat before he tries to overcome me.’
‘I knew you’d get there in the end.’
‘I’m afraid I’m still lagging far behind,’ Lycortas said.
It was now Ptolemy’s turn to be the disappointed grammaticus as he turned to his steward. ‘Oh, Lycortas, if only you had paid more attention in your cunning-strategy and advanced duplicity lessons when you were younger, you might not be so behind now.’
‘Indeed, lord; it is to my lasting regret that I… oh, I see.’ Lycortas’ pudgy face unfolded into a smile. ‘That would be very hard on Seleukos, would it not?’
Ptolemy pursed his lips. ‘To make myself feel better I’ll send him a few thousand men across the desert before any agreement with Antigonos is made; a negotiation like this can be spun out for quite some time. Send a message to Malichus to make the arrangements for their passage when the next bitumen caravan returns, Lycortas.’
‘Indeed, lord. And might I ask one question?’
‘You may, but I’d hazard that, as you do so, the answer will come to you.’
Lycortas did not even begin to ask his question; instead, he put both hands to his chest and looked at Ptolemy, his expression turning from horror to pleading. ‘No, lord, not me surely?’
Ptolemy put a hand on Lycortas’ shoulder and squeezed it in sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, old friend, but this will make up for your bringing me the bad news in the first place, and besides, you are the best person to go to Antigonos and negotiate my inclusion in his peace proposal. I shall write to him immediately.’
It was but a matter of five days until Antigonos’ reply came back from Gaza agreeing the embassy headed by Lycortas with instructions for it to be in Tyros four days after the next new moon but suggesting grave doubts as to the likelihood of successful talks. The reply also coincided with the arrival of the latest bitumen caravan from the Nabateans which brought the news of Seleukos’ victory over Nikanor on the Tigris and his intention to move south to Susa.
