Empire of Ashes: A Novel of Alexander the Great (7 page)

On the death of his father, Alexander was bequeathed a kingdom whose rule would have challenged the powers of any mortal man. It stretched from the banks of the Danube to Thessaly, and from the Balkans to Byzantium. Thinking the new king, a mere youth of twenty, could not match the skill and determination of the old, opportunists incited rebellions among the tribes of Illyria, and in Greece proper, among the Thebans and here in Attica. What shame will ever adhere to this cynical enterprise—that civilized men of Thebes and Athens, who had duly sworn to respect the leadership of the King in Pella, would attach the fate of Athens to skin-clad barbarians! For had we not agreed, as did all the cities of Greece except Sparta, to aid Philip in his plan to humble the Great King? The pact was made in Corinth, shortly after Chaeronea. Read the terms of the pact, please.

The clerk read the terms.

Take note of the parties stipulated in the agreement. It says, the Greeks will respect the captaincy of Philip
and his descendants
. Could anything be more clear? Could any perfidy be more obvious than the course urged by the anti-Macedonians, who managed again to put Athens on a war-footing, on course for another disaster? Note that the purpose of Corinth alliance was to avenge Greece against the Persians. It demanded nothing of Athens, no booty, no levies, no garrison in our city. Philip expected only our trustworthiness, which one would think would be the least onerous demand on honest men. But instead, Demosthenes, Hypereides, Charidemos and their rabble seduced the Assembly with talk of overthrowing ‘the Boy,’ of marching all the way to Pella!

What hubris! What rubbish! And with what dismay did these cowards watch as Alexander wasted no time in reducing the Illyrians: not only did he defeat their forces within the boundaries of his kingdom, but he contrived to float his army across the Danube on skin boats and exact the pledges of the tribes beyond. Was this not impressive campaigning for a mere boy?

And then, even more shockingly, Alexander marched south, through Thermopylae, and put Thebes to the torch before the demagogues could clear their golden throats. “Demosthenes called me ‘a mere child’ when we marched on Illyria,” Alexander said to his troops, “and ‘just a youth’ when I came through Thessaly. I guarantee that when he sees me beneath the walls of Athens, it will be as a man!”

Naturally, plans for our glorious march on Pella were forgotten. Instead of an army, the anti-Macedonians sent out pledges of eternal fealty. Demosthenes himself volunteered to lead the peace delegation to Alexander’s camp. He was hailed for his bravery, and after accepting these encomiums—for when has he ever refused cheap acclaim?—he rode out of the city in triumph…and slunk away.

We had every reason to expect the worst from Alexander. From the slopes of Hymettus we could see the glow of Thebes burning. There was talk of gathering the fleet, of evacuating the people, of refounding the city elsewhere. This talk, too, was rubbish, because it took no account of the divine character of this new king, who never made a move toward Attica. Instead, he only asked for a recommitment to the Corinth pact, and for the detention of the worst of the demagogues. The latter stipulation was not even pressed—Demosthenes was spared. At this, even the most rabid of Alexander’s enemies were taken aback. Was this the leader against which Athens had so treacherously plotted? When had Athens herself ever showed such mercy to a rebellious subject of her empire?

Yet the contrition of these zealots lasted only as long as the Macedonian army was in Boeotia. Having disposed of the father, they turned against the son. Unfortunately for them, Alexander was too quick a target, moving with his army the length and breadth of his kingdom, as I have already described to you. Thereafter, the young king took up his father’s project of invading Asia. This campaign alone should have refuted the absurd claims of Demosthenes and his faction, as Alexander did not linger long enough in Greece to tax, oppress, enslave, or otherwise afflict anybody. But instead of at last putting aside their hatred of Alexander, they merely hatched an even more subtle plan to, as Machon demanded, “remove this chronic threat.”

It is obvious now their solution was a kind of Trojan Horse. Athens, like most of the other big cities, sent ships and troops to support the expedition to Persia. A land force of one thousand landless citizens, outfitted by emergency decree from the Theoric fund, was organized. Machon, at the instigation of Demosthenes, was placed in command of this force. I was not present in the Assembly when this decision was made. All I can say about it is that it is a prime example of the burden under which our democracy labors, when strong personalities can undo a manifestly correct policy, and in this case subvert it utterly. How else may we understand the appointment of Machon to this command, when his prejudice had been made so very clear in this Chaeronea testimony? We may forgive the more honorable among us for their naiveté, believing perhaps that this was an instance of mere cronyism on Demosthenes’ part, when in fact the design was still more sinister. Machon even had the audacity to raise his hand and lie in the face of
 
the Assembly when his orders were laid out. Read the orders, please.

The clerk read the decree of the Assembly.

Note that at every point the intent of his orders was clear: Machon was to support Alexander in “any way within his power;” the effect of the deployment was “to bring honor on Athens by any means practicable.” Obviously these orders applied as much to Machon as to any hoplite in the ranks—Machon himself was responsible for their commission. Yet we all know the end of Alexander’s story, of his premature death in Babylon under such suspicious circumstances. We likewise know that Machon’s master Demosthenes was not above accomplishing by conspiracy what he could not on the battlefield. And so I must pose the question, did Machon support Alexander by “any way within his power”? Did his conduct bring honor to Athens? If your answers to these questions comport at all way with the truth laid before you, then you already have your verdict on the second charge, of violating the sacred trust of his orders.

 
The Athenian expeditionary force was presented to Alexander at his camp. With some justification, considering the legacy of Athenian deceit cultivated by the anti-Macedonians, the King declined to accept our contingent into his army. What a stunning dishonor for Athenian arms, to be left on the shore at the outset of the greatest campaign ever to leave Greece! But all was not lost for Machon and his scheming sponsors: Alexander, the ever-mindful, salvaged the honor of our city by accepting one Athenian—Machon—into his inner circle of Companions. It was his fatal misfortune that his magnanimity was wasted on such a man.

It seems that Machon did not owe his position on Alexander’s staff to his knowledge of military matters, but to his pen. This is curious. I am aware of no one who can attest to the defendant’s competence as an historian; Machon has neither recited nor published anything of consequence. We may well imagine, then, the torrent of lies he must have told Alexander to convince him of his talent. On this point in particular, more than any vain protestations of his innocence, I am most interested to hear the defendant’s statement!

The invasion began. Alexander was the first to leap ashore on the Asian side, claiming it all as his spear-won territory, and proceeding thence to the ruins of Troy. Wits back home chuckled at the story that he honored his ancestor Achilles with sacrifices under the ravaged battlements; they laughed when they heard that Alexander and his favorite, Hephaestion, stripped naked, anointed each other with oil, and ran around the citadel seven times. They ridiculed him outright for his presumption to borrow the armor of Achilles from the Temple of Athena. Sophisticates far and wide scorned the King’s reverence for history—but sophisticates don’t win wars. The effect of these rites on his troops was inspirational. Would that the Greeks today be a bit more reverent and a bit less sophisticated!

      
What the gods thought of Alexander’s obsequies was evident in his first encounter with troops in Darius’s employ. I say ‘in his employ,’ rather than ‘Persian troops’ because the greater part of the enemy was composed of Greek mercenaries. And here again, we see evidence of the decline of honor of our race, that matters have come to such a pass that Greeks would take gold to defend a barbarian kingdom. By all evidence Alexander understood this as well as Darius: in the end, Persians alone could never carry the field against him. Only Greeks can ever defeat Greeks.

The first battle was joined beneath Mount Ida. On the far side of the Granicus River, the Greeks faced an army almost as large as theirs, barring their way on high banks as strong and secure as a castle. In front were the Persian horsemen on their baleful steeds, cased in armored skins that shone in the afternoon sun, scimitars and javelins solemnly crossed upon their chests. Behind crowded the upturned pikes of twenty thousand Greek mercenaries.

A
t this sight, a pall of misgiving spread over Alexander’s army, for they would not only have to defeat the arrayed host of their enemy, but the swift current of the river. Parmenion, a veteran general, counseled the King to delay his attack until morning. The position of the enemy, he said, was impregnable; the banks of the river, he warned, were treacherous, so that even if a crossing could be managed in the stream, the Greeks would never find purchase on the muddy slopes as they fought uphill against mounted foes. These were wise words, to be heeded by any leader of merely mortal stature; Philip himself might have accepted them.

All looked to Alexander, who said nothing at first, but seemed lost in thought, as if unable to make a decision. But when he finally spoke, it was the words of the Poet that came out. He sang—

And the silvered fish did swirl and bite

The tender flesh of newly-dead Lycaon.