Alexander (Vol. 2) (29 page)

O
N LEAVING
H
ALICARNASSUS
Alexander advanced eastwards with his army along the coast, even though everyone had tried to dissuade him. Indeed, there was a passage through Lycia, but no one would ever have attempted it in winter. The route was little more than a path along the cliffs which towered above the boiling, rocky seas below – all of it exposed to the western winds, which always brought rough weather.

As the waves broke on the rocks they exploded into great globules of foam, churning angrily against the rock before flowing back to rush and crash once more against the promontory, desolate and at the complete mercy of the elements.

Hephaestion had ridden as far as this headland and brought back with him vivid impressions of the place: ‘It is truly frightful,’ he told Alexander. ‘Imagine a mountain higher than Athos and more massive than Pangaeos, its surface smooth and black as burnished iron descending vertically to the sea. Its summit, perpetually enveloped in cloud, resounds with the rumble of thunder. I watched the lightning bolts flit between the sky and the top, and sometimes they fell to the sea below in blinding flashes. The pathway is a very old one, cut by the Lycians out of the rock, but it is always slippery because of the spray from the waves and the seaweed that grows in abundance during the winter season. Falling into the sea down there means instant death – the waves would immediately drive any man, no matter how strong a swimmer, on to the sharp rocks which form a sort of crown at the base of the steep slope and they would cut him to shreds in no time.’

‘Did you cross through to the other side?’ asked Alexander.

‘Yes.’

‘And how?’

‘I used the Agrianians. They fixed bolts in the cracks in the rock and tied ropes to them, so that we were able to hold on when the waves came.’

‘That seems an excellent idea,’ said the King. ‘That’s how we’ll get through the pass.’

‘But there were only fifty of us,’ said Hephaestion, ‘you plan to send twenty-five thousand men and five thousand horses by this route. How will you manage with the horses?’

Alexander was quiet for a moment as he gathered his thoughts, then he said, ‘We have no choice. We’ll attempt this pathway and take control of all the Lycian ports – we will cut off the Great King’s fleet from our sea. If necessary I will go on ahead with only the infantry, but I will go, come what may.’

‘As you wish. We are not afraid of anything, but I wanted you to be fully aware anyway of the risks involved.’

They left the following day and soon reached the city of Xanthus, perched up on its rock above the river of the same name. In the surrounding area, carved into the rock, were many tombs with monumental façades in the shape of buildings or colonnaded temples. It was said that one of these contained the body of the Lycian hero Sarpedon, cut down by the sword of Patroclus during the Trojan War.

Alexander wanted to see it and he stood there enrapt before the ancient sepulchre, consumed by time and by the elements. The marks of an ancient inscription, completely illegible now, could barely be made out. Callisthenes, who was standing nearby, heard him murmuring verses from Homer – the speech made by the Lycian hero to his men immediately before the final clash in which he lost his life:

Then, turning to Callisthenes, he asked, ‘Do you think he would repeat these words if he were still able to speak today?’ And in his voice there was some inkling of a deep sadness.

‘Who can tell? No one has ever succeeded in returning from Hades.’

Alexander approached the tomb and put his hands and his forehead on it, as though trying to hear a voice made weak by centuries of distance. Then he turned and set off once more to lead his army on its way.

They proceeded down the river to the estuary, where the port of Patara opened up – the most important harbour in all Lycia. The city had some fine buildings in the Greek style and the inhabitants dressed in the Greek manner, but their language was very old and completely incomprehensible without the aid of interpreters. The King made sure his army was billeted properly and ordered a halt of several days. He hoped to receive news from Parmenion, who at that point should have been up on the interior highlands, but no word came from the general. A ship from Macedonia did arrive, however, the last one before the winter.

The commander had taken a difficult and little used route, so as not to risk any contact with Memnon’s fleet. He brought with him a report from Antipater on the situation in the homeland and on the bitter conflicts he was enduring with the Queen Mother, Olympias.

Alexander was upset and profoundly saddened by this, but he brightened up when he saw on another roll of papyrus the royal seal of the Molossians and the handwriting of his sister Cleopatra. He opened the missive with a certain apprehension and began reading:

So the western enterprise was about to begin. Another Alexander, almost his mirror image, bound to him by such deep ties of blood and of friendship, was ready to march in the direction of the Pillars of Hercules to conquer all the lands as far as the river Ocean. And one day they would meet up again – in Greece perhaps, or in Egypt, or in Italy – and that day the world would live the beginning of a new era.

He made the most of their break to have Eumenes read the ‘Journal’, the daily report the secretary general drew up with news of what was happening on the expedition, the distances covered on the march, the visits made and the visits received, the minutes of the high command meetings, and even the accounts.

‘It’s not bad,’ he said after listening to a few pages. ‘The descriptive passages have a certain literary elegance – they might even be reworked for a true and proper history of our expedition.’

‘I don’t exclude that possibility at all,’ replied Eumenes, ‘but for the moment I am doing no more than recording the facts, within the limits of the time I have available. Callisthenes is looking after the real history.’

‘Quite.’

‘But not only Callisthenes. You know that Ptolemy is also writing about the expedition. Has he let you read any of it?’

‘Not yet, but I am curious to see it.’

‘And the work of your admiral, Nearchus, also proceeds.’

‘It seems everyone on this expedition is a writer. I wonder who will be given most credit. Anyway, I continue to envy Achilles, who had Homer to recount his deeds.’

‘Days of old, my friend. To make up for it we have Nearchus, who is carrying out excellent work in establishing relations with the various communities which inhabit these lands. He knows many people here and is much esteemed. He recently explained his mariner’s view of the situation to me.’

‘Which is?’

‘He is convinced that you cannot do without a fleet and that you should assemble one immediately. To leave Memnon with total domination of the seas is too dangerous.’

‘And what do you think? It will be a financial question, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘Perhaps we could afford it now with the income from Sardis and Halicarnassus.’

‘Make arrangements then. Speak to Nearchus, negotiate with the Athenians, have the shipyards of the seaports we have conquered reopened. We can afford to take some risks now.’

‘I will meet Nearchus on his ship and we will work out a few sums together. I really don’t have the faintest idea how much a warship costs and how many we would need to make life difficult for that damned Memnon. But I also need to know what your intentions are for this coming winter.’

Alexander looked out of the window of the house he had chosen for his quarters and gazed at the snow-capped mountains, ‘We will push on until we find the road that leads towards the interior – I must meet up with Parmenion as soon as possible and reunite our forces. I am worried, Eumenes. If one of our two contingents should be wiped out, there will be no hope left for the other.’

The secretary nodded, gathered his papers and left.

Alexander sat at his table, took a sheet, dipped his pen in the ink and began writing:

S
OME TEN DAYS AFTER
the arrival of Alexander’s army in the city, a visitor was announced – a man by the name of Eumolpus of Soloi.

‘Do you know who he is?’ Alexander asked Eumenes.

‘Of course I know. He is the best informer you have east of the Taurus mountains.’

‘If he is my best informer, why on earth don’t I know him?’

‘Because he always dealt with your father and . . . with me.’

‘I hope you don’t mind then if I actually deal with him personally now,’ said Alexander ironically.

‘Not at all,’ Eumenes responded promptly. ‘All I ever hope to do is save you from some of your more boring duties. In fact, if you prefer I’ll make myself scarce . . .’

‘Don’t be stupid, and have him come in.’

Eumolpus had not changed much since the last time Eumenes had seen him at Pella; the informer still felt the cold terribly and because the sea had been too rough he’d had to travel on a mule over the snow-covered mountains of the interior. Peritas growled as soon as he saw him with his fox-fur cap on his head.

‘What a nice little dog,’ said Eumolpus with a rather worried expression. ‘Does he bite?’

‘No, as long as you take that fox off your head,’ replied Eumenes.

The informer placed his cap on a stool and Peritas immediately bit into it and continued to chew it throughout the interview.

‘What news do you bring?’

Eumolpus began with a series of niceties and compliments regarding the young King’s glorious feats and then came to the point.

‘Sire, your deeds have caused considerable panic at court in Susa. The magi say that you are the incarnation of Ahriman.’

‘Their god of evil,’ explained Eumenes, somewhat embarrassed. ‘Similar to our Hades, lord of the underworld.’

‘You see, this god of theirs is always represented as a lion and since you wear a helmet in the shape of a lion’s head, the resemblance really is striking.’