Alexander: Child of a Dream (19 page)

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chares’ mercenary army, surprised at dawn, was wiped out by Philip’s assault troops and the cavalry dispersed the few remaining survivors. The King, rather than march on Amphissa, turned back, as he had said he would, and cut off the passes held by the Athenians and the Thebans, leaving them with no option but to retreat.

 

Alexander was informed three days later that Philip was taking up position on the Plain of Chaeronaea with command of twenty-five thousand foot soldiers and five thousand cavalrymen; his instructions were to join his father as soon as possible. He left his servants to strike camp and to take care of the baggage train and had the departure signal sounded before dawn. The idea was to march while the temperature was not yet too high and to maintain a pace that would not tire the horses too much.

 

He inspected the Vanguard by torchlight, astride Bucephalas, and his companions each

 

commanding individual divisions -all lifted their spears in salute. They were fully armed and ready for the off, but it was clear that some of them hadn’t slept at all, those who had never before lived through such a crucial day.

 

‘Remember, men!’ he exhorted them. ‘The phalanx is the anvil, the cavalry is the hammer and the Vanguard is … the hammerhead!’ Then he spurred Bucephalas over towards Ptolemy, who was commanding the first division to the right, and told him their battle cry -Phobos

 

kdi Deimos.

 

‘The horses of the god of war!’ Ptolemy repeated. ‘No battle cry was ever more appropriate.’ And he gave it to the first rider on his right, asking him to pass it on among the ranks.

 

 
Alexander nodded to the trumpeter who sounded the departure and the squadron moved in unison. Alexander first, Hephaestion second, and then all the others. Ptolemy’s division brought up the rearguard.
They forded the Krissos before dawn and as the sun rose over the plain they saw the tips of the sarissae of the Macedonian army glinting in the sun, like shining heads of grain in a ripe field.
When Philip spotted them coming he dug his heels into his charger and sped to join his son. ‘Hail, my boy!’ as he clapped him on the back. ‘It’s all working out just as I had imagined. There they are waiting for us. Arrange your men on the left flank and then come to me. I am discussing the battle plan with Parmenion and the Black and we were waiting for you to conclude. You’ve arrived just in time. How do you feel?’
‘Hail, Father. I feel fine and I’ll be with you in an instant.’
He went to his squadron and led them round to the left to line up. Hephaestion extended his hand and arm towards the hill and exclaimed, ‘Oh, gods above, look! Your father has us facing the Thebans’ Sacred Band: can you make them out down there? They’re the ones with the blood-red tunics and cloaks. They’re tough, Alexander, no one has ever beaten them before.’
‘I see them, Hephaestion. We’ll beat them. Arrange the men in three lines. We’ll attack in waves.’
‘Great Zeus!’ shouted Seleucus. ‘Do you know why they’re called the Sacred Band? Because each one of them has made a solemn vow to a companion whereby they will never leave each other until death parts them.’
‘That’s right,’ Perdiccas confirmed. ‘And they also say that they’re all lovers, which is an even greater bond.’
‘But their love for one another won’t protect them from our strength,’ said Alexander. ‘Hold your positions until I come back.’
He spurred his horse on until he reached Philip, Parmenion and the Black who had all pulled back to a small plateau which afforded a fine general view of the battlefield. Opposite them, a little to the right, they could see the acropolis of Chaeronaea with its temples.
At the centre and on the left, up on a range of hills that dominated the plain, the Athenian forces were all lined up, with the Thebans immediately behind them. Their shields glinted as they reflected the light of the rising sun on its way up into the spring sky, partially filled with large white clouds. Out on the Thebans’ far right was the crimson splash of the Sacred Band.
To his right Philip had deployed two divisions of ‘shieldsmen’, the assault troops who three days previously had eliminated Chares’ army, directly under the King’s command. They took their name from their shields which were adorned with Argead stars in copper and silver.
At the centre, under the command of Parmenion and the Black, the twelve battalions of the phalanx were lined up in five rows forming a barrier of lances, an impenetrable wood of iron spearheads, staggered along an oblique line. On the left flank was the entire force of the Companion cavalry which terminated with the Vanguard, Alexander’s squadron.
‘I’ll attack first,’ said Philip, ‘and I will engage the Athenians. Then I’ll start moving back and if they follow me then you, Parmenion, will bring up a battalion of the phalanx into the breach, splitting the enemy forces into two, and then you’ll let the other six battalions loose. The Black will follow you with the rest of the army.
‘Then it’ll be your moment, Alexander: you will thrust the cavalry into the Theban right flank and your Vanguard will attack the Sacred Band. If you manage to break through, you know what has to be done.’
‘I know perfectly, Father: the phalanx is the anvil and the cavalry is the hammer.’
Philip held him to his breast for a moment and suddenly there came a vision of himself standing upright in the half-shadow of the Queen’s room in Pella as he held a newborn baby. ‘Be careful, my son,’ he said. ‘In battle the blows come from all directions.’

 
‘I’ll be careful, Father,’ replied Alexander. Then he jumped Up onto Bucephalas and galloped past the massed battalions which were already arranged in battle formation until he reached his division. Philip followed him with his gaze for a while, then he turned to his field adjutant: ‘My shield,’ he said.
‘But, Sire …’
‘My shield,’ he repeated, peremptorily.
The field adjutant helped him slip his arm through the straps of the shield, the only one to carry the Argead star in pure gold.
From the top of the hills there came the sharp sound of trumpets and immediately afterwards the continuous music of the whistles, taking its rhythm from the roll of the drums, and all of this accompanied the soldiers on their march. The movement of the front line as it came down reflected the sun in a thousand flashes of fire and the heavy strides of the infantry clad in their iron armour sent a sinister rumble through the valley.
On the plain the phalanx stood still and silent. The horses out on the extreme left snorted and shook their heads, their bronze bits clattering.
The Vanguard was already lined up in a wedge and Alexander took position as first horseman before all the others, keeping his eyes fixed on the right flank of the enemy lines, the invincible Sacred Band. Bucephalas was unsettled now raking
the ground with his front hooves, snorting loudly through his nostrils, lashing his flanks with his tail.
A cavalryman reached Philip just as he was about to give the signal to attack. ‘Sire,’ he shouted as he jumped to the ground from his mount, ‘Demosthenes has taken up position in the Athenian infantry lines.’
‘I don’t want him killed,’ the King said. ‘Pass this order to all my soldiers.’
He turned round to look at his shieldsmen: faces dripping with sweat under the visors of their helmets, eyes staring fixedly at the glinting of the enemy’s weapons, limbs tight in the muscle-clenched wait for the attack. This was the moment when they each contemplated death, the moment in which the desire to live was stronger than any other thing. It was the moment in which they had to free themselves from anxiety’s grip and throw themselves into the assault.
Philip raised his sword, gave his war cry and his men followed him, shouting like a horde of wild beasts, driving all fears from their chests, anxious only to throw themselves into the turmoil, into the reel of battle, forgetting everything, even themselves.
They advanced at a run while the officers shouted at them to keep in step, to maintain order in the lines so as to meet the clash compact and steadfast.
They were very close now and the Athenians continued to march in time, shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield, their spears extended forwards, pushed on by the continuous, sharp sound of the whistles, by the obsessive roll of the drums, shouting, at each stride:
AlaWail
The crash of the impact exploded like a bronze thunderclap throughout the valley, it rolled over the hillsides and penetrated the sky itself, pushed up on high by the shouting of twenty thousand soldiers caught up in the fury of battle.
Philip, instantly recognizable by means of his gold star, fought in the front line with indefatigable passion, striking out with his sword and his shield. He was flanked by two giant Thracians armed with double-edged axes, awe-inspiring on account of the bristly red hair on their heads, the hair all over their bodies and the tattoos covering their faces, their arms and their chests.
The Athenian front wavered under the fury of the assault, but a high-pitched, penetrating sound like the cry of a hawk pushed them onward, gave them heart: it was the voice of Demosthenes, inciting them above the music of the whistles and the drums, shouting, ‘Athenians! Be brave! Fight, men! For your freedom! For your women and for your children! Send the tyrant back where he belongs!’

 
The fighting became even more violent and many soldiers in the two sets of lines fell, but Philip had given orders that no one was to stop and loot the bodies until the battle was over Everywhere the search was on for a breach to thrust and wound, to wield and swing the metal in thinning out the enemy masses
The front line infantrymen’s shields were covered in blood now, dripping copiously from the edges to the soil which was already slippery and littered with dying bodies for
every man who fell, a soldier from the line behind would simply move forwards to take his place and keep the battle going
Suddenly, on a signal from Philip, the trumpeter sounded a command and the two battahons of shieldsmen started retreating, leaving their dead and their wounded where they lay in the field They gave way slowly, keeping their shields high, exchanging blow for blow with their spears and their swords
On seeing their enemy draw back, the Athenians, at an advantage because of their more favourable position, doubled their efforts and goaded one another on with more shouting, the foot soldiers in the second and third lines pushed their companions ahead with the aid of their shields
Before attacking, Philip had issued his orders and when the lines of the shieldsmen, moving backwards, reached the level of the rocky outcrop which stood at some one hundred paces towards the left, they turned and started running
At that point the Athenians, caught up in the fury of combat, drunk on the shouting, the blood and the clangour of arms, excited at the prospect of victory which now seemed to be firmly in their grasp, set off chasing their enemies with every intention of annihilating them Their commander, Stratocles, rather than trying to have them keep ranks, shouted at the top of his voice telling them to chase their enemies all the way back to Macedon
More trumpets sounded off to the left and an enormous drum, hung between two carnages, sent out its thunderous voice all across the vast plain Parmemon gave the signal and the twelve battalions of the phalanx began advancing together m a slow march, staggered along an oblique line
The Thebans too, at that sight, threw themselves into an attack in tight knit ranks, beanng before them their heavy ash wood spears, but soon the leading Macedonian battalion wedged itself between the Athenian front line, disorderly now because of their mad dash to catch the shieldsmen, and the extreme left flank of the Theban lines
Philip abandoned his shield, dented and dirty with blood, to his attendant before jumping onto his horse and galloping off to Parmemon The General was staring fixedly and anxiously at the Sacred Band which was still marching in step, apparently indifferent to everything that was going on inexorable,
bristling with iron spearheads
In the centre the first Macedonian battalion which was advancing uphill was already struggling with the incline and when a division of Theban infantry rushed to close the breach, the pezhetaim lowered their pikes and mowed down their counterparts in the head-on clash, without any physical contact Then they pushed on even further, their strides following in time to the thunderous rumble of the huge drum that guided them from the plain
And behind came the others, lined up obliquely, up to the third line beanng their sanssae lowered, while the foot soldiers in the rear guard earned them upnght, nsmg and falling in their rhythmic march like ears of grain in the wind And the threatening clanking of metal weapons that accompanied the heavy marching made its way to the ears of the enemy as they came down on the other side, and to them it sounded like an omen, like the sound of death
‘Now,’ the King gave the order to his General, and Parmen ion used a polished shield to send a signal to Alexander three
flashes to unleash the cavalry and give free rein to the assault of the Vanguard
The Prince held his spear firmly and shouted, ‘Three waves,

 
men!’ And then, even louder, ‘Phobos kdi Deimos!’ as he dug his heels into Bucephalas’ sides. The stallion set off at a gallop across the field which by now was full of shouting and of dead bodies, black as a fury from hell, carrying its rider encased in his shining armour, his high crest blowing in the wind.
The Vanguard, its ranks closed, kept close behind him; the chargers, excited by Bucephalas’ haste, galloped on in response to the incitement of their horsemen and the piercing cry of the trumpets.
The Sacred Band dosed ranks and its men planted the shafts of their spears in the soil, directing the iron heads at the approaching charge. But as soon as it was within range, Alexander’s squadron let fly a swarm of javelins just before performing an about turn; immediately there came the second wave and then the third before the first came once more. Many of the Theban soldiers were forced to abandon their shields which were now full of enemy javelins and to fight without protection. Alexander then had the Vanguard form itself into a wedge shape once more and he took up position at its head before guiding them straight against the enemy lines, spurring Bucephalas on among the ranks of the Sacred Band, striking out left and right with his spear and then, when he had abandoned his shield, with his sword as well.
Hephaestion provided cover on the flank, lifting up his shield to protect Alexander, his own men close behind him.
For every warrior of the Sacred Band who fell, another appeared to take his place, like a body suddenly growing new limbs, closing up the wall of shields and responding, blow by blow, with inexhaustible energy, with dauntless, tenacious courage.
Alexander pulled back and called to Hephaestion: ‘Lead your men over to that side, open a breach and then attack the Theban centre from behind. Leave the Sacred Band to me!’
Hephaestion obeyed and advanced with Perdiccas, Seleucus, Philotas, Lysimachus, Craterus and Leonnatus, wedging their cavalry between the Sacred Band and the rest of the Theban troops. Then they performed a wide turn, just as they had done on the parade ground for Alexander, and they caught the enemy from behind, pushing them towards the forest of spikes of the phalanx which was still advancing relentlessly.
Before the sun reached its zenith the battle was won. Alexander came to Parmenion with his sword in hand and his armour still covered in blood. Even Bucephalas’ chest and flanks were red.
The Sacred Band is no more.’
‘Victory on all fronts!’ exclaimed Parmenion.
‘Where is the King?’ asked Alexander.
Parmenion turned towards the plain which was still veiled in the thick dust raised by the battle and he pointed to a lone man who despite a limp was dancing like a lunatic through a multitude of corpses.
‘There he is,’ he said.