An empty throne, p.9
An Empty Throne, page 9
Olympias was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I heard them talking as they said goodbye. Polyperchon doesn’t think he’ll persuade Alexandros to come north and Aristonous isn’t going to come south without him. Aristonous thinks your best chance is to break the blockade and get to Sardis.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Roxanna.’
‘Why would I lie about this? I thought they were both completely loyal to your cause until I heard their conversation; it took me by surprise but it makes sense. Just look outside the walls: Pydna is lost. Why would either Polyperchon, whom you treat with contempt, or Aristonous, who despises you for the murderous serpent you are, wish to come back here to die?’ The slap caused Roxanna’s head to ring.
Olympias rubbed her hand. ‘For the king, your son, whom you seem to be abandoning.’
‘How can I abandon something which has been stolen from me and is no longer mine? No, Olympias, Alexander has but one hope and that’s neither you, me, Aristonous nor Polyperchon. Let’s face it: I may be your prisoner but you are now Kassandros’ and neither Aristonous nor Polyperchon will be back to fight for a losing cause; in fact, Polyperchon suggested they come to an accommodation with Kassandros, and Aristonous did not dismiss the idea.’
Olympias’ face crumpled in stages as she realised the truth of it; of how she was just clutching at a vague hope. She looked up to see shadow ships. ‘Stop! Aristonous, Polyperchon, stop! Come back!’ But no amount of shouting would bring the vessels back to the quay as they disappeared into the all-enveloping gloom.
It was a small victory, but at least it was something and it warmed Roxanna’s battered heart. As she stared at where the ships had last been seen she knew what she had to do next: it was her final opportunity and perhaps she might even be able to save her son. She looked at Olympias; even in the dark her face was stricken as the futility of her position sank in. I have one chance left of saving myself. ‘Perhaps you have need of me after all, Olympias.’
‘What need could I possibly have for a poisoning little harpy like you?’
‘To stand a chance of surviving this we have to persuade Eumenes to come west. If we write to him together as the mother and grandmother of the king, in Alexander’s name, begging him for help, that would be far more powerful than you or me doing it separately.’
‘Perhaps; but he has no fleet.’
‘He doesn’t need a fleet to get to Sardis.’
Olympias made to answer and then paused. ‘But how will we get the army there?’
‘Forget the army; leave it here. Face it, Kassandros has won Macedon. I’m suggesting that you, me and my son, with a few trusted men, run the blockade and get to Sardis and wait for Eumenes to come and take us under his protection.’
It took a while before Olympias answered. ‘You may be an untrustworthy easterner, Roxanna, but you are also right: it’s a straight choice between becoming Kassandros’ prisoners or starting afresh in Asia with the help of Eumenes.’
EUMENES.
THE SLY.
IT WAS NOT the arrival of the letter itself that surprised Eumenes, it was the thought, or rather the lack of it, which caused him to shake his head, his eyebrows raised, as he read it next to the comforting warmth of a brazier; the lack of thought and also the shocking news it contained. He handed the scroll to his fellow countryman, Hieronymus, and then, as his friend read the letter, rose to his not very great height from his camp-stool, walked to the entrance of his tent and looked out over his army’s winter camp on the eastern bank of the Euphrates just within Babylonia, sixty leagues upstream of its capital.
The pre-campaigning season rituals had already begun, for the men could sense they would soon be on the move, and so the preparation of weapons and equipment was gathering pace as they responded to the rise in temperature by an escalation of industry. Not that it was ever particularly cold during the day in this part of the world; it was during the nights when the temperature plummeted. But now it would soon be time for Eumenes to take his army south. And the question was: to where?
It had been the news that Peithon, the satrap of Media, had been defeated by an alliance of the eastern satraps after he had summarily entered Parthia with an army, captured and executed the satrap and replaced him with his own brother, which had given Eumenes hope now that his power in the west had disappeared with his fleet. The victorious allied army, made up of troops from Persis, Bactria, Arachosia, Paropamisadae, Carmania and India, had chased Peithon west and was currently in Persepolis at the invitation of the satrap, Peucestas. Peithon had found sanctuary with Seleukos in Babylon.
To Eumenes’ mind, the allied army had been sent by the gods: if he could persuade its leaders to ally themselves with him he would have the numbers to take on Antigonos. But first he had to get to the imperial treasury at Susa and withdraw the funds he would need in order to help those satraps come to the right decision. He was also anxious for Seleukos to join with him but that would involve him either executing Peithon or handing him over to the allied army as a demonstration of good faith; Peithon and his enemies could never be reconciled. He will be no great loss to the world other than being a prime example of the Macedonian military mind working at its slowest.
Eumenes had sent envoys to Seleukos asking for his cooperation against Antigonos, in the name of the kings – or king, as he now knew to be the case. He looked with regret at the scroll in Hieronymus’ hands. Olympias, why did you do such a thing? Now you have no legitimacy and so who can support you? That’s why I can’t go back west, even if I could; but without a fleet and with Antigonos behind me, how can I go back to the sea? No, it’s onward I must go, as soon as I know where Seleukos stands.
And that was his reason for delaying so long on the borders of Babylonia: to know Seleukos’ mind. Would the satrap of Babylonia join with him and, with Peithon’s life, encourage other eastern satraps to form an alliance, in the name of the kings – or king, as he had to keep on reminding himself – in order to take on Antigonos and crush his barely concealed imperial ambitions? The answer had been long in coming; and if, when it did arrive, it was negative, what would be his best strategy?
Such questions were becoming more urgent by the day as, with spring stirring armies from their season of slumber, Antigonos would soon be on the move south from his winter camp in Mesopotamia. Without the troops of the eastern satraps, Eumenes had not the numbers to face his huge army – over forty thousand if the reports from his spies were correct. The thought concentrated his mind and he came to a decision. I’ll move in two days whether I have an answer from Seleukos or no.
With a satisfied and purposeful nod of his head he turned back to Hieronymus. ‘Well?’
‘Well, I think it shows naivety—’
‘Of the highest order. I agree.’
‘I do wish you would stop finishing my sentences for me.’
‘I’m sorry, old friend, it comes from years of dealing with the Macedonian military mind; it can be tediously slow. But yes, Olympias is showing a naivety that surprises me; she must be getting desperate. For her to think that, rather than secure an alliance with the eastern satraps, I can somehow avoid Antigonos as I turn back west and then not be worried that I would have no naval support as I move along the coast to Sardis, assuming I even get there, is naivety at best, as you say, my dear Hieronymus. Now, I may be only a Greek, but I can tell when a Macedonian has less concern for my personal safety than I would think polite – even for a Macedonian.’
Of an age with Eumenes, Hieronymus, a martial man running to fat and balding, a soldier-historian, smiled at the understatement. ‘She has no concern other than to get hold of your army and use it for her own ends now she’s been utterly defeated in Europe. Her murdering King Philip and his wife is proof of her ruthlessness.’
‘Proof we didn’t need as we’ve always been aware of it; what it’s also proof of is her total lack of political vision. Kill Adea, yes, she was a problem, but murder the brother of Alexander who wanted nothing more from life than to play with his toy elephant and occasionally pleasure himself – admittedly in public – was folly, to say the least. I’ve always had the highest regard for Olympias and she, in return, has been heard to say something almost complimentary about me on at least a couple of occasions. I’ve always acted as her friend, despite the fact I know her to be a ruthless power-hungry harpy. But she is a ruthless power-hungry harpy who just happens to be the mother of Alexander and the wife of his father, the two men to whom I owe my whole life. But now she goes too far in relying upon my friendship. I can’t go back west until the war in the east is won and to do that I need to build an alliance against Antigonos. With him gone, then, perhaps, we shall see.’
Hieronymus pointed to the childlike signature next to that of Olympias. ‘And what do you make of that?’
‘Roxanna? Other than the fact that I’m amazed she can write that well?’ Eumenes grinned. ‘Well, I suppose Olympias is using her, like she does everyone else, to bolster her chances of success. She thinks having both the mother and grandmother of the king appealing to me in his name will make it impossible for me to refuse the summons; but she’s mistaken. Yes, my loyalty is to the Argead royal house of Macedon and yes, the boy Alexander is the heir to that house – unless Kleopatra decides to do something interesting – but the first thing to do in order to secure the future of that house is to kill the man who has now abandoned all pretence of supporting it. It’s not to rush back west on a suicidal mission so Olympias can extract herself from the mess she’s got herself into. Frankly, I don’t blame Polyperchon or Aristonous for abandoning her after the way she behaved in Pella. And I think stewing in Pydna, or even in Sardis if she manages to get out, will give her some time to reflect upon how to treat your friends and enemies alike in ways that don’t come back to haunt you.’
Hieronymus handed the letter back to Eumenes. ‘The trouble with that woman is she places so much store on being the mother of Alexander she can’t countenance the possibility of having any faults whatsoever herself.’
Eumenes ripped the letter in half, crumpled it and threw it into the brazier. ‘I don’t think I’ll bother to reply; if I refuse in writing she’ll accuse me of treason so it’s best to pretend I never received it. I’ll make sure the messenger is kept with us.’ He called to the guard outside the tent. ‘Have Xennias report to me.’
‘And there’s a ship in sight coming up the river from the south,’ Xennias said, having acknowledged the order to detain the messenger. ‘The scouts reported it to be Babylonian.’
Eumenes brightened. ‘Excellent. Summon the commanders to Alexander’s tent; we’ll hear Seleukos’ reply in his presence.’
The great Alexander’s presence came in the form of an empty throne, plated with gold, with his diadem laid upon it, his ceremonial sword lying across its arms and his breastplate leaning against its back. Raised upon a dais, it dominated the tent in which it stood. It had been Perdikkas who had first used the idea of holding counsel in its shadow so the decisions arrived at would seem to come from Alexander himself. Eumenes had copied the idea as a way of bending Macedonians to his Greek will, having claimed Alexander came to him in a – very convenient – dream and ordered him to set up the throne thus.
And so it was, beneath the shade of Alexander, that Eumenes and his leading commanders, Xennias, Parmida the Kappadokian, and Antigenes and Teutamus of the Silver Shields and Hypaspists, as well as Hieronymus, met the envoy from Seleukos.
‘Seleukos sends his fraternal greetings,’ the envoy said, standing before his audience seated beneath the throne.
That’s code for he sends his greetings to Macedonians not Greeks; so the answer will be negative.
‘My name is Patrokles, and Seleukos asks me to say that he is a royalist to the core and more than willing to be of service to the king.’
But he won’t take orders from a Greek. ‘That is most gratifying, Patrokles. Does he give me permission to bring my army to Babylon?’
Patrokles, in his mid-thirties with the dandified air of a Macedonian with a penchant for eastern luxury, looked down his nose at Eumenes. ‘Seleukos fully expects you to do so; how else will you deliver it to him?’
Eumenes rubbed an ear with the palm of his hand, frowning, as if he had not quite heard what had been said; he gave the side of his head a couple of slaps, to clear a blockage. ‘I’m sorry, Patrokles; I must be getting a little deaf. Would you mind repeating that?’ He drilled a finger into his ear, examined it and then, satisfied that the obstruction was gone, sat up, head forward, full of concentration as the message was repeated. ‘Ah, I thought that was what you said. I’d be grateful if you were to explain why Seleukos believes I’ll be handing my army – the army loyal to me – over to him.’ His face took on the countenance of wide-eyed, rapt attention.
‘Naturally, Seleukos will be taking command of the enterprise.’
‘And why do you say “naturally”?’
‘Well, because he’s a satrap.’
‘As am I.’
‘Yes, well, he—’
‘Is Macedonian and I’m Greek?’
Patrokles looked directly at him. ‘Naturally.’
‘Naturally. And what will he do with Peithon?’
‘He will be his second-in-command, naturally.’
‘Will he now? And what position will I hold?’
‘You’ll command your Kappadokian cavalry and other foreign units.’
‘But no Macedonian troops?’
‘Naturally not.’
‘And again there’s that word for the fourth time. How free you are with it, Patrokles. It’s how Macedonians justify to themselves their constant sense of superiority: it’s natural.’ He turned to his Macedonian commanders, Xennias, Antigenes and Teutamus. ‘I would’ve thought you’d have to agree, gentlemen, naturally.’
Antigenes rubbed his bald pate ringed by a silver circlet of hair. ‘Until someone defeats us, yes.’
‘And what about my defeat of, firstly, Neoptolemus and then Krateros, eh? Two Macedonians beaten by a Greek.’
‘Neoptolemus was Mollossian,’ Teutamus countered.
Eumenes put up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Of course, that makes all the difference.’ He turned back to Patrokles. ‘Tell my old friend Seleukos he’s very welcome to join me in coalition against Antigonos and that Alexander is, in fact, in command.’ He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Naturally.’
Patrokles scoffed. ‘Seleukos anticipated this would be your unreasonable reaction and bade me to appeal directly to the Macedonians present. This Greek has been condemned to death by the army assembly for the killing of Krateros; he is unfit to lead an army made up of a large percentage of Macedonians. Seleukos asks you to arrest and execute Eumenes immediately and to send him his head. I’ll be only too pleased to take him the gift.’
Eumenes stifled a laugh. ‘Seleukos has lost his manners of late; demanding the death of a man you’re parleying with is ill-mannered to say the least.’ He turned to his commanders. ‘I’d say this man has just lost his herald’s privileges; would you not agree, gentlemen? Or are you planning to decapitate me?’
Antigenes drew his sword, stood and took a pace towards Patrokles, stared him in the eye, nodding, and then looked back at Eumenes. It was with a flash of motion that his blade appeared at the herald’s throat. ‘Shall I take his head, Eumenes?’
Patrokles froze, shock and fear mingled on his face.
Eumenes stroked his chin for a while, making a show of contemplating a tricky conundrum. ‘No, Antigenes, I think not; not now anyhow. Although, I must say, I’m touched by your offer; most generous it was. I think our cause is best served by sending him back intact to Seleukos. You can take the sword away from his throat before he pisses himself.’ Eumenes smiled a faux smile at Patrokles. ‘Now, my arrogant little chum, I had a perfect right to take your life then and you would do well not to forget that.’
Patrokles said nothing but gave a sullen nod.
‘Go back to Babylon and tell Seleukos – who, by the way, I know to be a man of intelligence, and so he should be able to grasp this – that I hold the door open to him. I know he has very few troops of his own and as such will be an easy victim for Antigonos. Tell him to make no mistake about it, but when Antigonos arrives in Babylon he will like the look of that magnificent city and he’ll want it for himself. Seleukos will find himself either running to me, where he will find little sympathy, or he’ll have to rely on Ptolemy’s charity, which is always expensive. I’m now going to make for Susa; Seleukos may join me on the road or wait for Antigonos to come south and kick him out of Babylon.’ He paused for an exaggerated questioning look to check the herald had understood him; he had. ‘Now, fuck off!’
Patrokles stood stock still for a moment before turning on his heel and exiting the tent with a lack of dignity that was the cause of much mirth for those remaining.
‘Well, I think Seleukos has made his position perfectly clear. Our plans will not include him. I’ll let Antigonos swallow him up. So, gentlemen, as soon as we can, we move east to the Tigris and find somewhere to cross. Xennias, take your lads ahead and locate a suitable place and enough boats.’
Eumenes looked with satisfaction at the large flotilla – boats of all sizes – that Xennias’ quartermasters had assembled on the slow-moving, brown water, in the time it had taken him to march his army from the Euphrates. Downriver of the Tigris’ confluence with the Dialas, the crossing point was just forty leagues to the west of Susa.
‘We should be able to begin ferrying the army across tomorrow,’ Xennias said. ‘I calculate we can do it in three stages and then another two trips for the baggage and camp-followers; perhaps three if we can’t get all the big wagons across in two.’
‘Baggage, can’t move with it, can’t move without it.’ Eumenes gazed over at the lush eastern shore, two hundred paces away, and at the plump farms on the rising ground beyond, a stark contrast to the forage-party-ravaged land he had just marched through; the victim of an army wintering. ‘We’ll camp on the other bank once we’ve crossed and send out forage parties whilst we wait for the baggage; we’ll press on the day after. With luck, we should be in Susa in ten days.’
