Alexander (Vol. 2) (14 page)

She spoke in a voice that was both low and resonant, and the timbre of her words had the same warmth as the light from the lamps that flowed over her skin – dark and shining like bronze – transforming her body into an enchanted landscape.

‘Barsine,’ murmured Memnon as he in his turn took off his long
chlamys
and rose there before her naked and powerful. ‘Barsine . . .’

His statuesque body, hardened by a hundred battles, was marked by scars and the most recent wound ran down his thigh in a long reddish ridge, but from his imposing muscles, from his solid gaze there came a formidable energy, unbowed and unflinching, a supreme vitality.

For a long moment she caressed him with her eyes alone, insistently, while he came towards her, his movements still slightly uncertain. When he lay down beside her, she used her hands to caress his mighty thighs, right up to the groin, and her mouth to awaken pleasure all over his body. Then she mounted him so that he would feel no pain in the ardour of their love. She crouched on top of him and sent her hips into the same incessant movements of the dance with which she had conquered him when he had first set eyes on her in her father’s house.

By the time they fell back alongside each other, both of them exhausted, a slight glow was just beginning to spread over the sinuous profile of the hills of Caria.

T
HE CRASH OF
the battering-rams working away ceaselessly on the walls of Miletus resounded like thunder as far as the slopes of Mount Latmus, and the rocks thrown by the big catapults could even be seen from the sea.

The Persian admiral called a meeting of his commanders on the quarterdeck of his ship to discuss what was to be done, but the reports from his officers were not encouraging – to throw men who were consumed by hunger and thirst into such a risky landing was tantamount to suicide.

‘We must go to Samos,’ proposed a Phoenician from Arados, ‘take on supplies of food and water, and then return to attempt a landing from a position of strength against their naval camp. Then we will burn their ships, attack their army from behind as they are busy laying siege to Miletus and give the inhabitants of the city the possibility of breaking out – thus the Macedonians will have to defend themselves on two fronts and on difficult ground and we will have the best of it.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ said a Cypriot navarch. ‘If we had attacked immediately, before they had dug in there in front of their ships, we would have had more chance of winning, but we can manage it this way too.’

‘All right,’ said the Persian admiral, since all those present were of the same opinion. ‘We will go to Samos to replenish our food and water. This is my plan – once the crews and soldiers on the ships have regained their strength, we will make use of the sea breeze to return during the night and attack their naval base. If the surprise succeeds then we will set them ablaze and attack the army from behind under the walls of Miletus.’

Shortly afterwards a standard hoisted on the flagship signalled to the fleet to ready its oars and to prepare to set off.

The ships lined up in an orderly fashion, in rows of ten, and when the drums started beating out the rhythm of their forward pace, they set off northwards, towards Samos.

Alexander, outside the walls on the northern side of Miletus, heard one of his men shout, ‘They’re off ! The Persian fleet is going!’

‘Magnificent,’ said Seleucus, who at that moment was on duty as Alexander’s field adjutant. ‘The city will be forced to surrender. Their situation is hopeless now.’

‘No, wait a moment,’ said Ptolemy. ‘The flagship is signalling something to the city.’

Indeed, they could see flashing signals from the stern of the great vessel as it headed offshore, and soon came the response – a long red standard flying from the highest tower in Miletus, followed by a blue one and then a green one.

‘They confirm receipt of the message,’ explained Ptolemy, ‘but because the sun is not in a favourable position, they cannot do it with light signals.’

‘And what do you think it all means?’ asked Leonnatus.

‘That they will come back,’ replied Seleucus. ‘I think they’re going to Samos to get supplies of food and water.’

‘But the commander on Samos is an Athenian – one of our allies,’ replied Leonnatus.

Seleucus shrugged his shoulders. ‘They’ll get what they want, just wait and see. The Athenians are afraid of us, but they do not love us. All you have to do is take a look at the troops here. Have you ever seen them join in a party or any celebration with us? And their officers? They look down their noses at us as if we were lepers and they come to the war councils only if the invitation carries the signature of Alexander himself, otherwise they won’t move a finger. I expect the Persian fleet to receive everything it needs at Samos.’

‘Whatever happens, it makes no difference to us,’ said Alexander. ‘Even with their thirsts quenched and their bellies full, the Persians will have to decide whether or not to land because I have no intention of putting our fleet back in the water. And Nearchus agrees with me. The only thing we must do is to guard the entrance to the bay with our fast launches so as to avoid a surprise attack at night or at dawn. Let the navarch know.’

It was obvious now that the Persian fleet was heading towards Samos, and the King returned to the walls of the city to intensify their attack.

Lysimachus was there directing the siege engines and at that moment he had just called up an enormous battering-ram to work at a point where they had dug a pit the previous night with the aim of weakening the walls and causing a partial collapse.

‘I want these walls battered constantly, day and night, incessantly from now onwards. Bring up the Chaeronaea drum as well – it will be heard in the city and will drive them to panic. And it will not stop beating until the walls have collapsed with the force of the battering-rams.’

Two horsemen galloped down to the camp and informed the navarch of the King’s orders.

The admiral sent some ten launches off into the sea with jars of oil on board, the intention being to burn it during the night if necessary. He also organized the transportation of the big drum to the walls of Miletus.

Before long the launches were already offshore, waiting for the Persian fleet to return. And the ‘Thunder of Chaeronaea’, as the soldiers now called it, made itself heard. It was a gloomy, booming noise, rhythmic and menacing, as it echoed off the surrounding mountains and headed out towards the coast. And this thunder was soon followed by the crashing of the battering-rams as they were driven against the walls by hundreds of pairs of arms, while the catapults let fly with rocks aimed up at the battlements to keep the defenders at a distance.

Whenever one team exhausted its strength, another took its place and when an engine broke down, it was immediately substituted by another one which worked – there was no rest or respite for the inhabitants of the besieged city.

As darkness fell, the Persian fleet, with the sea breeze in its favour, began manoeuvring into the bay at full sail, heading for Nearchus’s camp. But the small groups of men on the launches were keeping vigilant lookout in the darkness. As soon as they saw the enormous silhouettes of the Persian vessels not far from them, they opened the jars of oil and poured them into the sea, one after another, so as to create a long slick. Then they set fire to it.

A snake of flames slithered over the dark surface of the waters, lighting up a huge area, and the trumpets of the land divisions immediately sounded the alarm. In an instant the shoreline was teeming with lights and resounding with calls and shouts. By torchlight they prepared to meet the danger.

The Persian fleet made no attempt to cross the line of flames and the admirals quickly gave orders to their crews to row backwards.

As the sun rose the bay was empty.

*

Nearchus was the first to give the news to Alexander:

‘Sire, they have gone! The Persian ships have left the gulf.’

‘Which way did they go?’ asked the King, as his attendants laced up his breastplate and Leptine followed him around with his usual Nestor’s Cup.

‘We don’t know, but a lookout up on the Mycale promontory says he saw the tail end of their fleet disappear towards the south. I think they’ve gone, never to return.’

‘May the gods hear you, Admiral.’

Just then the Athenian commander Karilaos came in as well, fully armed.

‘What do you think?’ Alexander asked him.

‘That we have been lucky,’ replied Karilaos. ‘In any case, I would have had no qualms about facing them out at sea.’

‘But things have worked out well for us,’ replied Alexander. ‘This way we have saved men and ships.’

‘And now?’ asked Nearchus.

‘Let us wait until the afternoon – if there is still no sign of them, launch the ships and keep them ready and at anchor.’

The two officers left to join their crews. Alexander mounted his horse and together with Seleucus, Ptolemy and Perdiccas headed for the siege line. The racket of the battering-rams and the ‘Thunder of Chaeronaea’ greeted them before Parmenion did.

The King looked up to the walls and saw the breach that was opening up wider at every blow. An assault tower was gradually being brought into position.

‘We are about to launch the decisive attack, Sire!’ shouted Parmenion above the noise.

‘Have you passed my orders on to the men?’

‘Yes. No massacres, no rapes, no sacking. All those who disobey to be executed on the spot.’

‘Have the orders been translated for the barbarian auxiliaries?’

‘Yes Sire.’

‘Very well. You may begin.’

Parmenion nodded, then gestured to one of his men, who waved a yellow standard three times. The assault tower moved in once more, coming even closer to the walls. Then there came a great crash as a huge part of the wall collapsed under the blows of the battering-ram, lifting up a great cloud of dust in which it was impossible to distinguish enemies from allies.

From the top of the tower a bridge was lowered on to the wall and a Macedonian patrol jumped out on to the battlement. Their orders were to drive back the defence troops waiting at the breach created by the battering-ram. The fight quickly became furious and more than a few Macedonians fell from the heights of the bastions and the edge of the walkway, but soon they managed to form a bridgehead up there. They cleared the way of Miletan defenders and sent down a rain of arrows and javelins on those on the other side.

As soon as the dust cleared, a division of shieldsmen rushed through the opening, followed by the Thracian and Triballian assault infantry.

The soldiers of Miletus were demoralized, exhausted by their ordeal, and they began to give way as Parmen-ion’s troops penetrated the city beyond the walls.

A certain number of soldiers – those of more humble social origin – surrendered, and their lives were spared. But the Greek mercenaries and the e´lite troops made up of members of the aristocracy, fearing the worst, ran to the other end of the city, took off their armour and jumped into the sea. They swam in desperation towards the small island of Lade where there was a small fort they would use in their final defence.

Alexander entered the conquered city on horseback and immediately went to the western parapet of the walls. Off in the distance he could see the enemy fleeing – some of them, exhausted, were drowning, while others continued swimming steadily towards their destination.

The King turned back with Hephaestion and together they galloped to the naval camp at the foot of Mount Latmus, where almost all of the ships had been launched now. He boarded the flagship and gave orders to head for Lade.

When they were close to the mooring, he saw that the survivors of the siege were already inside the fort. Armed only with their swords, completely drained of strength, still soaked through from their swim across – they looked like ghosts. He told Hephaestion to keep behind him and started moving forward.

‘Why have you sought refuge here?’ he shouted.

‘Because this place is small enough to be defended by a few men.’

‘How many of you are there?’ Alexander shouted once more, under the walls now. Hephaestion and his bodyguards gathered around him to protect him with their shields, but he sent them back.

‘Enough of us to make the job of taking this place a difficult one.’

‘Open the gates and no harm will come to you. I have great respect for valour and courage.’

‘Who are you, boy?’ asked the same voice.

‘I am the King of Macedon.’

Hephaestion ordered the guards to move forward once more, but Alexander gestured to them to stay where they were. The Miletans conferred for some time and then the same man spoke again. ‘Do I have your word as King?’

‘You have my word as King.’

‘Wait then, I am coming down.’

There came the noise of bolts being pulled before the gate of the fort opened and there stood the man whose voice they had all heard. He was about fifty, his beard long and unkempt, his hair encrusted with salt, his limbs lean, his skin wrinkled. He found the King standing there before him, alone.