Alexander (Vol. 3) (Alexander Trilogy) (7 page)

Hephaestion’s army took seven days to reach the banks of the Euphrates at Thapsacus, a city full of merchants, of travellers, of livestock and wares of all kinds. Thapsacus teemed with life because it was the only fording point on the river.

Although located in the interior, the city was Phoenician in origin and its name indeed meant ‘ford’ or ‘passage’. There was nothing particularly attractive about it from an aesthetic point of view – no monuments or temples, and not even any squares with porticoes and statues. Nevertheless, it was pleasant, thanks to the hustle and bustle of the people there, the merchants’ shouting and the incredible number of prostitutes who plied their wares with the mule and camel drivers who worked along the banks of the great river. The language spoken at Thapsacus was a curious mixture of Syrian, Cilician, Phoenician and Aramaic with the occasional word of Greek.

Hephaestion completed his first reconnaissance tour and immediately realized that for the moment there was no possibility of fording the river; it had already begun to rain up in the mountains and the river was too swollen. The only way to cross was to build a bridge and so the Phoenician carpenters set to work under Nearchus’s command. The planks were all marked with red-hot brands bearing letters from the Phoenician alphabet for matching up the tenon joints.

When all the barges were ready, they started assembling the bridge – the mariners brought each pontoon into position, anchored it to the riverbed, attached it firmly to the previous pontoon and then laid out the wooden planks and raised the parapet. The work had only just begun when Mazaeus’s troops appeared – Syrian and Arab cavalry together with Greek heavy infantry. They immediately began disruptive action – incursions to the middle of the river with fire arrows, and naphtha-laden fireboats sent from upstream at night; fast and burning bright they came, globes of flame that crashed against Nearchus’s constructions, setting them alight.

Thus the days went by without any progress being made and the moment when Alexander’s army would appear, with ten thousand horses and two thousand carts full of provisions and equipment, ready to cross the Euphrates, was drawing near. Hephaestion hated the idea of being behind schedule and he often spoke to Nearchus in an attempt to find some solution. One night, while they were sitting on the riverbank discussing what should be done, Nearchus clapped him on the back, ‘Look’

At what?’

At that man.’

Hephaestion looked across to the other bank where Nearchus pointed and saw a man alone, astride a horse, holding up a lighted torch.

‘Who can it be?’

‘It looks as though whoever it is wants to speak to us.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘I think you should go over there. Take a boat, get yourself ferried across and listen to what he has to say. We’ll try to provide you with cover, if it proves necessary.’

Hephaestion agreed, had himself ferried across to the other bank and stood there before the mysterious horseman.

‘Hail!’ he said, in excellent Greek.

‘Hail to you,’ replied Hephaestion. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Nabunaid.’

‘What do you want of me?’

‘Nothing. Tomorrow we will destroy your bridge, but before the final battle I would like to give you this object and I would like you to give it to Baaladgar, if you see him.’

Eumolpus of Soloi, Hephaestion thought to himself as he looked at the terracotta statuette the man held in his hand, decorated around its base with wedge-shaped characters.

‘Why?’

He once cured me of a deadly illness and I promised I would repay him with an object I was most fond of. This is it.’

Who would have credited it, thought Hephaestion, and I thought he was the last of the charlatans.

‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘I will give it to him. Is there anything else you want to tell me?’

‘No,’ said the strange character, and he rode off, still holding up his torch. Hephaestion returned to Nearchus who was waiting on the furthermost pontoon that was still intact.

‘Do you know who that man was?’ the admiral asked as soon as he saw Hephaestion approaching the mooring.

‘No . . . why?’

‘If I’m not mistaken, it was Mazaeus, Satrap of Babylonia.’

‘By Hercules! But what—’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘That he is going to tear us apart, but also that he is indebted to Baaladgar, or Eumolpus of Soloi; he asked me to give him this . . .’ and he showed Nearchus the statuette.

‘This means that he is a man who respects his commitments. As for tearing us apart, I have had an idea and within a couple of days we will give him a nice surprise.’

‘What idea would that be?’

‘I have had all the pontoons that have not yet been assembled transported upstream.’

‘You mean all the pontoons we have.’

‘Exactly. I’ll have them put together in a wood where no one will see us and then we’ll load them up with three hundred horsemen, ferry them across the river and attack Mazaeus’s camp in the middle of the night, unleashing merry hell. As soon as they have unloaded the cavalry on the other bank, the pontoons will float downstream, and our carpenters will join them all up together. At this stage you will cross the river and provide support with the Vanguard. We will win. They will lose. The Thapsacus ford is ours. Game over.’

Hephaestion looked at him closely; this Cretan with his curly hair and his dark skin certainly knew how to handle his boats. ‘When do we start?’ he asked.

We already have,’ replied Nearchus. ‘Once the idea came it seemed pointless to waste time. Some of my men have already gone on ahead as an advance party.’

N
EARCHUS
’
S MANOEUVRE WAS
carried out two days later, just after midnight. The horsemen were ferried across to the left bank of the river and they immediately started advancing southwards. The pontoons were now empty and a few crewmen waited for a short while so as to give the cavalry time to attack before setting off with the flow of the water down the Euphrates.

When they came near Hephaestion’s camp they could hear shouting from the Persians who were being attacked by the Macedonian aggressors. Nearchus immediately gave orders for the assembly to begin and the pontoons were lined up one after the other and moored firmly; while the battle raged in the enemy camp, he managed to reach the left bank and safely anchor the last one.

The attacking horsemen were finding themselves in difficulty, but Hephaestion, at the head of the Vanguard, set off at a gallop across the bridge to offer help to his exhausted men. The battle picked up again even more fiercely than before and the Greek mercenaries, positioned at the centre of the Persian lines, put up ferocious resistance to each charge as it came; indeed, they locked into a square formation, protecting one another with their heavy shields.

Suddenly, however, and unexpectedly, the Persians seemed to respond to some signal and began retreating southwards. The Greeks, surrounded on all sides and left with no support whatsoever, had to surrender. Hephaestion planted the red standard with the Argead star at the centre of the enemy camp on the left bank of the Euphrates. Nearchus came to him shortly afterwards.

‘Is everything alright?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Admiral. But I wonder how it feels for you to be playing with these nutshell boats when you are used to leading fleets of quinqueremes.’

‘One gets by with whatever one has to hand, Hephaes-tion,’ replied Nearchus. ‘The important thing is to win.’

The officers from the individual divisions gave orders to pitch camp and sent reconnaissance patrols out into the surrounding countryside. One patrol rode up to the top of a small hill with a clear view southwards and saw the flickering of flames on the horizon.

‘It’s a fire!’ the leader of the patrol suddenly exclaimed, ‘Quickly! Let’s go and take a look!’

‘There’s another one down there,’ shouted another horseman.

‘Over there as well! On the riverbank!’ came an echo from another companion. The flames were rising everywhere.

‘What can it be?’

Their leader turned his gaze towards the great glow of fire that now illuminated much of the sky over a large tract of the horizon. ‘The Persians,’ he replied. ‘They’re burning everything. Razed earth, so that we will find nothing of any use to us as we make our way through their land. They want us to die of starvation and exhaustion. Let’s go and check the situation,’ and he spurred the horse on towards the fires.

They moved forwards, keeping the river on their right and soon they had confirmation of their fears – everywhere, across the plain and along the banks of the Euphrates, there were villages in flames. Some of them were situated on small rises of dried mud and they could be seen even more clearly as they were consumed by the fire, columns of smoke and sparks rising up against the night sky. Men on horseback were riding everywhere, torches and burning branches held aloft – it was a terrible sight.

‘Let’s go back,’ ordered the leader. ‘We’ve seen quite enough.’ He pulled on his horse’s reins and spurred it on in the direction of the camp. Soon he was with Nearchus and Hephaestion, reporting on what had happened, but now the light of the fires on the plain was so strong it could be seen from the camp; the horizon was burning red like some absurd southern sunset.

‘The harvest has just been stored in the granaries and there won’t be a grain of wheat left from here to Babylon. Alexander must be informed immediately!’ exclaimed Hephaestion. He called a messenger and immediately sent him off in the direction of Tyre.

*

Alexander, in the meantime, had finished gathering provisions and equipment, had prepared the convoy of carts to transport them and was about to set off for the ford at Thapsacus. News of the imminent departure had spread and as usual the great entourage that always followed the army, setting up camp not far from the soldiers during their stops, had assembled as well. It consisted of merchants plying all sorts of wares, male and female prostitutes, but also girls from poor families who had left home and had established long-term relationships with soldiers. Many of them were pregnant and some of them had already given birth to fine children with dark skin and blue eyes or blond hair.

That same day, as evening fell, a Macedonian ship moored at Tyre and unloaded shafts of ash and cornel wood for soldiers’ spears, together with chests full of armour and spare parts for the war engines, but one particular member of the crew immediately disembarked and set off for the old town, asking where Callisthenes’ lodgings were to be found.

He carried a bag over his shoulder and when he reached the door, which had been pointed out to him, he knocked discreetly.

‘Who is it?’ came Callisthenes’ voice from inside. The man knocked again without replying and the historian opened the door. There before him was a rather stout man with a thick beard and black, curly hair who greeted him with a bow.

‘My name is Hermocrates and I am a soldier in Antipater’s guard. Aristotle has sent me.’

‘Come in,’ Callisthenes said, with a worried expression on his face. The man entered and looked around; he moved in that faltering way typical of those who have spent a long time at sea and he asked to be allowed to sit down. Callisthenes told him to make himself comfortable, but before doing so Hermocrates took the bag and placed it carefully on the table before them.

‘Aristotle told me to give you this,’ he said, taking a metal box from the bag. ‘Together with this message.’ The historian took the letter and continued to study the box with increasing apprehension.

‘Why are you so late? This box should have arrived here much earlier. I do not know if now . . .’

He started reading the letter. It was certainly from Aristotle, but it was in code and had no heading. It read:

‘All of this would have made sense a year ago,’ said Callisthenes as he picked up the box gingerly.

‘Unfortunately I encountered many problems on my journey. My ship was struck by a strong northern wind and was blown off course for days and days until it finally sank off the desert coast of Libya. My shipwrecked companions and I marched for months, eating fish and crabs until we reached the border with Egypt, where I was given news of the King’s expedition to the sanctuary of Ammon. From there, still on foot, I reached a port on the Delta where I found a ship that had also been pushed off course by a northerly wind. They explained to me that they were heading for Tyre, where the King and his army and his companions were awaiting them, and they let me on board.’

‘You are a brave and loyal man. Allow me to reward you,’ said Callisthenes, reaching for his purse.

‘I want no reward,’ replied Hermocrates, ‘but I will accept some money because I have none and I do not know how to return to Macedonia.’

‘Do you wish to eat and drink?’

‘I would gladly eat something. The food on the ship was terrible.’