‘But I assure you that . . .’
Alexander interrupted him. ‘I told you there is nothing to explain. I simply want to ask you a favour.’
‘Whatever you wish, Sire.’
‘You obviously saw him?’
‘Memnon? Why, yes, of course.’
‘Well then . . . draw me a portrait of him. None of us knows what he looks like, and we need to be able to recognize him if we happen to find him there before us . . . understand?’
‘I understand, Sire.’
‘Then set to it.’ ‘Now?’ ‘Now.’
Apelles picked up a sheet of papyrus and some charcoal and began working.
15
BARSINE DISMOUNTED together with the boys and headed for the house, which was illuminated discreetly, with just one lamp burning under the portico. She entered the atrium and found her husband standing there before her, leaning on a crutch.
‘My love!’ she cried and ran forward, embracing him and kissing his lips. ‘My life has not been worth living without you.’
‘Father!’ exclaimed the boys. Memnon held them fast, closing his eyes to savour the emotion.
‘Come, follow me! I’ve had supper prepared. We must celebrate.’
They were in a fine house in the middle of an estate between Miletus and Halicarnassus, procured for them by the Persian satrap of Caria.
The tables were arranged in the Greek manner, with dining beds and craters brimming with Cypriot wine. Memnon invited his wife and his children to take their places and he lay down on his own bed.
‘How are you?’ asked Barsine.
‘Very well, I am almost fully recovered. I still use the crutch because the doctor has advised me not to put any strain on the leg yet, but I feel good and I could easily walk without it.’
‘And does the wound itself still hurt?’
‘No, the Egyptian doctor’s treatment was extremely effective – the wound closed and healed in a matter of days. But please eat . . . help yourselves.’
The Greek cook brought them fresh bread, various cheeses and hard-boiled duck’s eggs, while his assistant served a soup of broad beans, chickpeas and peas.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Barsine.
‘I had you brought here because I have many important things to tell you. The Great King in a personal decree has nominated me commander-in-chief of the Anatolian region. This means that I can even give orders to the satraps, enlist men and make use of any resources I deem necessary.’
The boys were fascinated by his every word and their eyes shone with pride.
‘So this means you will start making war once again,’ said Barsine, much less enthusiastically.
‘Yes, as soon as possible. And so . . .’ he continued, lowering his head, as if studying the colour of the wine in his cup.
‘What is it, Memnon?’
‘And so this is no place for you. It will be a fight to the bitter end, there will be no safe places for anyone . . .’ and he hesitated as his wife shook her head. ‘You must understand, Barsine, because this is also what the Great King himself wants. You will go to Susa, you and the boys, and you will live in court, respected and revered by everyone there.’
‘The Great King wants us as hostages you mean?’
‘No, I honestly don’t think so, but it is certainly a simple fact that I am not a Persian. I am a mercenary, a paid swordsman.’
‘I will not leave you.’
‘And neither will we,’ said the boys.
Memnon sighed. ‘There is no other way. You will set off tomorrow. A carriage will take you as far as Kelainai, and from there on you will be safe. You will travel along the King’s Road, where there will be no danger, and you will reach Susa towards the end of next month.’
As he spoke, Barsine lowered her eyes and tears started to run down her cheeks.
‘I will write to you,’ Memnon began again. ‘You will hear from me often because I will use the royal messengers, and you will be able to write to me by the same means. And when it is all over I will join you at Susa where the Great King will grant me the highest honours and he will repay me for services rendered. Finally we will be able to live in peace wherever you wish, my love, here in Caria, or in our palace in Zeleia, or on the coast in Pamphylia, and we will watch our children grow. Be strong now and don’t make our parting more difficult than it already is.’
Barsine waited for the boys to finish eating and then she sent them off to bed.
They went to their father one at a time and embraced him, the wellspring of emotion making their eyes brim with tears.
‘I want no tears in the eyes of my young soldiers,’ said Memnon. And the boys kept their chins up and looked on proudly as their father stood to say goodbye: ‘Good night, my sons. Sleep well, because you have a long journey ahead of you. You will see wonderful things – palaces gleaming in a thousand colours, lakes and gardens worthy of fantastic stories. You will taste the rarest fruit and foods. You will live like gods. Go now.’
The boys kissed his hand – a Persian custom – and went to bed.
Barsine dismissed the servants and accompanied her husband to his room. She had him sit in an armchair and for the first time in her life she did something she had never done because of the strong sense of modesty that had been part of her upbringing since childhood – she undressed before him and stood there naked in the warm red light of the lamps.
Memnon gazed upon her as only a Greek could gaze upon beauty in its highest manifestation. His eyes ran over her amber skin, over the smooth oval of her face, her shapely neck, her elegant shoulders, her ample and full bosom, her nipples dark and erect, her belly pliant, the velvet down between her legs shining.
He held out his arms to her, but she moved backwards until she lay down on the bed. While he gazed at her with fever in his eyes she opened her thighs, ever more audacious, stripping herself of the last veil of modesty to give her man all the excitement and pleasure she was capable of, before leaving him for what was perhaps to be the longest time.
‘Look at me,’ she said. ‘Do not forget me. Even if you should take other women to your bed, even if they should offer you young eunuchs with shapely thighs, remember me, remember that no other can ever give herself to you with all the love that burns in my heart and in my flesh.’
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.
16
THE 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 enc
ouraging – 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.