One day, when the men were on their last legs, a soldier of the royal guard found a hollow in which there seemed to be some dampness. He began to dig with the point of his sword until slowly, drop-by-drop, he saw water appear. He managed to collect enough to cover the bottom of his helmet and after having moistened his lips, he gave it to Alexander who was clearly struggling through this ordeal because of the after effects of his wound, which was still causing him no small amount of trouble.
The King thanked him, took the helmet and lifted it to his mouth, but at the same time he realized that all his men were watching him. Their eyes were red from the salt, their skin was dry, their lips cracked and he could not bring himself to drink. He poured the water to the ground, saying, ‘Alexander cannot drink when his men are dying of thirst.’ Then, seeing that many of them were about to give up, all their strength gone, he raised his voice, ‘Men, take heart! Do you think the gods have let us perform such feats to then let us die here in this desert? No, believe me! I assure you that by tomorrow night we will be out of this furnace and you will have as much food and water as you wish! Do you want to give up now? Do you want to die just a few steps away from salvation?’
At those words the soldiers took courage and started marching again until darkness fell. They had left the sea behind them some time ago now and they were marching up towards a line of rocky hills where, as night fell, there was a minimum of freshness. On the following day, at sunset, they reached the pass and far off in the distance they saw a walled city.
‘It is Pura,’ said one of the Persian officers. ‘We are safe now.’
Alexander shouted, ‘Did you hear that, men? Did you hear? We’re safe! See? Your King always keeps his promises!’
The soldiers, one by one as they reached the top and saw the city in the distance, cried out with joy, throwing their weapons in the air, embracing one another and moved to tears.
Ptolemy approached with an expression of sheer astonishment on his face: ‘How did you manage it?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Do you remember yesterday when we came to that fork in the track? One arm that went westwards along the sea and the other climbing up towards the hills?’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘Kalanos said to me, “The more difficult road is the better one.”’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘So you took a risk’
‘Not for the first time.’
‘Quite. It’s certainly not the first time.’
They arrived at sunset, squeezing the last drops of energy from their exhausted limbs, and the commander of the stronghold at Pura came out, suspicious, to meet them.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
Alexander turned to Ptolemy: ‘Is Oxhatres still alive?’
‘I believe so,’ came the reply. ‘I think I saw him a few days ago.’
‘Find him for me.’
Ptolemy moved off and then came back a short time later with Oxhatres who explained to the Persian governor all he needed to know regarding the guest who had just arrived.
‘Alexander?’ asked the Governor of Pura in astonishment. ‘Isn’t he dead?’
‘As you can see he is alive and well; but I beg you, let us in. We are exhausted.’
*
The governor gave orders immediately to all the men under his command and the gates of Pura opened to let in the army that everyone had believed to be lost and the king everyone had believed to be dead.
They stopped at Pura for four days, to rest and eat after the hardships they had endured. Alexander asked the governor if news of their fleet had reached Hormuz, and the Persian replied that he had heard nothing, but that he would make enquiries and would let him know.
‘I wouldn’t bargain on their having made it,’ said Seleucus. ‘I have heard that these waters are very dangerous at certain points because of sandbanks and pirates who specialize in attacking grounded ships. If they had already landed here, there would certainly be news of them.’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ replied Alexander, ‘but we too were given up for dead and we’re here now. We should not give up hope.’
They started marching again in the direction of Persis, moving across burnt, arid terrain once more, but the commander of the garrison at Pura had given them expert guides who led them to wells with good water and to shepherd villages where they found milk and meat and dried pulses kept in large clay jars.
It was midwinter by the time the army came to Salmous, near the border with Persis. Alexander sent a group of scouts southwards to seek news of his fleet – a pair of Macedonian officers and a dozen auxiliaries with a Persian guide, together with half a dozen camels loaded with water bottles.
They moved forward for ten parasangs over completely deserted terrain with just one stop until, around midday, when the sun was at its highest, they saw something off in the distance.
‘Can you make out what it is?’ asked one of the auxiliaries, a Palestinian mercenary from Azotus.
‘Looks like men,’ replied a companion.
‘Men?’ asked one of the officers. ‘Where?’
‘Down there,’ pointed the other officer, who now saw them distinctly. ‘Look, they’re making signs, shouting . . . I think they’ve seen us. Quickly, let’s go!’
They set off at a gallop and soon found themselves before two men who barely resembled human beings – their clothes torn, their eyes sunken, their skin covered in sores and burned by the sun, their lips split with thirst. ‘Who are you?’ the wretches asked in Greek.
‘We’re the ones who should be asking that,’ retorted the officer, ‘and what are you doing here?’
‘We are sailors of the royal fleet.’
‘Are you telling us that Nearchus’s fleet is . . .’ the officer did not dare finish the sentence because the two men before him looked as though they had been through a shipwreck.
‘Safe,’ said the man with his last breath, ‘but for the sake of the gods, give us some water if you want us to tell you the rest of the story.’
60
‘MOUNT YOUR HORSES!’ shouted the King, much agitated on hearing the news. ‘Nearchus is on the coast with all the ships. He hasn’t lost a single one! Eumenes, have the carts prepared – water, supplies, meat, sweets, honey, fruit and wine, by the gods! All the wine you can find. Follow me down there as soon as you can manage!’
‘But this will all take time,’ said his Secretary, trying to get him to reason.
‘Starting by nightfall will be fine. I want these men to enjoy themselves, by Zeus! We will have a great banquet on the beach! We must celebrate, we must celebrate!’
His eyes shone with emotion and impatience; he looked like an excited young boy. ‘And take care of these two sailors – treat them like princes, our honoured guests. And the Queen, I want the Queen with me as well.’
He set off at a gallop with all his Companions, followed by two squadrons of hetairoi cavalry. They came within sight of Nearchus’s naval camp by sunset of their third day of travelling, all covered with dust and sweat, but the light was still shining in Alexander’s eyes. The water gleamed splendidly with sparkling golden flashes and Nearchus’s ships stood out in black silhouette against the shining mirror of the Ocean, all adorned with their pennants and standards.
Nearchus came to meet them at the entrance to the camp and Alexander, as soon as he saw him, dismounted, so that the two men walked the distance between the ranks of joyous sailors on the one hand and equally joyous cavalry on the other. As they came closer they started running towards one another, impatient to embrace, and in the end their meeting was more of a collision than a fraternal hug. When they pulled away to look at each other, their faces expressed sheer incredulity. Emotion got the upper hand and left them both speechless. In the end Alexander burst into a resounding laugh and shouted, ‘You stink of rotten fish, Nearchus!’
‘And you of horse sweat, Alexandre!’ retorted the admiral.
&nbs
p; ‘I cannot believe that you are all alive,’ said the King looking at the emaciated face of his navarch.
‘It hasn’t been easy,’ replied Nearchus. ‘At one stage I didn’t think we would make it. We sailed through two storms, but above all else our problems were thirst and hunger.’
They started walking into the camp and such was the curiosity and the desire to recount their respective adventures that the two of them did not even notice that Ptolemy had lined up the cavalry to pay homage to them.
The commander’s voice finally caught their attention: ‘For King Alexander and for Admiral Nearchus, Alalalài!’
‘Alalalài!’ shouted the horsemen, lifting their spears and raising their cry to infinity, while the last rays of the sun were extinguished in the flaming Ocean waves.
‘Allow me to mention Onesicritus as well,’ added the admiral, nodding to his pilot to step forward. ‘He has proved himself to be a great mariner.’
‘Hail, Onesicritus,’ Alexander saluted him. ‘I am most glad to see you.’
Hail, Sire,’ replied the helmsman. ‘I too am glad to see you.’
‘I am sorry,’ continued Nearchus, ‘but we do not have much to offer you. We have fished all day, but our catch is poor. There are, however, a couple of tuna fish and they are on the grill as we speak.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ replied the King. ‘I have a surprise for you all, although I am afraid it won’t arrive until tomorrow.’
‘If it’s what I think it is, I can’t wait!’ exclaimed Nearchus. ‘Did you know that one day we attempted an incursion into some villages along the coast? And do you know what the loot was?’
‘No, but I think I can guess.’
‘Fish meal. Sacks and sacks of fish meal. Those poor wretches had nothing else.’
‘We know all about it.’
They went into Nearchus’s tent and shortly afterwards Ptolemy, Hephaestion, Seleucus and the others arrived.
‘Look,’ said Nearchus, showing them a roll of papyrus open on a makeshift table. ‘Onesicritus drew this map of our course from Pattala down here.’
‘Splendid,’ said Alexander, running his finger along the interminable desert coast where the vice-admiral had written the name ‘Ichthyophages’.
‘Fish-eaters,’ Hephaestion repeated. ‘You can say that again. Along there even the goats stink of fish. It makes my stomach turn just thinking about it.’
‘You cannot imagine how worried we were after we lost contact with the fleet,’ said Alexander.
‘Just as we were,’ replied Nearchus. ‘The fact is that it was not easy to slow down to wait for you and when we did so there was never any sign of you. Perhaps you were ahead of us, or behind us. There was no way of telling.’
‘The fish is ready,’ announced one of the sailors.
‘And it doesn’t smell too bad,’ said Seleucus.
‘I think we’ll have to sit on the shore to eat,’ said the admiral. ‘There aren’t many dining beds and tables on board my ships.’
‘We’ll manage,’ said Perdiccas. ‘Hunger is hunger, wherever and whenever it comes.’
At that precise moment, just when everyone was moving off to sit down to supper, laughing and joking, the trumpets sounded the alarm.
‘By Zeus!’ exclaimed Alexander. ‘Who on earth dares to attack us now?’ He unsheathed his sword and shouted, ‘Hetairoi, follow me! Mount your horses! Mount your horses!’
Soon the camp resounded with trumpet blasts and the whinnying of the horses, the defensive palisade was opened and the squadrons prepared to charge out and deal with the enemy incursion. Indeed, a storm-like cloud of dust could be seen advancing threateningly towards them and in the midst of it they could make out metal weapons and shields.
‘But they’re Macedonians!’ shouted a sentry.
‘Macedonians?’ asked Alexander in amazement as he blocked the charge of the hetairoi with a gesture.
There followed a moment in which all that could be heard was the noise of the galloping horses as they neared the camp. Then the sentry’s voice rang out once more in the tension-filled silence, ‘It’s the wine!’ he exclaimed. ‘Eumenes has sent the wine with a squadron of assault troops!’
The tension collapsed into oceanic laughter and the assault troops paraded through the camp amidst the general applause of their companions, each of them carrying two bottles satchel-like across their horses’ backs.
‘So, is there anything to eat round here?’ asked Leonnatus, dismounting and unlacing his breastplate.
‘There’s plenty to eat,’ replied Nearchus.
‘And to drink, by Zeus!’ laughed Alexander. ‘Thanks to our Secretary General!’
They sat down on the warm sand and the sailors began serving the fish.
‘Fillet of tuna Cypriot style!’ announced a sailor from Paphos pompously. ‘Speciality of the house.’
Everyone tucked into the food and the conversation soon livened up because they all had their own stories to tell – stories of hardships and dangers, of storms and dead calms, of night attacks and marine monsters, stories of friends who for a long time they had worried they would never see again.
‘Where do you think Craterus is?’ Alexander asked at a certain point. And for a long moment all the Companions looked one another in the face, in silence.
61
CRATERUS REACHED SALMOUS with his army two weeks later and the exultation of Alexander and the Companions knew no bounds. The celebrations continued at length and when the army eventually set off on its march once more, the King wanted them to carry on. He had special carriages constructed and gave orders for dining beds and tables to be installed on them so that all the Companions lay there eating, drinking and laughing. The soldiers too were allowed to drink as much as they wanted from the wine supplies that followed the convoy.
Kalanos rode on one of the carriages and the King and his Companions all travelled with him to listen to his teachings.
The territory all around resounded with celebratory singing and chanting. This was no longer an army that advanced towards the heart of Persis, this was now a Dionysian komos, a procession in honour of the god that liberates the human heart from all struggles through the joy of wine and merriment.
In the meantime Nearchus had left with his fleet after having carried out the necessary repairs and loaded up the holds with everything required for a long voyage. They went through the Straits of Hormuz and entered the Persian Gulf, heading in the direction of mouth of the Tigris. The meeting was to be at Susa, which could be reached by means of a navigable canal. At long last the hard times were behind them and the sailors rowed with renewed vigour and manoeuvred the rigging and the sails deftly, impatient to bring their adventure to an end and to be able to tell their loved ones all about it.
There was just one moment of tension for the fleet when out of the waves, not far from the flagship, great jets of spray appeared, followed by the glistening-wet backs of gigantic, shining creatures that immediately submerged again, waving their enormous tails out of the water.
‘But . . . what are they?’ asked the Cypriot sailor who had prepared supper for the King and his Companions on the beach, evidently terrorized.
‘Whales,’ replied the Phoenician boatswain who had sailed beyond the Pillars of Hercules. ‘They pose no threat to us at all, as long as we don’t ram them, because all it would take is a single blow from that tail and . . . goodbye flagship. They could swallow it up in a single gulp!’
‘I prefer tunny fish,’ stammered the sailor. He asked again, truly worried, ‘But are you sure they won’t attack us?’
‘One can never be sure of anything at sea,’ replied Nearchus. ‘You ought to know that already. Return to your post now.’
*
Alexander’s army continued its march along the road that led to Pasargadae and there the King discovered that Cyrus’s tomb had been violated – the sarcophagus had been opened and the Great King’s body dragged out. He interrogated the magi
who had been in charge of looking after the grave and had a trial held to try to find the culprits, but not even under torture did any of them offer any information. He let them all go, gave orders for the tomb to be restored to its original state and set off once more towards Persepolis. In the meantime rumours had spread that the King had returned and this news threw many satraps and even many Macedonian governors into considerable confusion because they had all been sure that he was dead and had all made the most of every opportunity to indulge in all sorts of stealing and looting.
Alexander saw the state to which the imperial palace had been reduced by the frightful fire that had destroyed it – only the stone columns and the gigantic entrance portals rose out of the enormous expanse of smoke-blackened and mud-covered ground. The gemstones had been prised from the reliefs, the lumps of precious metal that had melted during the fire had been stripped away. The only thing that recalled in some way the greatness of the Achaemenids was the flame burning before the funeral monument of Darius III.
The King thought of Stateira whom he had not seen for such a long time now, and he wondered if she had received the letter he had sent from the banks of the Indus. He wrote to her again, telling her that he loved her and that he would meet her at Susa.
One evening, some time later, while he was resting together with Roxane on the veranda of the satrap’s palace, a visit was announced and a bald, stocky man was shown in, a man who immediately greeted him with a broad smile.