Alexander (Vol. 2) (39 page)

‘May I go now?’ he asked, not without a certain anxiety.

‘You may,’ replied the satrap, ‘for now.’

*

From Gordium Alexander crossed Greater Phrygia until he reached the city of Ancyra, nestling at the bottom of a misty bowl formed by a group of hills. He reconfirmed the resident Persian satrap in his position, and added some Macedonian officers to the garrison.

Then he set off again on the march eastwards and came to the banks of the Halys, the great river that flows into the Black Sea and which for centuries had constituted the border between the Aegean and Anatolian worlds and the Asian interior, the extreme frontier beyond which it was unthinkable for the Greeks to go. The army marched along it to the southern meander, after which they proceeded along the banks of two big salt lakes surrounded by vast white areas.

Alexander accepted an oath of loyalty from the Persian satrap of Cappadocia and reconfirmed him in his position. Then he headed south with decision, without meeting any resistance, and set off over the enormous plateau, dominated by Mount Argaeus, a dormant volcano perpetually white with snow which rose every morning from the mists of dawn like a ghost. The landscape was often covered with white frost in the early hours of the day, but then, gradually, as the sun rose above the horizon, it would take on a reddish-brown colour.

Many fields had been ploughed and seeded, while here and there, in those places the plough had failed to reach, there was yellow stubble, grazing material for small flocks of sheep and goats. After two days’ march the imposing ridges of the Taurus range came into view, their white peaks shining under the sun and turning red at sunset.

It seemed impossible that this immense territory should open up before them almost spontaneously and that so many tribes, villages and cities should succumb without offering any resistance.

The fame of the young leader had spread everywhere now, as had the news of the death of Commander Memnon, the only one, apart from the Great King himself, capable of bringing Alexander’s advance to a halt.

After five days on the highland plateau, the path began to rise ever more steeply towards the pass that led on to the coastal plain of Cilicia. Every time they stopped in the evening, Alexander sat in his tent alone or with Hephaestion and his other friends to read Xenophon’s
Anabasis
, the diary of the expedition of the ten thousand who seventy years previously had passed through that very same spot. The Athenian historian described the pass as extremely narrow, difficult to cross if defended.

Alexander opted to lead the column personally. The guards at the pass saw him and recognized him immediately in the rays of the rising sun, thanks to the red standard with the golden Argead star, the gigantic black horse he was riding and his silver armour, which flashed light with his every movement.

The guards also saw the interminable snake of men and horses which was climbing up slowly but inexorably, and they decided immediately that there were not enough of them to take the invaders on and chose to beat a hasty retreat. Thus the pass was left free and negotiable without any difficulty.

On the left-hand rock face, Seleucus recognized some inscriptions which could have been made by some of Xenophon’s ten thousand and he showed them to Alexander, who was most interested in the discovery. Then they set off again and looked out over the vale of the Cydnus and the great green plain of Cilicia.

‘We are in Syria,’ said Eumenes. ‘Anatolia is behind us now.’

‘It’s another world!’ exclaimed Hephaestion, sending his gaze out as far as the thin blue line which hemmed the plain. ‘And that’s the sea over there!’

‘Where will Nearchus be with our ships?’ asked Perdiccas.

‘He’ll be somewhere down there,’ replied Leonnatus. ‘He might even be looking up at these mountains and grumbling to himself, ‘Where on earth have that lot got to? Why don’t they make contact?’

‘It couldn’t be easier,’ replied Alexander. ‘For this reason it is a good idea if we rush to occupy the ports along the coast. That way if Nearchus wants to come he can quite happily anchor anywhere, without any fear of ambushes.’

He spurred on Bucephalas and began moving downhill.

Lysimachus said to Leonnatus, who was now riding alongside him, ‘If they had tightened down their garrison over the pass from those peaks up there, not even a fly would have been able to come through.’

‘They’re scared,’ replied his friend. ‘We’ve got them running like rabbits. No one can stop us now.’

Lysimachus shook his head. ‘That’s what you think. I don’t like this quiet at all. What I think is that we are marching straight into the lion’s jaws and the beast is patiently waiting for us with his mouth open.’

Leonnatus grumbled, ‘And I will tear his tongue out.’ Then he moved back to check the rearguard of the column.

In a relatively short distance the weather had changed completely, from fresh and dry as it had been up on the highlands, to warm and humid, and they all sweated profusely inside their armour.

With just one stop they reached Tarsus, not far from the sea. The city opened its gates to them because the Satrap of Cilicia had fled, preferring to join the Great King’s army, which was continuing its inexorable march. Alexander had his army set up camp on the plain, while he himself, the crack troops and the higher-ranking officers found quarters in the best residences in the city. It was while he was in these lodgings that a visit was announced.

‘There is a messenger who insists upon speaking to you personally, Sire,’ said one of the guards who had been posted to the entrance.

‘Who does he come from?’

‘He claims to have been sent by a certain Eumolpus of Soloi.’

‘In that case he must have a password.’

The guard left and shortly afterwards Alexander heard him laughing. It was certainly Eumolpus’s messenger.

‘The password is . . .’ began the guard, barely stifling his laughter.

‘I don’t find it all that amusing,’ the King said, cutting him short.

‘The password is, “sheep’s brains”.’

‘That’s it. That’s him . . . let him in.’

The guard moved off laughing once more and showed the messenger in.

‘Sire, Eumolpus of Soloi has sent me.’

‘I know . . . he does have such an absurd password. Why didn’t he send the other messenger? I’ve never seen you before.’

‘The other messenger had an accident, he fell from his horse.’

‘What news do you have for me?’

‘Important news, my Lord. The Great King is now not far from you and Eumolpus has succeeded in bribing a field adjutant of Darius himself to discover where the battle will take place, the battle in which he intends to wipe you out.’

‘Where?’

The messenger looked around and saw the map which Alexander always had with him arranged on an easel. He pointed his finger to a point between Mount Carmel and Mount Amanus.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘at the Syrian Gates.’

T
HE NEWS FLEW THROUGH
the camp like lightning, by word of mouth, spreading panic everywhere: ‘The King is dead! The King is dead!’

‘How did it happen?’

‘He drowned!’

‘No . . . he’s been poisoned.’

‘It was a Persian spy.’

‘And where is he?’

‘No one knows. He’s disappeared already.’

‘Let’s look for him. Which way did he go?’

‘Wait a moment, here’s Hephaestion and Ptolemy!’

‘And Philip’s with them, the King’s physician.’

‘So he’s not dead then!’

How do I know? All I heard was that the King was dead.’

The soldiers immediately crowded round the three who sought to clear their way through to the camp entrance.

A group of shieldsmen set up a line to let them move more quickly between Philip’s tent and the entrance.

How did it happen?’ the physician asked.

We had just eaten,’ began Hephaestion.

And it was unbearably hot,’ continued Ptolemy.

‘And doubtless you had also been drinking?’ asked Philip.

‘The King was in a good mood and he’d had some Hercules’ Cup.’

‘Half an amphora of wine,’ grumbled Philip.

‘Yes,’ said Ptolemy. ‘Then he said that he couldn’t bear the heat any more and when he looked out of the window and saw the Cydnus flowing, he shouted, ‘I’m off to have a swim!’

‘On a full stomach and on such a hot day?’ Philip shouted, losing his temper now.

In the meantime the horses had arrived. All three of them mounted quickly and rode off at full tilt towards the river which was a couple of stadia away.

The King lay on the ground in the shade of a fig tree. He had been stretched out and covered with a cloak. His complexion was deathly grey, while his eyes were ringed black and his nails a bluish colour.

‘Damnation!’ shouted Philip as he leaped to the ground. ‘Why didn’t you stop him? He’s more dead than alive. Out of my way! Clear off !’

‘But we . . .’ stammered Hephaestion, but he didn’t manage to finish the sentence. He turned to face the trunk of the tree to hide his tears.

The doctor undressed Alexander and put his ear to the royal chest. He could hear a faint beating of the King’s heart, but it was very weak and faltering. He covered him again immediately. ‘Quickly!’ he cried to one of the shieldsmen. ‘Run to the King’s quarters and have Leptine prepare a very hot bath and tell her to put more water on to warm and have her make a decoction of these herbs which I will give you now in these exact proportions.’ He took a tablet from his bag together with a stylus and rapidly wrote out a prescription. ‘Go now! Run like the wind!’

Hephaestion moved forward, ‘What can we do to help?’

‘Prepare a grid of canes and attach it to the harnesses of a pair of pack horses. We have to carry him back to his quarters.’

The soldiers unsheathed their swords, cut a bundle of canes from the riverbank and did as they had been told. Then they lifted the King delicately and placed him on the grid, covering him with a cloak.

The small convoy set off with Hephaestion up front, leading the two horses by their halters to regulate the pace.

Leptine met them at the door, her big eyes wide with worry and anxiety, her fear so great she asked no one what had happened – one look at the King was enough for her to realize the gravity of the situation. She hurried off quickly towards the bathchamber followed by the bearers, biting her bottom lip to stop her tears.

The King gave almost no signs of life now – his lips were blue, and his nails almost black.

Hephaestion kneeled down and lifted him up – his head and his arms fell backwards, like a corpse’s.

Philip came nearer. ‘Put him in the tub slowly. Lower him in gradually.’

Hephaestion murmured something quietly, a formula against misfortune, or a curse of some kind.

‘I told him not to jump into the water with him being so hot and so full of food, but he didn’t listen to me,’ whispered Leonnatus to Perdiccas. ‘He said that he’d done it a thousand times and that nothing had ever happened to him.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ said Philip, looking at them over his shoulder. ‘You are a bunch of irresponsible idiots. Can’t you understand that you are adults now? You bear responsibility for an entire nation on your shoulders. Why didn’t you stop him? Why?’

‘But we did try . . .’ Lysimachus sought to justify their actions.

‘My foot you tried! To hell with the lot of you!’ Philip swore as he began massaging the King’s body. ‘You realize why it happened, don’t you? Don’t you? No, perhaps you really don’t.’ And the young men stood there, heads bowed, like children before an angry teacher. ‘The waters of this river flow fast and full from the snows of the Taurus mountain range as they melt during the summer, but the course of the river is so short and its bed so steep that the water has no time to warm up and it arrives ice-cold when it flows into the sea. It’s as though he had buried himself naked in the snow!’

Leptine in the meantime had knelt down by the side of the tub and was waiting for the physician to tell her what to do.

‘Good, well done. You can help me too. Massage him like this – from the stomach upwards, gently. Let’s try to get his digestion moving.’

Hephaestion approached aggressively, pointing his finger at Philip. ‘Listen, Alexander is our King, he does what he wants and none of us has any right to interfere. You are a doctor and your job is to make him better. Understand? You have to make him better and that’s it!’

Philip looked him straight in the eye. ‘Don’t speak to me in that tone, because I am not your servant. I will do what has to be done and I will do it as I deem right and proper, is that clear? And now get out of my way . . . move!’ Then, as they were all leaving the room, he added, ‘Except for one of you. I need someone to help me.’

Hephaestion turned. ‘May I stay?’

‘Yes,’ grumbled Philip, ‘but sit in that chair and don’t bother me.’

The King had regained some colour, but he was still unconscious and his eyes were closed.